Chapter Text
Harry
Exhaustion washed over every inch of Harry’s body, inside and out, he was tired down to his bones. But a more crushing wave than his fatigue was his inescapable grief and guilt. Cedric was dead, Voldemort was back and Harry was terrified.
Strong hands grasped his shoulders and tried to pull him away from Cedric's body as music sounded all around in celebration. There shouldn't be a celebration. This was all wrong. He heard his name called distantly and then the wails and screams of grief. Not safe, none of this is safe. And Cedric is dead and it was all Harry's fault.
Magic exploded out of him, his limbs grew light as air and he was pushed through the fabric of space. On some level he recognised the sensation of travel. Almost like a portkey but more close, more personal. However even in this recognition he felt,could feel, nothing but pain, he could think nothing but:
Away, safe
Away, safe
Away, safe
The hum of life and music came to an abrupt halt as his feet met solid ground again. His vision swam blinding white before it cleared briefly to reveal a figure, one known to Harry. One known to Harry well.
“M-Malfoy!” was all he managed to say, before his mind went black and he collapsed onto the other boy.
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Draco
Twenty minutes earlier
Anticipation brewed all around him as the end of the challenge neared. Staying to see the conclusion of the tournament was unnecessary. Everyone knew Potter would win. It was unfathomable that anyone would even think anything different. He would win, gain the endless and eternal glory-- like he needed anymore- he would claim the winnings and be showered with more and more praise. More than he already was if that was even possible.
So no draco really needn't stay. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction of a completely packed stadium. He would not give himself the anguish and jealousy. He was better than that. So he stood, smacked crab and goyle upside the head for cheering and strolled off. And yeah maybe it was petty and maybe it was childish, but both of these traits Draco had already presented unashamedly in his time at Hogwarts so who cares? Certainly not him.
He walked until the cheers of the crowd could no longer be heard, he breathed in the night air allowing the chill to sting his lungs, and made his seat by a tree to wait and stew silently, alone.
Damp grass, a waning moon and uncomfortable bark as his only company - Just the way he liked it - he fidgeted with his heirship ring, spinning it around his pinky and chewing on his stumpy nails. A disgusting habit that his mother had spent hours and hours berating him for. You are a Malfoy! This is unbecoming! He scowled to his hands at the memories and their familiarity. Malfoy, right! Like a badge of honor. Some sparkly fucking beacon in the sky that screamed superiority, supposedly silver or gold and in reality just a pile of rust. Malfoy means nothing. He didn't think it ever really had. But still he had to sit on his hands instead of destroying his cuticles. It was after all unbecoming.
Fireworks exploded in the distance, every Hogwarts colours and then another set, a crimson lion with a splashy golden mane leaping around through the clouds. Harry had won. That was all the confirmation Draco needed. He was right, same as always. Where was the doubt?
Draco watched as the final sparkles bled into the atmosphere, only to be replaced almost instantly by more massive explosions of light. Clearly Dumbledore was pulling out all the stops for his resident golden boy. He didn't get long to drink in the beauty of the celebration (even from afar, even with his childish jealousy, Draco couldn't deny the display was breathtaking) before a loud crack ripped through the quiet and then before him stood Potter. Bloodied and filthy. His glasses cracked and hair a mess, sticking up in all directions and defying fucking gravity. He looked like death on a stick. Shakely he called “D-Draco!” before his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell onto, as he said, Draco. His head on Draco’s shoulder and his legs draped over Draco's own.
Stunned and frankly absolutely confused. Draco reached for him and gave a resigned shake of his shoulders. Potter didn't respond, he was out like a light and so obviously injured. He tried not to panic, honestly he did. But what was expected of him, really? This was not a situation one found themselves in every day.
He'd disapperated, that at least was obvious. No less confusing, prompting many, many more questions.
How? It's not supposed to be possible to apperate within Hogwarts.
Why? Out of every single place on this wretched planet, why would potter apperate to this specific tree where Draco just happened to be throwing a hissy fit.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? Something had obviously gone very wrong in that damn task. And what? It was just Draco’s responsibility now?
The rational side of his brain was coming up short on answers and that simply would not do at all! Pulling out his wand, Draco used the limited healing spells in his arsenal to try and repair some of Potter's injuries. His spellwork was messy and inaccurate and would probably scar but he managed as best he could. If he were to be asked about it at a later date though, of course he would recall how his performance was just what the git deserved. Not that he believed that himself, not that he would ever say that. He performed a mediocre diagnostic spell and checked Potter's vitals, he seemed to be stable, just unconscious. So at least he wasn't about to drop dead (well he'd already dropped, Draco supposed. So at least he wasn't just, dead). With no way to communicate to anyone his location, he resigned himself to letting Potter lean against him; he had to regain consciousness at some point. And yeah Draco could move him. He was definitely strong enough, he just, well he just, okay fine Potter was a massive lump of inconvenient lead. Quite literally crushing Draco's ribs as he tried to suck in any kind of calming oxygen.
Draco would wait until one of Potter's many admirers came to look for him, and call out for help. Or until Potter woke up. While waiting for his rescue team, intermittently, Draco cast the same diagnostic spell to check his heartrate and O2 stats, just to make sure he was still sitting steady and not actively shaking hands with his parents beyond the veil. Wouldn't that be something, Draco Malfoy caught with one dead Harry Potter. It had been maybe ten-ish minutes of this labour, before Draco remembered that he could send up a flare with his wand, like Hagrid had told him to in that forest, what seemed like a million years ago.
Raising his wand over his head and pointing it towards the castle, he sent a series of sparks, he hoped would be seen from this far. Vaguely remembering the fireworks his heart sank slightly before he realised they had stopped. He scolded himself internally for even wasting headspace on such a useless train of thought. He sent a few more and peered down at Potter, truly taking in his ruffled state, while he was injured, probably in immense pain and had clearly been through some kind of ordeal. He looked sort of peaceful, like he could be asleep. There were a few strands of hair falling under his glasses and onto his eyes, Draco raised his hand to brush them away but caught himself before his fingers made contact. This whole thing was making his brain go all fucked beacuse what the hell was that!
Help came a measly five minutes later in the form of a gang of griffindoors, many professors, the headmaster and the minister of magic himself. They were all shouting for Harry, some tracking spell Draco had never seen set in front of them. Draco wondered distantly if his flare had been at all helpful with what looked to be a very complicated, most likely very secure, spell.
“Over here” draco called back “hurry up, get him off of me!”
The group broke into a run at his shout. When they reached the pair they set straight into problem solving mode, slinging an exhausting number of questions Draco's way. Half the time he couldn't tell who was asking what. And they still hadn't removed Potter's burdensome lump of a body from Draco, opting instead to shine like fourteen different lumouses in his face while they checked over Harry's condition.
They asked things like, what happened? As if Draco knew, and he told them as much. Or what did you do? To which he replied explaining the few healing spells he'd performed. Even though that was really not what they meant.
Eventually Madame Pomfrey arrived and Potter was carried off to the hospital wing. Draco stood his legs like jelly, and for one reason or another found himself following after the gaggle of do-gooders.