Author's Note: Not HBP compliant.

Anti-Litigation Charm: It all belongs to JKR; I play for non-profit amusement.


by Silver Birch

"He keeps pushing out of the Healing Sleep, Albus." Madam Pomfrey's worried voice carried clearly. "He's still unconscious, but he won't heal; I don't dare give him another dose."

"Oh, for Merlin's sake–!" Draco burst out with exasperation.

He strode across the Infirmary and ripped open the curtains screening Harry's bed. The clearly-troubled boy was tossing back and forth, a sheen of sweat covering his body.

Draco reached out and clasped Harry's hand tightly.

"I'm right here, you stupid Gryffindor prat, so you can stop fighting the potion and sleep like you're supposed to."

"Get away from him, you evil git!" Weasley yelled, wand out, finally recovering from his shock.

"What do you think you're doing?" Granger demanded shrilly.

Even as all the Gryffindors converged on him with various methods of intervention obviously in mind, they clued in to the same fact.

Harry had stopped struggling. The frown had melted off his face, replaced with a slight smile. Shifting instinctively closer to Draco, the Gryffindor calmed, now able to heal.

"And when you wake up we're going to have a very serious discussion about the fact that you outed us while you were conveniently unconscious," Draco grumbled. "Bloody closet Slytherin."