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"Malfoy's been looking pretty pale lately, don't you think?" Harry stared at the Slytherin across the Great Hall and worried at his bottom lip.

"He is pale, mate. Are you alright?" Ron asked taking a bite out of his sandwich and looking at Harry concerned.

"Yeah, Ron. I'm fine. He just looked a little sick."

"Oi, maybe he'll finally drop dead." He smiled at Harry and the boy couldn't help but laugh at his friend, though the worry still nagged at him. He assumed Hermione could sense it, because she spoke next.

"Ronald! Don't be so cruel. Sure he's difficult, but there's no reason to wish death on anyone," she said finally looking up from her book to examine Malfoy herself. "He does look quite pale Harry. Maybe he really is si-"

Before she could finish Malfoy stood as though he was going to rush out of the dinning hall but within two steps he was crumpling to the floor in an unconscious heap. Or at least he would've been if Harry hadn't have caught him. This close up he noticed how sick Malfoy really looked.

His skin looked paper thin and transparent. His hair had lost it's usual sheen and wasn't laying but simply fell in sweaty clumps, which would have been fine if it wasn't mid-December. His eye sockets were dark and sunken in and his small pink lips were pale and chapped. His arms and legs were jointed and cradled awkwardly, jutting out in odd ways. It was hard enough for Harry to carry him to the infirmary because of the slight height difference, but the obvious lack of weight on Malfoy's part tried to make the job quite easy.

He felt the steady strum of a heartbeat and gasped when the blonde's hand reached up and gripped his shirt tightly before letting it go and allowing his hand to fall haphazardly back to the side as if picking it up was too much effort.

Harry called for Nurse Pomfrey as he laid Malfoy on one of the beds.

"I'll be with you in a moment Mr. Pot- Is that Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes, ma'am." Harry had the nerve to look sheepish as he stared down at his shoes.

"Merlin's beard!" She rushed over and started running a few diagnostic spells on the sickly boy not bothering to close the bottle of Skelegrow she was forcing at some fourth year who broke their arm. She swept her arm in a wide motion creating a larger space around the blonde in the bed then set up a type of drip to run a steady stream of magic into his body.

"Is he okay?" asked Harry timidly. "I mean, I did think he was looking a bit pale this morning, but he passed out on his way outside of the Great Hall, so I brought him here."

"He'll be fine Mr. Potter. He's been overexerting himself. Nothing I haven't seen before." She shooed him off and went back to help the fourth year while Malfoy slept.

2 weeks. That's how long it took for Draco Malfoy to look healthy again. Harry couldn't quite piece together why he cared. Something about life not being the same without the git, he supposed.

A month later and Malfoy opened his eyes for the first tome since being placed in the infirmary. Green eyes were the first ones he saw.

"I suppose you expect a thank you?" he asked irritably when his eyes finally focused on the being surrounding the two emeralds. His voice was rough with lack of use and he had to strain over how thick and muddy his brain felt.

"Huh?" Asked Harry before catching his composure. Were Draco's eyes always this grey? Harry's friends noticed that since the blonde's hospitalization Harry had taken up use of his first name. No one could really pinpoint why.

"I will not thank you twice, Potter." Draco said indignant.

"Oh! No, I wasn't- You didn't have to-" Harry took a deep breath and tried again. "Look Draco, you don't have to thank me or anything. I was just worried, you had been looking kind of pale. I mean, more than usual and you weren't really eating anything. You look a lot better now though." Harry blushed when he noticed what he said. "Uh- I mean..."

"Potter, I couldn't really care less about what you mean. Now if I don't owe you anything, would you kindly leave."

"You don't have to be so on edge. I just want to talk and if you get too angry before you get released Pomfrey will give you Pepper Up and a Sleeping Draught. Those two do some barmy things to your dreams, trust me."

"Potter, why are you really here?"

"I wanted to ask you out. On a date. With me."

"Have you finally lost it then? So soon? I bet Blaise you wouldn't go completely mental until you faced The Dark Lord." Draco's face blanched and he struggled to sit up. "Did I miss it? How long was I asleep?" Harry placed what he hoped was a calming hand on Draco's arm to keep him from moving too soon.

"You didn't miss anything important. You've only been out for a month or so. Could've been worse." Harry shrugged and Draco snapped.

"How the bloody fuck could it be worse?"

"You could have not woken up at all and that would have been a shame, cause-"

"I don't care why you would think it would be a shame. I don't care how you feel. And I most certainly do not want to go on a date with you. Now please leave me alone, Potter."

"Y-yeah. You're right Dra-Malfoy. I don't know what I was thinking." Harry spoke quietly, almost to himself before turning and leaving the infirmary. Once he had left Draco dropped his head into his hands.

"Great job, Draco. Pushed him away again," he scolded himself. "What was the point of all this if you were only going to bugger it up when it came down to it?"

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