Work Text:
He’d always known it would end in some stupid way, much like this. After surviving the war, and being pardoned thanks to Potter and Weasley’s statements, Draco knew that sooner or later, it would all be for nothing.
The spell hits him from the back in a corridor full of students. If anyone sees who the culprit is, they’re not willing to share.
The first time he coughs up bubbles is three days later, when Potter asks him if he’s got a spare piece of parchment — his inkwell leaked inside his satchel. Draco means to say he knows a spell that will save his ruined parchment and his bag, but only bubbles come out.
The bubbles get worse as the autumn browns and reds give way to winter’s deep greens and snow whites. “There’s no actual water in your chest, Mr. Malfoy,” says Madame Pomfrey, “but I am afraid you are in fatal danger.”
“Lucky me,” he thinks.
Potter is concerned — a pity in his eyes Draco wishes he’d never seen before. Granger is in the library with him all the time, looking for answers in old tomes and musty volumes. McGonagall is choleric. Pansy is upset that he refuses to tell Mother. Blaise doesn’t look him in the eye, but Draco hears him sniffling at night.
Potter is worried — but that doesn’t stop the bubbles, it doesn’t make Draco feel like his heart and lungs aren’t filling up with soapy water every time he breathes.
Potter is desperate — desperation means nothing when it should be love . Madame Pomfrey says being loved back is the only thing that can save Draco.
Draco knows not to get his hopes up.