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Entry tags:	hd_hurtcomfort, my-fics, one-shot

[FIC] Faltering Perceptions (R) - PART ONE
TITLE: Faltering Perceptions
AUTHOR: Lani (aka LanisFanFiction)
RATING: R for adult references
SUMMARY: It’s those unexpected situations we find ourselves in that can sometimes open our eyes to possibilities beyond our often veiled perceptions…
WARNINGS: Adult language, sexual references, injury, hurt/comfort
WORDS: 8,269
NOTES: Written for the Challenge #1 on hd_hurtcomfort. I chose Prompt #1 being ”Screwing his nose up, he shook his head and turned away…”, with BOTH DRACO AND HARRY ill/injured.
PARTS: | PART ONE | PART TWO | PART THREE | EPILOGUE |

Many thanks to ceeceeblack for Beta’ing!

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. JKR owns everything.



PROLOGUE

It’s those unexpected situations we find ourselves in that can sometimes open our eyes to possibilities beyond our often veiled perceptions. It all happened in a matter of seconds, yet changed a lifetime of history. One minute, a scene of regular and colourful familiarity; the shouting and cheering whipping around on the wind. Then, in a flash, the cheering turned to screams and the crowd watched in horror as Gryffindor and Slytherin – documented rivals for centuries – came crashing down together and changed the Hogwarts history books forever.

* * * * *
PART ONE

Harry determinedly tuned out the rest of the scene whizzing around him and scanned the horizon through narrowed eyes, looking for any sign of a flash of gold in his path. He was going to catch that bloody Snitch this time if it killed him. There was no way he was letting Gryffindor lose to Slytherin. No way was he letting Draco Malfoy get one up on him again.

Harry growled deep in his throat as he thought back to the last Gryffindor versus Slytherin Quidditch match. Gryffindor were a mere ten points from having the match in the bag, whether the Snitch was caught or not. Then the pissy little blond bastard had swooped in and plucked the Snitch out from under Harry’s nose when Harry had stupidly let his attention slip and become smug for the briefest of moments. This time, Harry had no intentions of letting Malfoy get near him, let alone get his slimy fingers on the Snitch.

Now, if only the elusive little ball of irritation would come near Harry so he could get his grip on it! He had barely seen it for the whole duration of the lingering three hour match. He was beginning to get tired, but with every extra minute passing, he became more determined to stamp Malfoy out with a satisfied grin on his face…

However, before Harry even had a chance to finish that thought, Malfoy was suddenly swooping up beside him with a treacherous smirk on his lips. “What’s the matter, Potter? Too busy imagining Weasel’s dick up your arse to focus on finding the Snitch? It’s not like you to be so distracted,” he hissed, sneering the last word with a curl of his lip.

Harry didn’t want to retort, he just didn’t, but as usual with Malfoy, he couldn’t control the urge rip the arsehole’s throat out. “Better a dick than half of Slytherin House’s tongues in procession,” Harry spat, looking beyond Malfoy’s face over his shoulder for any signs of the bloody Snitch. Where was the bastard?!

“Have an aversion to rimming, Potter?” Malfoy drawled. “And there I was about to offer my expert services. Such a shame. Could’ve thrown a whole new light on kiss my fucking arse.” Harry gripped the handle of his broom in anger, and before he had a chance to spit ‘Fuck you’ at his rival, Malfoy’s head suddenly whipped to left as the Snitch zoomed past his ear.

Harry was startled, and wavered on his broom in surprise at Malfoy’s sudden reaction. He didn’t have a chance to regain his balance before Malfoy swerved abruptly on his broom and cut in front of Harry in an effort to lunge for Snitch. The movements were all so rapid and there was a collective gasp from the crowd when Harry lost his balance. He scrambled to right himself, but it was too late, he pitched forward and his broom lost control beneath him.

Harry wasn’t sure if it was himself screaming, the crowd, or even Malfoy, but the roaring of the wind in his ears was the last thing Harry was aware of before he collided heavily with Malfoy mid-air, hundreds of feet above the crowd, his wrist-guard snagging the edge of the Slytherin Seeker’s robes and sending them both plummeting rapidly to the hard ground below…

* * * * *

“Do you think he’s in pain?”

“Of course he bloody is! Look at him. That fucker nearly killed him!”

“None of us really know what happened up there, so just leave it.”

“Leave it?! I’m not leaving it! He should be put in Azkaban!”

“You better hope he can’t hear you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Both of you fucking screeching. No wonder he hasn’t woken up yet.”

“What if he never wakes up…?”

Draco finally groaned. “Shut the fucking hell up… whoever the hell you are…” He groggily dragged open his eyes to mere cracks and tried to move in bed. This earned him a sharp stabbing pain slicing through his chest, causing him to cry out and cover his eyes with his hand in an effort to stop any tears.

“Malfoy?” a tentative voice asked. “A-Are you all right?”

“What are you fucking asking him that for?! Who cares if he’s bloody all right? He nearly killed Harry! I hope he’s in so much pain he thinks his dick is going to drop off and strangle him!”

Draco tried to breathe through the pain. He’d been injured before, but nothing like this. What the fuck was wrong with him? He highly suspected he was actually dead and in hell. What else would explain the excruciating pain and a room full of fucking Gryffindors staring at him? “Fuck off,” he moaned. “Why the hell are you here? Where is here? Where am I?” He literally tried to pry his eyes open further with his fingers and focus on them through the haze in his head. It was then he realised his other arm was heavily bandaged against his stomach, and he was clearly staring at the ceiling of the Hospital Wing.

Draco finally braced himself with a stilted sigh and turned his head to the side, being met with the sight of Granger, Weasel, Weaslette and the mouthy Irish bastard staring back at him and looking like they’d all suspiciously found their brains in the bottom of a Cornflake packet. He held his tongue long enough to peer beyond them to catch a glimpse of Potter lying in the bed across the room.

Potter. Still and motionless. Bruised and bandaged. Just like himself, it seems.

Draco’s mind whirred back to the Quidditch game. The verbal sparring he’d shared with Potter, and then falling. Just falling. Draco squinted in thought. There was nothing else beyond that. “What the fuck?” he demanded, and another stab of pain shot through his chest. Talking was an effort, let alone managing verbal abuse. As much as he wanted to tell the geeky pricks to piss the fuck off, he knew they had more knowledge on his situation that he did. “Fuck it,” Draco muttered to himself in irritation.

“Do you want me to get Madam Pomfrey, Malfoy?” Granger asked, her tone unusually lacking any bite and sounding almost weary.

No, fuck the hell off and don’t touch me! Draco’s mind screeched, but his mouth betrayed him. “Yes,” he mumbled in defeat. Granger merely nodded and strode out of the hospital room, parting the crowd of Gryffindorks and giving Draco a clear view of Potter for the first time. He froze in shock.

Potter’s head was wrapped in heavy bandages and he was covered in numerous cuts and bruises. His face was still bloody and dirty, and the right side of his Quidditch shirt was soaked with blood. Draco glanced down at himself to find he was not only clean, but adorned in a crisp white hospital gown. He looked back over at Potter. Why was his rival still in such a mess?

“What’s your fucking problem, Malfoy? Need subtitles? Quit staring at him, you fuck!” Ron spat, shifting his tall form to block Draco’s view of Harry, but Ginny kept gazing at Draco intently.

“How much do you remember, Malfoy?” Ginny asked, her question nothing but snippy accusation. “What happened up there?”

Draco wasn’t given the chance to answer. Madam Pomfrey bustled in, followed by Severus Snape and Draco’s best friend, Blaise Zabini. The hospital Matron whipped the curtain around the Draco’s bed and started fussing over him immediately, looking into his eyes and succinctly adjusting the bandages on his arm. “Any pain, Mr Malfoy?” she asked softly.

“Yes, everywhere,” Draco admitted, his voice hoarse.

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. “We need you to be a little bit more specific, Mr Malfoy. With two cracked ribs and a broken arm, one would not be surprised you are feeling a bit worse for wear.”

Fuck me, Draco thought, sneering to himself. “When can I get out of here?” he asked, ignoring her statement. He wanted to scream in frustration when she just gave a short laugh.

“Not any time soon, young man,” the mediwitch confirmed. “No Skele-Gro for cracked ribs, I’m afraid. Too intricate of a knitting required. You’re here until you can move mostly pain-free. It could be a few weeks, so you best resign yourself to the fact.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “No fucking way! My bloody bollocks am I staying in this place for weeks! Not even fucking days!” He suddenly clamped his mouth shut as the pain made itself known again and he felt like he was being stabbed in the chest.

“Language, Draco. You were not dragged up in a Ghetto,” Severus scolded, folding his arms and staring at Draco disapprovingly as he loomed in the doorway. “You do not have a choice in the matter.”

Madam Pomfrey slipped a thermometer in Draco’s mouth without warning and tapped his chin to get him to close his lips around it. “Any nausea, headache, or blurred vision, Mr Malfoy? You have been unconscious for about two hours. There may be concussion.”

Draco crankily pulled the thermometer back out. “Don’t shove something in my mouth and then ask me goddamn questions! How did you expect me to answer? With my arse?!” He shoved it back in again and glared at everyone.

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Blaise sniggered quietly.

Snape rolled his eyes. “You are not helping, Mr Zabini. Draco, answer Madam Pomfrey’s enquiries.”

Draco once again yanked the thermometer from his mouth and pointed it furiously at no one in particular. “I can’t decide which of your arses to shove this up first! I’m in pain. A fucking lot of pain. So much pain, that I can’t even really tell which part I want to bitch about first. But hey, falling hundreds of feet to a fucking very hard ground below would do that to you! If by some chance I was fucking nauseous, I would as sure as hell aim any potential vomit in the direction of anything red, gold, Granger, Weasel or Potter, just so I wouldn’t waste any perfectly good puke! AND DID I MENTION FUCKING OUCH?!” He sunk back against the pillows with a sob, nursing his aching chest and covering his eyes in embarrassment.

“Okay, Draco. Calm yourself,” Snape said quietly, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Madam Pomfrey tutted in concern, putting the thermometer once again back in Draco’s mouth and easing the bed back a few notches to recline Draco into a more comfortable position. “Hush now, Mr Malfoy. There is no need for such hysterics.” She removed the thermometer, frowning as she read it. “Professor Snape? Perhaps it’s time you explained the situation at hand to your student?” She nodded with finality and quickly shooed Blaise and Harry’s friends from the ward, leaving Harry and Draco’s room in a stark silence.

Draco kept his hand over his eyes, but he distinctly heard a ruffle of thick robes as Snape moved to pull the curtain back and then settle in the chair beside Draco’s bed. “Draco, remove your hand and look at me. I will not address you without eye contact.”

Draco left his hand stubbornly in place. “Why am I in the same hospital room as Potter? I demand to be moved.” He was met with a silence that forced him to reluctantly remove his hand and look at his Potions Professor.

“You are both victims of serious injuries. This is the only room in the Hospital Wing with access to the necessary emergency medical equipment. It is no vendetta against you, Draco,” Snape intoned. “What happened during that match between you and Potter? I do not expect you to be evasive with me.”

With a shaky and strained breath, Draco glanced over at Harry in the opposite bed. “Is he okay?” he asked in barely more than a whisper.

Snape looked slightly irritated, but refrained from any brow-beating. Draco was clearly disturbed by the day’s events. “No, he is not. I repeat, Draco, what happened up there?”

Draco’s eyes didn’t leave Harry’s still form as he started speaking in a weak monotone. “We argued. I provoked him at first, and he retaliated, as expected. Then I spotted the Snitch and reacted immediately to swerve to grab it. It wasn’t deliberate, Sev! I might hate his fucking guts, but I would never intentionally injure someone! You know that is not me…” He looked over at Harry again, and then looked away. “He lost his balance and couldn’t regain it. He plunged forward and lost control of his broom. I don’t exactly know what happened then, but he fell into me and dragged me down. Anything after that is blank.” Draco hissed and put his hand to his chest as the effort of speaking became too much on his injured ribs. “W-What is wrong with him?” he choked out.

Snape studied Draco for a few moments. “Perhaps you should get some rest before we discuss the situation further,” he said in more of a statement than a request.

“NO!” Draco cried out and whimpered. “No. I want to know now. He’s not dead, is he?” He looked at Harry in horror. He certainly looked dead. He couldn’t see any breathing through the heavy Quidditch uniform. Oh god! Was this Draco’s punishment for provoking the accident?! Sharing a hospital room with Potter’s corpse?! He squeaked, trying to move in the bed, the pain restricted his movement.

Snape rolled his eyes briefly. “Do not be so imbecilic, Draco. Your mother raised you with more sense than that. Of course he is not dead. He is, however, extremely lucky to be alive. I have a very low tolerance for Potter, as you know. However, I would not wish the injuries he sustained on my worst enemy.” He watched Draco carefully and when he spoke again, his tone was much more sympathetic. “He has a particularly serious head injury with suspected damage to his neck. Hence, why he has not been cleaned or divested of the tainted Quidditch attire. A head injury specialist is currently in transit from St Mungo’s Hospital to examine Potter. We will know more following that. Until then, he is to remain as is and with limited bodily contact as possible.”

Draco stared at Snape in shock. “What else?” he whispered.

“Nothing more of such dire seriousness. A broken leg, various cuts and bruises, some internal bleeding from the force of the impact…” Snape trailed off and took a breath to gather his thoughts. “He broke your fall, Draco. That is why you have escaped relatively free of any serious injuries, and he almost lost his life. In a short period of time, you will heal without any lasting effects. Potter may not be so lucky.”

* * * * *

On to PART TWO...