Hours after Snape leaves, Harry wakes from a long, but fitful sleep. For a moment, he forgets where he is, but the off-white colour of the walls reminds him and he sighs deeply, his body visibly deflating in the bed. Rolling onto his back, he flinches and stares at the ceiling, huffing with frustration as the corners of his mouth are seemingly pulled down by gravity, preventing even the barest hint of a smile from appearing on his face.

Not that I have much to smile about, he thinks sullenly to himself, but it wouldn’t do to frown all the time, else people would worry and then they would start asking questions. Harry hates when they ask questions.

He can’t hear Madame Pomfrey, so he concludes that she must be replenishing her stores. The infirmary is strangely quiet, though the distant sounds of student footsteps walking up and down the corridors can be heard if he strains his ears. Time ticks on and he slowly becomes more and more aggravated by boredom. There is nothing he wants more at this moment than to get out of bed. Sitting up, he takes a breath and swings his legs over the side. The first step is easy. He pushes himself up onto his feet and immediately feels better for it. However, having spent the past couple of days in bed, his legs have turned to jelly...though he doesn’t notice until he tries to take his next step.

With a thump, he lands bottom first on the floor and hisses with pain. “Damn it!” he growls at nothing in particular. He doesn’t expect the sudden sound of feet hitting the floor and he certainly doesn’t expect the arm that curls around his chest, pulling him upwards. As he is shoved back onto the bed, he stiffens at the sight of the blond boy in front of him.

“What do you want?” he grinds out. Malfoy steps away from Harry, biting his tongue.

“I came to...” fighting a battle with himself, he stands straight and begins again, “I came to apologise, but you were asleep. Madame Pomfrey told me to keep an eye on you while she went to get more supplies. Lucky me. Not sure what she expected you to do in your sleep but –”

“I take it Snape sent you to do this?” Harry interrupts, not believing that Malfoy would ever do it off his own back.

“I’m a Malfoy. Nobody tells us what to do,” Malfoy snaps. Harry’s anger flares.

“So, what? You’re here to rub it in a bit more? To curse me again?” he says sternly. “Well you’ve picked the best place to do it. I’m already in a hospital bed and Madame Pomfrey will be back any time soon, so have at it! You couldn’t possibly make this situation any worse than it already is.”

“That’s the problem with you, Potter, you’re a drama queen. It was a Confundus charm, not a death sentence.”

“You have no idea.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow at this.

“Your false apologies mean nothing to me and I don’t want you here, so why don’t you just save yourself the trouble and leave.” Harry crosses his aching legs on the bed and sets his eyes on the wall ahead once more. Malfoy shifts uncomfortably on his feet.

“Look, Potter, when I did the Confundus I didn’t know that you’d go and do something stupid like that. I thought you’d get a bit confused and make an idiot of yourself.”

“Oh, come off it, Malfoy!” Harry shouts, his head whipping round to look Malfoy square in the yes. “You’ve had it in for me since day one!”

“Don’t be an idiot, Potter! If I’d wanted to kill you do you not think I’d have done it by now? It’s not as if I haven’t had the chance!”

“How do I know that? Why should I trust what you say when you’ve done nothing but try and make me miserable?”

“Because you didn’t see yourself when you were brought in here! I had to see...” Malfoy takes a deep breath and calms himself down. “I had to see you. I saw when they brought you in here. I saw the look in Pomfrey’s eyes when she watched you being carried in. Potter, I don’t mind saying that I don’t ever want to see that look again. I...I don’t have the constitution of my father, okay? You can take my apology or leave it, but I am sorry.”

Malfoy stands still, looking to the floor, while Harry’s eyes seem to bore into the blanket beneath him. When Harry doesn’t speak, Malfoy quietly sighs, wondering why it bothers him so much that Harry won’t accept his apology. When the infirmary door closes behind Malfoy, Harry can’t help but hang his head in shame. Just another thing to feel guilty about, he thinks. Little does he know, the same thing is running through Malfoy’s head as he stands outside the infirmary waiting for Madame Pomfrey to return. 

Half an hour passes and Malfoy hasn’t left his post outside the infirmary door. He slouches against the wall and eventually allows himself to sink to the floor, the cold stone sending a small shiver up his spine. So distracted by his own shoes, he doesn’t notice the black cloaked figure striding down the corridor towards him.

“Up, Mr Malfoy!” Snape’s voice cuts into the quiet like a dagger through a bed sheet and Malfoy jolts with surprise. Scrambling to his feet, he dusts down his trousers and stares up at Snape who is looking at him with a look of disappointment and unease.

“You’ve apologised to Mr Potter?” Snape barks curtly.

“Yes, Sir,” Malfoy replies, feeling small.

“And his reaction?”

“As expected.”

Snape sighs, looking down for a moment before locking his eyes back on Malfoy. 

“Very well. Go back to your dormitory and stay there until dinner,” he says and Malfoy nods before skulking off down the corridor.

Standing outside the infirmary, Snape is feeling unusually nervous. Keep your anger in check, Severus! But the boy holds an ability to rile him so easily that, at the time, he finds he cannot help matching the boy’s tone and volume. The difference is, you are an adult, he says to himself and decides to repeat it in his head like a mantra.

You are an adult. He breathes. You are an adult. He breathes again. Sucking in one, long, deep breath, he repeats it out loud this time, “You are an adult!” And with that, he opens the door of the infirmary, finding himself staring at the boy’s back. He strides in, closing the door behind him. The slight twitch of Harry’s head as the door clicks shut tells Snape that the boy is, indeed, awake. Other than this, Harry makes no move to acknowledge the presence of the professor – a decision that only irritates Snape to the point of repeating his mantra again in his head.

“Mr Potter, I suggest we forget about what happened before,” he grinds out, though it pains him to do so. Harry remains still, lying in the bed, facing the other way.

“I would appreciate it if you gave me the courtesy of looking at me when I’m talking to you.”

When Harry makes no effort to move, Snape stalks angrily round the other side of the bed, coming face to face with the boy. To his surprise, his eyes are closed.

He’s asleep. Typical, he thinks, his face inches from the sleeping boy’s. Without thinking, Snape sighs grumpily, a warm spicy breath hitting Harry in the face like a fist. The boy’s eyes snap open, startling Snape, before all hell breaks loose.