DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters associated with. The series belongs to J.K. Rowling and no copyright infringement is intended. I make no profit from my writing, just personal pleasure.

A/N: Hello everyone! Well I decided to write this one-shot after having a strange dream about the 'missing chapter'. All of my one-shots seem to be inspired by dreams or songs, or in this case – both. Lol. This is in no way related or connected to my fic Deals With The Enemy! I wrote this to try to push through my writers block so I can finish up the next chapter for that story. I hope you all enjoy it anyways! Please leave lots of love and reviews to cheer me up! (Been feeling a bit emo lately). Ciao!

P.S. This story takes place the very same night of the (accidental) Sectumsempra attack on Draco in Half Blood Prince, ch. 24, after Harry has told Hermione, Ron, and Ginny about the incident, and informed the Quidditch team he will not be playing in the final Quidditch match of the season. Fit it into canon if you want, I guess it's sort of flexible in that sense lol.

WARNING: There is a tad bit of Harry/Draco within, but nothing the kiddies can't read. Well...We'll make it teens just in case.

Let Me Fall

Harry rolled over onto his left side for what felt like the millionth time that night. He couldn't get the look in Draco's eyes as the spell hit him out of his head; the shocked surprise, the pain and disbelief. Those wide, grey eyes were haunting him every time he closed his own emerald ones.

The shower Harry had taken to wash Draco's blood off of himself was the most horrible experience. Harry scrubbed at his skin, almost retching as he watched the pink swirls go down the drain with the water. He scrubbed and scrubbed until the water turned icy cold, and then he scrubbed some more. He eventually found himself curled up on the floor of the shower, still scrubbing at his raw arms with tears cascading down his cheeks. Harry was disgusted with himself. How could he cause someone so much pain, use such a horrible curse on another living person? It went against everything he stood for, and as the thought occurred to him, he retched onto the tiled floor. Only after Ron came in and asked if he was alright did Harry shut off the freezing cold, assure his friend he was fine from behind the curtain, and extract his raw and smarting body from the shower after he was sure that Ron had left.

Harry had been really upset with Snape and even McGonagall for his punishment. It was unfair that he should only get detentions for the rest of the year. He deserved so much more, and anything the professors would have given him would have been better than the self torture, the heavy guilt that Harry was now suffering from. He knew what he needed to do; it was just a matter of growing the bullocks to do it.

As Harry rolled over onto his other side, the memory of Draco, pale and soaked in a pool of his own blood, clutching at his chest and shaking uncontrollably, flashed before his closed eyes. He sat bolt upright in bed with a gasp. He couldn't just lie here any longer; he had to do something about it. As he rolled out of bed, McGonagall's words rang loud and clear in his head.

"You're lucky you weren't expelled, Potter! Mr. Malfoy could have been killed had Professor Snape not been close at hand. I am disgusted and mortified that you would ever use such a spell! If you did not know what the spell did, you shouldn't have used it at all! You will serve your detentions with Professor Snape every Saturday, and you will miss the final Quidditch game of the season. Because of you, Draco will have scars for the rest of his life. I hope you're satisfied..."

Never satisfied; disgusted… Harry thought to himself as he pulled the invisibility cloak over his head and made his way quietly out of the dorm, careful not to wake the four snoring boys he shared the room with.

DHDHDH

Draco let out a soft moan as he tried to shift his arm; bad idea. Though Professor Snape had healed most of the wounds to the best of his abilities, his skin felt raw and irritated, and his body was sore everywhere from falling to the ground spectacularly. The matron had spent the better part of three hours covering every welt and healed over scar with Essence of Dittany, the putrid smell of slightly burning flesh rising after every application. Draco felt numb, even though the Dittany stung every time in touched his skin. His white-blonde hair was stained a pinkish-red, and there were stains of blood on his pale skin still. Madam Pomfrey informed him that she had done all she could for his scarring, but there might still be faint scars all across his chest and even his face. What was strange was that he didn't really seem to care that his perfect features were now marred and distorted, that he would forever wear this attack upon his flesh.

He hadn't meant to let it get that far. Potter – fucking Potter – was spying on him. Watching him cry like a child and probably having a good laugh about it, too. He was furious as he turned his wand on Harry, trying to take his frustration out on the voyeur. As he slashed his wand and began to cry out the Cruciatus curse, it wasn't Potter that he was wanting to torture, but the man that had forced him into this fucked up situation; his father. If his father wouldn't have gotten himself caught, Draco wouldn't have to pay off the man's debt, wouldn't have had to take the Mark and get sent on a ridiculously impossible mission, at least not yet. Every time that his attempts failed, his mother would pay the price, being tortured and forced to write to Draco and tell him his chances were running thin in shaky, disjointed writing. He had never expected Potter to retaliate by ripping him to shreds with some dark spell he had never even heard of himself. Apparently he didn't give the Gryffindor enough credit – he may be more Slytherin than Draco was himself.

Draco had refused the Dreamless Sleep potion that the matron had offered him. He was sore, yes, but he didn't feel like sleeping. He didn't want to be unconscious; he wanted to feel the pain, just like his mother would be doing at around the same time. Her last letter carried not the threat of just waning time, but inevitable death for them both. He had run to the bathroom on the sixth floor to be alone, to cry out his frustration and fear for his mother's life. He did it quite often these days, though he would never admit to it. The only person who knew about his bathroom crying spells was that annoying ghost, who was always there to try to comfort him. Draco would never admit that he actually appreciated the ghost's comforting cooing and encouragement. Moaning Myrtle was the only person who knew of his problems and had tried to help – how wonderfully pathetic.

Draco jumped violently when the curtains around his bed were suddenly pulled back, though the matron was not there, or anyone else for that fact. He gasped in a shallow breath as his sudden movement pulled at his raw and sore skin. "Who's there?" he asked in a strain whisper as the pain still shot through his body.

Harry pulled his cloak off slowly as he approached the side of Draco's bed. He hadn't meant to scare the Slytherin, but didn't really think he'd actually be awake. "Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you," Harry whispered as he tucked the cloak beneath his arm.

Draco glared lightly at the Gryffindor and turned away, focusing his eyes on the ceiling instead. "Haven't caused enough hell, have you, Potter? Coming to gloat about catching me cry?" Draco asked in a bored, raspy sort of voice.

Harry frowned as he sat down in the chair next to Draco's bed. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, playing for time so he could think of what to say without making it harsh or sound pompous. "Of course not…I – I came to apologize," he said nervously as he looked over at the bandaged blonde.

Draco sighed as he looked back down at Harry, his face expressionless. He couldn't really honestly say he was angry at his nemesis; he thought he actually deserved it. Pride and honor were the first things to go after being assigned his current mission; he didn't have the time or passion to insult Potter anymore. He avoided the boy like the plague, actually, and his friends had already asked him questions about his strange behavior, but his answer was always the same: "I'm done with the childish games; if he starts it, I'll finish it. Otherwise, just let him be."

Draco noticed that Harry seemed highly distressed, and that his apology would be genuine. He had never thought the Gryffindor capable of using such a spell not because it wasn't the 'noble or brave' thing to do, but because he knew Harry wasn't that type of person; the type who wished pain on others, not even his enemies. Harry's 'saving people thing' may have done the boy more harm than good, but it was a clear indication of the type of person he was. "Apology accepted, you can go now," Draco said as he looked into the shining emerald behind the wire frames of Harry's glasses.

Harry's eyes widened as one of his eyebrows shot up. "That's it? I haven't even said I was sorry yet and you just forgive me on principle? Draco, what I did was horrible and nobody deserves that, not even you," Harry insisted in a constricted voice. He had not expected to get so emotional over this apology, and he was trying very hard not to let Draco see him cry, even if he had seen the blonde cry already.

It was like the Gryffindor had somehow read Draco's thoughts. He worried his bottom lip with his teeth as he gulped down a deep breath, wincing as his body ached. "I said I'd accepted your apology. I never said I'd forgiven you." Draco flicked a piece of pinkish hair out of his eyes as the Gryffindor looking at him disbelievingly.

"I don't expect you to forgive me, Draco…I just want you to know that I'm truly sorry. If I could take your scars away…I would," Harry whispered as his bottom lip began to tremble. Why was this proving to be so hard for him? Was it what he had done, or who he had done it to?

Draco shook his head slowly, frowning at the emotional Gryffindor. "Well you can't. It's done, and you can't take it back. It's nothing to cry over…" Draco said softly, surprised when he saw a tear running down Harry's cheek.

"I'm not crying," Harry insisted with a confused look.

Draco raised an eyebrow at the raven haired boy and looked pointedly at the tears rolling down his cheeks. "Really? I thought when moisture leaked from one's eye they called that crying; pardon my mistake," Draco drawled in an imitation of his usual mockery self.

Harry wiped at his cheeks and realized with a jolt that he had indeed been crying. He hadn't even realized he had began to cry, and turned away to wipe the rest of the tears away before looking back over at the pale teen. It was strangely comforting to hear Draco's sarcasm back in place. There was an awkward silence for a couple of minutes while the two boys just stared at each other. The tension hanging in the air was of the comforting kind, and not so much overbearing as reassuring.

"You don't have to do it…whatever it is He's trying to make you do, you don't have to," Harry said quietly as he continued to stare at the blonde.

Draco finally broke eye contact as his heart began to beat double time. Did Harry know? How could he possibly? Draco had told no one, not even his closest friends. "You don't know what you're talking about, Potter. Don't meddle in things you can't possibly understand," said Draco, the venom laced in his words carefully accented by his tone.

Harry's frowned deepened as he looked sadly at his Slytherin counter-part. "I want to help you, Draco…Let me help you," Harry pleaded as he stood and took a step towards the hospital bed on which the pale blonde was lying.

Draco finally let his indifferent mask slip as he looked up at Harry. "You don't know me, and you don't even care. Why should you? I've caused you nothing but hell in the six years that we've known each other, so why bother trying to help me? You don't know me, and you don't wear my chains," (1) whispered Draco, his expression full of pain and regret. He didn't deserve Harry's help; besides, there was nothing the Gryffindor hero could do to help anyways.

Harry shook his head as he moved closer to Draco's bed. "No, I bear the burden of my own chains, Draco, and I know how it feels. I don't want you to have to carry them alone like I was forced to, because I know that the burden is sometimes too heavy, and you sometimes fall when you can't bear the pressure anymore. Without others there to help pick us up and dust us off…we're doomed. Let me help you…" Harry pleaded for the second time as he stood right beside Draco's bed. He tentatively reached out a hand and touched his fingers gently to the smooth skin of Draco's pale wrist.

Draco tried to suppress and blink back the warm tears forming behind his eyes, but just didn't have the motivation or strength to hold them back. The fact that someone he had been so horrible to, someone who had hated him and he hated for so long would actually go so far as to offer him help, even though he had no idea what he was getting himself into, made Draco want to scream in agony. He'd never be able to sacrifice himself like that for anyone, and he was sure no one in the world would be willing to sacrifice themselves for him. He realized now that Harry was sacrificing himself for everyone, and though he had not been given the choice, he still stood by his destiny and planned to follow it through. Draco would never possess that kind of strength and courage, and he envied it far more than anything. He had been taught from a very young age that envy was ignorance, and imitation was suicide (2), but to have the strength and courage of the man staring down at him…he'd give anything. "There's nothing you can do, Harry…You'd only be putting yourself in more danger, and I don't want that. We both had our destinies chosen for us, they just happen to be polar opposites. Don't waste yourself trying to save me; it's hopeless," Draco said as a few tears rolled down his cheeks.

Harry reached a hand up and brushed the tears off of Draco's cheeks gently with his thumb. He wrapped his fingers carefully around the thin, dainty wrist of the Slytherin as his other hand carded slowly through Draco's blood-stained, platinum locks. "I don't think it's hopeless…I've nothing else to lose, Draco. He's taken my family, my future, and my destiny, but I refuse to let him take you, too," whispered Harry.

Draco let his eyelids fall shut as he leaned into Harry's touch, savoring the small comfort and affection he desired so much, but never got. He was like an attention-starved dog, begging someone – anyone – to make him feel human again. "I'm not worth it, Harry…Just let me fall…" (3)

Harry leaned down so that his lips nearly touched Draco's ear, his fingers pausing in their stroking of the blonde's thin and soft hair. "Never…" he whispered, placing a chaste kiss on Draco's cheek before pulling away and turning to leave.

Draco caught Harry's wrist before the boy could get away and held on tight, but not too tightly. He didn't know why this was so important to him, but he couldn't bear to watch Harry walk away, not now. "Please…Stay with me?" he said barely above a whisper as a tear rolled down his cheek.

Harry gulped lightly as he looked down at the pale hand holding onto his wrist. His eyes traveled back up and met sad, hurt filled grey eyes staring back at him. He turned back towards Draco and nodded slowly before climbing into the small hospital bed with the Slytherin, after sliding out of his slippers; he had only come in his pajamas, after all. He laid his head next to Draco's and just stared into his eyes, his fingers entwining perfectly with the pale finger's of Draco's hand. He wiped away the single tear still clinging to Draco's cheek carefully with his thumb before letting his hand rest there gently.

Draco felt his heart racing in his chest as Harry gently caressed his smooth cheek with his Quidditch-rough hand. He lifted his head a little before moving closer to Harry, his lips mere millimeters from the Gryffindor's, a silent invitation and a desperate plead for contact hanging in the miniscule air between them.

Harry closed the distance between them, hesitantly pressing his lips to the Slytherin's pale, silky smooth lips. He let the hand resting on Draco's cheek slide back and run through his hair, loving how the cool, velvety locks felt between his fingers. He waited for the returned pressure of Draco kissing him back, not quite sure why or how he had ended up kissing the blonde in the first place.

Draco moved his lips against Harry's, taking the Gryffindor's bottom lip gently between his own as he kissed him back. He was rewarded with a small gasp as Harry responded to the kiss, sucking Draco's lip between his own and flicking his tongue out to caress it. Draco opened his mouth and allowed Harry's smooth muscle to slide into his mouth, carefully rubbing and sliding against his own tongue. They stayed like this for a while; lightly exploring each other's mouth as their hands gently touched and explored their bodies.

Harry pulled away so he could catch his breath, wanting nothing more than to feel Draco's lips again. He smiled shyly at the blonde, who gazed back with a sleepy smile of his own.

With one last, quick kiss, Draco snuggled himself into the crook of Harry's neck, draping an arm across the Gryffindor's waist and closing his eyes.

Harry's smile widened as he let his arm fall carefully over Draco's waist, holding the Slytherin close to him. He closed his eyes and let his exhaustion take him over, not caring who he was with, or who saw them together. He didn't know why Draco's presence was so comforting, or why he had allowed himself to be this close and unsheltered with his prior enemy; he just knew that it felt right, and that's all he needed as he drifted off into sleep, his dreams filled with light happiness, instead of the normal dreary darkness that filled them before.

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed this one-shot and will leave lots of reviews and well wishes; I could use them! Thanks for reading!

P.S.

(1) This statement was inspired by the song Boston by Agustana

(2) This statement is a quote from the late philosopher Ralph Waldo Emerson

(3) This statement, as well as the title of this story, was inspired by the song Let Me Fall by Josh Groban.