Draco had been rushed to Madam Pomfrey's infirmary wing. I didn't know how long he was there; it felt like hours but in reality must have been forty minutes or so.

She analyzed his physical state and concluded that a couple potions and rest ought to do the trick. He wouldn't be completely recovered for a week probably, but just some cuts, bruises and mild headaches after he woke up, maybe dizziness or disorientation. If there were any other major symptoms, he should go back to the hospital wing for more potions but he would be fine, ultimately.

I knew he would be, but it didn't stop me from worrying. It was no secret quidditch was an inherently dangerous sport, but luckily there was always a spell or concoction that could heal any serious damage. Madam Pomfrey said that Draco was the worst case she'd seen in months, but he still would be fine in due time.

She had given him a vial of something to take after he woke up, groggy and completely disoriented, to help him gain some consciousness back. She predicted that in an hour he should be awake and aware again.

Luckily Blaise and Theo had accompanied me to the hospital with him; I would've resented them if they didn't want to see their friend well. It also meant that there were two people who could help him back to his dorm, since Draco was in no position to be doing so himself.

On the (very slow and tedious) walk back to Theo and Draco's dorm room, he showed little signs of getting back to normal. He'd spring his head up suddenly, murmur a few odd words, or look like he was conscious for a moment before slipping back into that groggy state he was in. He could drag his legs along, but he certainly needed the assistance of the other boys to do so. They made sure each of his arms was around their shoulders as they steadied his balance and kept him upright.

By the time we ended up in the dungeons, he was looking a lot better and more aware, but not fully so. An hour hadn't passed yet, so he was in a state of cloudiness for the most part.

While Madam Pomfrey had given him some potions to heal, he wasn't cleaned up at all. While some magical creams could help, Madam Pomfrey insisted that she couldn't use a spell to disinfect his cuts or wounds since they wouldn't be as effectively cleaned. Magical cleansing always had a rather large margin of error and should only be used for more superficial things. She instructed that it needed to be done the muggle way, for lack of a better term, if he wanted a fuller and more complete cleansing.

We laid him on his bed and there was nothing I wanted to do more than just take a rag and wipe away his cuts before they worsen, but Theo insisted that I wait half an hour or so to make sure he's awake while I do it. If I scared him or a disinfectant stung him in his state of grogginess, it wouldn't end well. "Draco's testy," Theo repeated.

It looked like Draco slipped in and out of sleepiness, too. For a moment, his eyes would close and he'd be sound, then the next his eyes shot open and sounds were coming from his lips. It improved as minutes past, him looking more awake and less sleepy, but he probably just must have been naturally tired from the impact. His head moved around on the pillow, his neck shifting from side to side. He looked awkward and generally uncomfortable, which no doubt was a side effect of the potion Madam Pomfrey gave him which woke him up from his state of unconsciousness.

"How do you guys think he's gonna react when he finds out he lost to Chang?" Blaise snorted, trying to lighten the mood.

"Looks like he won't be at the after-party," Theo chimed in.

"Hopefully that's the least of his problems," I replied, unamused at their banter. I was sat on the bed next to his lying figure and keeping an eye on him, while the boys sat on Theo's bed.

"Or it'll piss him off more," Theo added. "He talked so much shit about how he could beat her with one arm tied behind his back."

"How about a bludger to the head?"

"You guys!" I interjected their boyish banter, the two of them still laughing. "Don't upset him yet. I doubt he wants to hear that as soon as he wakes up."

"The guy can't tell right from left at the moment," Blaise pointed at Draco, who was still looking off. "You think he's gonna be able to know we're talking about him?"

"Still," I replied, "it can't be healthy for him right now."

"You act like you aren't pissed off for what he did to Cho. He might as well know she won after he tried to do to her what happened to him," Theo reasoned.

I sighed, knowing he was right. I couldn't let go of how dirty he played, how I thought he would've done better. But for now I could push that aside. That's a problem, a conversation for another time. One where he's conscious and can have an adult conversation with. The focus right now was that he had to get better and taken care of before discussing his "strategy".

"Of course I'm pissed off about that," I turned to look at him, "but we can lecture him on it later."

"He probably would've gotten disqualified," Blaise shrugged.

"Or at least points taken from Slytherin."

"Some captain you guys voted," I quipped back.

I heard the chatter of the boys continue, still talking about the game. Blaise was benched today due to bad behavior and didn't get to compete so he was riled up for a few reasons, while Theo who actually played was disgustingly sweaty and smelled like a dog.

Looking at Draco, he wasn't any better, but the poor guy had other things to worry about. He had some straggly hairs clinging to his forehead, dampened with perspiration, which were getting in front of his eyes. I brought my hand up to move the hair out of his face which he let out a hum of satisfaction to, making me smile. I ran my fingers down the side of his face, causing him to instinctively lean into me. He seemed a bit more relaxed at the familiar touch, so I let him nuzzle into me.

"Mothering him much, y/n?" Blaise smirked.

"It's not mothering," I defended, "it's just that you sorry lot aren't doing anything, I might as well."

"Yeah, that's it," Theo snorted.

"Why don't you guys go change or something?" I rolled my eyes. "You're not helping."

Theo lifted his arm and sniffed, causing him to cringe at his own stench. "Maybe you're right. Should I..." he gestured toward the bathroom connected to their dorm.

Blaise shook his head. "Just use mine. Something tells me Draco's going to need a shower when he wakes up."

I scoffed. "Finally making yourselves useful."

The boys assured me they'd be back soon enough, hopefully this time with a better attitude and some food. Theo also promised me to stop by my dorm and let Daphne know where I was. She wanted to come and stay with Draco too, but the hospital wing insisted only three people come in at once and we were split up.

Once they left, it was a routine of Draco continuing to slowly regain consciousness. He seemed to be letting out some more words, choppy sentences, or little quips of a sentence. More of his body was shifting around too, not just his neck and head which I assumed was a good sign.

For a moment I thought I might be taking up his personal space, so I got up to let him breathe a bit more. The second my hand left the side of his face he let out a groan of disapproval. I promptly sat back down and continued caressing him, slipping him back into that sense of serenity. It was actually sweet knowing that he liked my touch.

It took a whole twenty minutes of this trend before he actually seemed back to normal, or at least in the state of consciousness that Madam Pomfrey said he would be in. He would still be tired, maybe a bit disoriented or have side effects, but he'd be awake. That he certainly was.

I helped him sit up so his back was against the headboard, now looking at me with a disgruntled look on his face. He brought his hands up to rub his temples, probably missing the head massage I was giving him moments ago.

"I... feel like shit," he choked out, fits of coughing beginning his sentence. He cleared his throat a few times before his voice sounded better.

"You should. You fell pretty hard," I told him, getting up from the bed.

He looked up at me with wide eyes, his eyebrows furrowed. "Where are you going?"

"Madam Pomfrey gave me a few things to clean you up, you're going to need to disinfect those cuts sooner than later."

He sighed audibly, looking more relaxed. He looked back up at me calmly and patted the spot next to him on the bed. "Why don't you sit back down?"

I raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to let those settle, it could worsen—"

"Just stay for a moment," he repeated, his voice pleading.

It was then I realized he didn't care about his physical state, he just wanted some company for the time being.

I granted his request wordlessly, taking a seat next to him. Our shoulders were pressed against each other before he rested his head down on my shoulder. I brought my hand up to rub his neck soothingly as he leaned into me.

"You're looking much better," I prompted quietly. I felt him shrug.

"Wouldn't know. Don't care."

"I can read you the side effects of the potions you've been prescribed. You probably won't be back to yourself for a while. You could try eating something, it would probably energize you a bit..."

I felt his hot breath against my skin before realizing he scoffed. Of course he did, even battered and bruised, he was smug as ever.

"What was that for?" I asked, trying not to let the offense of my voice shine through.

"You're mothering me."

"You too? It was bad enough when Theo and Blaise said it, I just care—"

"It's cute."

I felt my face redden with a blush. I don't think he'd ever called me cute before... no he didn't say I was cute, just what I was doing was cute. Anyhow, this was not the time for me to get excited. The poor guy needed a potion to regain consciousness and I was about to melt in his hands.

"Oh," was all I could muster as a response.

Really, y/n, was that the best you could do?

"I like it," he murmured into my skin before turning his tone a tad more serious. "I can take care of myself though."

"I'm sure you can," I replied, hiding the shakiness of my voice. "But I don't want you to. You just need to relax for a while."

He picked his head up from the spot where he rested against my shoulder and looked at me. Part of me missed the contact before realizing his sullen features.

"I said I can take care of myself." His voice was harder than it had been before. Not mean or antagonizing, but it was trying to assert a certain dominance which I wasn't expecting.

"I have no doubt you can, but you've had a bad day and need to rest. Let me take care of you."

"There's no need," he crossed his arms over his chest. "Let me sit for a couple minutes and I'll be fine. Just need to get in the right headspace."

"You probably won't be in 'the right headspace' for a week, Draco," I informed him, as per Madam Pomfrey's prediction.

His eyebrows furrowed at that. "A week?"

"I told you, I was briefed on the things you should do for a while. I'll help you, it's not a probl—"

"I'll figure it out."

I sighed, not wanting to argue with him while he was feeling like this. Why was he being so argumentative straight away? This was not the time for it. I was offering to give him a hand with things while he was clearly not physically well and he was denying me.

Part of me was tempted to just leave, but I couldn't. I cared about him too much to leave him alone just to make a point.

I was sat by myself for a while he showered. It was a miserable waiting period, twiddling with my thumbs. I knew he'd be fine, considering I didn't let him get up until he looked well enough to at least stand for a short period of time.

I was laid out on his bed, picking my head up when I saw him lean out of the bathroom doorway.

"Have you got the things from the infirmary?" he inquired, looking much more alert after his shower.

I yanked my bag on top of the bed and began rummaging through it. I pulled out a few potions, creams, as well as muggle solutions to the problem. I didn't think Draco would use them if he knew it was plain old muggle rubbing alcohol and not a magical remedy, so I made sure to slip the label off while he was in the shower.

By the time Draco came over, he was wearing some gray sweatpants and a loose fitting black shirt that I'm sure was just the first thing he pulled out of his dresser. He sat down on the bed and tried figuring out the usages for all of the things I had scattered about.

His fingers traced the outlines of the bottles, tubes, vials, while his eyes narrowed in an attempt to focus on whatever he was reading. I took the opportunity to observe his state.

He looked much fresher and cleaner, however it worried me that he had reopened the wounds. The hot water of the shower made his naturally pale skin turn pink, almost like he was blushing. He had various cuts on his arms, cheeks, neck, and a few bruises that were starting to turn a dark purple color. The cuts he had also looked fresh and red, like a knife had made little slices on his delicate skin and were tempting to ooze out some blood. The heat from the shower must have opened them a bit more.

He had a mirror across from his bed and tried to use it to the best of his ability to clean himself. He poured some of the rubbing alcohol (unbeknownst to him) on a cotton ball and dabbed it on a cut he had on his wrist. He grimaced with an audible hissing sound at the contact.

"Stings?" I asked, looking down at his balled up fist. The veins of his wrist were accentuated and looked thicker than normal, popping out as they disappeared up the rest of his forearm.

He nodded, but moved onto the next. The second cut was larger, indicating a more intense pain when the alcohol would come in contact.

This routine of his was short and ineffective; it was like it hurt too much for him to apply the proper amount and he'd move onto the next one too quickly.

"Let me help you," I finally insisted, moving closer to him and reaching for a cloth.

He pulled his arm back defensively, a silent argument that he could do it himself. I ignored it, reaching further to where I finally grasped it. I repositioned him so that we were sat across from each other on his bed. I sat with my legs crossed, just a few inches from him. His legs were spread out comfortably, which I took my place in between to get close enough to his body to inspect.

"This isn't necessary for you to do," he grumbled, looking annoyed. Almost like a child having a fit, he huffed and blew a few strands of hair out of his face.

"I know." I looked up at him before reaching for his forearm.

I took the disinfectant and applied it to his wounds. His skin seemed to... tremble. But not from the alcohol, he had a different reaction to that. After I applied it, he would ball up his fists then release his tense muscles a moment later. His hands however trembled with the slightest shakiness for a reason I couldn't pinpoint. It worsened the more I touched him.

He stayed silent for a while and I didn't bother to start the conversation.

I couldn't tell you what was running through his mind, but he had an expression of distress on his face the whole time. His eyebrows were scrunched and his lip sneered.

I didn't want to push him if he wasn't feeling up to it, however he did find his voice to speak up eventually. I let him take his time.

"Are you embarrassed?"

I looked up and raised an eyebrow. What was he talking about? Admittedly, he did a lot of questionable things today but I couldn't figure exactly what he was referring to. I wanted to be careful about my word choice, keeping in mind his state, but I also was still annoyed with him for his behavior in a multitude of ways.

"Embarrassed about what?" I continued tending to his cuts.

"Me. Losing the game."

That's what he was referencing? Sure, I was upset with the way he lost, but not that he lost in general. I wanted to roll my eyes, scoff at his tone deafness for intentionally hurting an opponent, but that would be harsh. Oh, how I wanted to, though.

"Everyone loses now and then."

He sighed, clenching his fist again. "But you were watching. Didn't you want to see me win?"

"I like when our house wins, but it's not the end of the worl—"

"You're not following. I asked, didn't you want to see me win?"

I cocked my head as I analyzed his words. Him? Of course I wanted to see him succeed, for a number of reasons. I didn't know why he cared what I thought about that though.

"Sure," I shrugged, "I would've preferred if you lost on better terms, though."

"Better terms?"

I didn't want to bring it up, but the conversation was headed that way inevitably.

"What you did to Cho," I explained. "It was awful, Draco."

He shook his head. "It was killer instinct."

"Yeah, 'killer' indeed," I dryly scoffed. "Draco, you almost really hurt her. The way you are now could've been her."

"Should've been her, too."

"How could you say that?"

The offense in my voice was more audible, slipping out unintentionally. Genuinely, did he have no remorse?

"I wanted to win," he furrowed his brows. "Sometimes you do what you have to do. Even risking a point drop, it would've been recorded that I caught the snitch."

"You're the team captain, you must know better than to act so dangerously," I tried to reason, "throwing a bludger at your opponent isn't fair game."

"Tell that to the beaters."

"You're not a beater! It was out of bounds and not your position. From the way you threw it at her, she would've been out cold for days."

He shifted uncomfortably, his lip sneering out of annoyance.

"But she isn't."

"Thank Merlin, she isn't. You got off way better than what would've happened to her and you know it."

"Can't you leave it alone? She's fine, I'm fine..."

"That doesn't make the situation fine. Draco, you should know better. I know you know better. Why cheat your way to a win?"

"Why does it matter to you how I plan strategy? A win is a win, isn't it?"

I glared at him. I pressed the alcohol into his wounds a bit harder than I should've, causing him to wince. I knew he knew it was intentional.

"It's not the same thing, Draco. Winning fair and square is right, but you... it was disappointing."

"Disappointing?"

His eyes widened a bit and I took the opportunity to stare at them for a second. They were grayer than usual, the bluer tone of them void. It was kind of grim, seeing eyes you've grown to find so much solace and comfort in looking so depressing.

"Disappointing that you resorted to such cheap tactics to win a stupid game."

I promptly finished cleaning up his arm wounds and moved up to his face. He had quite a few cuts, much less severe than on his hands but they still marred his otherwise pretty face. Being someone of high status, it was no secret Draco had a perfect complexion and soft skin. It was an ugly reality check to see his physical state having changed and scarred so much after today.

"It's not stupid," he murmured.