A/N: For Sam. Merry Christmas, darling. I love you.
Draco breaks into a run the moment his feet hit the grate. "Charlie!" he calls, frantic, his heart racing.
"Draco?"
One of Charlie's coworkers, a witch named Lisette, catches Draco by the wrist. Draco tries to pull away. He doesn't want to talk. He needs to see Charlie.
"We didn't know he was still out there," she says, blinking back tears. "When we found him... The Hornatail, she hurt him badly. It isn't pretty. We're doing everything we can."
But Draco is only half listening. He wrenches free of her grip, pushing his way through the door.
"Young man, you can't be here!" a Healer shouts.
"Please," Charlie whispers, lifting his head and wincing as though the effort is too much. "Let me speak to him."
Draco doesn't like the finality of his tone, but he moves forward as the Healer steps back.
Up close, he realizes how bad it is. Through the ribbons of skin and muscle are pulling themselves back together, it's not fast enough. Piles of blood soaked bandages lay on a table beside the bed.
"Don't you dare," Draco says angrily, slamming his fist on the table. "Don't you dare leave me, Charlie!"
Charlie offers him a crooked grin, falling against his pillow. "So bossy, Malfoy," he rasps out. "Good to know some things never change."
Draco grabs his hand, trying not to think about how slippery it is, covered with blood. "Charlie..."
"Hey. Don't look like that. We had fun, eh?"
"I'm not ready."
"Neither am I."
Draco kisses Charlie's forehead, tears rolling from his eyes and onto his lover's skin. "Please."
"Don't forget, my dragon. I love you."
"Young man," the Healer says. "It's time to go. He needs treatment."
Reluctantly, Draco allows himself to be pulled away. "I love you, too," he whispers, hating the finality in his own voice.