Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. If I did, it wouldn't be as good but it would certainly have copious amounts of Drarry and it probably would have never been meant for children. Oops.
Warning: Epilogue compliant.
This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, so I dearly hope what I write is okay. I would appreciate reviews to tell me if you like it and constructive criticism is always welcome. I also tried present tense for the first time. I fought very hard not to use past tense because I wanted to see if it suited me better.
For the second time today, Draco wonders why he never brings food from home. He couldn't imagine anyone actually enjoying the food provided for the staff as it is almost as horrible as the stuff they give to their patients. Hospital food is the bane of his existence, at least for the moment. He eyes the food lady grudgingly, inwardly horrified that he was hungry enough to pay for the garbage she sells twice in one day.
"Healer Malfoy! You're needed in room twelve." Comes a call from the door of the staff room. Draco stifles the urge to moan and dumps the remaining filth they call food into the trash.
"I can't even take a break. Healer Webb is out for my blood." He mumbles, thinking of how delighted his superior must be having stumbled upon a reason to cut his break short again. Nurse Andrea, the one who had called to him, shrugs and smiles sheepishly. 'He's out for everyone' is written all over her dark features, but she says nothing and walks with him to twelve.
It is busy as always on fourth floor; the floor meant for spell damage patients. Draco, having the most experience with dark magic among the fourth floor staff (save for Healer Webb, the bastard), is almost always in the Dark Magic wing with the most horrible cases. He knows he's a talented healer. Better than most, certainly. He is more than aware that he is by no means the best, but that doesn't stop Healer Webb from giving him the most difficult cases, some beyond his means to heal by himself, just because of his past. His eyes are always slipping to Draco's left forearm with a sneer that leaves him to wonder whether he looks quite that hideous when he uses that expression himself. He had long since the first time decided that there was no way that was possible and discarded the thought from his mind.
As they reach room twelve, Andrea hands him a clipboard with the patient's form and he walks into the room. "What seems to be the-" He looks up from the clipboard to see the She Weasel, clutching the arm of one of her dark haired offspring, staring back at him with what seems to be a mixture of disgust and surprise. Wonderful.
'It is not okay to call the family of the patient She Weasel, no matter how tempting it may be.' He reminds himself, plastering a thin, fake smile onto his features that is usually reserved for patients that outright refuse to be treated by him or vomit over his shoes. "Ginevra." He addresses her, his eyes darting over to the man sleeping peacefully on the bed. As he pulls out his wand to start the spells required for diagnosis, She Weasel snaps out of her shock grabs his wrist. It takes all of Draco's self-control to not cast a cleaning spell on himself as he jerks his wrist back into his possession. "Do you mind explaining why you're harassing me while I tend to your husband?" He says frostily, keeping his face a mask of indifference.
"I want someone else." Ginevra's voice breaks despite her attempt to copy Draco's tone. "He doesn't trust you."
"Mom, come on." The offspring touches her shoulder, pursing his lips. "We don't know what's wrong with him and he could be dying for all we know. He's a healer and he's taken vows, no matter who he is."
"He is the best in our wing." Nurse Andrea offers, meeting Draco's eyes for a moment and smiling before looking back at the She Weasel. "I assure you that Healer Malfoy is Mr. Potter's best bet. I'll be in here with him too, and I'll keep an eye out if it makes you feel better."
Ginevra seems to give in and nods, however grudgingly, and looks Draco in the eye. "If you do anything to hurt him purposely..." She trails off, looking to her son. "If Harry is upset when he wakes up, it's you that gets to deal with him, James."
James gives a tired chuckle and shakes his head. "I think if he wakes up to be mad, I'll be happy with that." The two look at each other for a while, seeming to have a silent conversation before Draco steps past them and gets closer to the bed.
"Now that that's settled, I would like to see to this patient so I can get to the others. Potter isn't the only one here." Draco drawled, lifting his wand once again to start his diagnosis. He muttered the charms under his breath. The colors, smells, and sounds fill his senses as he searches for the source of the problem. He finds it fairly quickly, the tendrils of magic begin at a point anchored into his coccyx, the site where the spell hit. They work their way up the spinal cord and wrap around his brain, the strong scent of roses make him want to sneeze. It isn't causing any external or internal physical damage, but surely there is something in the magic that is keeping him asleep. Draco grimaces as he recognizes the curse and ends the charms, turning his head to look at Ginevra. "Tell me how he got this."
The woman sighs, staring wearily at her husband, not taking her eyes off of him while she answers. "We were just out to lunch with James, celebrating the good scores he got on his N.E.W.T.S." She pauses and James wraps an arm around his mother's shoulders. Draco struggles to not roll his eyes. He is used to patients delving into their life story when asked such simply questions, but he knows he must bear with it as the patient is never wrong. "It seems like everyone is either a fan or an enemy, it's no wonder he's so-"
"Mom, he just needs to know what happened." James interrupts, looking twice as impatient as if to make up for Draco's inability to express it himself.
The She Weasel sighs and nods. "Right. Well we were just having lunch outside at a deli in Diagon Alley when a man comes out of the crowd hits him in the back with a curse. Harry was out immediately and I couldn't chase him down before he disapparated. I can't stand that Harry is in as much danger on a lunch outing as he is on auror duty." Ginevra buries her face into her hands and James once again moves to comfort her.
Draco finishes writing on the form and keeps his mask of indifference while he inwardly sags. He has only encountered this particular curse once before, but at the time he had been in healer training and was only present to pull the healer that performed the ritual out if they showed any signs of intense pain. He dismisses himself from the mother and son with a promise to return shortly and heads for Healer Webb's office. An auburn haired colleague of his, Healer Anderson, sees where he is going and sends him a sympathetic look. The hospital-wide sign that Webb was in a bad mood. Draco forces a tight smile onto his face and wonders again why he hadn't found another job that gave the same feeling of accomplishment. 'Because there is none and I'm good at this.' He reminds himself, holding on to the door knob and taking a deep breath. 'Because no one else would heal my father.'
"This had better be good, Healer Malfoy. I'm a busy man you know, and I don't get all of the leisurely breaks you do." Healer Webb said, a thin smile on his old face. He has thin, gray hair that was combed over the top in a poor attempt to cover the large bald spot on the top of his head and cold, piercing blue eyes. He doesn't intimidate Draco, however. After everything he has gone through, not many people can.
"Do I ever bother you with anything that isn't worth your while?" He drawls, adding 'aside from my presence in general' in his mind. Webb just looks at him, so he continues. "It's Auror Potter in room twelve, Healer. He has the desiderium somno curse on him and I am afraid you are more suited for the ritual than I am." Draco forces himself to not do something as undignified as spitting, however powerful that urge may be.
Webb leans forward on his desk, blue eyes capturing gray ones with such an intense disdain that it sends chills down Draco's spine. "Did I assign you to this case or didn't I, Healer Malfoy?"
"You did." Draco replies stiffly, glaring steadily back at him.
"Are you or are you not a healer?"
"I am."
"Then you'll suck it up and perform the ritual. Nurse Andrea will be assigned with you to pull you out if you screw up."
Draco bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He wants to argue further, but knows better than to try. Webb is a stubborn arse and it would only earn him a pay cut. He nods and walks out of the office feeling the pressure behind his eyes. He can't think of a time he has come from that room without a splitting headache.
When he returns to room twelve, Ginevra is sitting by the window with her face blank. James is speaking with Nurse Andrea in hushed tones, his eyes flickering back and forth between the nurse and his father. When he spots Draco, he looks away from both of them. "Do you know what's wrong?" He asks, chewing his bottom lip. Ginevra looks up from the window and her eyes seem to be digging into his skin and suddenly he finds himself eager to go home and shower.
"Have you ever heard of the desiderium somno curse, Ginevra?"
The She Weasel pales and her eyes dart to her husband's sleeping form. "I do."
James quirks and eyebrow and looks between the two. "I don't. What is it?"
"The desiderium somno curse is rare dark magic." Nurse Andrea supplies, walking to Draco's side to look at the man lying in bed. He wonders if she's awed by being in Potter's presence and he snorts before he can reign it in. The two conscious Potter's don't notice it, both watching Andrea. "It's ancient, so we don't see it very often anymore. It takes a powerful wizard to cast it, too. It reaches into the subconscious desires of the victim and brings them to life inside their mind. Unless the sleeper can be convinced that their real life is or can be better, they will stay in the dream state forever. They also have to come to the realization that the world they are living in isn't real."
James looks at her uncertainly before addressing his mother. "That would mean he wanted something more than what he already have. I didn't think he was unhappy with us." Ginevra shakes her head and makes her way over to her eldest child and pulls him into an embrace. Draco and Nurse Andrea both look away.
"He wasn't unhappy with you, James. He would never give up you and your siblings."
"But-" Before he can finish the thought aloud, James seems to think better of it and silences himself.
"What are our options?" Ginevra asks. Draco tries to ignore the annoyance that flares up inside of him as she addresses Andrea as if he wasn't there.
"There are two options, Ginevra." Draco interrupts, not missing the way she bristles at her real name as though she just realized he had been using it. "The best option would be to let me use a ritual that is a type of legilimency. It will allow me to live in his world in the exact position he mind places me in. I will then attempt to convince him of his dream state and that he needs to return to his own life. If Potter has placed me in a position in which I am dead or stuck in a place like Azkaban, I will have no other choice than to leave his mind and then you may request the head of department. Until you have a valid reason to replace me, I can't be removed. I'm the only other Healer in this department that can perform this ritual and I'm afraid our department head is a very busy man." He explains, borrowing Webb's words from earlier and fighting once again not to roll his eyes. "As you can see, this will be incredibly invasive of his privacy and perhaps even your own. I cannot tell anyone outside of this room and the department head of what I will see as a result of healer-patient confidentiality."
Ginevra's skin has somehow become an even more sickly pale than it has been a moment ago. "What is the other option?"
Draco forces down the smirk that threatens to play on his features and settles for a grimace. "You can leave him in his fantasy world forever and you can take him home and let him rot."
James looks at his mother with wide eyes and she squeezes his shoulder. "When can you do it?"
"Tomorrow if you sign this now." Draco answers, passing her his clipboard and his quill. He'll have to get a new one when she's done. She looks into his eyes and he sees how tired she looks, and he imagines it isn't just the fact that Potter is laying in the bed at his side. It's something deeper than that, and somehow he manages to feel a spark of pity go off in his chest. "You should leave and get some rest. We'll begin at seven o'clock in the morning."
Draco finds himself filled with both anxiety and anticipation as he walks into St. Mungo's and apparates to the fourth floor. The night before he could only think of scenario after scenario of what Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world, the man who has a "perfect" family life and unbelievable power, could possibly want in the dark corners of his mind. The thing that he craves more than anything else. What or who is it that Harry bloody Potter craves? Draco delights in the thought of finding dirt on his boyhood rival, despite how childish it seems.
On the other hand, he has never performed the ritual before. The circles and enchantments are embedded into his mind and he has everything perfected in his memory but there is still a thought that lingers in the back of his mind. It has taken him forever to get himself and his family to where they are now in the eyes of the public and he still receives nasty letters and words and the occasional hex flung at his back. If he even unintentionally harms Potter, he'll be back to square one and then some. 'I won't fuck it up.' He tells himself as he pulls on his white healer robes and grabs his clipboard from Andrea who waits patiently at the entrance of room twelve. 'I'm good at what I do and I worked hard to get here. I won't mess this up.'
As expected, Ginevra is sitting in the chair by Potter's bed, holding one of his hands. The boy is nowhere in sight, which is good. Draco can't stand working in cramped space. "I'm afraid you will have to wait outside. I cannot be disrupted or I might wound both of us."
Ginevra nods and stands, crossing her arms. "How long will it be?"
"I can't be sure." Draco answers truthfully, his hands on his hips. He would have crossed his arms, but he didn't want to copy the She Weasel. "It depends on how long it takes him to see the truth. You know how stubborn he is. However, time in the dream world is separate from real time. I could be in their for months and only an hour would pass for you. I would explain the theory behind it, but I don't want to waste time."
Ginevra glares, having caught the hidden insult and makes her way outside. She whispers something to Nurse Andrea, who smiles at her and nods.
Draco rolls his eyes and takes a deep breath to separate himself from the outside world. Now he needs to work. He draws the ritual circles on Potter's forehead, right wrist, and with the help of Andrea, the contact area of on the lower back. He looks at Andrea, who nods her head in encouragement. He's done this right. All that's left is the words, which were never a problem. He sits in the chair beside Potter's bed and wraps his hand around Potter's wrist. He can feel both the pulse of Potter's heart and the pulse of the magic under his skin. He chants the words flawlessly and feels the magic pulling at his own mind, grabbing him at his core. He feels his head beginning to spin and pick up speed, the feeling of nausea gripping his stomach wrenching it forward. It's all he can manage not to cry out.
His eyes are still closed when the spinning slows to a stop and the nausea dissipates, but he is afraid that if he moves, it will come back. Draco begins to wonder whether he failed or not, when he feels a tug at his sleeve.
"Dad! When is lunch time?"
Draco's eyes snap open to see his son Scorpius, about five years younger than he is in the real world. He looks like he did when he was about seven. He is also sitting at the kitchen table in a house that certainly isn't the Manor. He reaches out and runs his fingers through his son's already messy hair. He wonders whether he is still married to Astoria in this reality before his research from the night before hit him like a blow to the gut. People that aren't closely involved in the subconscious desires of the sleeper are never solid. They looks like blurs and aren't developed very well. Somehow Scorpius is directly involved with the world Potter's subconscious has made for him.
"When your mother gets home." Draco tries, fishing for more information. Scorpius stares at him with a blank look for a while before wearing his trademark scowl.
"Dad you're not funny! We've already been over this. You're supposed to let me and Papa joke and you can be the serious one." Scorpius huffs, sitting at a chair across from Draco and planting his elbows right on the table. "He always gets here late for lunch. I don't want to wait for him."
"Get your elbows off of the table young man." He snaps, unable to comment on anything else. He was under the impression that 'dad' and 'papa' meant relatively the same thing. Apparently he has divorced Astoria in this world as well, but earlier then he had in reality. Apparently he also either has a boyfriend or husband. Knowing Scorpius's sense of humor, it might also be a very masculine woman. Draco silently prays to whoever will listen that is isn't one of the Weasleys before getting up. He rolls his eyes and decides to venture around the house. If he can find a Daily Prophet, he might be able to find out where Potter and his She Weasel live. He snorts, and starts to dig through the kitchen drawers before he remembers his now seven year old son. "Scorpius, do you know where the Prophet is?" Scorpius shrugs unhelpfully and gets down from the table, uninterested in his father now that he knows he won't be getting an early lunch.
Draco smiles when he finds the paper as he checks the date. The date is from five years ago and he quirks an eyebrow. So he was right in Scorpius's age estimate. There is something specific about five years ago. He files it away in his mind to worry about later as he scans the paper. Nothing interesting about Potter on the first page, which is odd. He would think Potter doing something like saving kittens from dark wizards would be on the front page every day in Potter's fantasy world. He snorts at the thought and continues to slip through the paper when the crack of apparation goes off in the kitchen.
Draco's eyes are wide as he sneaks forward, his wand drawn. The fact that his wand hasn't been snapped in Potter's subconscious desires surprises him for a brief moment before he presses up against the wall and peeks around the corner.
Harry Potter is standing in his kitchen.
Well, his 'not quite his' kitchen.
Potter is looking at the stove with a look of bewilderment and scratching the back of his head with his wand. "Draco?" He calls, causing Draco to freeze up. Potter was calling him by his first name. In this world, he and Potter are on a first name basis. Or at least, Potter thinks they are.
"What are you doing in my kitchen, Potter?" Draco says cautiously, wand drawn but lowered. It blows his mind when Potter starts laughing.
"Potter now, am I? What are you playing at, Malfoy?" He chuckles again, green eyes sparkling with delight. "I'm sorry Draco, I'd love to pick this up later, but I need to eat and get back to work so Ron doesn't kick my arse again."
Draco is about to retort when Potter grabs his arm and pulls him closer. He wraps his arms around Draco's waist and kisses him.
Harry bloody Potter is kissing him.
He is Harry Potter's innermost desire.