Draco was dying.

In retrospect, he reflected, watching helplessly as his blood mingled lazily with the rainfall on the cobblestones, he supposed he should have expected to die facedown in an alley. He really wasn't worth much more nowadays. He did wish he could have fallen in a more dignified position. Had he not already lost all feeling in his limbs, he was sure his arm would be asleep by now, crumpled under him like this – it was broken, too, if he was any judge.

His vision fuzzed in and out, and he was finding it more and more difficult to breathe. Part of the reason for that was the Body-Bind the last tosser had thrown at him, just before kicking him in the ribs and Disapparating. Part of it was no doubt a result of the rib-kicking. Most of it was probably just his body shutting down.

He could hear faint footfalls in the alley. They seemed to echo strangely within his head. Two feet stopped before his face, and he rolled his eyes up, unable to focus on anything except the black robes and the hand holding the wand. The hood of the newcomer's cloak was pulled up over the person's face, which was just as well, since Draco couldn't see further than a few feet anyway. He wasn't sure if the darkness was because of the hour or because of his rapidly failing body. He dropped his eyes and finally closed them, too exhausted to keep them open any longer.

The feet paced the length of his body, and then there was the sound of shifting wet cloth. "Finite incantatem," a naggingly familiar voice said, close enough to indicate that he had knelt down, and in a moment of supreme agony that made Draco whimper and twitch, the newcomer turned Draco onto his back. There was a strangled gasp. "Blimey." Draco still couldn't place exactly where he'd heard that voice before. A deep breath, and then an incantation in a low tone that Draco could not quite make out except in odd snatches: "Vieo tergum... subsisto... crudus vigoratus..."

As the man continued the spell, Draco could feel the skin on his chest and neck crawling. It was not a pleasant sensation. The newcomer pushed his hood back with the hand that was not holding the wand, and Draco felt a distant shock of recognition at the dark blond hair, the high cheekbones, the hazel eyes. His face had become leaner in the years since Draco had last seen him, but he was still easy to identify. And Longbottom was still the last person Draco thought he'd ever see tending his wounds.

Longbottom did not meet his eyes, concentrating as he was on the bloody gashes on Draco's torso. The curse that had bestowed them had torn slashes into the black silk shirt; Longbottom ripped the slashes open more to better see what he was doing.

"You've probably got a fair few broken ribs," he said finally, after a few beats of silence when he finished the incantation. "Looks like a broken arm, too. I can fix those, but not here." There was a pause as Longbottom considered him intently. "Are you going to throw a strop if I try to carry you? Your ribs aren't broken badly; I can probably move you safely."

Draco licked his lips. Bloody hell - a few of his bottom teeth felt loose. "I can walk." It came out as half a croak, half a whisper.

Longbottom snorted. "Like hell you can. If all this is yours, you've lost a good three pints of blood. That's not counting what your clothes have soaked up. I'm surprised you're conscious. The good news is that if you were bleeding internally, you'd be dead by now. So. Are you going to let me carry you? I doubt you'd put up with the indignity of Levicorpus, but if you'd rather..."

The notion of being hoisted up by his ankle made every muscle in his body cringe. But the idea of being cradled by Longbottom was nearly as painful to his pride.

Fuck it. Draco's pride and body were both so bruised by now that it hardly made any difference. He nodded once, curtly, and closed his eyes against the giddiness the motion caused. Through the dizziness, he almost missed being gently turned over onto his stomach, but it was impossible to miss the agonizing jolts as Longbottom heaved and shifted him into place across his shoulders. Draco had just a moment to wonder where Longbottom had got such shoulders before a wave of vertigo crashed into him and his head spun, lights dancing before his eyes. He felt as though he were floating upwards, away from himself, and the lights before his eyes coalesced and blinded him...

The bed sheets he was sleeping on were absolutely abysmal. They were worse than the burlap he'd had to sleep on at school. He opened his eyes, ready to march right down to the front desk and demand his money back for the room when, with a crash that made his ears ring, the pain set fire to every nerve, and he grit his teeth and screwed up his eyes against the howl of agony that had built in his chest.

"Good. You're awake. Does it hurt?" A cool hand touched his forehead and Draco cringed away. "Don't be like that. Hold still, will you? I'm trying to make it stop." The hand returned and pressed Draco's head into the pillow, a spell being muttered in an undertone, and through the pain Draco could faintly feel a wand tip being dragged down his sternum. Almost immediately, the pain began to recede to a faint burning that seemed to settle within Draco's bones, and the hand left his forehead. Draco opened his eyes gingerly.

"You had quite an interesting few hours," Longbottom said as he settled himself into a chair next to the bed. At his feet next to the chair was a book, tented open to hold his place, and a bottle of brown ale that was half-empty. "There was lots of thrashing about. I had to hold you down before you made your arm worse. I'm a fair hand at knitting bones, but it's best if you're awake."

Draco closed his eyes for a moment. He'd half-hoped that it had been some delusion, Longbottom coming to his rescue like some bloody knight, but apparently not. His arm felt as though it was made of some terrible molten stone, and every breath pricked his chest with hot spikes of pain. His skin felt too tight for him and ached when he shifted. They'd really done a number on him. Judging by the two empty flasks on the bedside table, it had taken two blood-replenishing potions to stir him back to consciousness. He wondered how much of that new blood was flooding the bruises he could feel, still crawling in their slow bloom across his skin.

"Are you ready?" Longbottom asked as he gestured with his wand.

"For what?" His voice sounded so frail, still barely more than a whisper. He wanted to make a face but stayed as stoic as he possibly could.

"For me to mend your arm. It's a bad break, but..." Longbottom shrugged. "I've done worse."

An attempt to shrug sent pangs of agony through Draco's chest, and he winced. "Whatever you want, Longbottom."

Longbottom's lips twisted in annoyance. He got up from his chair anyway. "Hold still. This is... going to hurt." He grimaced. "You may want to bite down on something."

It wasn't much of a glare that Draco shot at Longbottom, but it was the best he could do under the circumstances. Draco wasn't exactly a stranger to pain, after all. Maybe Longbottom couldn't handle a bone being set. Draco was made of stronger stuff than that. He did, however, set his jaw and furrow his brow, staring straight up at the ceiling as Longbottom gently took his arm and set it straight on the covers. He took a deep breath and pointed his wand.

Draco didn't even hear the incantation Longbottom used. The grinding, wrenching sensation lanced up his arm like a hot smear, and despite Draco's preparations, a guttural exclamation of agony tore from his throat and his back arched off the bed. Almost before his back returned to the bed, the sensation was gone and replaced by nothing but a dull ache that throbbed with his quickened heartbeat. Breathing heavily, ignoring the stabs in his ribs as he did so, Draco lifted his arm, flexing his fingers, watching the tendons dance across the back of his forearm.

"Neat work," he said grudgingly, attempting at the last moment to insert some sarcasm. He'd never learned to set bones himself. Whatever Longbottom had been doing these years, at least it was something useful.

"Thanks," Longbottom said wryly. "Now for your ribs. Those are easier. Lie still for me."

The last time Draco had heard that request, it had been in a much less innocuous context. Rather than gulp and betray the sudden stab of anxiety, he schooled himself to stillness, and felt gooseflesh erupt on his arms and chest as Longbottom pulled down the sheet to expose his bare torso, slick with sweat from the pain.

"I have to work out which ribs need mending," Longbottom said seriously, looking intently into Draco's eyes with a sternness that was completely unsuited to his face. "That means I have to touch each one, and not gently. Are you going to be okay with that?"

Draco licked his lips. "I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Blinking, as though taken aback, Longbottom frowned. "Of course you do. I can just leave them alone and let them heal on their own. Or we can go to St Mungo's and let them do it... although that's a very bad choice just now."

"Why?" Draco already knew the answer. He wanted to see if Longbottom knew as well.

Longbottom shot him a look that plainly said he knew he was being played with. Damn, he'd changed since school. "You've made some dangerous enemies. Enemies like those have a way of making sure you die of your injuries, despite the 'best efforts' of the Healers."

So Longbottom was well-informed. Odd. Draco had expected a bloke like him to disappear into a corner somewhere and live quietly after the events in their last year at school. But then, Longbottom had been doing all sorts of unexpected things in the past few hours, not least showing an astounding amount of competency Draco would have bet good money he'd never even approach.

He set his jaw again. "Go ahead."

Careful fingers began prodding his chest and sides, and as he'd promised, it was not gentle. Draco grunted as Longbottom discovered each broken rib, or pressed a particularly painful bruise, but otherwise, he said nothing. Longbottom was similarly quiet, brow furrowed as he concentrated. His hair fell into his eyes a few times and he absently swept it back with one hand, not once taking his eyes off his work.

"This will be a lot easier if you relax," he finally said, glancing up at Draco's face. "Tensing up makes it hard to feel if they're broken."

"Right. Because having a strange bloke poke my broken ribs is so relaxing."

"I'm not a strange bloke. You know me. Probably better than you know some of the other men I've heard you keep company with."

Draco bit off a stinging reply to that. "Leave my personal life out of this, Longbottom," he said warningly.

"Sorry." For what it was worth, he did sound apologetic. "Just try to release some of the tension. It'll make things loads easier."

Closing his eyes, Draco tried to loosen the muscles in his chest. It was not easy, not with Longbottom sliding his fingers along each rib and making him want to tense up again. He was too tired to seriously ponder how long it had been since he'd been touched by anyone at all, and now, it was not only in such a detached and clinical way; it was by Longbottom, of all people.

"You've got three broken ribs on your left side," the other man said finally as he reached for his wand. "And a hell of a lot that are bruised. Shall I mend them for you, or shall I let your body do its work?"

"Will it be as clumsy as when you did my arm?" Draco shot at him. He was a little surprised, but greatly satisfied, when anger flashed in Longbottom's eyes.

"There are two sheets of muscle holding your ribs in place," he replied evenly, making as though to put his wand back into the holster at his hip. "They act like a splint. You'll be fine in a month or two."

"No," Draco said suddenly. "I - go ahead. Do it." He grimaced inwardly. "Please."

Longbottom held his gaze for a long moment, during which Draco was fairly sure he was just going to get up and leave the room. But he drew his wand from the holster he'd half-stowed it in and positioned it carefully.

"Rescarcio osseus," he said, and rather than pain, there was a simple jolt in Draco's side, and then the dull throbbing ache to match his arm. He took an experimental breath; the stabbing was gone.

Well, he may as well do something with that deep breath. "Thanks," he said. Reluctantly. It was not a phrase he used often. Longbottom did not respond, but simply stowed his wand back in its holster.

The debilitating pain gone, Draco pushed himself up to a sitting position in the bed. He was surprised to find how exhausted he was, how difficult the simple motion had become.

"That should do you, for now," Longbottom said.

Draco nodded. "I'll be going, then."

"Will you?" Longbottom asked, and there was definitely a hint of amusement there.

"Yeah," Draco said challengingly, "I will." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, ignoring how light-headed the action made him. He just needed a moment, time for his body to get used to being vertical...

Blinking away the blackness that had settled like an inkblot in front of his eyes, he became dimly aware that he was crumpled in someone's arms, and that someone was hoisting him back onto the bed. He could only have been out for a second or two, and yet he was completely disoriented. He shook his head, shame beginning to kindle within his chest as Longbottom drew the duvet over him.

"You're not going anywhere for a while," he said. "Your body just used up a good three months of energy to heal itself instantly. You're going to need a lot of rest. And food." He heaved a sigh, a resigned look clouding his face. "And a place to hide, unless I miss my guess. The Leaky Cauldron is hardly anonymous."

A slight flutter of panic began in a counterpoint to the prickle of shame in Draco's middle. "I can take care of myself."

Longbottom snorted. "They took your wand, genius. You can't even stand. They're going to be watching the hospitals and the houses of your friends - the ones you've got left. How exactly do you propose taking care of yourself?" He watched Draco with that maddening gaze as he sputtered, the shame in his chest now a bonfire that heated his face with a faint flush. "I had plenty of time to think while you were busy being delirious. There's nothing for it. As soon as you can stand for more than thirty seconds without passing out, we're heading to my place. They're less likely to look for you there. Right away, anyway."

A third feeling bloomed in Draco's chest; it took a moment for him to recognize the tiny spark of gratitude, overshadowed as it was by the great blaze of shame. "You could have just left me," he mumbled, only half-realizing he was saying it aloud. "I'd have been dead and not your problem."

"The thought crossed my mind," Longbottom said flatly. He sat back down in his chair and picked up his book.

"So why didn't you?" Draco asked. Longbottom looked up, arching an eyebrow.

"The thought crossed my mind. And I'm ashamed and appalled it did. If I'd left you there, I wouldn't have been able to look myself in the mirror for the rest of my life. Now get some sleep. I want to move you this afternoon."

"Bloody fucking Gryffindor," Draco mumbled.

"That's right. And you should be grateful I'm a bloody fucking Gryffindor, or you wouldn't be here."

Oh, he was. There was no mistaking that emotion that sang in a minor key to his shame, accentuating it and making it sharper. He just wasn't going to let it show.