A/N: Thank you to Ern esstine 13624, Witchy-Raven, KiraIqa, h0neybunny16, EchoKatt, maedkys, HowlingRain, arandomperson44, and rebekahalana for the lovely reviews! They all made me very happy! As well, thank you to all those who have followed/favourited thus far! Many, many continuous thanks to my lovely beta, ArithmancyMaster, thank you for finding the time
With a Little Luck
Chapter Two
Draco woke with a start. There was a small, wrinkled hand on his forearm, gently shaking him awake. "Master Draco, sir, you is having a visitor," Cally whispered.
Looking at Potter, who still appeared to be asleep, Draco nodded and rubbed his eyes with his hands. He groaned as he stood up – his back aching from falling asleep in a wooden chair. Grabbing his wand from the bedside table, Draco left the room before he cast a tempus to check the time. It was half past eight at night already.
Cally was toddling along behind him as he made his way down to the study – if he had a visitor, chances were they had come through the Floo. "Cally, I need you to clean the guest room but you must be certain not to wake the man who is in there. If you do, I need you to come get me immediately. Do you understand?"
"Cally is understanding, sirs," the House Elf bowed and disappeared back up to the bedroom.
As soon as his feet reached the study, Draco was bombarded with questions. "Are you bloody barmy? Four years you've been complaining about this bloody position! Four years! What happened? Is everything alright? You looked knackered, Draco! Is it your mother? Your father?" Blaise Zabini didn't end his rushed ramblings until Draco shot him a glare.
Ignoring the questions, Draco made his way to the small tray of spirits and firewhisky which lay with waiting glasses in crystal vases on his drink tray by his desk. Draco poured himself a dry scotch, immediately downing it and scowling at the burning sensation as he poured another one. Blaise had walked up behind him and was staring at him wide-eyed. "Bloody hell, are you going to pour me one, too?" he teased.
"Help yourself," Draco grumbled as he took his now full glass over to his desk and sat down in his oversized chair. It was most certainly more supportive and comfier than the wooden chair he had conjured up in the guest room.
Blaise took his time retrieving a drink and pulling one of the larger armchairs from by the fire to sit adjacent from Draco. He eyed his best friend for a few moments before leaning forward, concern written across his features. "What happened, Draco?"
"A right bloody mess," Draco muttered and sighed. Knowing he was unlikely to hear the end of Blaise's questioning, he didn't see why he couldn't share – besides the intimate details of the matter at hand as those were not his to tell. Draco had patient confidentiality in mind, apparently. "First, I need to tell you that I have finally finished the Felix Felicis I have been brewing."
"What? You actually finished it, mate? Merlin! How much did you get out of all that time?" Blaise was excited, leaning forward more still, his dark eyes alight and a grin pulling at his full lips.
"Just under eight ounces. An ounce is good for an hour," Draco explained flippantly, this was unimportant. "Given the fact it is near impossible for me to have succeeded in the interview, I decided to take two ounces of Felix Felicis."
"You took Felix Felicis for an interview? Draco, I hardly think that's allowed…" Blaise had a hint of worry in his tone, though his eyes were still wide with amazement – brewing Felix Felicis was no simple task.
"If you are believing it is illegal, it is not. Immoral? Perhaps, but I needed every bit of help I could get for this interview and you know that more than anybody else," Draco spat, he didn't need his morals questioned, he had not the temper nor time for it. Blaise conceded by leaning back in his chair and patiently waiting for Draco to continue his retelling of the morning. "After I took Felix Felicis, I felt it take control of my senses. It felt as if I could not be stopped, as if each step I took had a purpose that was larger than fate itself. I had walked right past St. Mungo's without even realising it and once I did, despite knowing I should turn around, I simply didn't. The luck potion kept urging me to continue walking and it took me to a neighbourhood I have never been before. I walked until I came to a building and…
…the potion simply had an alternate path for me to take this morning. I could not argue with it, I could not force myself to do anything other than what I was doing," Draco clarified. It was difficult to put into words the feeling that Felix Felicis gave him, how he felt unable to control himself yet surer than he had ever been in his whole life.
Blaise had been listening intently and when Draco took a pause here, reaching for his drink once more, his best friend placed his own glass down and leaned forward again, this time with an earnest expression crossing his features. It startled Draco for a moment when he looked across at him for Blaise was never known to take life that seriously – that was Draco's job.
"What was the building? What happened to make you," Blaise paused, as if searching for the defining word to relate to his friend, "To make you as you are," he appeared unable to exactly grasp what Draco was exuding. Was it anger? Sadness? Weariness? Blaise was uncertain and not knowing disconcerted him.
Draco sighed. He wanted to tell him, to share the burden that was newly thrust upon him by Felix Felicis, but he simply couldn't. It was not his to share and it was a delicate, private matter even he felt as though he were invading upon. Viewing himself as the confidential Healer and Potter as the patient was the only way he could rationally continue from here and he simply, as a Healer promoting the best practice, could not elicit such private information. "I cannot share that with you, Blaise, it's a private matter I need to handle on my own," he said at last.
"Draco," he returned concernedly.
"No, I am honest when I say that I wish I could share it with you but this private matter is not mine alone and I have no right to speak with you on it. Perhaps in the future I can…right now, I just have to deal with it on my own," Draco was firm with no room for argument, not that Blaise could get him to budge on the matter.
Pursing his lips, understanding the stubborn nature of his best friend, Blaise accepted it. "Is there anything I can do to help at least? You look absolutely knackered, mate."
Draco forced a small smile of appreciation, it did not quite reach his bloodshot eyes. "I would actually appreciate if you could hand deliver a letter for me. I need to take my vacation post-haste and will not be able to attend work for the rest of the week. I will describe it as a family emergency." Draco idly thought in a way it was. Though Potter wasn't his family, it certainly was an emergency. "I do not wish for the letter to get put aside in the mail sorting department or, Merlin forbid, lost, so may you please deliver it to Healer Downey?"
Blaise's eyes narrowed at the mention of taking his vacation – the matter must be of a larger scale than even he had earlier assumed. However, he knew Draco's unwillingness to share would not change and he simply nodded. Blaise would help in whichever way he could.
Draco drafted and sealed the letter he needed Blaise to deliver. Just as he was seeing him out of the Floo, and as he was being offered more assistance should he ever require it, the upstairs ward went off. "I have to go," he said suddenly, "See yourself out, Blaise." Without waiting for a response, Draco hurried out of the study and down the corridor towards the guest room – Blaise's curious gaze following him till he was out of sight.
As he opened the door to the guest room, he saw Potter sitting up, wincing as he did, and bringing his hands towards his eyes. He rubbed his eyes with his palms before sharply removing them from his face, realising there was a secondary presence at the door. However, at seeing it was Draco, he relaxed. "How are you feeling?" Draco kindly asked.
Potter pushed himself backwards so that he was pressed up against the backboard; he drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them. Unlike before, he was not using them as protection, as something to shield himself with, he simply appeared to be doing it as a comfort as he did not flinch nor move away from Draco as he came near. "Would it be alright if I asked you specific questions on how you are feeling? I just want to know how well you are healing and what I can to do help. You don't have to speak, you just have to nod or point," Draco explained slowly. Now that the patient was more stabilised, coherent, and less afraid of him, he needed to draft a more detailed summary of his overall state of well-being.
"O-okay," Potter stuttered, his voice still meek, yet the sound of the verbal response caused a small, fleeting smile on Draco's lips.
Retrieving his parchment, ink, and quill, Draco began his questioning. Starting with the most vital area of the body, the head, he asked, "Does it hurt?" There was a slow shrug in response. "Potter-dammit, sorry, Harry," he swore, disliking the flinch he caused the man to have. "I need more than that. I need you to nod or shake your head. I need you to be able to determine whether or not it hurts."
"I'm sorry," Potter muttered, his head falling into his knees. He sounded distraught, as if he had disappointed Draco.
With wide eyes, Draco was once more shocked with the amount of conditioning he had seemingly undergone. "No, Harry, please don't be sorry I just – I just want to help," he reiterated, reminding himself that Blaise had said the same to him not long ago. "If you feel up to speaking with me, will you answer with a number? Please be honest, Harry."
"Y-yes. A number," Potter nodded as he slowly raised his head again to rest it on the backboard.
"How much pain is your head in? Just the top of it," Draco clarified.
"Two," he whispered.
Draco was uncertain if he could take that number literally. Perhaps Potter was merely trying to sound as though he did not need help? That he was not in much pain but the opposite was obvious? Was he afraid if he were in pain he would disappoint somebody?
"Your face?" Draco continued.
"Four," Potter responded.
"More pain is to be expected here," Draco reached forward but as his hand drew near, Potter flinched and turned his face away. "I promise not to touch you," he swore to which Potter slowly angled his face towards Draco once more as he made a circular motion above his skin in the area of his healing cheekbone. "You have a broken bone here, it needs time to heal," he explained before returning to his parchment. "Your neck?"
The questioning continued until they reached Potter's toes and with each number that Draco recorded, he felt confident he was actually receiving somewhat truthful data. Potter had ranked his back as the most painful, hitting a number eight, and for him to admit this Draco thought it reflected well on his other areas.
"I would like to concentrate on healing your back first, but it does not seem to respond very well to the strongest salve I have and can make. Will you consider allowing me to use-"
"No magic!" Potter sharply cut him off, his voice raising to a nearly average level before he quickly flushed and lowered his head again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry…j-just no magic, please."
Frowning, Draco nodded. "No magic," he repeated. "It will heal, I promise, it will just take longer."
"It's okay," he said weakly, his voice cracking as he did, his face still hidden. "It's okay if it never heals."
"It absolutely is not," Draco sternly returned. The sharpness in his voice did not scare Potter nor make him recoil as Draco had worried it might. Instead, he was met with shining emerald eyes that appeared to be measuring him, but when they lingered on him just a moment too long, Potter snapped them back down to stare at his knees. Resting back into his chair, Draco sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He felt stiff and tired, more tired than he had been in a long time.
"Harry, I do not know what happened to you and I do ask that you tell me but I understand you do not wish to, not now, not yet, and perhaps not ever, and I will respect that. However, as it stands I am your Healer and you are my patient. I need to care for you, and…and nobody, especially not the Golden Boy, deserves this. You deserve to be healed, to feel better, for Salazar's sake you deserve the bloody world – you saved us. All of us. As much as it used to peeve me," he grumbled earnestly, "You deserve anything you want."
Potter was quiet for a moment, unmoving, and when he spoke it was a mere whisper. "I didn't do anything worth any of that."
"Oh, no? Did I imagine the Dark Lord, then?" he bit back sarcastically.
"His name is Voldemort," Potter responded quickly.
Draco flinched at the name, it caught him by surprise. 'He can't stand to be touched and yet he can still speak the Dark Lord's name? Potter, I will never understand you.' "I would like to put more of that salve on your back and a few other places, perhaps your cheek if you would let me and your neck," Draco said at last, perhaps it was unwise to begin a reminiscent conversation of their past. It was an inappropriate juncture.
Without verbalising a response, Potter removed the bedclothes from his body and turned over on his stomach, nearly burying his face into his pillow. Draco noted his breathing was shallow, perhaps he felt exposed when he was in such a position. Draco worked quickly as he rubbed the salve over the wounds, having to dab a few of them with a cloth as some still appeared to trickle bits of blood when touched or moved in a certain way.
"Do you feel as though you could eat something? I can have Cally, my House Elf, make you anything you wish," Draco said as Potter turned over, allowing him to rub the salve gently into his neck and cheek, Harry flinching every time their skin connected.
"Yes, please," Potter said.
Draco pursed his lips. "What would you like?" Potter bit his lower lip and shook his head, his fringe covering his forehead. Draco had an unexplainable urge to reach out and push it back, though he refrained. "Harry, I need you to tell me what you want to eat."
"A-are you sure? You want me to choose?" he asked unsurely.
Draco couldn't place whether he felt angry or perturbed by Potter's persistent subservience. "Yes, I want you to choose. You always have a choice."
Tentatively, Potter requested just soup and perhaps some crackers, absently clutching one arm to his stomach as he did. Draco attempted to decipher what it possibly meant; it was clear Potter had not been properly nourished over the past several months, but how severely was the question. Was the thought of food sickening now or maybe even overwhelming?
"I will be right back. I am going to bring you some of my clothes to change into and the food. Is there anything you want? A book? That weird, uh…" Draco paused, momentarily gesturing wildly about as he made his way towards the door, "That square screen Muggles like to watch? I could retrieve you one of those, I am sure of it."
"A-a telly?" Potter queried flatly. "No, thank you, sir."
Draco's stomach dropped at the formality of his words. He was at the door when he turned around, facing Potter with a grim expression. He wanted him, no, he needed him to know that he need not use those formalities besides to those who deserve it. Draco was not one who did. "You don't need to call me that ever, Harry. Just call me Draco."
"Draco?" the word sounded odd, coming from Potter's mouth. "Draco," he repeated more firmly.
"I will be back," he promised, leaving the door open behind him as he left. Draco felt wary of leaving Potter unattended for a long period of time so he called Cally as he hurried to his room, summoning some of his larger clothes as he did.
Draco instructed Cally to make Potter and himself dinner, he too would have to do with soup as he did not have the time nor care to have anything more. Before returning to the guest room, to Potter, who was undoubtedly unmoved from the position Draco had left him in, Draco went to his study. He felt unsure of what he could provide Potter with for entertainment. Certainly sitting in a room all by oneself was not good for anyone, he needed to provide Potter with an activity of sorts. Retrieving some texts of varying genres, Draco then returned to Potter with his arms full.
Potter had stayed on the bed yet his legs were crossed beneath himself now. "Can I – Can I…" Potter was struggling to ask something, his brows were furrowed together and worry was written across his features. Setting the clothing and books down, Draco silently encouraged him, inclining his head. "May I…I am really sticky," he eventually settled for.
"Oh…you want to take a bath?" Draco supplied in return to which Potter slowly nodded. "Of course you may, but first can you please eat? I don't need you fainting on me on the way down the hall," he teased, then realised that was most certainly a possibility.
Potter nodded and then his eyes fell curiously upon the texts dumped at the bottom of the bed. Draco picked them up once again and came around to settle in the conjured chair. "I can't leave you with nothing to do, so I've gathered some books, if you want to read. I don't have much in the way of entertainment when it comes to reading, however, I do have some old wizarding epics I am certain you have never read," he gestured at a few of the books he had not read in years. "If you ever want, you can make yourself known to my study and use whatever books you may wish in there."
"Thank you," Potter whispered, looking down at the books before slowly bringing his hand towards them and then snapping it back again, as if he were going to be burnt.
Draco laid them out on the bedside table, pushing his potions kit shut and to the corner. "They are there and please, if you want to read them, read them."
"Master Draco, sirs? You is not wanting Cally in the room but Cally is having food for Master Draco and his guest," the House Elf's voice squeaked from beyond the hall.
Retrieving the dinner set upon a large serving tray from the House Elf, Draco thanked her and sent her away before setting it down in front of Potter. He stared at the dinner but did not touch it until Draco reached out and took his soup into his own lap, sipping at it. Potter brought a saltine slowly to his mouth and nibbled on the corner. At the first taste, it appeared he had been reminded just how hungry he really was. Potter began to shovel the soup and saltines into his mouth, barely chewing and saving no time for breath in between. Draco slowed him down and urged him to drink water, he didn't need him getting sick.
Once dinner was done and set aside, Draco voiced that they should wait a while for the bath – after eating so quickly, it might not be a good decision to move Potter just yet. "When was the last time you had eaten before now?" Draco carefully queried. He knew it was important not to push for information, however, he still needed to gently prod, to slowly gain information.
Potter bit his lip and shrugged. "I have no idea," he admitted and Draco took it for truth. Locked in a windowless room, how could he have known? Was he able to tell the passing of days? Did Potter even have any awareness of how long he had been in there? "Y-you say you are a Healer?" Potter asked, changing the subject.
Being one of the first true inquiries Potter had made, Draco was eager to answer and engage him. "Yes. After I served my time in Azkaban, I took an apprenticeship program at St. Mungo's during my probation. I have been a Healer there for three years now. I work on the Potions and Plant Poisoning Ward."
"Do you like it?"
"Being a Healer? More than I thought I would," Draco said truthfully. "I would prefer to work on the Spell Damage Ward, however, the hospital is uncomfortable allowing me such clearance," he tried to say the last bit not through clenched teeth. It was only this morning that he had completely blown his only chance at the position. And for what? For Potter…and Draco was still wondering if it was worth it or not.
"Potions. You like potions," Potter flatly stated.
Draco laughed at that. "I do. If I could make potions my career, I would. Nobody would dare hire a convicted Death Eater to brew their potions, however, nor would they even consider buying ingredients from one. It was not a viable career option for me after Azkaban."
"I'm sorry," he said solemnly. "I'm sorry for Azkaban. It must have been horrible," Potter frowned deeply.
Draco pursed his lips. 'How can he be saying Azkaban was horrible when it was clearly nothing compared to what he's been through?' "Let's not talk about Azkaban," Draco said after a moment. "Would you like to take that bath now?"
"Please, si-Draco," Potter corrected himself, causing a small smile to curl on Draco's lips. It had barely been a half day and there were small improvements. Potter was resilient, Draco knew this already, and perhaps he truly could help him restore himself.
Draco left the room once more to summon his walking stick – he usually only brought it with him when he went to Diagon Alley or to a meeting. Draco offered it to Potter for support in walking as he knew he would prefer it over his personal assistance. Potter slowly rose from the bed and he took his time walking behind Draco who kept peering over his shoulder to make sure he was still following. Potter tried to mask the pain he felt with each step but Draco continuously reassured him that it was okay to express and feel pain. It was normal and Potter was entitled to it.
Filling the bath as Potter leaned in the doorway, his eyes always trained on the ground as he shook with the weight of his own body, Draco left everything he would need to properly clean himself. Draco's bathroom was more extravagant than the rest of the home, which Blaise always found amusing. His bath was large enough for four grown men and it resembled a much smaller, scaled version of the prefect lavatory at Hogwarts.
Leaving Potter to his own devices, Draco softly closed the door with the raven-haired man inside. He deserved his privacy and he did not seem inclined to accept Draco's assistance in bathing. Draco dared not leave him unattended, however, and quickly placed another ward on the door. He had never been good at these particular wards, however, they used them for more volatile patients at St. Mungo's. If there were any severe change in his vitals, Draco would be alerted.
Feeling more comfortable to go off on his own, Draco called to Cally to have her tidy up the guest room and change the bedclothes. "I need more potions, and some clothes for Potter because mine most certainly will not fit properly," he mumbled to himself as he wandered about the house, doing this and that. It was well past ten o'clock in the evening now and Draco's vision was growing hazy. He had been exerting himself and concentrating hard for the entire day and was now absolutely exhausted.
Draco set about closing his Floo as well and sending a note to the only individuals who ever used it: Blaise, Pansy Parkinson, Luna Lovegood, and his mother, saying that it would be out of service and he would be busy for the next few days. Bringing the letters up to the attic, Draco instructed two of his three owls to each deliver two of the letters. As soon as he was about to settle in his room for a moment of peace, a moment of sitting and allowing his thoughts to straighten themselves out, the wards went off.
Running, his wand gripped in his hand just in case, Draco threw the bathroom door open. Potter was sitting on the ground, his hand clenched on his shoulder, fully clothed in Draco's clothing. They were too tight yet too long for the man. Draco pocketed his wand as he saw Potter eye it sharply and dropped to his knees before him. "Are you alright? What happened?"
"I-I lost my balance, I'm sorry," Potter muttered, appearing ashamed.
"People fall, Harry, it is nothing to apologise over," he assured him, bringing himself to a stand and holding out his hand. Potter did not take it and instead used the side of the tub to stand up. Draco leaned over and let out the water, waving his hand to the soiled towels and clothes on the floor. "Leave them be, Cally can get to them," he instructed as he saw Potter awkwardly eyeing them – as if wondering what to do about the mess. "Come, I want to show you around."
Potter used the walking stick to once again help support and balance himself as they moved around the home. Draco warned him to take his time on the staircase, and he waited for him on each step. He showed him the study, the back garden (though Potter shied away from all the windows and doors and seemed uninterested in actually stepping outside), the kitchen, Cally's room, the front garden where there did not seem to be another house for miles, his bedroom, the attic which he had converted into a small owlery, and lastly his small abode in the basement. It was where he brewed his potions and took his time to do his personal work.
"You may do as you wish in this home, nothing and nobody in it will harm you. The wards are not permitted to allow anybody inside of here without myself being present. Cally has been instructed to keep away from you, unless you so wish for her assistance. Feel free to use the bathroom when you need it, my clothing, the kitchen, and anything within the study. The Floo has been closed off so nobody will show up unannounced and I will not allow anybody access to this house, not while you are here. Do you understand?" Draco explained. He wanted Potter to feel comfortable. The more at ease a patient felt with their surroundings and the individuals in their environment, the more likely they were to share and to allow themselves to be healed.
"Thank you, Draco. I-I don't know why-"
"Please, I'm only doing my job. I'm Healing you, Harry," Draco cut him off softly. He didn't need his thanks or appreciation and Draco was certain he didn't deserve it. He was merely doing what was right.
They were headed back to Potter's room and Draco asked if there was anybody Harry wanted him to contact to tell them he was safe and he was there. Potter immediately shook his head multiple times but said nothing. Draco allowed the subject to drop for now – he did not want to press and have him withdraw.
Potter suppressed a yawn when he carefully lowered himself back down onto his bed. "I think we both need to get some sleep," Draco observed, stifling his own yawn. Potter merely nodded and brought the fresh bedclothes up over his body, clinging to them as he turned onto his side, away from Draco.
Sighing, Draco turned from the room. "Please don't hesitate to call me if you need me, Harry," he reiterated as he stood at the door.
Potter didn't respond but Draco was certain he heard a muffled, "Goodnight," as he nearly shut the door entirely, leaving it open a crack so Potter would feel as though he could leave if he so wished it.
Thoughts and questions banged around Draco's head yet he refused to let them be known or become loud enough to distract himself. He needed sleep more than anything and after rechecking the wards on Potter's room, Draco quickly retired to his room. He was asleep before he could even wriggle out of his trousers.
