It wasn't very hard for Draco to pull a few strings and get a job for Harry helping to mix potions at St. Mungo's – his boss practically begged Draco to get the famous wizard working in the hospital in some capacity or other, so all Draco had to do was suggest the job and it was as good as Harry's. Supposedly, the hospital needed some good public relations. Draco supposed the hospital just needed public relations, period, but he wasn't about to say so. Instead, when he got home from work that day, he spread a sheet of parchment on his kitchen table and began to write:
Harry, I am writing to inform you of the fact that you have been offered a job with me at St. Mungo's. We will be working the same shifts, the pay is good, and I can teach you all you need to know that you do not know already, as well as remind you of what has been forgotten. Your first shift is tomorrow afternoon. I will expect you at my flat at one o'clock sharp. Best, Draco
He wrote his address at the bottom, so that Harry had a chance of showing up on time, folded the parchment, sealed it, wrote Harry's name on it so there would be no confusion, and gave it to the large, grey owl perched on one of his kitchen chairs. "Off you go, Canitiem," he said, getting up and opening a window for the great grey owl to fly through. The owl rustled its voluminous feathers, hopped over to the window from the chair, and hopped out the window before spreading its five-foot wingspan and truly taking to the air. Draco watched the large female owl fly away towards Harry's flat, wondering how much of his parents' fortune Harry had left. It had been common knowledge at Hogwarts that Harry's parents had left him a fortune, but no one knew how responsible he was with it. With a sigh, Draco moved away from the window – which he left open for Canitiem's return – and sat down in his favorite armchair, staring at the fireplace. He took out his wand and gave it a flick, lighting the pile of logs in the simple fireplace. Most of the flats in the building had a fireplace, but almost none used it for normal fires; majority were used for travel by floo powder. Draco was the exception. He hated floo powder but loved a nice, warm fire, and would often just sit and stare at a fire until it either burned itself out or got out of hand. It wasn't long before Canitiem returned, bearing a small piece of parchment with Draco's name on it, and perched on the arm of the chair Draco was in. The blond took the parchment from the great bird, stroking its head as he unfolded it to read its contents.
Thank you for this, Draco. I'll be there on time. This means quite a bit to me. Brilliant bird as well. I would expect nothing less from you. –Harry
Draco sighed and tossed the parchment onto an end table, rubbing his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Why was he helping Harry Potter, ultimate reminder of everything to do with Hogwarts, bane of his existence as a student there? He didn't know. But he did know that now he was stuck with this reminder, and no matter how snappy or rude he got, the stubborn Gryffindor would never leave him alone again. So Draco Malfoy sighed again, ran his hand over Canitiem's soft feathers once more, and retired to his bed, where he slept the troubled sleep of one who knows things he doesn't want to.
Ten o'clock in the morning was far earlier than Draco had wanted to wake up, but he was up half an hour before, so he decided to be efficient. He was going to have Harry help him bring some ingredients to the hospital, so as soon as he was dressed and somewhat presentable, he started to organize and pack up the ingredients they'd be bringing along with them. That took less time than he'd intended it to, so he replaced the logs in the fireplace and lit another fire, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Slowly, Draco moved from the doorway and into the kitchen, fully intending to make himself some breakfast. With a wave of his wand, all the ingredients he needed for pancakes floated out of the cupboards and refrigerator and landed serenely on the counter in front of him. He had originally intended to make the pancakes himself, but he suddenly didn't feel like putting in the effort, so he cast a spell that would make the pancakes for him and went back to the doorway to stare at the fire. Waiting gave him time to think, time for his mind to wander, and it took startlingly and alarmingly little time for it to wander to the box labeled "DANGER: DO NOT OPEN" and pry it open little by little.
The remembering wasn't bad at first; just a few images of the train ride to Hogwarts his first year, harmless little moments, and he wasn't all that afraid of what was to come. Then came the first of his bad decisions: Insulting Ronald Weasley that first day, and thus insulting Harry Potter, a potentially brilliant ally. At first, the mistakes came slowly, spaced relatively far apart, and he wasn't in that much danger, he thought, so he let it happen, not realizing that this was how he fell into the trap of the memories on previous occasions. Soon the mistakes started getting closer together, and bigger, and Draco realized that he was in some real danger from them, but couldn't quite realize what danger he was in. He could smell his pancakes cooking, they would be done soon. The mistakes were getting closer now, worse still, and Draco felt himself stumble into the kitchen, dizzy for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend – he was both in the kitchen of his flat just off Diagon Alley and in his fifth year at Hogwarts, when the truly serious mistakes had started – and he was grabbing at the cupboards as he remembered his mistakes, as he began to panic. Some part of his mind knew where the sleeping draughts were in the topmost cupboard, but that wasn't the part of his mind controlling his movements; he fumbled through the cupboards, burned his hand on the frying pan making his pancakes, became unaware of reality as he fell into the panic of memories that should have stayed buried. Sixth year at Hogwarts, more mistakes, worse mistakes, bigger panic, he would start screaming curses and destroying his apartment soon now he knew it and then—
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Draco slowly became aware of his body trying to get to the door of his room through the somewhat quick effects of the sleeping draught, of falling to the ground in his kitchen, of the smell of fresh and perfect pancakes as he drifted off into a deep sleep that would last for hours.
Draco had owled Harry to tell him to just come in, the door would be unlocked, sometime in his stupor of staring at the fire, and so it was that Harry came right on into the flat, expecting to be greeted by a huffy and snarky blond. Instead, he smelled the stale aroma of uneaten pancakes and saw Draco's great owl perched on a counter in the kitchen, hooting and making quite a fuss over something. Cautiously, Harry made his way into the kitchen and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the one and only Draco Malfoy unconscious on the floor, a vial clutched in his right hand, a large blistered burn on his left hand. Without thinking, Harry knelt down and picked the blond up bridal-style, then proceeded to look for the bedroom. It didn't take long, and when he found it, he laid Draco down on the queen-sized bed gently, prying the vial from his hand and setting it on the nightstand. It took a while for Draco to wake up, and when he did, his expression seemed haunted and terrified.
"I-I made it…?" he whispered, staring at his bedroom door, confused. He remembered falling, and everything fading, and the smell of pancakes, but nothing of getting to his bed.
"To your bed?" Harry asked, his eyes on Draco. "No. I came in and found you lying on your kitchen floor. I figured you wouldn't be very comfortable there, it would be bad for your health, so I brought you into your room instead. Are you alright, Draco? What happened that I found you passed out in your kitchen?" Draco's head snapped towards Harry, startled by the brunette's presence in his bedroom. When it dawned on him what must have happened, he relaxed a bit, though it was obvious he would much rather face the Dark Lord than explain what had happened. They had both faced the Dark Lord, though, and they both knew that this would be easier.
"I remembered," Draco said simply, staring off into the distance. He wondered if the fire had gone out. "Or at least, I started to. All the mistakes, everything I did wrong, every last torturous thing. I started to panic. The first time I started to remember, I didn't realize what would happen, and…I killed a vagabond sleeping in a small alley off Knockturn Alley. I started screaming curses, I panicked so badly, and when I came to he was dead and I knew I had killed him so I ran. Ever since then, I've kept a store of relatively mild sleeping draughts in my cupboard, just in case I should start to remember with enough faculties to get the draught. I know I didn't finish…if I had, Canitiem might be dead, my flat might be destroyed…any number of things could have happened."
"Was the vagabond the only one you killed?" Harry asked, unable to take his eyes from the haunted, terribly self-blaming silver eyes that were staring blankly through the door. Draco shook his head and began to tremble slightly, and Harry knew the blond was probably terribly embarrassed by this show of weakness, this loss of composure, and respected him all the more for continuing.
"My mother is in Azkaban for life because it was her wand that killed my father, and she was too protective of me to let me take the blame for it," Draco admitted, still not looking at Harry. "I panicked when they started fighting. I…my mother's wand was on the floor near me. It was her wand that killed him. I remember she was staring at me when I came to, she looked horrified and sad at the same time, like she knew what she was going to do before it even came to that. I didn't do it on purpose. I was scared, and I wasn't…I wasn't myself. Do you understand? It's not like when a normal person panics and their heart just starts pounding and they're scared. Something takes over my body and I start screaming and instead of nonsense, curses come out and they fly everywhere. Sixth year…that's when it gets really bad. If I get past a certain point in that year, there's no stopping it. I can't stop it sometimes. I don't get the draught in time, it's usually when I'm not home. I have to fumble in my pocket and there's no way I can be that dexterous when I'm panicking."
"Draco…you should rest. I owled St. Mungo's, told them what happened, they said it's alright if we make the shift up tomorrow," Harry said, putting a hand over one of Draco's trembling hands, closing strength around grace and stilling its trembling. Draco looked at Harry, then looked away. He couldn't take the strength of the Gryffindor's worry. It would undo the structure of his mind.
"We could get ice cream tomorrow," Draco suggested, taking a deep breath to try and quell his tremors. "Before the shift. I wanted to run my errands tomorrow…I suppose I could get them done after work. Would you like to stay the night? Canitiem could get anything you need from your flat. She knows where it is." Harry shook his head.
"I'll stay the night, but there's no need to send your owl out," the brunette said, smiling softly. "I can get my things in the morning, whatever I'll need." He knew Draco couldn't be alone after something like this; no one could, especially not if they had spilled their soul directly after. Draco was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were always cool and calm; Draco was an anomaly, and that probably shamed the blond.
"Thank you, Harry," Draco said, quiet, almost to himself, as if it were an afterthought. Harry's smile deepened a little.
"For what?" the brunette asked, looking at Draco, who still wasn't returning his gaze.
"For…caring," Draco replied, risking a glance at Harry. The genuine concern he saw in the other male's eyes almost overwhelmed him. He was vulnerable here, in this state, after he'd panicked and done the only thing that helped. "For being honest." Harry was right: Draco was shamed by his weakness. It was part of why he'd sold Malfoy Manor; the shame was overwhelming in that place. He felt like he couldn't breathe as he felt his father's discipline from his childhood descend upon such a blatant weakness, trying to crush it and only succeeding in triggering it.
"Honesty is one thing I have always prided myself on," Harry assured this new friend, wishing there were more he could do to help. Draco started to get up, and waved away the help Harry started to offer. He knew his limits after taking the draught; he'd taken it before.
"At least let me get you something to eat," the blond offered. Harry had some misgivings about Draco moving about so soon after waking from a sleeping draught, but there didn't seem to be any problems, so he let it be.
"Alright. I'll eat anything," he said, trying to make it easier. Draco made his way carefully into the kitchen and cooked a simple dinner for the two of them to share, and they spent the evening talking and laughing and completely avoiding the topic of Hogwarts altogether. Harry slept in the guest bedroom, and neither would admit the thoughts that entered their minds as they fell asleep and dreamed.
In the morning, Draco was up first, and to distract himself from the memory of the dreams his mind had fabricated the night before, he busied himself making pancakes by hand instead of with magic. They didn't come out as perfectly as the ones he'd made with magic the day before, but they came out fine – he even made some with strawberries and some with chocolate chips – and by the time he was done, Harry was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at the pile of food and wondering how Draco thought that would feed only two people.
"Are you having a breakfast party?" the brunette asked, rubbing his hair in an effort to neaten it and only succeeding in making it messier. Draco started a little and looked over to Harry, realizing quickly that they were both dressed only in a T-shirt and boxers, before letting out a nervous laugh and returning to his task of finishing the last pancake.
"I needed to busy myself, and Canitiem likes pancakes, too, though she prefers hunting," he explained, moving the finished pancake onto the pile and the skillet and mixing bowl into the sink, where he cast a spell to wash them and the other implements involved in making the batter. "Do you like strawberry or chocolate chip pancakes, by any chance? There are plain ones as well, just in case."
"Chocolate chip pancakes are my favorite," Harry assured the blond, smiling. The answering grin made Harry's own smile widen, and before long, they were both sitting at Draco's kitchen table, piling their plates high with all three different kinds of pancakes. Draco had set aside a small pile for Canitiem, who was happily tearing at them with her beak.
"Did you sleep well?" Draco asked, taking a bite of a strawberry pancake that was more strawberry than pancake. Harry nodded, swallowing his mouthful of chocolate chip pancake before answering.
"Yes, I slept very well, thank you, and waking up to the smell of pancakes only made it better," he said, offering up a very charming smile marred only by bits of chocolate on his teeth. Draco laughed, and Harry made a big show of licking the chocolate off his teeth.
When the meal was finished, Harry Apparated home to change, and Draco decided to get into the shower while he awaited Harry's return. Once in the shower, he found there was too much time to let his mind wander to the dreams he'd had last night, and the resulting erection made him turn the water freezing cold – he didn't have time to take care of it the way he'd have liked to, Harry would be back soon, and gods he needed to stop thinking about Harry. By the time he got out of the shower, he was shivering from the cold and longing to go out to his favorite pub in wizarding London so he could get a good shag, but he knew he had other obligations to take care of first. He dressed in a relatively bright maroon jumper with black slacks and black shoes, his hair groomed to perfection in an effort to distract himself. By the time Harry arrived back at the flat, freshly showered and dressed in a dark green jumper with grey slacks and black shoes, Draco was stroking Canitiem's feathers and nibbling on leftover pancakes at a near-constant rate.
"Are you alright, Draco? You're scaring Canitiem," Harry said, going over and lifting Canitiem from the counter, letting her perch on his arm. Her feathers were ruffed, and her talons dug into Harry's arm through his jumper, but Harry didn't mind; she needed to relax, so he brought her over to the window and opened it, letting her fly out. Draco watched all this, still nibbling on pancake bits, and sighed.
"I'm sorry. The dreams I had last night won't leave me alone. They were good dreams, but I've other things to think about," he said, finally leaving the pancakes. "Shall we get to work?" He offered up a smile that was only half distracted, and Harry smiled back.
"Let's get going," Harry agreed, and together they Apparated to St. Mungo's.