A/N: Decided to publish this chapter because I won't be able to produce any new material until January. Sorry!

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Draco visited him again three days later.

Potter was asleep when he came into the room, shifting in his sleep. He was breathing hard, twitching slightly– Draco dropped his books into a nearby chair and rushed to his side, shaking him as gently as possible. "Potter," he called, checking his pulse.

The records had warned him that Potter suffered from nightmares, but Draco had never seen him sleep. One of the mediwitches had told him he would stay awake until four in the morning, writing furiously in a journal Arthur Weasley had brought him. Draco had tried introducing a mild sleeping draught into Potter's food, but Mackenzie had told him all it did was calm him slightly. He watched him now and rolled his eyes at the irony, trying to get him conscious.

He gripped the brunette's arm tighter as his breathing quickened again. "Come on, Potter," he tried. He didn't wake, but began to struggle against Draco's hand– he would have to be spelled awake. As Draco reached for his wand, Potter's hand shot out and caught his shoulder, emerald eyes wide and terrified. He glanced between his own hand and Draco's face, slowly releasing his grip. His lips moved quickly– I'm sorry, he repeated, over and over.

"It's okay, shh," he mumbled. He worried about the nurses passing in the hallway, seeing a Healer talk to himself in the middle of the afternoon. He picked up a towel on the bedside table and wiped the sweat off Potter's forehead, carefully avoiding the stitched wound in his head. It was so ridiculously odd without his dark hair covering his face.

Draco moved slowly, prying Potter's fingers off and pushing them away. He sat on the bed gingerly and started changing the bandages on his leg, carefully keeping the silence while Potter calmed down. He glanced up, charming the dressing into place, and Potter was watching him wearily, raising his hand to salute him. Draco finished his diagnostic spells and nodded proudly to himself, turning his attention back.

"Alright, then, scarhead?" he smiled weakly, picking up his books from the chair and sitting down. Potter chuckled noiselessly and raised his hand, fingers dancing in the light. Draco raised an eyebrow and opened the file. He crossed out Mackenzie's note– slow comprehension– and snorted. He understood perfectly fine.The book had only been left in his care since Tuesday afternoon– how much had he covered in three days?

Potter huffed impatiently and Draco's head snapped up. "Sorry, what?" Draco asked politely.

Potter repeated his pattern again, slower this time. He moved with the same grace he flew– Draco thought it didn't add up that Harry Potter had fallen off his broom for no apparent reason. However, their patient was being rather difficult– Healer White had been sent to him yesterday, unpleasantly hexed when she questioned him on his accident. As Potter finished his sequence looking very proud of himself, Draco clicked his tongue in disapproval. He locked eyes with Draco, annoyed.

"Je ne comprends pas, Potter," he replied with his best accent, shrugging apologetically. Potter just smiled smugly back, picked up a sheet of paper and scribbled, handing it over and sticking his tongue out. Draco flushed slightly, returning the gesture. It wasn't his fault Potter was a bloody overachiever.

I'm fine. Don't worry.

"I wasn't worrying," he denied swiftly. Potter raised an eyebrow and grabbed a marker this time, the tip rustling along the parchment. He held it up, lips quirking into a condescending smile.

Keep telling yourself that.

Draco glared at him, standing to fetch the tray of potions sitting atop a table opposite the bed. Potter held up another sheet, mock-gagging. He picked up the green one first, swirling it around and peering at it. It was a new one, from Draco's stores– to help stop the internal bleeding and cleanse the residue.

Most of this tastes worse than Polyjuice.

He laughed. "Absolutely right, Potter," he shook his finger at him. "So next time, we'll try not to fall from the sky, won't we?"

Potter flipped him off and downed the potions in silence.

He saluted Potter as he entered the room with a box of treacle tarts. He dropped into a chair and handed it over, setting to work on removing the plasters covering his torso. Peeling them off gently, he cast gentle cleansing spells and winced as Potter flinched away. "Sorry," he muttered, pulling another bandage off.

Inhaling sharply, Potter shot an accusing glare, signing quickly as soon as Draco was looking up.

It hurts, you bastard.

Draco cast a numbing charm in response, grimacing. "Where does it hurt worst?" he asked, glancing up briefly as he rewound fresh bandages around Potter's chest. The new bruises had been cleared, the deeper gashes finally closing properly and the bone reconstruction complete. If the head wound would just stay shut, he could probably be out within three weeks.

He applied pressure gently and Potter snatched his hand away, hissing in pain. "Sorry," he repeated. Draco stared down at his work and sighed. Katie had taken the nurses into her ward for psychiatric training, leaving all the Healers to carry out their duties. He grumbled and vanished the used dressing, sitting down on the bed. Potter folded his arms and sat back, stilling dangerously as Draco worked, but his hand was flying.

Are you quite done?

Draco chose to ignore him, picking up Potter's profile and crossing his legs. Running his finger down the page, he poised his quill where White had let off. Her handwriting faintly resembled Potter's– he would probably have to ask her what it said later. "How's your head?"

He paused before replying, tracing his fingers along the stitches. His hair was beginning to grow back, giving him a strange bald strip down the side of his head. The long fingers twisted slowly this time, yet with an air of playfulness.

Feels like Hagrid bashing it in.

Draco smiled. He resisted the urge to call Hagrid an oaf and nodded sympathetically. "Anything else?" he pressed.

Potter pulled his left leg up to his chest and tapped it. Much better.

"How so?" he was interested. The pain-relief potions must have been very effective.

Doesn't hurt any more. Draco cheered silently. He had been developing a new painkiller in the hospital to replace the ones they got from Hogwarts– Madame Pomfrey– because they were only effective on the younger patients, since most had built a tolerance against it by graduation. Well, yes, Potter was only twenty-three (he would be twenty-four in two weeks time, Draco found out from the file. God forbid he forget the Chosen One's birthday.) but considering his lengthening list of potions he resisted...

What?

"What do you mean 'what'?" Draco asked, confused.

Silent party in your mind?

"Yes. Now stop gatecrashing it," he scolded. Potter grinned at him and opened the box.

Reaching over and stealing a tart, Draco scribbled his notes in the file. Rodriguez would want his report in a week's time and he wasn't about to lose his job over Potter. He put the quill between his teeth, drumming his fingers on the chair as he checked over the notes from Potter's other carers. A light tap on his shoulder got his attention.

What's in the file? Potter made to take it and Draco held it out of reach, tutting.

"You," he said, batting his eyelashes. "Lots of secret stuff about you. Healers only." Potter jumped to snatch it from him, but Draco held him down, holding above his head.

"Healer Malfoy!" White's voice rang through the room. Potter began to shake under him, laughing. Draco smacked his shoulder and stood up, tossing the file over the room to her. She scrambled to catch it, blushing furiously and straightening her robes as she stood back up.

Pulling herself to her full height, she stalked over and hauled Draco away from him, hands on her hips. He stared back down at her, arms folded, and shrugged. White sighed at him and turned to their (very amused) patient. She smiled back at him and took his hand.

"Are you alright, dear?" she cooed. Draco covered a smile with his hand, ignoring Potter's obvious discomfort. He sat straight-backed, listening carefully to her but otherwise unresponsive. Draco watched with interest– he was so silent now, allowing her to talk at him. She continued to mollycoddle him for a good five minutes before he finally shot a pleading look at Draco, raising his hand.

Make her go away, he begged. Draco shook his head, leaning back against the wall.

"I'm so sorry, love, I don't do sign language," White replied him. Potter grabbed a pen off the table and scribbled on his hand. She blushed again darkly and got up immediately.

"Yes, of course– I didn't mean–" she stuttered, backing up toward the door. He was rubbing the ink off his skin, giving her a hurt look. She disappeared around the corner swiftly, trying to escape. Draco's lips turned into a suspicious smile, walking back over to the bed. Potter curled back up on the bed under the blankets, away from him.

"What did you write?" he questioned.

Potter didn't respond, his breathing slowing and eventually, he fell asleep. Draco gathered his things together and left the room silently. Mood swings, he noted down. He tried not to think too much about it– after all, it had been six years. They had all changed.

Perhaps Granger and Weasley would still be the same. He hadn't seen them around– apparently they were in Romania with Weasley's brother (the other Weasley. There were so many, Draco could hardly tell them apart.) and would only return for Potter's birthday. Lovely.

I want to try something.

"Potter, don't you dare point that thing at me!" He backed away from the wand pointing at him. Potter rolled his eyes and caught Draco's arm, pulling him back into his chair. He repositioned his wand and Draco shook his head, moving his chair out of the way.

Trust me, he signed, letting go.

"You hexed Mackenzie the last time this happened," Draco protested. Potter looked at him, exasperated, tugging on his arm. Draco looked into the determination and groaned, knowing he wasn't going to get away.

Draco.

His eyebrows shot up into his hair. He was still holding tightly onto his cup of tea, ready to bolt away from a blast of energy, but he leaned toward Potter resignedly. "'Draco'? Really? That's your all-powerful convincing technique?"

Fewer letters than Malfoy, he signed, smiling. After a pause, he added, call me Harry if you like.

"No, thank you, I quite like Saint Potter," Draco huffed. Potter glowered. He gripped Draco's arm and a red glow lit the end of his wand, setting a sense of terror in Draco's mind. He was going to be stunned and Potter would run away and no one would ever find his body–

"Draco, shut up."

He snapped his eyes open and looked up in shock. Potter was grinning at him and crossing his arms proudly, setting his wand down on the table.

"How are you doing that?" he asked, jaw hanging open.

"Thought broadcasting," the brunette replied smugly. "Tiring, though." He dropped the connection and raised his hand again. This is easier.

Draco just continued opening and closing his mouth like a fish while glancing between Potter's hand and his eyes, lit up with excitement. He pulled the file over and paused, hovering his pencil over the page. Displays advanced magic, he finally wrote, glancing up at him while he filled in the blanks.

Potter picked up his wand, twirling it between his fingers. He sighed, seeming to mumble to himself before lifting his gaze to Draco's. Potter extended the wand out and opened his hand, looking meaningfully at him. He furrowed his brow and raised a brow in questioning, keeping his hands in his lap.

Take it, Potter said. It's yours.

His eyes went wide. "I can't," he replied quickly. Too many memories. That was the wand that killed the Dark Lord. It was the wand that couldn't kill Dumbledore. It was even the wand he had first cursed Weasley with in their first year. He saw the hawthorn sitting in Potter's outstretched palm, innocently lifeless as Draco continued to stare.

He was still sitting there holding out a weapon to him as if they hadn't spent years fighting each other in corridors, as if they hadn't nearly killed each other in sixth year, as if Potter hadn't risked his life to save his in their seventh. He bit his lip.

"I'm– I'm not a good person, Potter," he tried, keeping his voice steady.

"You've changed," the voice rang in his head. Draco looked up and Potter shrugged. Draco returned his gaze, trying not to fidget.

Potter took his hand and placed the wand into it, closing his fingers around it. It warmed slightly, coming back to life with the gust of familiarity. Potter was smiling gently.

"Thank you," Draco breathed, tucking it into his pocket.

You deserve it.

"No, but thank you," he insisted. Potter nodded and reached over to his tray of food for another treacle tart. Draco snapped back and slapped Potter's hand playfully.

"You'll get fat, Potter," he admonished, stealing the tart and eating it.

Nice try. He grabbed another and Draco gave up, moving to leave the room. He fingered the wand in his pocket, not quite believing it was actually there. He chuckled to himself, thinking of Severus turning in his grave at the sight of Potter and him forming this sort of friendship.

He turned back to Potter. "Thanks," he repeated.

No problem.

As he was just about to turn into the corridor, a paper ball hit him on the back of the head. Draco picked it up and continued walking, rolling his eyes at Potter as he left.

Seriously, call me Harry. The Potter thing is weird.

"Rise and shine, Potter," Draco drawled, shaking him awake.

He rolled over, obviously having risen much earlier. Harry had dark circles under his eyes– the nurses had complained he had been awake late again. Draco sighed. As soon as his weight normalised and his sleep patterns improved, he would be able to send Harry home. His injuries were long healed, save for the new scar on his head.

Draco had been working with Katie to dissolve the scar tissue so that skin could grow over, allowing hair growth to occur again. He was rather enjoying the fact that he could tease him about the bald spot, though. It was ridiculously amusing when Harry tried to cover it up.

"Potter, you've really got to stop staying in bed all day," he teased, pouring him a cup of tea. Harry accepted it and sat up against the headboard, saluting him. Draco returned the gesture and stood at attention until Harry chuckled into the silence, standing him down. He raised his hand.

Harry.

"No, you're Harry. I'm Draco."

Git.

"My ego is wounded."

Harry rolled his eyes and reached for his glasses. Draco pushed the miniature onto a plate and cast an engorgement charm to resize it, placing it on Harry's lap. He grinned deviously at Draco and swirled his finger in the icing, dragging it on Draco's cheek. Glaring back, Draco wiped the icing off his face and dumped it in Harry's hair, jumping out of range.

How did you know I liked chocolate?

"You don't eat anything else from the obscene amounts of sweets the Weasleys send you," Draco replied swiftly. Harry nodded thoughtfully, picking up a slice of cake. He was halfway through his second slice when Weasley and Granger walked in, hand in hand. Draco gagged and moved away, picking up his things so they could sit around the bed.

"Happy Birthday, mate," Weasley greeted him. Harry thanked him with a nod, mouth full. Granger pulled out a box and set it on his table. She sat primly on the bed, rubbing Harry's leg soothingly. "Happy Birthday, Harry," she wished him as well.

How are you? he asked them politely. Weasley answered first, "Charlie's back at home now, with his new boyfriend– mum went absolutely ballistic about it, I swear she thinks they're engaged or something." He gestured wildly, almost knocking over the potion drip. Draco hissed at him and Weasley backed away, hands in the air.

Harry frowned at him. Don't be rude, he said. Draco snorted and leaned against the bedpost.

"After Percy got married, Molly's been hounding him," Granger added to the story. The Weasley-Granger couple had been married for two years now, after a huge celebration. Judging from the slight bulge in her belly, he supposed that they would soon plan world domination with their ginger-headed children.

They talked about Quidditch and more Weasleys and Auror work at the ministry, Draco yawning awkwardly between topics. He contributed fairly, quietly, but Weasley seemed permanently suspicious of him, switching every time he spoke. Granger smiled pleasantly at him throughout the conversation, carefully including him. Harry kept up with them all, fingers flying to spell the words.

He had picked up a large vocabulary of words by now, using more complicated ones to communicate. Draco smiled to himself proudly– they had even managed to come up with a gesture that meant nothing but "prank Mackenzie", which took the form of charmed toilets, invisible post-it pads, instant darkness powder in his office and patient roster changes.

Finally, Weasley got a call on his telephone (Draco wouldn't admit it, but he enjoyed muggle television. Crime television.) and they left St. Mungo's together, leaving Harry with a second cake and a renewed arsenal of candy. Draco dropped into Weasley's recently vacated chair and surveyed him exasperatedly.

"Your friends–" Harry held up a hand to stop him.

Don't talk about them. Draco frowned.

"Why not?"

Don't want to.

"Alright," he dropped it suspiciously. Harry was slumped back against the back of the bed looking thoroughly exhausted. He offered him another potion from his own store– a particularly strong brew of pepper-up to keep him awake during his night shifts. Harry took it from him gratefully and took a swig, lying down in the bed properly and pulling the blankets up.

Draco leaned forward to rest his elbows on the bed. He ruffled Harry's hair patronisingly.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," he said softly.

Harry rolled over and closed his eyes. Thank you.