Part Three: Adjustments
The boots are right outside, and he can see the light through the crack under the door. Draco is frozen, hiding, bloody hiding, and then the door bangs open and the blue wandlight is shining and someone is screaming…
He jerked awake to the feeling of a warm hand on his shoulder, light from a wand blinding him at first, and he blinked, disoriented, until the face next to him came into view. Potter, looking concerned.
"You were screaming," he said.
"I'm fine," Draco frowned, and pulled the covers over him.
"Ok, then," Potter said quietly, padding across the floor and closing the door behind. Draco took deep, calming breaths and fought the urge to call out again… ask him to come back.
When next he woke, it was to a dull ache in his back, a raging erection and a desperate urge to pee. Thanking the gods he'd managed not to sleep through that last, he reached out for the little urinal and quickly emptied his bladder.
Next he raised the back of the bed until he was in a seated position, reached out and pulled the chair closer to him, dropped the near armrest, and scooted himself onto the chair. Now to the loo.
It turned out easier than he would have thought, though part of him almost missed the burn and tingle of a good strong cleaning charm. But nothing in his life until then could compare to the feeling when he flushed the toilet and rolled over to the sink to wash his hands. All by himself.
A pang of bitterness shot through him when he recognised how bloody proud he was of something as bloody menial as wiping his own arse… but he swallowed it and permitted himself the luxury of pride for just a moment longer.
Now that his most basic urges had been addressed the nagging ache in his back was quickly sharpening and descending slowly down his useless legs. The throbbing in his right arm was back, too.
He wheeled back into the room in time to hear a knock on the door, so he reached out and turned the handle, then wheeled himself backward to make room for the door as Potter pushed it open.
"Morning," he said, stepped in and looking awkward. "Do you need something for the pain?"
Draco shook his head, although every muscle in his body was screaming for relief. Potter looked at him for a second, and then pulled out a vial and placed in on the bedside table saying, "well, of you need it later, here it is." Draco felt a rush of something like gratitude that Potter was giving him an out, a way to accept without admitting that he needed to.
Draco nodded and turned to the chest of drawers. Potter hovered. "Do you, um… need any help?"
"I'm sure I can manage," Draco answered, trying to contain the drawl.
"Great, well, breakfast is downstairs when you're ready." Draco nodded without turning around, and Potter left, closing the door behind him. As soon as Potter was gone, Draco downed the vial and closed his eyes as the pain slowly receded.
It took Draco nearly an hour to select clothing he was reasonably sure he could put on without the help of legs, a working right hand, or a wand. Potter had chosen a wardrobe that resembled an adult version of what Draco had worn when he was a haughty rich-boy in the wizarding world… the neatly tailored robes and rich fabrics were so far from what he'd been wearing the last several years. It almost hurt to see them now. A surge of bitterness at the familiarity, at the time he'd lost, at everything that he'd lost.
In the end he chose a pair of cotton underpants, some dark grey dress slacks that unfortunately sat just a little too loose on his wasted legs, a ribbed white undershirt, and a soft blue jumper. He even managed to dig out a pair of black woollen socks with a grey and light-blue plaid to match. He decided against robes.
He ran a hand reflexively through the stubble that had once been his hair. It was about two centimetres long now, but the sloping scar was still close to the surface. His chin and jaw were stubbled, too. He hadn't shaved since yesterday morning, and there were no razors, or even mirrors, anywhere in his rooms, as far as he could tell.
When he arrived in the kitchen, Potter was sitting at the table behind the Daily Prophet.
The room appeared to have been completely redone. Along one wall were cooking surfaces, stoves, cupboards, and a large cold-cabinet. The far end of the room was made entirely of glass, and overlooked a backyard with… a swing-set. A rectangular table that looked like it might seat four stood on the wall across from the stove. One of the chairs had been removed.
Draco rolled over to the cold cabinet and found himself a carton of cottage cheese.
"Potter?" He asked, and Potter jumped and looked over.
"Oh, hi!" Potter said, casting him an oddly… approving look which Draco decided was directed entirely at the clothes. "What can I get for you?"
"Just tell me where I can find a bowl and a spoon."
Potter leapt up and pulled out a drawer and Draco selected a spoon. Then Potter reached up to one of the higher shelves and pulled out a bowl.
"I can move some of them down lower, if you like."
"It's fine," Draco said, depositing everything into his lap and rolling over to the table. The table was just a little too high, he thought, but before he could even think about fiddling with the bloody chair, the table shrank down to a perfect height, and all the surrounding chairs with it.
He turned around to look at Potter, who smiled timidly. "Adjustment charm… it senses the chair." He came over and deposited a cup of tea and then, amazingly, prepared it exactly the way Draco liked it at school: lots of milk and just one spoon of sugar. He raised an eyebrow and Potter blushed, and tried to shrug it off, "I remembered."
Draco decided to ignore that odd little detail, and ate, sneaking a look over at the folded Prophet. It'd been years since he'd read one cover to cover like he used to. Potter caught his glance and pushed it over to him. "Still rubbish," he said, dismissively. Draco feigned disinterest as he picked it up and started reading.
An hour later, he was still reading. Potter had cast a warming charm on his tea and gone to shower, or something.
Draco spent the rest of the morning sipping and reading until he had to return to his rooms to use the loo again. By the time he was through, the effort of all that moving around, even with the chair, was finally taking it's toll, and he retreated to his bed and fell asleep.
When he woke the afternoon sun was pouring into through the window, and Draco was vaguely hungry. And he needed to pee. Again. All the bloody potions were speeding up his already fast metabolism. And the curse damage that had impaired his control wasn't helping either.
Eventually he made his way downstairs, and returned to the table to find Potter standing in front of a pot of stew wearing… an apron? Draco rolled over to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of pumpkin juice, and without a word Potter deposited a glass on the table, and Draco drank. Gods it had been too long. He gulped the sweet, pulpy juice and poured himself another. Potter came over with his own cup and a plate of cheese, crackers, and grapes and sat down across from him.
Gods it was good to eat real cheese again. Brie and Goat and something lovely and light with dill in it.
"Mammoth cheddar," Potter commented. Draco nodded and took another piece.
They ate in silence for a long time until a sudden crashing noise from somewhere in the front hall made Draco jump and he spilled juice all over his lap. "Shit" he muttered, but Potter simply waved away the mess. When Draco was fully dry again, Potter rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed loudly, then called out,
"Teddy! We are not a herd of Hippogriffs!"
Draco was about ask who the hell Teddy was when a boy of about nine or ten stomped into the kitchen, threw down his bag, and slid into an empty chair. He then pulled the entire plate of cheeses toward himself and began gobbling it down.
Potter sighed again and threw Draco apologetic look, but Draco was too bewildered to even understand what was happening. Potter turned to the boy and said, "Teddy, have you noticed we have a guest?"
The boy, apparently Teddy, looked up at Potter and then over at Draco, and then smiled bashfully, blushing. Oddly, his hair seemed to blush, too, and turned bright pink.
"Malfoy, this is my son Teddy. Teddy, this is Mr. Malfoy."
"Hi Mr. Malfoy!" he said, holding out a hand very formally to Draco. For a moment Draco considered, then opted to shake with his left hand. No need to ruin the boy's appetite.
"Draco is fine," he answered, and Teddy's eyes went wide for a minute before he turned to Potter, and then he just smiled. It was an alarmingly bright, beaming smile that caught Draco completely off guard.
"You're my cousin!" the boy said cheerfully, and then leapt to his feet and gave Draco an awkward, side-ways hug over the arm of the chair. Draco stared at Potter in bewilderment, but Potter was watching the two of them with a strangely… sad… sort of look. Then he seemed to shake himself out of it again and looked directly at Draco.
"His biological parents were Remus Lupin and your cousin, Nymphadora Tonks."
"That explains the…" he waved around the vicinity of Teddy's hair, which was now platinum blond.
"Yes, he's a metamorph, too."
"Is he also a…?" but he didn't finish, because he wasn't sure whether he ought to.
"No. Not heritable."
Draco nodded, then turned to Teddy, "I knew your biological parents," he said. That was all he could honestly say: he'd known them.
"They're dead," Teddy said seriously, looking at Draco, his eyes suddenly turning from blue to silvery grey. "Daddy's parents, too" he turned to Potter, who nodded solemnly.
"And mine," Draco said quietly. Teddy seemed to feel this warranted further physical contact because he immediately embraced Draco again before returning to his seat.
Draco sat in bewilderment for a moment before he could think what to ask next, but Potter pre-empted him.
"I was already his legal guardian. I filed the paperwork the summer after the War. He was just twelve weeks when they finally made it official. That was a hectic summer, between baby-care, and trying to make this place liveable, and child services checking up on me because apparently eighteen year old single fathers aren't all that common, and then the trials and… the funerals."
"I remember," Draco said.
"I know," Potter's eyes looked sad for a moment, before they brightened again. "You were acquitted two days before the adoption paperwork finally went through. It was… one of the best weeks of my life."
"I should have thanked you," Draco said into his teacup.
"You should have owled me," Potter said, his green eyes gazing over at him through messy brown bangs.
Draco felt an ache in his chest that resembled loneliness, and regret, and too many other things he wanted to say but couldn't. Instead he just nodded.
After finishing the entire plate of cheese and grapes, Teddy excused himself and climbed loudly up the stairs to play some sort of muggle videogame.
Potter turned back to Draco, and smiled, "he's a handful."
"You've raised him… by yourself… this whole time?"
"Well, no, Ron and Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys help out a lot with baby-sitting and stuff, but I manage the household, yeah. You would not believe how much laundry a single child can generate."
"Oh," Draco said, because he really had no idea. The thought of Potter doing laundry, or anything so domestic, was strange, but not entirely unpleasant.
"But that's not really what you asked, is it?" Potter said, his voice more quiet now, and a something coiled in Draco's stomach. Daringly, he shook his head.
"Yes, I was single for… some… of that time. And I am single now," Potter answered, green eyes flashing at him through thick lashes.
"Ah." Draco said, and fiddled with his empty teacup. He wanted to ask but… no. There was no way. And even if he was… well… no. Just, no.
Instead, Draco excused himself quietly and went back up to his room. Potter eventually came in and dropped off a pain potion and a muggle-style razor, and said goodnight.
Sunday passed much the same way. Potter woke him from a nightmare. He spent an hour dealing with toilet and teeth and shaving with his left hand and struggling into clothes, then ate a slow breakfast. He slept through most of the day, and joined Potter and Teddy for dinner. Teddy rambled on about the various Weasleys he'd been visiting and evaded questions about his homework. Potter came in to check on him again, and Draco seriously considered asking for help to take another shower, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead he accepted the pain potion and went to sleep.
He's on his knees and stripped bare on the cold floor… cold, red eyes are peering at him in the darkness, raising a wand… searing pain shoots down his spine and out through every nerve ending… and he's screaming and screaming…
And then he feels a hand on his arm, and he hears Potter speakly softly into his ear, and the screaming dies away...
Monday morning Draco awoke to an unpleasantly cold, wet sensation underneath him, and a loud bellow outside his door,
"Theodore Lupin Potter, if you miss the school bus one more time this semester you can kiss summer Quidditch camp goodbye!"
Then a pounding of feet down the stairs that really did sound like a herd of Hippogriffs, a rushed, "Bye Dad! Love you!" and slam of the front door that seemed to shake the whole house.
A quiet chuckle sounded from the landing outside, and then a gentle knock on his door. Draco felt the panic rising as he reached for the covers to hide the wet sheets just as Potter peaked in through the door.
"Sorry, it's not usually that bad… Well ok, it's usually pretty bad but we're working on it."
"It's fine," Draco said curtly, hoping Potter would go away so he could figure out how to change the sheets without him ever knowing.
But Potter stepped in through the door frowning and asked, "Are you ok? Is it… are you in pain?"
Draco shook his head. He could feel warmth rising into his face and he gritted his teeth and tried to will it away. Potter handed him the pain potion anyway and he swallowed it without a second thought.
But Potter stepped closer, and finally Draco's panic surged and spilled over into, "Just fuck off, Potter, and let me go back to sleep!"
Potter stepped back then and said apologetically, "Ok. Well I have to get to work in the next hour, so… if you want help with the shower, it's got to be soon."
Hmm. He really did need a shower. Especially now. But it wasn't worth the humiliation. Not remotely.
Unfortunately Potter apparently interpreted his silence as confirmation, and swiftly moved to pull away the blanket to reveal pyjama bottoms soaked at the crotch, and a wet patch under his bottom and thighs.
Draco froze, the blush on his face burning his ears, and he absolutely refused to look at Potter. He just clenched his jaw and stared off into the distance and wished the bed would swallow him.
Potter made absolutely no sign at all that he had noticed anything. Instead he lifted Draco up, one arm under his knees and the other under arms, carried him into the bathroom, and placed him on the little chair in the shower. Draco reluctantly pulled off his t-shirt and pyjamas and Potter turned on the water, took the dirty clothes, and left.
Thirty minutes later, he returned in his Auror robes, pushing the chair. He handed Draco a towel, and then the bathrobe, which he tucked under him as he lifted him into the chair before rolling him back into the room.
"Right, well… I'll see you this evening," Potter announced with somewhat forced cheerfulness. "You've got my floo connection, and the Hospital's. Do you need anything else?"
Draco shook his head and moved to the chest of drawers.
As soon as Potter had left the room, Draco clenched his one good fist and beat his stupid bloody useless legs until his arm ached. Then he crawled back into the bed to discover clean, dry sheets. He spent the rest of the day intermittently sobbing and sleeping.
Potter brought him dinner and a pain potion, and apparently chose to ignore the redness in Draco's eyes.
They're right outside his door, and Draco is frozen… and then the door slams open, bright, blinding blue wandlight shines through door, and now they're moving in, boots tearing the room apart, and they're so close and he just waits for them, frozen in his cowardice…
And then a warm hand grasps his shoulder, and Potter's voice calls to him... and he wants to answer, wants to reach out, and pull him closer... but he retreats into the darkness out of reach...
The next morning Draco was pleased to find scrambled eggs and toast with marmalade. Teddy stomped in breathlessly, shovelled down several large mouthfuls of eggs without even sitting down, gulped his pumpkin juice and a vial of potion Potter handed him, and snatched up three pieces of toast before running out the door yelling, "Bye Dad! Love you! Bye Draco!" and slamming it shut. The house shook.
"He goes to Muggle school?"
"Yes, for now."
"How do you manage the… um…"
Potter frowned, then his face registered comprehension. "Oh, the magic? He takes a mild suppressant. It doesn't fully block it, mind you, so I can't tell you how many obliviates I've had to use, but it keeps in contained unless his emotional state changes, and it wears off in the afternoon."
"A potion?"
"Yes. It's actually one of Snape's formulas. I'd never have trusted it otherwise."
Draco frowned, "How?" and Potter smiled.
"He left me his books, papers and private stores. The bulk of the papers were archived in the War Museum after he was exonerated, but I kept all the good stuff. I'll show you the lab sometime when I'm not rushing out the door," Potter said, standing to go.
Draco realized he was staring when Potter sat back down and looked at him seriously.
"He left you the money because he knew the Ministry would confiscate everything that belonged to Lucius." Draco nodded. That was true. Without Severus' meagre savings he and his mother would never have survived those first years without magic.
Potter went on, "By the time they finally released the rest of it to me, you had already disappeared." He paused… cocking his head to the side, and then seemed to make a decision.
"Hold on," he said, and Draco heard him bolting up the stairs and back down again, and plopping a book in front of him. "This is how I aced 6th-Year potions: it was his. Read the notes, you'll get a laugh."
Then he threw on his Auror robes that were hanging over his chair back and disappeared into the living room and through the floo.
Draco sat staring at the cloth-bound book for another ten minutes before he wheeled himself into the living room, lifted himself onto a cushy-looking armchair, folded his legs under him, and began to read.
And read. And read.
Wednesday passed much the same way. He wet the bed again, and Potter said nothing, merely lifting him into the shower and changing the sheets. Potter and Teddy left noisily and Draco sat by the fire reading and dozing.
That afternoon, the sound of the floo woke him, and he was pleased to see Philippe stepping out onto the rug.
"Hey, how are you holding up?" he asked as he scanned Draco's vitals examined the scar on his head.
"It's not so bad. The kid is loud but sweet."
"And the wife?" Philippe probed.
"No wife," Draco answered grudgingly.
"Girlfriend?"
"Not at the moment."
"Boyfriend?" he asked with a wicked grin.
"Don't start," Draco rolled his eyes as he turned to go up the stairs. "Anyway it doesn't matter. Maybe, once… but now? I'm just a crippled charity case. That's all. So I'm just going to take the charity, because it's all I have left."
Philippe continued to needle him all the way up into the bedroom, where Draco was obliged to disrobe so he could take a closer look at the damaged legs and the scarring on his back and hand. Draco closed his eyes allowed the warm, strangely familiar hands to glide over his skin, prodding and massaging the wasting muscles of his legs, delicately running over the scars on his back and chest and head. The sensation of skin on skin… even in such a clinical setting… was almost overwhelming after so long without it.
Philippe stopped to take his resting pulse, strong brown fingers wrapping around his pale white wrist, and Draco gazed up into warm brown eyes, and at soft, full lips, and he felt his mouth parting incrementally as Philippe drifted just a little closer, eyes on Draco, pulse forgotten, and when Draco stretched up Philippe bent down to meet him, cupping the back of his head gently and their lips pressed together. Draco gasped at the delicious warmth and reached out to pull him closer. Philippe groaned faintly and pulled him up, strong arms encircling him and a warm wet tongue slipping into his mouth, exploring. He started to feel dizzy with the perfection of it all, his breath becoming shallower already. And then Philippe leaned in and placed his knee onto the bed between Draco's legs and Draco would have given anything at that moment to be able to rut against him. But he didn't have to, Philippe was already pressing into him, the young, warm, wholeness of him threatening to swallow Draco, and he whimpered softly.
And then they both heard Potter's voice calling up the stairs. Philippe jumped away and mumbled and apology before Draco could even say anything. And then Potter was in the doorway, looking at them both, eyes growing first wide, and then narrow. A strange mix of something like surprise, and disappointment, and anger, and maybe… pain?... played itself across his face before he schooled his features into calm. He didn't look Draco in the eye, but he sounded pleasant enough when he asked Philippe to come down and discuss the schedule.
Draco hastily dressed and scooted into his chair. When he reached the living room, Philippe was standing with his hands in his pockets looking extremely young and thoroughly chastised, eyes red, and mumbling something like a thank you. He cast a quick, apologetic look at Draco before disappearing into the floo.
Potter turned to Draco then, but there was none of the malice he'd expected. Instead, there was only… pain? Or was it disgust? Or sadness?
"What is your problem, Potter?" he asked, suddenly defensive.
"There's no problem, Malfoy," he said dejectedly, and started toward the kitchen.
Draco wheeled after him. "Then why did my nurse just leave in tears?"
Potter didn't even turn around when he answered, "Because he's your nurse."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means that whatever I just walked in on could be the end of his career!" Potter spun around and yelled.
"Did you threaten him with that?" Draco asked a little hysterically.
"No, I reminded him. He can do whatever he wants on his own time in his own home."
"Oh is that it? You just can't have us under your roof? It's ok to house a Death Eater, but not a bloody poof?"
Potter winced at those words, as though Draco had dealt him a physical blow. His eyes were wide with the pain Draco had seen earlier. He looked like he was just about to say something…
But instead he turned away and gripped the edge of the sink. Then, in almost a whisper, he said, "you don't know anything about me, Malfoy."
"No, I don't," Draco spat, and rolled out of the room with as much dignity as he could.
Draco avoided Potter entirely the next day. Potter did come in to nudge him awake during a nightmare, but he left immediately without saying a word. And he came back to drop off a pain potion in the morning and presumably to check the sheets, but Draco was already in the shower by then. He was unspeakably grateful that his bladder had decided to cooperate again. He had managed to figure out the shower situation, too, and was able to move around the kitchen without help. He retreated to his room around the time that Potter and Teddy came home. Potter came in looking like a wounded puppy and brought him a dinner tray and a pain potion, but didn't wait for him to finish it. For some reason, the just made Draco feel worse.
