Chapter 8: Returning Home

"Malfoy," Harry said gently, looking down at the blonde sleeping rather ungracefully on the couch. He nudged his shoulder lightly, trying not to startle him.

"Hmmm?" Malfoy uttered, eyebrows creasing as he woke up. His eyes opened and locked onto Harry's. "Potter," he said, a little startled. He sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes and running his hands over his hair.

"Healers released me," Harry explained, knowing Malfoy's next question. Wiggs was hovering close behind Harry, clearly poised to catch him the second he showed any signs of faintness.

Malfoy nodded at Harry. Apparently he was unhappy with how his hair felt as he pulled the fastener out of his hair, shook it out, then began smoothing it back into its customary ponytail. "What time is it?" Malfoy asked, looking away from Harry towards the window for an indication.

"11 am," Harry responded, sitting down on the couch next to him. He looked at Wiggs and smiled, "I'm okay, Sam, really. Go get some rest." Wiggs nodded once at him, then Malfoy, and disappeared down the hallway.

"I'm surprised the healers released you so soon, Potter," Malfoy said in that bored way he used when he was trying to remain distant and nonchalant.

"I think you can call me Harry now," Harry said with a smile, leaning back on the couch.

Malfoy looked at him with a delicately raised eyebrow. "...Very well. Harry." Malfoy had hesitated as if trying out how it felt to say his name. "You may call me Draco," he said stiffly after a pause. Harry nodded, smiling with disarming warmth.

Draco cleared his throat after a pause then reached over to his black jacket still hanging off the arm of the couch. "Here," he said, producing Harry's wand.

"Brilliant, thanks," Harry said, taking the wand back to roll it in his fingers affectionately. They sat in silence for a while. Harry had a feeling he felt much more comfortable with the silence than Draco. Harry had a lot of things he wanted to tell the other wizard, but he couldn't figure out how to say them. While he was imprisoned, he had a lot of time to think about his priorities and his approach to both his relationship with Alec and with Draco.

He had told himself that while he loved Alec, he felt nothing but carnal attraction to Draco. He had forced himself to accept that this was not true anymore, though he hadn't been able to establish exactly what he did feel for the blonde next to him. He wasn't entirely sure what his intentions were with either men, but he knew the caged, loveless way he had been approaching them was no longer the correct answer.

Eventually, Harry stood slowly and looked at Draco, smiling when he saw a slight furrow appear on Draco's face. "I am going to go rest for a while," Harry said quietly. "If you are here, maybe you can tell me about your week. I hear it was rather adventurous." Draco nodded at him stiffly.

Harry's entire body ached, but he wasn't suffering from sharp pain any longer. When he had arrived at the hospital, he had suffered from severe blood loss, a broken arm and several ribs, internal bleeding, and various other injuries. His numbness was thanks to whatever potions the healers had sent him home with, but he managed to walk towards his bedroom with minimal limping, the only other sign of his physical trauma was his hand pressed gingerly to his ribs.

"Harry."

Harry stopped, turning slightly. He was surprised to find that Draco was standing behind him. He was frowning, and looked a bit irritated. "I'm...glad you're back," Drag said quietly, his tone not matching his expression.

"Thanks, Draco," Harry said. What he did not expect was for Draco to lift his hand and gently lift Harry's chin in his fingers. Harry stared back into the conflicted grey eyes, waiting for Draco to decide on whatever it was he was debating. Seeming to come to a conclusion, Draco leaned forward and gently brushed his lips against Harry's.

A little startled, Harry raised his hand, gently placing it on Draco's chest and pushed slightly. "I...give me some time, okay?" Harry said quietly. He regretted his reaction almost immediately as a shadow passed over Draco's eyes.

"Sleep well, Potter." Draco stepped past him and quietly entered his bedroom, leaving Harry standing in the hallway, stunned.

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"Atticus, what do we have?" Draco asked as he swept into the large conference room that had been designated the Congress headquarters for his investigation.

"Christopher Sayre," a tall witch responded, grabbing a file off her desk and standing to follow quickly behind Draco. "S-A-Y-R-E," she spelled. "Does not exist. However, a certain Isolt Sayre does, founder of Ilvermorny. Her line of descendants is miles long, and diverts quickly. We are currently assuming that he actually has a different last name but used that to make clear he either is - or wishes to be - a direct descendant."

"Isolt Sayre is a relative of-"

"The Gaunts. And Salazar Slytherin. Tom Riddle is laughing at us from whatever ditch he dissolved into."

Draco snorted humorlessly. "I hate it when Potter is right."

"How is he doing, by the way?"

"He'll live."

"He's good at that."

Draco smiled briefly. "Once he is more rested we will get a statement from him. He'll be happy to start work again, I am sure." Draco turned back to the matter at hand. "Any idea where he is yet?"

"No, but we have put out some feelers, trying to boost our surveillance of the surrounding area. We are getting hundreds of owls an hour with leads."

"Anything promising?"

"A few, but nothing has panned out yet."

"Good work. Keep me updated," Draco said as he stood away from the desk. "Get me a list of as many potential relatives of Isolt Sayre as possible. Cross-reference their addresses with the murder sites to narrow down where to start. Let's find this guy."

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Draco returned home to find Hermione and Weasley sitting in his living room. After changing, peeking in on the still-sleeping Potter, and making tea, Draco knew he couldn't avoid them much longer. He sat with them in the small sitting room in an awkward silence. He had no interest in entertaining the two, but knew he had to be cordial. Hermione at least wasn't horrible, attempting to make polite small talk.

Weasley refused to look at Draco on the other hand, staring resolutely at Potter's closed bedroom door. He cleared his throat noisily, causing Draco's lip to curl involuntarily. "More tea?" he asked dryly, needing an excuse to leave.

"Yes, thank you, Draco," Hermione said nicely. Draco nodded once. It appeared as if she really was attempting to mend bridges. Interesting.

While in the kitchen, he heard Weasley speak in a harsh whisper to Hermione. "I can't believe he lives with Malfoy! Why didn't he tell us?"

"Shh, Ronald. He just saved Harry's life again. He is not a threat, get a hold of yourself," she whispered back. It was strange to have Hermione defend him. He didn't care if either of them liked him, they were irrelevant in every way in his life except for Potter. It was interesting that Potter didn't feel the need to tell them he lived with Draco, however.

Draco cringed when he realized he considered Potter a part of his everyday life. Or even the fact that he thought of them as roommates rather than it being a temporary arrangement. The fact of the matter was that he had become accustomed to his presence. It was true, the sex was nice when it had happened before Potter disappeared, but he begrudged thinking of him as anything more than that. A roommate with benefits. Not that it seemed like that was to continue, leaving Draco with some resigned disappointment. It was probably not a good idea anyway due to Draco's conflicted feels for the Chosen One. So what if Draco saved his life? It was his job.

He cleared his throat delicately as he re-entered the room with a fresh pot of tea. "How do you like America?" Hermione asked conversationally, turning away from Weasley who was making that strange cringing face. He eyed the tea Draco poured him suspiciously.

"It is a nice change from London," Draco responded politely. "I get to travel a lot more here."

"Surprised they let you," Weasley grumbled.

Draco looked at him, lifting his chin after finishing his sip of tea. "If I may remind you, Weasley, that you are sitting in our living room." He enjoyed the appalled look that appeared on Weasley's face at the use of 'our.' "Perhaps if you had made it as an auror you would have learned to read people. As Hermione said, am clearly no threat to you or your precious Boy Who Lived Again."

Weasley stared at him, his face rapidly reddening. The use of Hermione's first name did not go unnoticed. Hermione was on Draco's side in this case, and Draco wanted it to be clear he had heard Weasley's whispered objections.

"Right," he grumbled again, looking away from Draco.

Draco and Hermione continued making small talk. He asked about her service in the ministry and pretended to care about her magical creatures she worked with. He was tempted to go wake Potter himself when they finally heard his shower turn on.

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Harry slept better than he expected. Due to his injuries, he was unable to crawl under his bed to sleep as was customary, so he slept on top of the bed. His night was blissfully free of dreams, probably thanks to the sleeping potion he had taken. When he woke, however, his body was sore and hurt something fierce. Unwilling to move, he spent a while laying in bed, processing all that had happened to him over the last four days.

Harry couldn't describe why he felt different about Draco or how it had happened. He already couldn't remember a lot of what happened in the bottom of that cave, much of it a blur of searing pain. When he had been coherent however, he had found himself wondering about those he loved, and why he was holding himself so distant. Perhaps the threat of death forced him to confront his actions and find regret there. He had been denying a lot of feelings he harbored around those near him, and he couldn't reconcile why.

He had intentionally pushed away Hermione and Ron, especially when Ron left the auror department to go help his brother at the Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. In his pained stupor, he recognized that he resented how easily they both adapted to normal life, building a romantic relationship with one another. He knew that Ron had left the auror department because he didn't want to constantly surround himself with danger while Harry fed on it. Harry had felt betrayed by this, and found himself facing danger alone for the first time since he could remember. He had always had them - or at least the spirits of those who loved him and died - so he had never felt truly alone until the day that Ron left. Harry let himself fall into solitude.

He reflected on his brief interaction with Draco the day before. He had been so close to kissing him before he had gone to bed, but had hesitated. It had taken him completely by surprise when Draco initiated a kiss instead, almost as if he had read his mind. It had scared Harry for a reason he couldn't understand. He honestly was glad to see Draco, but it didn't seem fair to be spontaneous and potentially give Draco the wrong idea. He was conflicted about his feelings for him as he couldn't clearly see any sort of future with him like he could with Alec, someone he loved and cared for.

That said, he could admit he was impressed by Draco. He had changed a lot since their school days. At the same time, Harry could hear Ron's voice in the back of his head telling him Harry was trusting to a fault - it was Malfoy of all people, and not everyone deserves second chances. But the man had come through and saved Harry. That counted for something.

Harry knew that he had made some mental switch while in that cave. He wasn't convinced, however, that the darkness he had felt within him when he was with Draco was gone. This made him question the sanity of chasing after Alec, if that hidden need was still there. Distance was probably the correct course for now while he figured out what he needed. However, he wasn't sure if flirting with that desire for control was good for him either.

Sighing, Harry sat up in his bed and managed to throw his legs over the side. He could just barely hear Hermione talking with Draco out in the living room. He wasn't surprised to hear them waiting for him, and was genuinely looking forward to seeing them. He was humbled by their friendship and knew he didn't deserve it.

Really, all this musing was immaterial; he should be focusing on catching the Heir. Since he had spent some time with him, they had new information to go over. He had to get himself back in a productive mental state. And yet his mind kept wandering back to Draco and Alec. Perhaps if he could resolve this, he could concentrate on more important matters. He had attempted to deny the desire before and that ended explosively, so he knew he couldn't use the same approach now.

Resigning himself to talking to Draco about it soon, he stood shakily. He made his way to the bathroom and sat on the side of the tub to rest and look at himself in the mirror. To say he was a frightful mess was an understatement, but he had also seen worse, most notably after almost dying via basilisk venom. They had cleaned off the blood and gore at the hospital, though there was little they could do for the bruising. His ribs were blotted in substantial inky black and green bruising, and his formerly-shattered arm didn't look much better.

A few minutes later, Harry was pretty sure that only flying for the first time rivalled how good it felt to have a proper shower. He knew he had been in the shower too long when he grew light-headed from the steam. Slowly, he turned off the shower and sat to rest again on the side of the tub.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

"Potter. Potter, wake up."

"Mmrum?" Harry mumbled, finding his eyes very difficult to open. When he finally succeeded, he saw three faces hovering over him. "Wha hap'ned?" he slurred, trying to sit up.

"Easy," Ron said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You passed out, mate."

Harry looked around blearily. "Oh…." He was still naked, though he had been covered with a towel by one of them. He couldn't meet Draco's grey eyes, an embarrassed blush coloring his cheeks.

"You suffered a lot of blood loss," Hermione said, helping him to stand and deftly tucking the towel around his waist as he stood, leaning on Ron's shoulder. "You have to be more careful."

"Right, thanks...oh, wait." Harry closed his eyes, adjusting to the light-headedness, a hand on Ron's steady shoulder. "Okay, I am good," he said quietly after the nausea passed.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Potter looked terrible. Due to several days of malnutrition and abuse, his body was noticeably more thin and frail. His lightly tanned complexion was pale and sickly where it wasn't covered in a film of ugly bruises. Potter's eyes had at least regained that brilliant spark, betraying none of the trauma he had just suffered.

"You two get him something to eat," Draco commanded once Potter was steady again. "I am going to start on that blood-replenishment potion."

"Wait, you're brewing it?" Weasley asked incredulously.

Draco gave him a withering look. "Who else can, Weasel? Hermione is going back to the Ministry tonight, Potter obviously can't, and you can barely brew tea." A light hand touched Draco's arm. He frowned down at Potter who was looking at him.

"Thanks, Draco," he said quietly. Draco was both irritated that Potter thought he could stop him from berating his stupid friend, and also because Potter did stop him from berating his stupid friend.

He nodded stiffly at him and swept out of the bathroom, leaving the other two to get Potter dressed. He went back to his bedroom where he had set up a temporary potions station. The healers had come by earlier and provided everything he would need to brew Potter's blood-replenishment potions for the next four weeks. It had to be brewed nightly for freshness, and Potter would need his first dose the following morning. It required all night to simmer, so Draco tied on his brewing smock and set to work.

Several hours later, there was a soft knock on Draco's door.

"What," he called, irritated.

Potter pushed the door open and looked inside. "What're you up to?" he asked casually, smiling as he took in the sight of Draco.

"What does it look like, Potter? Brewing you this bloody potion," he snapped irritably. For the average person, Draco probably looked merely annoyed, but for a Malfoy he was completely disheveled. His long platinum-blonde hair was bound loosely in a bun at the back of his head, and his bangs hung naturally around his face instead of being tightly held back. His sleeves were rolled up, his brewing smock stained. He swore again at the small cauldron he stirred.

"Not going well? I thought you were good at potions."

"I am, but these bloody instructions are rubbish. I should have just followed the formula in Advanced Potions Making," he growled.

"Thanks for doing that," Potter said, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Draco ignored him, and continued to mutter to himself. "Theoretically, if I add more powdered fargut root slowly, it should stabilize…." He glanced up and frowned at Potter. "Bugger off. I will tell you when I am done."

Still grinning, Potter raised his hands defensively and turned to leave.

"Wait, Potter," Draco snapped a second later. "Come here."

Potter turned again to walk back into the room. He moved slowly, his arm gently pressed into his still-sore ribs.

"Sit." Draco pointed at the desk chair that was a foot or two from him. Potter obediently sat. "I need some of your blood for the potion to replicate." He lifted his potions knife and a vial and turned towards Potter. Apparently glad to be sitting again, Potter raised his arm when Draco held out his hand for it.

Just as Draco raised the knife to make a small cut on Potter's arm, Potter jerked his hand away with a sound that was half gasp, half hiss. Draco followed the direction of his eyes, and saw them resting on the Dark Mark now exposed on Draco's left arm. Draco took a step back, pulling down his sleeve quickly. He intentionally wore only long-sleeve shirts since the war to avoid side-glances, but he never expected this sort of reaction. "Potter, I am not going to hurt you," he said slowly, not liking the way the green eyes dilated.

Potter shook his head quickly, standing suddenly. His wide eyes darted around the room, and he began to breathe rapidly. When his eyes locked on Draco again, he almost looked as if he didn't recognize him. Potter pulled out his wand.

Draco raised both his hands higher, one still holding the vial, one holding the knife, palms open as a sign of surrender. His wand was behind him on his work table, making him feel distinctly vulnerable. He backed away slowly as he spoke. "Potter. Harry, look at me. I am not going to hurt you."

"Don't kill him," Potter whispered, the green of his eyes nearly completely overtaken by his pupils.

"I won't, Harry, just put down your wand. You're safe." He had no idea what Potter was talking about, but tried to speak as soothingly as possible. It felt strange.

"Professor," Harry whispered urgently, looking off to the side. He then stared at the ceiling.

Judging himself close enough to the table, Draco decided to risk lunging for his wand. Startled, Potter cried "Depulso!" Sending the wand flying across the room. He advanced on Draco, wand pointed at him.

Hands back up in surrender, Draco took a few more urgent steps back. "Harry -"

"Expelliarmus!" a third voice called from the doorway. Potter's wand flew from his hand and was caught by Hermione in the doorway. "Harry! What's going on?" Hermione kept her wand lifted, looking back and forth between the men.

Draco released a small sigh of relief, though he didn't take his eyes off Potter. "I don't know, he...is confused."

Potter blinked at Hermione. Draco watched his eyes focus and regain their clarity. "Potter?" he asked cautiously.

"Draco…" Potter said slowly, swaying dangerously. He was suddenly paler than Draco, his breathing still rapid. "Sorry, I…." Hermione rushed forward as Potter collapsed on the ground.

"What happened?" Hermione asked again, looking at Draco as they lifted Potter to take him back to his bedroom.

"I don't know," Draco lied, pushing open Potter's door.

As they lay Potter on his bed, Hermione rounded on Draco. "Draco, something happened." She didn't point her wand at him, but she held it visibly at her side. "I have seen him have a flashback like that only twice before and there was definitely something that set him off."

Draco regarded her carefully, keeping his expression blank. He adjusted his smock to smooth out his appearance. "I was working on his potion and I needed a sample of his blood."

Hermione nodded impatiently. She was aware that was an ingredient of the potion so she didn't accept it as the reason for the change. When Draco hesitated, she prompted: "And?"

Draco slowly raised his arm and rolled back up his sleeve, exposing his Dark Mark to Hermione without saying anything.

"Oh," she said, visibly relaxing. She stored her wand back in her robe, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Has he reacted to that like that before?" she asked, nodding towards his arm.

"He hasn't seen it."

"Ever?"

"Well, maybe at the Manor, but the first time was...oh." Draco also sat on the bed as well. "He saw it first in the astronomy tower, I think."

Hermione apparently didn't need him to elaborate. She watched Potter quietly.

"You called it a flashback. When did he do it before?"

"It was right after we left Hogwarts. I don't even remember where we were, but something triggered a memory for him. He said later it was the smell, but something brought him back to the graveyard when Voldemort was restored by Pettigrew. It was like he was back there, trapped, re-living it."

"Can't something be done?"

Hermione shook her head. "It's pretty common for people suffering from trauma. The muggle world is just starting to understand post-traumatic stress, but the wizarding world has no idea. Our healing doesn't really deal with it yet."

Draco sat quietly with her before suddenly standing. "Shit, the potion. I need some of his blood." He left the room to go retrieve the vial and knife. Hermione helped him collect the blood he needed and promptly healed the cut they had made. Potter barely stirred.