Draco cannot help the slight trickle of unease as he offers Potter his arm for Side-Along Apparation. His home is finally private again – his own tainted sanctuary – and he's not entirely sure that bringing Potter is the best of ideas. It's only practical, though.
Draco steps away as soon as the familiar sensation stops. Potter hesitates for a moment, regaining his balance, and Draco makes a mental note to expose Potter to as much Apparation as possible in the near future, to eradicate that reflex. There will be times, Draco suspects, that hesitation, even for an instant, could be dangerous.
Striding through the wards, Draco waves his wand, allowing them to part for Potter and seal back up behind him. He stops for a moment on the front steps.
"Listen to me for a moment, Harry. I want you to stay in the foyer. I'll only be gone for a few moments, at most. Got it?"
Harry frowns, but he nods reluctantly, and Draco finally opens the door.
He steps through, Potter close on his heels, to find a frazzled Wilma waiting for him.
"Oh, Wilma is being so glad that Master is home! Wilma is not knowing what to do, because Master is telling Wilma to stay with the Mistress, only Mistress is not waking up! Mistress is laying on the floor and Mistress is not getting up!"
A weight of sheer, blinding panic settles in his gut.
"Stay, Potter!"
And Draco sprints – he doesn't think he's ever sprinted before in his life – to his mother's room, throwing the door open.
She is sprawled out on the floor like a child's rag doll, left behind when the child's attention shifted to something else. Her limbs are askew, as though she was standing and simply crumpled in place, legs bent beneath her, an arm out wide in each direction.
He drops to his knees beside her.
"Mum?" he whispers, taking in her closed eyes and slack expression. After a moment of no response, he pulls out his wand.
"Ren-" he begins, but and arm on his wand hand stops him from completing the motion.
"Wait," Potter's voice says, soft, but seeming loud in the too-quiet room. "It can be harmful to force consciousness, depending on the reason for the initial loss. Unconsciousness can be a body's way of restarting itself. Healing."
Draco scowls at him for interrupting, but his calm words make sense.
"What, then?" Draco spits, his temper frayed by the situation.
"Here, let me," Potter murmurs, pulling out his own wand. Draco is extremely loath to let Potter cast unknown spells on his mother, but he's even more resistant to the idea of doing nothing at all, and attempting to move her to Saint Mungo's could potentially be damaging.
He scowls again before reluctantly moving to allow Potter a better angle.
Potter waves his wand over her in an arcing pattern, covering a broad area. Draco can't quite make out his words – he's muttering under his breath. After a few moments, a string of glowing blue letters begins streaming from the tip of Potter's wand.
Potter's eyes scan over the letters, apparently making sense of what looks like complete and utter gibberish to Draco.
"Well, it's not good, but it could be far worse. She hasn't been eating. Levels of several key nutrients are in danger zones, and by the looks of it she hasn't been drinking much either, nor sleeping. I… I'd probably suggest moving her to Saint Mungo's for full recovery. This isn't the sort of thing a Nutrient Potion and a Sleeping Draught can fix."
Draco frowns. His panic now settling into a dull guilt, he has realized something.
"Harry? Why in Merlin's name do you know how to do that?"
"The diagnostic spell?" Harry grins. "Thought I wanted to be a Healer for a bit. Thought I'd had enough of fighting. Then I realized I'm sort of addicted to adrenalin, so that plan sort of went out the window." He shrugs. "I think some part of me always knew I was due to be an Auror, anyway. 'S what I told Professor McGonagall, when they asked about career plans."
Draco frowns. He recalls telling Professor Snape that he wanted to be a Potions Master. Snape had sneered at him in response, and told him that if he didn't know what he wanted to be, he ought to just say so, rather than pitching a pathetic attempt at flattery.
Needless to say, the meeting hadn't lasted so long.
Rather than say that, though, he curls an arm underneath his mother's knees and picks her up gently.
"Floo?" he asks.
Harry nods, taking the Floo powder from a container by the fireplace in the bedroom. He tosses it on the dying flames and they flare up green.
"Saint Mungo's!" he says quite clearly, having inhaled before he stepped into the fireplace. Draco almost wants to grin at that – clearly Harry has inhaled smoke before. Instead he adjusts his mum in his arms – Merlin, but she doesn't weigh nearly as much as she should – and steps into the flames, calling out the name of the hospital.
A Healer is right by the flames with a floating table. Draco looks around and finds Potter beside him –Harry nods, and Draco gently sets his mum down on the table. He pats her hand gently and then reluctantly allows the Healer to wheel her away.
Potter grins ruefully. "It's amazing how fast these people mobilize when it's me stepping through the flames."
Draco stares at him blankly, and Pot- Harry shrugs. "Well, being the Savior of the Wizarding World was bound to be good for something, eventually. Why don't we sit? Who knows how long they might be."
And he strides off, turning around after several steps, finally realizing that Draco isn't behind him.
"Draco?"
Draco steps forward, closing the unusual gap between them. "What are you playing at, Potter? What do you want?"
Potter frowns, eyebrows furrowing. "What do you mean?"
"What do you want?" Draco hisses. "Whatever you're looking for, I assure you, I don't have it."
Potter's face looks entirely befuddled. "What are you talking about?"
"This!" Draco says, somehow managing to both yell and whisper at the same time. "All of this. You. And the helping."
Potter raises an eyebrow. "I'm not allowed to help without you questioning my motives?"
"No! You aren't! Because it doesn't. Make. Sense! People don't do that, Potter. People don't help their rival."
"I'd rather thought we were past that," Potter says, his voice almost cold.
Draco sneers. "Potter, the past will always matter. Always."
But Potter is shaking his head. "No. I don't… Actually, that's not true. I do believe that. But I don't believe that you can't get past that. You can't erase the past, but you can overcome it."
"People don't… Potter, no one forgives that easily."
His eyes drop to the floor. "I do," he murmurs quietly.
"That isn't normal!"
And Potter's gaze snaps up from the floor, his green eyes blazing with fury. "I've never been normal, Draco! I was never allowed to be normal! Not even before I knew I was famous, because with my family, all I would ever and will ever be is the freak!"
His eyes are glowing, his nostrils flared, and his fists clenched. The rest of the waiting room has gone oddly silent, and everyone is trying to look like they aren't listening, but in reality, they all have their ears tilted toward the pair, trying to catch every word.
"Potter, maybe we ought to move this," Draco mutters.
"It's Harry!" he yells, before stomping out of the room, Draco on his heels.
Harry's agitated gait continues until they reach the end of an oddly vacant hallway. He doesn't turn around to face Draco. His fists are still clenched, and Draco can hear him attempting to regulate his breathing.
After long minutes, Harry finally turns around. The fierce light in his eyes has dimmed to their usual brilliant emerald.
"Why is it so hard for you to believe that I've forgiven you?" His voice is… raw. Hurt. And it is this – in addition to the fact that Draco clearly has not control at all around Potter, which he already knew – that causes Draco to be unusually honest and frank in his response.
"Because I haven't forgiven myself."
And at that, the last of the fight goes out of Harry. He takes a step forward.
"Draco, there's nothing… You don't need to feel guilty."
Draco cannot help the slight flare of rage. "Don't pretend to know what I've done!" he snaps.
Harry flinches backwards. "We all make mistakes," he says softly.
"But we do not all make mistakes of the same magnitude," Draco counters.
"Desperate people do… Unforgivable things."
Draco meets Harry's eyes, wondering if Harry is trying to imply what it sounds like he is, by his emphasis.
The answer, clear in emerald, is yes. And Draco is astonished at Harry's somewhat impressive attempt at subtlety.
"Mr. Malfoy?" A nurse in red robes stands at the end of the hall.
Draco raises a hand, turning toward her and taking a few steps forward.
"Your mother is ready for visitors, sir."
Draco nods. Harry thanks the woman as she leads them through the passageways, and Draco follows, numb.
