10. Wings [Monday, September 20th 2004]

When Draco got to Potter's room the next day, the door was slightly open and he could hear people talking inside. Knowing that Potter would be in a foul mood if he booted out his friends, Draco went into his temporary study instead. He took the time to work on his anatomical preparations, testing the new experimental spells he had found in his research.

Ordinary healing spells had proven ineffective against curse scars, but Draco had reason to believe that first cutting away the scar tissue and then healing the damaged skin would show promising results. Unfortunately, there was no way of telling how living tissue would react to the procedure, as it had some properties that were lost in the preparations. You couldn't really curse those, for one.

What Draco needed was a guinea pig, preferably a human one. Someone with curse scars and no regard for their own safety. Someone willing to take some pain and risks. At least Draco hoped that there would only be some pain.

He had entertained the possibility of testing the spells on himself, but he wouldn't be able to use his magic properly if he was wounded. No, it had to be someone else. And he knew perfectly well who would be particularly suitable for this purpose. But he couldn't ask him, of course. Potter already had nightmares; Draco didn't need to make them worse.

"Alright, get well soon," somebody said in the hallway and Draco heard a door close.

He put away his quill and went out into the hallway, where he came face to face with –

"Blaise?"

"Draco! Fancy meeting you here, at your place of work!" Blaise said, patting him on the shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked incredulously. Blaise was not someone he had expected to see in this particular maximum-security wing.

"I was invited, what else?"

"Invited to do what?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.

"To talk about the accident, of course. We're trying to improve the Lightning Blast," Blaise said excitedly. "I'm afraid I'm a bit biased when it comes to my brooms, but Harry has some very strong opinions. He's exactly what this project needs."

"Yeah, no kidding," Draco agreed. Potter certainly was no pushover, much to his chagrin.

"Alright, I'll see you on Wednesday." Blaise grinned and left him standing there.

Draco looked after him until he was out of sight, very confused. Potter had invited Blaise here?

Potter was sitting on his bed cross-legged, playing with the Snitch again. When Draco entered the room, the Snitch pulled toward the door a few inches, causing Potter to miss it. It rolled down his legs and came to rest at the foot of his bed. Draco picked it up and put it on the side table, where it spun around its own axis slowly.

"Guess it's completely broken now." Potter laughed. Well, someone was in a good mood. This just kept getting weirder and weirder.

"Or maybe it's just fed up with you," Draco speculated. "First you rip it apart and now you just throw it about all day long."

"I'm not throwing it about," Potter protested. "I'm just playing with it."

"So, you didn't throw it at Sanders?"

"That was different! She completely deserved that! And it's just a Snitch! Not like I could have killed her with it or anything!"

"Well, you managed to kill yourself with that very Snitch, didn't you?" Draco said pointedly.

"Shut it, Malfoy. You know what I mean!" Potter said, putting his arms across his chest. His fingers dug into his upper arms, the knuckles white. It rather looked like he was clinging to himself. So much for his good mood.

"I wasn't trying to seriously hurt her," he added defiantly.

"So, you didn't try to set her on fire, as well?" Draco asked.

"And how would I have done that? Did I throw a match at her too?" Potter was really surging up now.

Draco just kept looking at him, which definitely didn't help calming him down. "She thinks you are hiding your wand somewhere."

Potter threw out his arms angrily. "Oh? Do you think so too? Do you want to search me, perhaps?!"

"No, not at all," Draco said calmly. "I know perfectly well that you can set someone on fire even without your wand. Your anger issues and poor impulse control are seeing to that."

"Are you done lecturing me now?" Potter bit out.

"Not yet," Draco said, sighing. "Look, I couldn't care less for Sanders. She should have left you alone after you first threw the Snitch at her, at the latest. What I do care about is not being set on fire. Understood?"

There was silence for a second.

"Yeah, fine," Potter grumbled.

Draco clapped his hands once, startling him.

"Alright, get up!" he said and Potter obeyed grudgingly.

"Okay, now close your eyes," Draco instructed.

Potter knit his eyebrows. "I'm not doing that."

Draco told himself to keep calm. He was a professional. Patients were difficult sometimes. He could manage. "Why not? I can't jinx you if I want to keep my job, can I?"

"Fine," Potter pressed out. "But if you want to leave here with both your hands attached, you'd better not touch me."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," Draco said, putting his wand above his heart for emphasis. Potter closed his eyes reluctantly.

"Okay, now picture all the things you can't do right now."

Potter's brow furrowed some more and he was swaying slightly on the spot. This was, of course, to be expected, since his sense of balance was screwed up, his legs were rather weak and his eyes were closed. Draco kept his hands firmly at his sides and just took a few steps back as Potter fell down on his hands and knees.

He hit the floor with a yell and then whipped his head up to narrow his eyes at Draco. "Did you plan for that?!" he asked furiously.

"No. I planned on catching you," Draco said matter-of-factly. "But I also really like my hands. You see my dilemma."

Potter glared at him some more and Draco decided he could stand to budge an inch.

"Tell you what: You can hold onto my arm and I won't have to touch you at all," Draco offered. "You can even pinch me if you get too fed up with me, which I'm sure will happen sooner rather than later."

Potter pulled himself up and then took a hold of his proffered right arm. It always felt wrong to have others touch his left, but offering it to Harry Potter of all people would have felt downright filthy. If Potter had noticed him switching to his left side, he didn't mention it.

"Alright, close your eyes again. Now think of everything you'll get to do once you're discharged."

Potter looked rather distracted, a laborious expression on his face.

After half a minute, he muttered, "I can't think with my eyes closed and you standing next to me."

"Quidditch," Draco suggested. "Birthday parties. Sleeping in your own bed. Getting laid at illegal Polyjuice Parties."

Potter pinched him hard. "We don't ever talk about that, because it didn't happen!"

"Ouch! Stop it, Potter!" Draco yelped.

He tried to wrench his arm away, but Potter was holding on tight, still pinching him. Using his left arm, Draco pushed him away by the forehead and Potter fell back onto the bed.

"You're not allowed to talk about that! That's a breach of Healer-patient confidentiality!"

"I am allowed to talk to the patient about it!"

Potter pulled his leg up onto the bed and put his arms around his knees, on which he rested his head.

"This is stupid. Your whole Zen charade is completely useless."

"I'm trying to give you a goal to work for, but you're too busy feeling sorry for yourself! It's quite pathetic, to be honest."

Draco took a small, golden box out of his front pocket and slapped it on the side table. The Golden Snitch, still spinning, rolled over to it like it had been accio-ed.

"What's that?" Potter looked up at him, intrigued.

"An incentive."

Potter took the box (and the Snitch, since it was sticking to it) and opened it. Inside were two delicate silvery wings.

"Where did you get these?" he asked and took them out gingerly.

"Found them on the pitch," Draco said, still pissed off.

"I thought you said the wings were evidence?"

Draco shrugged. "I never said the Aurors found them, did I? Doesn't mean they're not evidence. Not very thorough, these professionals."

"They look really pitiful," Potter said, closing his eyes and also both hands around the Snitch and its wings. "Reparo."

A faint light shone through his fingers and something jingled in his hands. When he opened them again, the Snitch was whole once more.

"First of all: show-off," said Draco with a roll of his eyes.

But Potter just grinned at him and lifted it up between thumb and index finger before letting it go. It hovered in the air between the two of them and they watched the tiny wings flutter happily.

Potter opened his mouth to say something when his magic failed unexpectedly. The body of the Snitch dropped to the floor like a stone. The wings sailed down slowly, finally landing on Potter's legs. Potter seemed to be rather upset and it took him a few seconds to close his mouth.

"Second of all: You shouldn't use magic while you're still healing. It will only take longer."

Potter completely ignored what Draco had said and instead offered the wings to him. "You fix them."

Draco summoned the golden body and dropped it into Potters outstretched hand.

"No," he said bluntly. "You'll have to do this yourself, when you get out of here."

This set Potter off again. Of course. "Why? Because I'm not jumping at the chance to meditate with you? That's really childish, Malfoy."

"No, because there are things you have to actually work for! And some things are worth the effort!" Draco said sharply. "You can't just expect everything to magically fix itself! That's childish."

For a moment it seemed that Potter was going to fight him on it. But then he looked down at the Snitch in his hands, battered and broken, but still fighting, and there was resolution on his face.

"Yeah … You're right." Potter pointed at him and added sternly, "Don't ever tell anybody I said that."

He put the wings back into their box and got up from the bed. Draco flinched when Potter took hold of his left arm of his own accord and closed his eyes.

A chill travelled up Draco's arm, and he tried desperately to shake it off before Potter could notice. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Alright, I'm ready. Let's do this!"