21. How did this get so dark? [Saturday, January 1st 2005]

The Healers had to purify Potter's blood three times over as many hours until the poison was completely cleared out. Since they did not know how or with what Potter had been poisoned, it was hard to tell what the long-term consequences would entail.

Draco was not allowed to help with the healing, as he was not completely sober and this was not his ward. He had to stay in the waiting room with Potter's family instead, forced to wait for news.

Nobody said anything, which meant that Draco had time to thoroughly beat himself up over what had happened. He was a Healer; he should have recognised the signs. Nobody declined that quickly just from alcohol. But Draco had done his best to avoid Potter, who had asked around for him the whole time.

Had Potter even wanted to talk to him? Maybe he had felt ill much sooner and tried to get a hold of him because of it? Had Draco endangered Potter's life because he could not deal with his unrequited feelings?

~o~

Around half past two, Healer Redwood came to take the family for a quick visit while Draco stayed outside his room with Blaise, feeling more than a little out of place. This was where the Aurors found them.

All three of them were wearing shield vests and wand holsters. They had forgone their long scarlet robes, which Draco found quite unsettling. When an Auror went to make an arrest, they typically did not wear an immensely impractical robe but something they could actually fight in if need be. And they had suspected Blaise once before already.

Draco recognised the greying wizard in the middle as William Mulberry, Head of the Auror Office. Splendid. With him were Auror Lancaster, who had stood guard at Potter's wing the last time, and a young witch with short, frizzy hair and a thin scar that went down the length of her throat and vanished underneath her shirt.

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Zabini," Mulberry said calmly, "We've got a few questions."

"Are we in trouble?" Blaise blurted out, like an idiot. Way to seem unsuspicious. Draco stepped on his foot to keep him from saying anything else.

"No, we are not, because we didn't do anything," he said pointedly, holding Mulberry's gaze. "Please ignore what he just said. Blaise is still a little traumatised by the last time he was wrongfully accused of attempting assassination."

"Not to worry," Mulberry replied, exchanging a glance with the young witch to his right. "We are only taking everybody's accounts of the events that took place at tonight's party."

Mulberry jerked his head in Lancaster's direction, who promptly took his place at Potter's door, crossing his arms in an intimidating display of biceps that threatened to burst through his shirt sleeves.

Mulberry indicated the vacant room opposite Potter's. "In here, Mr. Zabini. Mr. Malfoy, please follow Auror Jenkins."

Though he was anxious to leave Blaise alone with Mulberry, there was nothing Draco could do about it.

He followed Jenkins into a room at the end of the hall and sat down in the only guest chair at her behest. She stood leaning against the wardrobe next to the door, effectively blocking the only exit.

"My name is Carys Jenkins, personnel number A 15735. This memory will be extracted by an authorised Auror for further investigation. Please state your name and occupation."

"I am Draco Lucius Malfoy." His voice broke there and he had to clear his throat, closing his eyes briefly.

The last time he had been interrogated had been right after the war, for days on end. He couldn't think of that now, he had to keep calm. He wasn't facing Azkaban this time, because he had done nothing illegal, for once. Just stay calm.

"I am a Trauma Healer at St. Mungo's."

"You were at the Weasleys' New Year's Party at Shell Cottage?"

"Yes, I was."

"Please tell me everything you remember."

Draco had to give it to her – though she couldn't have been older than him, she was definitely good at her job. He had the displeasure of encountering all kinds of Aurors over the years and it was very easy to spot the bad ones. They usually asked all kinds of pointed questions, trying to get the answer they wanted and not the one they needed. Jenkins seemed at least willing to listen to his own account of the events.

"I arrived at Shell Cottage around nine. Potter introduced me to some of the other guests and then went to sit with his Quidditch team at the fire. I made conversation with some French mediwitches. Then Blaise fetched me to come over to the bonfire. Potter came back there some time later. He gave Leona Robinson something to drink. Seemed like he is somewhat notorious for mixing his own drinks. He also seemed to be quite drunk already."

"What time was that?" Jenkins prompted.

"Definitely after ten. Maybe a quarter past?"

"Please continue."

"I went to find some food. Potter wanted to join me, but I thought he looked unwell, so I told him to stay. I sent a waitress over with something to eat, to get him to sober up."

Draco decided to omit the fact that he had tried to avoid Potter at any cost. It wasn't relevant and might have looked suspicious.

"Blaise had already told him to stop drinking. I ran into Luna Lovegood and Dean Thomas, and we played a few rounds of Exploding Snap. Then I went for some bread, that was maybe around eleven. I briefly saw him in the crowd. He seemed rather drunk, could hardly walk in a straight line."

Draco broke off, staring at the floor to his feet. His hands were twitching nervously, so he folded them in his lap.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Jenkins said cautiously, as if afraid he might snap.

He cleared his throat again, trying to swallow the lump that had built up inside of it.

"Sorry," he croaked. "It just seems so idiotic in hindsight. I should have noticed something. I've seen him drunk before and he could still talk then, even if it didn't necessarily make sense. But last night, he just stopped talking in the middle of a sentence, like he couldn't remember what he was doing a second ago. That was uncharacteristic."

"But you did bring him in, didn't you? You caught on eventually." She uncrossed her arms, maybe to seem less aggressive, more approachable.

"I still thought it was alcohol poisoning when I brought him here. Blaise told me that Potter went around looking for me, and that they put him on the couch inside. So, I went with Blaise. Potter collapsed right in front of us, right there on the threshold. I told Blaise to get Granger. I Apparated us to St. Mungo's. Later, Healer Redwood informed us that Potter ingested a large amount of some potion. Far too much for somebody of his stature. He could still die."

Draco turned to look out of the window, trying to get his burning eyes under control. He was a Malfoy, for crying out loud. This was humiliating.

"Potion doesn't make its way into anybody's cup by accident. Somebody did it on purpose, but who would? I didn't meet a single person there who did not seem to like him," he concluded, just to say anything and distract from his emotional display. Simply embarrassing.

"That's what we are trying to find out," Jenkins said, giving him a small smile. Was she trying to cheer him up now? Or trying to lull him into a false sense of security? She looked down at her pocket-book, ticking some things off and skipping others.

"Mr. Malfoy, did you see anybody give Mr. Potter something to eat or drink?"

"Well, the waitress I sent probably did. She was a little shorter than me, maybe forty years old. I think she was a brunette."

"Anybody else come to mind?"

Draco tried to remember but came up empty-handed. He hadn't exactly paid attention to that kind of thing. He had been more concerned with processing his enormous epiphany. He shook his head sullenly.

"I see. And who invited you to the party?"

"Potter sent me an owl a week ago."

"And how would you describe your relationship with Mr. Potter?"

Complicated.

"Unlikely as it sounds, we are friends."

Until Draco tells him, that is.

"I also treat him frequently. He spends a lot of time at St. Mungo's, most of it trauma-related. That's what I specialised in."

"And what is Mr. Zabini's relationship with Mr. Potter?"

One shag too many.

"They are friends, as well. Blaise is dating Ginny Weasley, which is why they see each other all the time. They are also working on a broom together. The three of them."

Without him. Not that he'd want in on that catastrophe. It was just that they could definitely have used a Healer now and then.

"That wouldn't happen to be the Lightning Blast?" she inquired, raising an eyebrow. "The one Mr. Potter had his accident on?"

"They are improving it!" Draco said defensively. "They are searching for ways to make it safer. No foul play there at all."

"I didn't say there was, did I?"

"Your face told me," Draco replied coldly. "Look, Auror Jenkins. I've known Blaise since I was four. He's boastful and vain and materialistic and incredibly proud. But he is not an evil person. He never joined the Death Eaters, never showed any inclination he was even considering it. He would never do something like this."

Draco remembered Blaise's face rather vividly, the horror in his eyes when he thought Sooky could have killed Potter. Draco knew what murderers looked like and Blaise was not one of them.

Jenkins closed her notebook and gestured towards the door. "Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You are free to go."

~o~

Granger was waiting for him in front of Potter's room, talking to Lancaster quietly. When he approached them, she looked up anxiously.

"Blaise went home with Ginny. Harry's still unconscious. Will you stay and wait for him to wake up?" she asked silently. "They won't let us, but you work here, so I can authorise you."

Draco just nodded and went in. And this was why, once again, Draco was keeping vigil by Potter's bedside, though he had to leave his wand outside this time.

Draco did not read or practice spells like he had last time, since he did not feel like he could concentrate on anything besides staring at Potter's lifeless hand, which was lying beside his body above the blanket.

'I must not tell lies', it read. Draco felt addressed. He should have told Potter the truth instead of putting it off until a later time. He took Potter's icy hand into his own and squeezed it slightly.

"I am sorry," Draco whispered. "Please do me a favour and don't die."

"–'m getting good at it," Potter mumbled back, opening his eyes just the teeniest bit. His hand remained still in Draco's.

Draco laughed desperately, sounding more like he was about to cry. "You're the worst at dying. Never manage to stay dead."

But Potter's eyes were already closed again and there wasn't a response, though he was still breathing steadily. Draco couldn't make himself let go of his hand again, so he stayed in his chair for the next five hours.