22. Out of focus [Saturday, January 1st 2005]
"Malfoy!"
Draco's eyes flew open. He was still sitting in his chair, upper body bent over. His head was resting on Potter's legs. He let go of the hand he was still holding and sat up groaning, much to the protest of his back.
Potter was watching him intently. "Something is wrong. Everything feels inverted."
"What do you mean, 'inverted'?" Draco asked, instantly alert.
"I mean that this happens when I try to lift my hand," Potter said, raising his left hand a few inches.
Draco let go of the anxious breath he'd been holding. "Looks good to me?"
"I'm trying to lift my right hand, you idiot."
"Looks slightly less good," Draco agreed, getting up. "I'll find a Healer."
"No!" Potter yelled, sitting bolt upright. "You are a Healer. I don't need another one."
"I'm on Trauma, not on Potions, Potter."
"Please!" Potter said, reaching out with his left hand and completely missing Draco, who stood to his right.
"Calm down," Draco said, putting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. "I will not just find the next best Healer I stumble upon, alright? I'll find someone absolutely trustworthy."
"Can't you just do it?" Potter pleaded.
"You don't really want me to do it. I'm not exactly up-to-date when it comes to potion complications."
It took another few minutes (and the promise to inform Granger promptly) to persuade Potter to let him go find someone else.
As it turned out, Potter must have taken a massive overdose of what seemed to be Confounding Concoction. This was not a poison per se, but had the effect of slowly paralysing the recipient's organs when taken in larger doses.
Healer Patil (the Ravenclaw one) estimated that it would take a good three weeks to fully shake off the symptoms. This alone was enough to make Potter's blood boil, but when she proceeded to tell him that he would have to spend one week of that time at St. Mungo's, Potter flat-out refused and sent Patil to prepare his release forms.
"Harry, be reasonable," Granger tried to argue with him, as the door closed behind Patil.
"I am not spending another night here, Hermione!" Potter said adamantly.
"Fine, come live with us then," Granger said. Potter shook his head before she had even finished the sentence.
"I don't want to burden you. You've both got work, you can't babysit me all the time."
"You are not a burden, Harry! How many times do I have to tell you?" she said exasperatedly, but Potter just looked at her coldly. "Fine, then stay at the Burrow. Molly doesn't have to work anyway, and you know she would gladly take you."
Potter just looked at her blankly, his mouth pressed together in a thin line. Draco had a feeling that Potter had more than one reason not to stay at the Burrow, none of which he wanted to reveal to Granger.
"Malfoy can stay with me," he blurted out suddenly, startling all of them.
"I can?" Draco said.
"Yeah, why not? I'll just pay your wage for the whole week, overtime and all," Potter seemed very enthusiastic all of a sudden. "You can do whatever, read or something. It will be a walk in the park. Just see that I don't stumble down the stairs or something."
"Harry, are you sure?" Granger said hesitantly. "I don't know if that's the best idea."
Draco wasn't sure either, but probably not for the same reasons as Granger. How was he supposed to survive a whole week cooped up with Potter at Grimmauld Place?
He had resolved to tell Potter about his feelings, but now was hardly the time, was it? You just didn't tell someone you liked them right after they almost died (again). That was the easiest way to make them believe it was just a spur of the moment thing.
"It'll be fine, don't worry. He knows CPR and everything," Potter said, looking up at Draco with his bright green eyes.
And that was all it took for Draco to cave. Not that he knew what weird Muggle thing 'CPR' even stood for. "Fine, I'll do it – if Meadows goes along with it!"
Granger sighed heavily, but Potter beamed at him and that was all the affirmation Draco needed. He would have to send an owl to Blaise so he would know to take care of Aurelius for him. He certainly wouldn't be leaving Potter alone to walk the dog and he sure as hell wouldn't take Potter outside with them.
When Patil came back with the papers, Granger signed them reluctantly and then helped Draco transport Potter to the next fireplace. They had decided that this would be the safest way to get Potter home, as he was definitely not fit to Apparate.
Granger handed Potter's wand over to Draco for safekeeping and then helped both of them squeeze into the fireplace. Draco put an arm around Potter's waist as a precaution and then threw some Floo powder into the flames.
"Number twenty-two, Grimmauld Place," Potter said and they were off.
~o~
When Potter stumbled out of the fireplace this time, Draco was prepared and managed to keep both of them on their feet. He deposited him on the chair that stood nearest to the fire and then looked around.
They were in the dining room, which looked nothing like the ones Draco was used to from his childhood. The floor was made from white marble, but the walls were painted a plain cream and not panelled with wood like the ancient Pure-blood homes usually were.
Then there were the paintings – the one above the fireplace depicted abstract blue-and-green shapes and another next to the door showed a blue potions bottle. Draco wasn't even sure if they were magical paintings, as not a single one showed a witch or wizard. The door itself was enormous – two-winged, arching and with glass-panels at the top.
Even the fireplace was new, black and white like the table (which had a glass top), the eight chairs grouped around it, and the carpet underneath them. Two of the walls were completely comprised of windows.
They were on the ground floor and Draco could look out at the street, where a few people were passing by, never once looking at them. He was pretty sure that the building was completely invisible to them.
Draco had always assumed that Potter did not set much store in pureblood heirlooms. But when he thought about what all of the Black interior must have been worth, his stomach turned. He really hoped Potter had not just vanished everything.
"This is Grimmauld Place?" Draco asked, just to make sure.
"Yeah, this is where I live," Potter said, looking up at him. "Why?"
"What did you do to it?"
"I ... renovated?" Potter said, puzzled. "That's what you do when you move in, right?"
"I didn't," Draco said.
Potter grinned. "Is that why your wallpaper has a flower pattern?"
"Only in the hallway!" Draco protested. "What did you do with all the stuff that was inside the house?"
"Nothing. It was empty when I bought it," Potter said. "You know this is not the Black house?"
"You have another house at Grimmauld Place?"
"Yeah. That way I can keep an eye on it," Potter said, gesturing at the window. "And nobody would suspect that I live right across from it."
Draco looked outside. "Which one is it?"
"You'd know it if you could see it," Potter said. "But nice to know that you can't."
They made their way into the kitchen, which was situated right across the dining room. Going straight was not so much of a problem for Potter, it was only the directions that were tricky. Draco still supported him with an arm around his waist. Potter was paying him, after all.
"You smell like smoke," Potter declared, wrinkling his nose.
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty. I did not get a chance to shower in between dragging your arse to St. Mungo's and making sure you don't just snuff it during the night," Draco said sarcastically.
"You are forgiven," Potter said generously, taking a sniff at himself. "I smell like hospital."
"You smell like magic," Draco corrected. "Mostly the hygienic spells they do for healing."
"I hate that; always makes me feel really artificial. Like a robot," Potter complained, sitting down at the kitchen island.
"What's that?" Draco asked, looking around.
The kitchen was just as modern as the sitting room, apparently completely made from steel. It was also entirely free of clutter. A tea kettle stood on the worktop, which was completely empty beyond that. There were no wall cupboards, as two of the walls comprised of windows from the worktops up. This seemed to be the general theme of Potter's house.
"It's a construction Muggles use to do things for them. They are metal and can perform tasks," Potter tried to explain. He must have noticed the confusion on Draco's face, because he seemed to think for a few seconds. "Imagine if you could use the Imperius on a suit of armour and make it do whatever you want. That's basically what a robot is."
"Impressive. Without using any magic?" Draco said, opening some of the cupboards at random. All of them contained cookware, neatly stacked.
"Yep," Potter said, "They go to great lengths. What are you searching for?"
"Food. Don't you have any? All I see are pots and pans. Nobody needs that many."
"I do," Potter disagreed. "Food is in the pantry, that's the door right there." Potter pointed out at the street. Draco raised an eyebrow at him and Potter frowned.
"Wrong side, again," he grumbled and then lifted his other hand to point at a door opposite the window. "There it is."
Potter's pantry was full to bursting and still the neatest Draco had ever seen. Everything seemed to have its place. Jugs of milk were placed in precise rows and even the potatoes were stacked to form a pyramid. Draco felt like he had fallen into one of those glossy interior design magazines his neighbour Mrs. Maloney liked to read. Potter's house was too tidy, without that lived-in feeling Draco's house had. It reminded him of the Manor.
Draco went searching for any of the convenience products he usually bought, but couldn't find any. What was he supposed to do with all this? He usually ate some cereal for breakfast, but that was completely missing from Potter's pantry. All he managed to find was some bread and jam in a plain jar.
As he turned to enter the kitchen again, he noticed the quill that was flying across a piece of parchment on the wall, writing down 'whole-grain bread' as well as 'strawberries', 'jam sugar' and 'vanilla'.
"Do you make your jam?" Draco asked, placing his findings on the table.
Potter grinned. "I'm full of surprises."
Now that he had successfully escaped St. Mungo's, he seemed to be in exceptionally high spirits. He was looking at the hallway door – or rather the wall next to it, which Draco hadn't been able to see before. It looked like it didn't belong in Potter's neat, completely impersonal house. A plethora of children's drawings were pinned to it, most of them signed 'Ted'.
"And you are an artist as well," Draco added with a smirk. "I don't know why you even bothered with Hogwarts."
"But who would've wiped that smug look off your face if I hadn't been there?" Potter said, turning the long way around to face the kitchen island.
Draco refrained from engaging and instead spread jam on a slice of bread and placed it in Potter's left hand, which seemed to be operating more steadily than his right one.
"Just imagine you're holding it in your right hand and you should be fine," Draco advised.
Potter managed to eat his breakfast pretty well, if at a much slower pace than usual – which Draco saw as an added bonus if he was being honest. They were just finished when the window opened on its own and that bloody eagle owl flew in, landing on an empty barstool.
"That yours?" Draco asked with a disdainful glance at the owl. "I hate that creature."
"Nah, Odysseus is Matt's owl. What did he ever do to you?" Potter grinned, feeding the owl the last of his bread.
"He bit me!" Draco protested. "And he kept vigil by your bedside after your last near-death experience, every night at the same time. Bloody creepy."
"He must like me more than you," Potter said smugly, picking up his letter with some difficulty and then struggling to break the seal. "Little help?"
Draco took the letter from him, steering clear of the owl, which was glaring at him intently. He unrolled the parchment and read it out to Potter, who wouldn't be able to read for a few more days at the very least.
Dear Harry,
I just got word that you've already been discharged. The whole team was immensely worried about you. They told me that everybody at the party has been thoroughly interrogated by the Aurors. They seem confident that they will find the person responsible.
I wish you a speedy recovery. Is there any estimate on when you will be back with us?
Best wishes,
Matt
Draco looked at Potter, who had flinched intensely. He was looking back at him, apparently thunderstruck.
"Puddlemere! How could I forget about the match?" he said, banging his left hand onto his empty plate, making both of them jump and causing Odysseus to give a startled shriek.
"Could have something to do with being severely Confunded?" Draco said. "I was thinking you were suspiciously calm about the whole ordeal."
"Which ordeal?" Potter asked, massaging his hand.
"You know ... being poisoned at your own New Year's party?"
"Poisoned?" Potter said, looking positively puzzled.
"Why else would the Aurors get involved?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes at him.
Potter frowned. "What's that about Aurors?" He seemed to have already forgotten what Draco had just read to him.
Draco hated potion overdoses. The effects were much more unpredictable than spell damage could ever be. You never knew how the body would react to it, and Potter's had apparently chosen to ride the waves.
"That's it, I'm confining you to your bed," Draco said, pulling Potter off the barstool by his arm. Potter slid right off, landing on his arse and pulling Draco down onto his knees as well.
"Guess you won't be much help," Draco grumbled, standing back up. "I will just levitate you, alright?"
Potter just looked up at him in confusion. Draco wasn't sure if he was even aware of what was going on anymore. Draco took out his wand and Potter's eyes were fixed on it instantly.
"Mobilicorpus!"
The spell bounced off the protective shield that suddenly flared up around Potter.
"Brilliant," said Draco, putting his wand away.
How the hell was he supposed to transport Potter upstairs now? He clearly was in no state to simply walk. Draco sighed and squatted down in front of Potter, who was still surrounded by his shimmering force field.
"Hey, it's me," he said casually. "Can I lift you up or do you want to stay on the cold, hard floor?"
"Draco?" Potter said, looking at him with round eyes.
"Fine, why not," Draco agreed, reaching out a hand.
It went right through the shield, a tickling sensation dancing across his skin. He took this as permission to carry on. He lifted Potter up by both arms and then grabbed his legs and threw Potter over his shoulder with much effort. This was met with some vague verbal protest, but Draco supposed that overall, Potter was already disoriented enough that this didn't add much to it.
Draco carried Potter up the stairs, all the while complaining under his breath. Potter might have been small and lean, but Draco was not exactly muscular and definitely not used to doing heavy lifting without using his wand.
To hell with Potter's overcautious nature and his high-ceilinged house, which made the staircase longer than it had to be. Every single step felt like the last one Draco could manage and he was severely out of breath when he finally arrived at the top of the stairs. He looked around and saw four doors, none of which indicated what was behind.
"Where's your bedroom?" Draco asked, wiggling his shoulder to rouse Potter.
"Always knew you wanted to get me into bed," Potter mumbled uselessly.
Draco sighed and tried the first door, which revealed a sitting room. The fireplace was identical to the one in the dining room, but this room was, all in all, warmer than the one downstairs. The floor was made from dark wood and the abstract paintings had a crimson colour scheme.
Draco briefly debated just leaving Potter on one of the cream-coloured couches but ultimately decided against it. He would probably just roll off it and break his neck on the coffee table, which was made from massive wood. And who would believe Draco that that was not his fault? Fat chance.
Behind the next door was the bathroom, also with one entire wall made of glass. This house was definitely invisible to outsiders, Draco promptly decided.
The third door finally led to the bedroom. Draco immediately dropped Potter onto the bed, which was neatly made (something Draco never got around to do himself). He didn't fancy pulling the blanket out from under Potter – his arms were aching as it was already – so he just enveloped him in it like a bird closing its wings around itself. Or maybe like a crimson burrito.
Odysseus was still in the kitchen when Draco came back, glaring at him as usual. Draco took the pantry quill and wrote an answer, assuring Matthew Greyson that Potter would be up and about in approximately three weeks and therefore not be able to play against Puddlemere on the sixteenth.
He didn't dare touch Odysseus, so he just offered the scroll to him and managed to avoid his talons (if barely). The owl clicked its beak twice (which rather felt like a threat to Draco) and then took off. The window closed behind it on its own.
Draco went back upstairs, more attentive this time. It was just now that he noticed the Snitches. Potter had fused delicate golden chains to them and hung them up in neat rows on the wall next to the stairs. There were dozens of them and the sunlight was bouncing off of them, sprinkling the wall and stairs with tiny golden lights. Draco was baffled at having missed this earlier, but then again, he had been rather focused on the next step he would have to heave Potter up.
There was another surprise at the top of the stairs. In front of the huge, wall-filling window stood a small tree inside a glass planter. The leaves were rustling slightly and then, out of nowhere, appeared the head of a boomslang.
Draco took a startled step backwards and almost tipped over the edge of the stairs, managing to grab the banister at the last second. Emerald flicked her tongue and hissed at him, somehow managing to not make it seem as menacing as it could be. He persuaded himself that her posture was relaxed, and gave her a weak smile – which was really all he could muster at the moment, with his heart still racing madly.
"Hello Emerald," he said soothingly, while carefully edging past the tree and into the hallway. She flicked out her tongue as if to say that this was fine with her.
Draco re-entered the bedroom, which was empty apart from the bed and two glass-topped bedside tables on either side of it. The bed was huge, which made Potter look all the smaller. He had curled up into a ball and thrown off the blanket in the process, which was probably why he was shivering.
Draco sighed and bent over Potter, nudging his shoulder tentatively. He needed to wake him up to be able to pull the blanket out from under him, but he was also not keen on startling Potter too much and being attacked.
He needn't have worried about that. Potter squinted at him sleepily and then grabbed him and pulled Draco into bed next to him, hooking both arms and legs around his body like he was the giant squid. Draco tried to get away, but this only made Potter latch onto him even more.
"Potter, would you please let go of me so I can get you a blanket?" Draco said, doing his best to ignore the feeling of Potter pressed against him.
"Don't wanna," came the faint answer.
"You will want to when the potion wanes off again."
"Nah," Potter just said, followed by a few seconds silence. "You're so warm."
"You know what else is warm?" Draco said. "Your blanket. Feels like a down duvet."
"Mhhm …," made Potter and then his eyes closed completely and he was silent.
Draco surrendered to his fate (already resigning himself to a rather rude awakening) and folded the ends of the blanket around the two of them. Potter, who really was rather cold, seemed to mould himself to Draco and it didn't take long for the latter to fall asleep as well.
~o~
The sun had set when Draco woke up again, feeling more rested than he had in a long time. The room was illuminated by a small golden orb on one of the bedside tables.
Their arms were wrapped around each other, their legs entangled intricately. Draco's head was resting atop Potter's, soft hair tickling his chin and neck.
Draco did not dare to move, fearing he would wake Potter and shatter the moment. He wanted to stay like this forever, feeling warm and secure and loved. He could almost deceive himself into believing this were a typical Saturday, the both of them hiding away from the rest of the world in Potter's safe haven, where nobody could get to them.
Draco was just getting started on imagining what a late Sunday breakfast prepared by Potter would look like when Potter began stroking his back lightly. This meant two things. One: Potter was clearly not sleeping anymore. Two: Potter was definitely still very much Confunded.
Draco was on the fence. How very wrong was it to just exploit the state Potter was in and pretend to still be sleeping? He was pretty sure that Potter would not want to cuddle with him if he were of sound mind, but nobody was making him do it now either, right?
But then again, was this not the same as preying on someone who had been given love potion? They might think that they wanted it while the potion was still at work, but afterwards they would feel all the more abused. Draco's stomach dropped significantly. Was he abusing Potter? Would Potter resent him for it when he was back to normal?
Draco was just pulling himself together to end this, when suddenly, there was a hiss and then the faint sound of Emerald slithering across the floor. Potter answered, almost imperceptibly. Draco had the unpleasant feeling they were talking about him. Would she know that Potter was not himself at the moment? Would she realise that Draco was using this to his advantage? Would she attack him to protect Potter?
There was a faint thudding noise and then suddenly, he felt her cool, smooth scales against his bare arm, which was still wrapped around Potter. Draco flinched massively and made a very unmanly noise which he would have described as a whimper, had it not come from him.
If Emerald was planning on defending Potter, his best course of action would be to let go of him immediately, but Draco found this impossible to do. Instead, his arms and legs tightened considerably around Potter.
"There is a deadly snake in your bed, do something!" he hissed, slightly panicky.
"She just wants to cuddle," Potter said, entirely too calm.
"Potter, you might not be aware, because you are basically a confused baby owl at the moment, but you cannot cuddle with a snake!"
"I'm not confused," Potter protested. "And owls shouldn't cuddle with snakes. Too dangerous."
The snake was past Draco now and coiling around a pillow next to Potter's head. Draco let go of him and got up hastily. Potter did not prevent him from escaping, though he did look somewhat disappointed to lose his primary source of warmth.
"Not confused my arse. What day is it?" Draco asked, pretty sure that Potter had no idea.
"New Year's Day. Do you think I am stupid?" Potter raised an eyebrow.
Okay, fine, maybe he was slowly returning to his senses. "Alright. What was the last match you played?"
"The S.U.M.O. charity match before Christmas. Gudgeon of the Cannons played Keeper on my team and the opposing Seeker was Georgina Thompson."
"And S.U.M.O. stands for ...," Draco prompted.
"Oh, come on, nobody knows what all those acronyms stand for!" Potter protested, sitting up in bed. Emerald bumped her head against his arm affectionately. "I know it's got something to do with orphans."
"It's the 'Society for Underprivileged Magical Orphans'," Draco said pointedly. "You are to stay in bed for at least another day."
"I more or less said that! I'm not Confunded anymore, alright?"
Potter swung his legs out of bed energetically without falling over, which he took as an overall good sign. Draco took a hasty step forward and prevented Potter from standing up by placing both hands on his shoulders. There still was the thing about Potter cuddling with him. That was definitely not normal behaviour and therefore reason to worry. But then again, Potter did seem to have detailed memories.
"Tell you what. You can get up if you can tell me when your birthday is," Draco offered.
"Easy! June 5th; let's go," Potter said, pushing both of Draco's hands away and standing up. They were now very close, Potter looking up at him excitedly with bright green eyes and Draco staring back confusedly.
"That's not your birthday," Draco said, pushing him back down and ignoring that his heart seemed to have abandoned sinus rhythm just a second ago. "That's mine."
"No, it's not," said Potter stubbornly.
"Yes, it is."
"I think I know my own birthday," Potter argued, trying to get back up again, but Draco didn't let him.
"It seems that you don't," Draco said.
He put a hand in his pocket and took out a tiny, shrunk-down bag, containing everything Potter had had on him the previous night. Draco un-shrunk it with a flick of his wand, which he had stowed in his sleeve. He handed Potter the chart that lay on top of it.
"What's that?" he asked.
"That's your patient chart," Draco said, pointing at the top of it. "And that's your birthday, July 31st."
Potter just frowned down at it. Draco could practically see his brain working behind that massively distracting scar.
"What's the matter?" Draco asked innocently.
Potter just shrugged nonchalantly and began flipping through the many, many pages of his chart. "You know more about me than I do," he finally said.
"Just admit you can't read a word of it," Draco said, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
"Because I'm not wearing my glasses! You can't hold that against me."
"I bloody well can, because you had this Muggle thing done, what's the name –" Draco snatched the chart from Potter and leaved through it. "Laser surgery?"
"Oh right, I forgot about that," Potter said, ruffling his hair.
"I rest my case," said Draco. "Just stay in bed until tomorrow and I'll bring you anything you need."
Potter laid back in bed reluctantly, pulling the blanket over himself and also Emerald. He stared at the ceiling silently while Draco stood next to the bed like an idiot.
"So … do you need anything?" Draco asked.
Potter seemed to take stock of himself for a few seconds. "I need to pee."
Draco took a deep breath, closing his eyes for emphasis. "Why didn't you say so a minute ago?"
"I didn't know it then."
"Fine. Bathroom, then back to bed for at least another twelve hours."
"You are really bossy," Potter said, getting up and walking to the bathroom under Draco's watchful eyes.
"Me being here was your idea," Draco said. "You were very determined."
That was when Potter closed the bathroom door in his face, though Draco was pretty sure he heard him say "I like bossy Draco."
Why had he agreed to come here again? The first day wasn't even over and Draco was ready to throw in the towel. Injured and grumpy Potter he could handle, but quasi-drunk and affectionate Potter? That was a whole other story.
Draco was just a man, after all. An overworked, attention-starved, lonely man, who wanted nothing more than to give in to Potter, who seemed to crave some physical contact as well. At the moment, at least.
That man would be the death of him.
