25. Hit me with your best shot [Tuesday, January 4th 2005]
The room was pitch black and cold. Draco was lying on his back fully clothed, not daring to move. His whole body was aching and even just breathing too deeply set his whole body aflame.
The Dark Lord had not been pleased with them at all. Potter had been delivered directly into their home, completely unexpected. And he had not only managed to escape, but also taken the prisoners with him. Never before had Draco seen Him so furious.
He wished he still had his wand to ease some of the pain, to knock himself out, to kill himself with, maybe. Mother would be devastated, but then again, he could not see a way out of this mess that would end any better than that.
If He managed to kill Potter, if He managed to win the war, He would be free to do whatever He wanted with them. Not that He wasn't already. If, by some miracle, the other side won – well, the Malfoys had not exactly covered themselves in glory.
Draco thought he'd rather die than spend the rest of his life in Azkaban with a bunch of Death Eaters who would probably blame his family for thwarting Potter's death today.
He could hear them stalking by his room, keeping watch. As if he could have fled if he wanted to. The thought alone of moving his legs was enough to send a fresh wave of pain throbbing through his body. He wished he could just fall asleep and not feel for a while. He wished he did not have to hear the pained groans that came from the room across the hall, the one they had thrown Father into. He wished Nagini would stop slithering through the halls, making his hair stand on end every time he could hear her hiss or slide over the marble floor.
Father was screaming now, begging them to stop, please, stop hurting her, calling out for her. And Draco wished he could just wake up from this nightmare.
And then he did.
"Hermione!"
Draco was sitting bolt-upright, flinging the blanket away and grabbing his wand. He could hear Potter trashing in his bed despite the bathroom between them.
When Draco pushed the door open, Potter was completely tangled in his sheets, his eyes screwed up and a terrified expression on his face. Both pillows were lying on the floor and Draco suspected the only reason Potter was not down there with them was because his bed was so large he could lie in it sideways.
Draco's first instinct was to shake Potter until he woke up, but that would certainly result in a broken nose at the very least. So he held himself back and instead cast a Calming Charm over Potter. His whole body relaxed visibly and only a strained frown remained on his face.
Draco pointed his wand at the glowing, golden globe on the bedside table and it grew steadily brighter until the whole room was ablaze with light. Potter's eyelids twitched, but remained shut, and his breathing became very even all of a sudden. Draco stepped into the room and a muscle in Potter's arm tensed. He was waiting for his chance to strike, Draco realised suddenly.
"Potter, don't!" Draco yelled, but too late – Potter had already thrown one arm up, his open palm facing Draco.
He just managed to cast a desperate Protego, and then the scarlet shock wave was crashing into him, completely obliterating his shield and ejecting him from the room. Draco collided with the punchbag hanging in front of the hallway window opposite Potter's room and then landed on the floor face down. He heard his wand clatter across the floor.
He had to get up before Potter got a chance to attack again, but his body was glued to the floor, like something heavy was pinning him down.
For the first time in a very long time, Draco was terrified of Harry Potter – who was so overflowing with magic and power that he could pulverize a grown wizard half-asleep and wandlessly. Who had overthrown the Dark Lord. Who had survived the fucking Killing Curse not once, but twice.
"Malfoy!" Potter called out, voice breaking. And then he was dropping to the floor beside him. The weight lifted and Potter turned him around with trembling hands. "Shit, Draco! Are you alright?"
Draco groaned, looking up at Potter, who was illuminated from behind by the light emitting from his bedroom. It created a halo around his body while his face was in the dark. Which was a shame, because Draco really would have liked to see the guilt in his eyes.
He stretched out a hand to tilt Potter's face to the side, but the stupid git grabbed it and squeezed it tightly, as if that would help. Which, strangely, it seemed to do, but that was completely beside the point.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to," Potter whispered. His hand was trembling considerably. "What can I do?"
"Stop crushing my hand," Draco wheezed. It was getting more and more difficult to breathe and his whole chest hurt. "I need my wand."
"Yes. Wand," Potter stammered, holding out a hand.
Draco's wand rolled across the floor towards them and then bounced into his hand. He thrust it into Draco's right.
The diagnostic spells revealed the obvious.
"Thoracic contusion," he whispered, lying back flat on the floor. "If anybody asks, tell them I put up a fight, will you?"
"Can you heal it?" Potter asked anxiously, ignoring Draco's attempt at gallows humour. He put a hand on Draco's arm and began stroking it lightly, just as he had done when Emerald had been hurt. Had that really been less than a month ago?
"Not myself," Draco said laboriously. "It's hard using your magic to the fullest when you're hurt. If you're not careful you can end up making it much worse. Just Floo me to Mungo's."
"You don't look like you can Floo," Potter said doubtfully. "Why don't I just –"
"No!" Draco said, sitting up jumpily and then instantly doubling over in pain.
His thorax was burning, like someone was sliding white-hot blades between his ribs. Potter grabbed his biceps determinedly and before Draco could catch his breath to object a second time, there was the familiar twist and the air tightened around him, pressing down on his chest.
~o~
Draco was screaming when they appeared at St. Mungo's. Tears were streaming down his face, blurring his vision, and Potter's hand was still around his arm. Draco grabbed it in his own and squeezed it as hard as he could, hoping to break at least a finger or two.
"No means no, Potter!" he yelled, glaring up at the stupid prat.
His lungs were protesting vehemently at being abused like that, but Draco felt it helped with the pain, if just mentally.
"I know you've got a hero complex as big as that stupid scar, but you need to listen when the professionals tell you not to do something as whacky as Apparating a wounded person while under the influence of Confounding Concoction!"
Hurried footsteps disrupted Potter's answer (which would have been quite insufficient, Draco was sure) and then Draco was lifted onto a stretcher. Dayal's face appeared above him, looking very confused. Due to the fact that he was with Potter or that their roles were reversed for once, Draco could not say. Being the Falcons' Team Healer, Dayal was probably not used to seeing Potter out and about while at Mungo's.
"Work accident," Draco croaked. "Fell down a whole flight of stairs while on a special assignment. I already diagnosed a thoracic contusion. Should be no big deal."
Dayal did his own spells (Draco rolled his eyes, even though he always did the same) and then confirmed his diagnosis. He healed Draco's injury with three quick spells and then left him to catch his breath, disappearing into an adjoining room with Potter.
When they came back, Potter looked oddly pleased and did not object to taking the Floo home.
~o~
They ended up sitting at the kitchen island, two identical mugs in front of them. Painted on the side was a falcon, which opened its wings and took flight if you touched it. Draco did this once and promptly burned his fingertip. He charmed his spoon to stir his hot tea while Potter held his mug firmly in both hands.
"Sorry for that," Potter finally said, staring into his tea. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Forgot you were here."
"Don't mention it," Draco answered, waving his hand dismissively.
Potter turned to look at him, a frown on his face. "Why didn't you mention it? Earlier I mean, to Dayal."
Draco shrugged and touched his mug to see if the temperature was tolerable yet. "Didn't think it quite necessary to immortalise that in your chart," he said, taking a small sip and burning his tongue.
"But what if there's some other damage they wouldn't check for if you just fell down the stairs?"
"You won't do lasting damage by blasting me with an Expelliarmus," Draco said disparagingly. "It's not a curse, even if it was obnoxiously strong. Talk about casting Reducto to crack a nut."
Potter let go of his mug to turn around on his barstool and face Draco with a strained expression. "That was an Expelliarmus?"
"Why so surprised?" Draco taunted. "Isn't that the only spell you know?"
"Yeah," Potter said slowly, much to Draco's surprise.
He had expected a snide remark aimed at Draco's own magical shortcomings and Draco had been eager to know what those were, according to Potter.
"I'm really sorry. I should have warned you that could happen," Potter continued, holding his gaze.
"Please, don't insult me," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "I know perfectly well that's part of the reason you don't like to stay at Mungo's. Your nightmares are not exactly a well-kept secret."
Potter turned away from him then, taking up his steaming mug again and gulping half of it down in one go. Draco thought his whole oesophagus must have gotten boiled from the inside, but Potter didn't even flinch.
"So, how did you keep that from happening to your girlfriend?" Draco asked casually.
Potter squared his shoulders and gripped his mug tight, white-knuckled. "I never stayed overnight. Too dangerous. You heard Lauren and Olivia ... I was really lucky they only got pushed out of bed that one time."
"Couldn't you have put a Protego around her before going to sleep?" Draco suggested. He found it hard to believe that Potter had never thought of that.
"Not without telling her," Potter said, emptying his tea and then prodding the falcon on his mug repeatedly.
Draco blew on his own tea, watching Harry's falcon do a looping. "Telling her what?"
"About magic, what else? I doubt she would have missed a fucking glowing bubble surrounding her."
"She didn't know?" Draco asked in disbelief. "How could you keep that a secret?"
"Wasn't that hard. I just pretended I were normal." Draco could hear the pain underneath his sullen voice.
"Normal?" Draco echoed. He had never met anyone less normal than Potter. "And she believed that?"
"Well, up until the bloody Prophet knocked on the window of her attic bedroom at three in the morning. To talk about me."
"And she –"
"Called me, completely hysterical."
"And you –"
"Apparated there and hexed him, of course. He fell off his broom and broke three ribs."
"And then ...?"
"She called the police on both of us."
"Muggle Law Enforcement?"
"That's the one," Potter confirmed, looking grim. At least in profile, which was the only view Draco had of him, because Potter was still staring at his mug, harassing the falcon.
"What did you do?"
"Sent a Patronus to Ron. He called up some colleagues from the DMLE. They had to Obliviate the whole street and also two police officers."
"And how did she take it?" Draco asked carefully. "The whole magic thing?"
"We decided it would be best to Obliviate her too," Potter said flatly.
Seeing him like this – emotionless, resigned – felt like a cold hand closing around Draco's heart. He had seen what Potter had done to the editor in chief back then, fuelled by his boundless rage, but now there seemed to be only emptiness.
"And you broke up after that?"
"Didn't have to," Potter said, staring out of the window into the starry night. "I erased myself from her memory and sent her back to Australia."
"Why?" Draco asked, grabbing Potter's lower arm. He tensed but did not pull away or throw him off.
"It was bound to happen again and she was clearly not equipped to handle it. At least now I know not to date Muggles anymore."
"Maybe she would have reacted differently, had the situation presented itself more favourably?" Draco suggested, squeezing Potter's arm lightly.
He did not know why he said it. He didn't want Potter to get back with his ex or try dating other Muggles, for fuck's sake. He just couldn't stand seeing him like that. Potter was supposed to be happy or irritated or, at the very worst, angry but not sad.
Potter shook his head, still staring out the window. "You didn't hear her that night. It was ... bad."
Draco didn't have any more encouraging words, so he just leaned over and hugged Potter around the shoulders. Potter didn't react for a few seconds and then patted his hand tentatively, maybe because Draco was restricting his arms and this was the only movement Potter could manage.
"This is really awkward," Potter said quietly and Draco had to agree. They were both still sitting on their barstools in their pyjamas, upper bodies twisted at an odd angle.
"Yeah, well, then maybe next time find yourself a Hufflepuff if you want to cry your heart out," Draco said mockingly, letting go of him and getting to his feet.
Potter jabbed him in the side twice in quick succession, but Draco could see the corner of his mouth twitch. "Sod off, you insufferable git."
"Sissy," Draco retorted, massaging his ribs. He sent their mugs into the sink and left the kitchen.
One foot already on the first step, Draco turned around to see if Potter would be able to handle the stairs alone, and found him missing. Frowning, he turned around and went back into the kitchen. Potter was doing the dishes. By hand, for a lack of options.
"Really?" said Draco with more than just some disbelief in his voice. "Quarter to midnight and you're washing up?"
Potter didn't even look in his direction, but Draco could see in the set of his shoulders that he had tensed up when Draco had spoken. "You go ahead, I'll just be a minute."
"I can do it tomorrow," Draco offered.
Potter shrugged, pulled a kitchen towel from one of his cupboards and started drying up their mugs. "I've got it."
"Why didn't you just leave it until tomorrow?"
Still not a glance in Draco's direction as Potter put everything back into its place. "Now it's out of the way."
Draco just sighed and waited for him to finish up. He could've thought about a thing or two to say about the whole thing, but his chest was starting to throb in a dull pattern, and if he was being honest … he just wanted to go to bed. Not everything had to be made into an argument, right?
They went upstairs in companionable silence and then stopped dead at the top of the stairs.
The hallway was filled with down feathers, hanging in the air motionlessly, frozen in time. They were illuminated by the golden light emitting from Potter's bedroom and the flicker of the sitting room fireplace. It felt like stepping inside a snow globe. Draco nudged one of the feathers and it drifted away from him in slow-motion.
"Guess that was your bedding," Draco said drily, holding out his wand. "Finite Incantatem."
His spell passed through the room like a knife through butter and hit a single feather, which sailed to the floor slowly. The rest of them stayed put. Potter snorted at his failure.
"Your house, your magic, your problem," he told Potter, putting his wand back inside the sleeve of his pyjama-top.
Potter put out a hand, as if to feel for his magic. His brows furrowed as he whispered under his breath – nothing happened. His frown increased. "I can't feel it."
"You've probably overexerted yourself," Draco said. "Wandless magic takes way more strength than is necessary. And then you Apparated both of us to St. Mungo's like some mindless buffoon. Can't be that much left."
Potter at least had the good grace to look slightly ashamed. "I already apologised, didn't I?"
Draco gave him a small smile. He was too tired to argue any more. "We'll deal with it in the morning. Just go to bed and I'll give you some sleeping potion. You look dead on your feet."
"Look who's talking," Potter muttered, but he still went into his bedroom obediently, where even more feathers hung frozen in the air.
Draco conjured new pillows and a blanket and then summoned a vial of Dreamless Sleep from his bag. He handed it over to Potter, who sat leaning against the headboard.
"Could you stay with me?" he blurted out and then closed his eyes, as if wishing to take it right back. "I mean – just as a precaution. In case the potion wears off ... God, just forget I said anything."
Draco sat down on the empty half of Potter's bed so they could speak eye to eye. He thought back to all those times Potter had woken up way too early after taking the potion and asked, "How long does it usually last?"
"Five hours, give or take," Potter said, unstopping the vial.
Draco grimaced. The dosage they gave Potter should be sufficient for at least eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. "Your body is getting used to the potion. How often did you take it unauthorised?"
Potter downed the whole vial then, maybe to keep Draco from taking it from him again. "Maybe once or twice."
"Overall?" Draco asked to clarify. That was the first thing Healers learned. Patients generally weren't known for their straightforwardness.
"Not exactly," Potter said, sliding down until he was flat on his back.
Merlin, always with the riddles. "A year?"
"A week," Potter admitted. He looked Draco in the eyes unapologetically. "Usually on the weekends, when there's no training. So, will you? Stay? I promise not to attack you."
Draco couldn't help but groan. He didn't know what he had expected, but it hadn't been Harry Potter abusing Sleeping Potion that badly. Not that it was bad for him per se. But it was definitely something his Healer should know, so he could adjust the dosage accordingly.
"You couldn't, even if you wanted to," Draco said mockingly, deciding to let all of that slide graciously. "You're all dried up."
And so, Draco summoned his blanket from the couch and lay down beside Potter, both of them staring up at the ceiling. Draco nudged a few of the feathers, and soon they were gliding through the air above them. It was like watching a snow flurry from inside your house. Warm and cosy and very calm.
"Malfoy?" Potter whispered, his speech already slurred by fatigue.
"Mhhm?"
"You can use me," Potter mumbled incoherently.
Draco's heart skipped a beat. He turned his head to look at Potter. "Come again?"
But Potter had already fallen asleep, a calm expression spreading over his face. What the fuck had he meant by that? Draco lay awake for another hour, mulling the words over and over in his head.
