29. Bad Medicine [Sunday, January 16th 2005]

Draco didn't particularly like children. They were loud and more often than not, they had sticky hands. Also, Draco had no idea how to talk to them. In Pure-blood circles, this was never an issue. Children were taught to be neither seen nor heard, to speak only when spoken to, to be polite and reserved. The children Draco encountered in emergency healing at St. Mungo's ... not so much. But the worst thing about injured children were their parents. They were hysterical, unreasonable and sometimes downright hostile.

Draco hated parents, and he hated the Swans most of all. Destiny Swan, ten years of age, had hijacked her father's broom and broken a leg in the process. Draco was of the opinion that behaviour such as that called for punishment. The Swans seemed to think that Destiny's 'ordeal' (Draco had healed her leg in under a minute, but still the Swans refused to leave until more tests were done) entitled her to do whatever she pleased.

So Destiny had brought her entire collection of Quidditch action figures, which were now flying all over the trauma ward. Draco had tried to tell her parents that the Healers needed to concentrate on saving lives, but all he had gotten in return were unimpressed shrugs.

What Destiny had also thought essential to her trip to St. Mungo's was a wireless, dialled up as far as it would go. Whenever Draco pointed his wand at it to turn it down, the volume seemed to increase even more. Destiny Swan was one bratty child and her magic acted accordingly.

"Mr. and Mrs. Swan!" Draco yelled over the music in yet another attempt at making them see reason. "You have to leave! You are inconveniencing everybody around you! There is literally no reason to stay here, your daughter is fine!"

"Huh?!" Mr. Swan yelled back, putting a hand to his ear.

"We are not leaving!" Mrs. Swan (whose hearing was apparently not yet as damaged as her husband's) yelled, crossing her arms. "We insist on at least three more tests!"

Draco did not know how Mrs. Swan had arrived at that particular number. He only knew she was a downright bitch and that he hated her and her spawn. The other patients seemed to agree – the ones that were conscious were staring daggers at the family. Draco closed the curtains around Destiny's bed and charmed them so they would keep the noise in. He pointed at Mr. Swan and then to the curtains, beckoning him to follow.

They stepped outside, where the silence was almost as deafening as the noise had been. Not that it was really silent – Trauma never was. It just felt that way to Draco.

"Mr. Swan, your daughter is in perfect health. I looked her over and there is nothing wrong with her." Well, at least not physically. Mentally, Draco wasn't so sure.

"We don't want to take any chances," Mr. Swan said stubbornly. "She's our only child."

"You don't say," Draco said drily. "Well, you are wasting time I could use to help people who really need it. You are being unreasonable and unbelievably selfish. I am not doing one more test."

"Fine. I want to talk to your supervisor," Mr. Swan said, crossing his arms in a perfect imitation of his wife.

"Fine," Draco repeated, completely unimpressed. "But in the meantime, tell your child to turn it off."

"You don't want to see her if she misses the broadcast," Mr. Swan said, throwing open the curtains. The sudden rise in noise felt like a punch to the eardrums.

"This is Joseph Earhart live from the Yorkshire Arena. Puddlemere United is playing the Falmouth Falcons, and both teams have seen better days. Puddlemere's Andrews is down with a rather nasty fracture of both arms, the Falcons' Captain, Leona Robinson, sustained a serious concussion just yesterday, and, as you all know, Potter is still out as well! Bookies estimate that Puddlemere has a seventy-two percent chance at winning today. We'll see how this match plays out. And here they are. Ashdown, Pierpont, Avington, Pearson, Turner, Lockeridge and Grant. That's Puddlemere United for you. They are circling the pitch now, every single one of them flying a brand-new Firebolt Gold."

Draco grabbed the curtains, determined to slam them shut if he could manage to pull that off. And then he would take his sweet time searching for Meadows. If the Swans wanted to waste their Sunday morning here, Draco wouldn't stop them.

"And here come the Falcons! Haynes, Sax, Mason, Armstrong, Montgomery, Mills and – Merlin's beard!"

Draco froze on the spot, both hands still clutching the curtains while his stomach dropped. This couldn't possibly be good news.

"It's Harry Potter, ladies and gentle-wizards! This is completely unexpected; we were told that Potter wouldn't return for another week at least. Coach Greyson definitely seems happy about this, I would say – unlike McCarthy. Potter's reserve is definitely disappointed. Oh boy, that is not a good look on her."

Draco turned on the spot and ran. Who in their right mind would clear Harry already? Patil never would have agreed to this.

"I have an emergency!" Draco barked at the Welcome Witch, throwing his chart on her desk. "Get Nash to cover for me!"

~o~

Draco Disapparated as soon as he reached the corner of the street outside Mungo's, reappearing in front of the arena. He'd been thirteen years old the last time he had been here, but he still remembered where the entrance for important (and in the Malfoys' case: rich) witches and wizards was. He made a dash for the stairs and was immediately thrown back by an invisible shield.

"You are not authorised to access this area." An usher in orange robes stepped out from beside the stands, looking him up and down.

"I need to go up there," Draco urged him. "I'm a friend of Harry Potter's."

The usher raised his eyebrows in clear disbelief. "Sure, and I am friends with Celestina Warbeck."

"My condolences," Draco said, stuffing a hand inside his pocket to fish for his wand. "Now let me through, this is a matter of life and death."

"I don't think so." The usher scoffed. "And I'd advise you to leave before I call security."

Draco was shaking from anger. Some idiot had allowed Harry to play. Harry was in danger, even more so because he was stupidly overconfident. And this fucking prick was into power games. Draco drew his wand, pointing it at his opponent's chest. "I won't ask a third time."

There was the crack of an Apparition and before he could even turn around, somebody grabbed his arm. "Draco! What are you doing?"

Draco looked over his shoulder at Samantha Huxley, her bright pink hair dripping wet. He lowered his wand in relief.

"Samantha, thank Merlin! I need to go up there. I think Potter is in danger."

The grip on his arm intensified and then she was pulling him through the wards and up the stairs, without so much as a look back. "So, you didn't clear him?"

"Am I mental? The potion could still be lingering. There's no way in hell I'd let him even near a broom right now."

They came out at the top of what seemed to be the press stands. Some of the wizards were dictating to their Quick-Quotes-Quills, others were taking pictures. At the end of the bench, Draco spotted Earhart, who was speaking into a mouthpiece. The match was already in full swing and the Falcons were leading 40 – 10. Draco spotted Harry almost instantly, hovering several feet above where the action was taking place.

"He seems fine," Samantha said, relief clear in her voice.

"He does now, but you can never know for sure. His condition could shift in an instant. Do you think you can get Greyson to pull him from the match?"

Samantha shot him a look that said she thought he was mental. "Never in a million years. Once the game starts, you can't exchange any of the players. Matt won't just dismiss their Seeker; they could just as well give up."

"That man is a selfish idiot," Draco pressed out. He searched the pitch for an idea, anything that would get Harry out of the air. He found Dayal instead, apparently in a heated discussion with Felicity McCarthy.

Samantha grabbed his arm suddenly and Draco looked up to watch Harry narrowly escaping a Bludger. After that, he vacated his hovering position in favour of circling the pitch. Maybe it really was going to be alright. Draco grabbed the railing and took to watching Harry like a hawk, searching for signs of complications.

Over the next half hour, the Falcons scored three and Puddlemere four more goals, Harry tricked Grant, his opposing Seeker, into barrelling into the stands, and Phaedra Armstrong was heavily favouring her left side after having taken a Bludger to the side and refusing to be healed.

And suddenly, Harry was speeding up, zigzagging through a crowd of Chasers, eyes fixed on the Snitch. He was only a few feet away when a Bludger appeared to his left, shooting right at him. Harry's head whipped around, but instead of swerving to his right or even up or down, he made a left, barrelling directly into it.

There was a sickening noise as Harry was thrown off his broom. People screamed, cameras flashed, and though Draco's stomach turned violently, he managed to grip his wand tight and point it right at Harry, not even sure what he was casting, only knowing he had to do something.

Harry was falling, but the nearer the pitch came, the slower he fell, and when he reached the ground, it didn't even make a sound. Harry landed on his knees, cradling his left arm to his side and looking up at Draco. Dayal was running towards him now, and Samantha crushed Draco to her chest.

"You saved him!" she yelled over the noise of the crowd.

Draco was still looking down at Harry, who had just noticed Dayal approaching. His face contorted, not in pain, but in anger. Draco pushed Samantha away.

"We should get down there, now," Draco urged, ignoring the press representatives that were now taking his picture and bombarding him with questions.

"Don't worry, there's already somebody there to heal him," Samantha reassured him.

"That's what's worrying me!" Draco said.

And that was the moment Harry broke Dayal's nose. The referee blew his whistle then, the sound of it startling them from their stupor. The players descended, Harry's team grouping some feet behind him.

"Oh shit," Samantha said tonelessly. "Oh, this is a PR nightmare!"

Together they squeezed through the crowd of press people that were hounding them, trying to get a statement from Harry's spokes-witch. Samantha only kept repeating "No comment!" while Draco dragged her towards the exit, glaring at everybody who got in their way. A security wizard spotted them when they came out at the bottom (Samantha with her all-access-badge and Draco in his blue Healer's scrubs) and let them onto the pitch.

The action was taking place in the middle of the pitch. Easton Haynes (the Falcons' broad, muscular Beater) was holding Harry back with one enormous hand on his right shoulder. He was taller than Harry by at least a head, and certainly twice as heavy, but Harry was putting up a fight, clenching his teeth whenever he moved his broken left arm too much.

"Let go, Easy!" he growled. "I'm not done with him yet!"

Harry practically ripped off his right glove, then put the hand in the insides of his robes and whipped out his wand. There was a crackle and Haynes snatched his hand away, shaking it out as if he had been shocked. Several people rushed forward, shouting Harry's name. The referee blew his whistle again, but nobody took notice. Greyson stepped up beside Dayal, raising a hand in Harry's direction.

"Harry, don't! Do you want to get suspended?"

"If that's what it takes, fine by me!"

"Stop it, Harry!""Harry, no!""Don't do it, man.""Harry!"

Everybody was yelling over each other and Harry was listening to none of them. The grip on his wand tightened, his eyes narrowed, and Draco was sure that he was thinking about which hex to use.

"Potter!" Draco barked, finally reaching the group. Harry's eyes were on him in an instant and his wand sagged a few inches. "What are you, fourteen? At least try to have some dignity."

Harry stared at him for a few seconds and then stuffed his wand back into his robes. The whole group seemed to exhale collectively. Dayal felt his face, which was bruising already.

"You are so fired!" Harry growled, clutching his broken arm again.

"You can't fire me," Dayal shot back, as pale as his Indian skin could get.

"You really can't, Harry," Greyson agreed. "He still works for St. Mungo's. And I'm the one who's requesting him for our matches."

"So, you'll un-request him, then?" Harry asked grimly.

Greyson shook his head. "Hasan is just doing his job. Try to be reasonable, Harry."

"He's doing a piss-poor job!" The knuckles on Harry's right hand were white from being clenched so much, and bleeding from contact with Dayal's face. "If Malfoy hadn't been there that day, I would have died back in August. Did you forget that?"

"There is nothing to forget," Greyson said, huffing in exasperation. "You had an accident and Hasan did what he could. I'm sure he would have saved you in the end, even if Healer Malfoy had not been there."

"So, you'll keep him on as Team Healer?" Harry demanded to know, grinding his teeth.

Greyson nodded, crossing his arms. "I'm Coach, I decide what is best for this team. And that's keeping him."

"Fine," Harry said drily, "I quit."

There was an immediate uproar. Samantha grabbed Draco's arm. The Falcons closed ranks, all of them shouting at Greyson at once. Draco wasn't sure if this had been Harry's intention, but he was certain how this would play out. Greyson looked like he was the one who had taken that Bludger. He was ghostly pale and sweating, panic written all over his face.

"Shut up!" he bellowed, stomping his foot for good measure. "Harry is definitely not quitting." He looked at Dayal with something like regret in his eyes. "Hasan, I'm sorry. Meet me after the match, will you?"

Dayal ground his teeth and, with one loathing look at Harry, stomped away. If Harry ever got poisoned again, he would definitely need to add Dayal to his list of enemies.

"You've got what you wanted," Greyson said, fixing Harry with a hard look. "Would you please catch that damn Snitch now?"

It was so absurd; Draco couldn't help but laugh. "I think not, Greyson. Technically, I was first at the scene, which makes Potter my patient. He's definitely not going back up there today."

"Fine," Greyson ground out, fists clenched at his side. "The rest of you, back in the air. Now."

"Alright guys, payback time!" Leona Robinson stepped forward. "Flo, I don't want to see Puddlemere score one more goal. Phae, Lauryn, Flynn … give them hell. We're seventy points ahead, that means we need another ninety. Easy, we're going after Grant. Keep her from getting anywhere near the Snitch until we're at least 160 points ahead. After that, smash their Chasers. They'll probably be desperate to end the match by then."

"Told you he wasn't ready." McCarthy appeared next to Greyson, grinning at Harry nastily.

Draco wasn't sure what she was so happy about, as her team couldn't send in a reserve player after the match had started, which meant that the Falcons were pretty much fucked. But Draco could sense a hex when it was coming. He grabbed Harry's right wrist before he could draw his wand again.

"Come on, let's have a look at your arm."

Harry grumbled, but didn't resist when Draco began dragging him away. Samantha had a few hushed words with Greyson and then followed after them. Draco ordered Harry to sit on a bench and checked him for damages.

"What were you thinking?!" Samantha placed both hands on her hips. "You can't just beat up a Healer. In front of the press, no less!"

"He had it coming," Harry hissed. "I don't know what his agenda is, but it certainly isn't my well-being."

"Your elbow bone and radial bone are both broken in several places."

"And what did he do to give you that impression?"

"He cleared me for the game. Padma wouldn't and clearly Malfoy would have laughed in my face, but Dayal agreed. In fact, he told me two weeks ago. That we would somehow manage to get me to play."

"Three of your ribs are also broken. And I'll have to reset your shoulder."

"You didn't even tell me!" Samantha cried out, brushing away a damp strand of hair that was clinging to her cheek. "There I was, taking a bath, listening to the wireless. Do you have any idea how much bath foam I inhaled?"

"Costas emendo!"

"Ouch, fuck! What the hell, Malfoy?"

"Shut up and take it like a man," Draco shot back, raising his eyebrows. "That's what you get for disregarding every single medical advice actually sane people gave you."

Harry punched his arm without any force behind it. "I felt fine and Matt really wanted me to play. Did you think I would just give this one to McCarthy?"

"I thought you were not quite as reckless anymore. Guess I overestimated you. You are still the same idiot who flew a car to school when you were twelve," Draco replied, disappointment tangible in his voice. "Ulnam emendo. Radium emendo."

Harry gritted his teeth and didn't complain again, probably not keen on another lecture. "I like to tell myself that you just underestimated how much I hate McCarthy."

Draco frowned down at him. "Will they revoke your membership at the Heroes Club if you don't have at least one nemesis at all times?"

"You betcha," Harry agreed, grinning hesitantly. "And what a bummer that would be. Once a year there is a feast where we eat all the dragons and beasts we slew. And then there's the raffle, of course. Jackpot is the most influential princess that was saved that year."

"Naturally," Draco said, unable to stop the grin that was spreading over his face. That bastard. "Integro!"

Harry's arm snapped back into its socket and the whole stadium got to hear his yell. A few cameras flashed and above them, the Falcons continued to go berserk.

"That's another three weeks. No flying whatsoever, no heavy lifting, no brawls!"

Harry opened his mouth to protest but stopped when he saw the look on Draco's face. Draco had enough of Harry's shtick and he would not put up with it.

"Fine," Harry mumbled, stretching his healed arm. "Let's get out of here."

Draco looked up at the stands. People seemed indeed far more invested in Harry than the match they had actually paid to watch. Seeker Sophia Grant was desperately trying to evade the hailstorm of Bludgers Robinson and Haynes were shooting at her, and still Harry held their attention.

"Get your things, I'll side-along you."

Harry nodded and then made a dash for the changing rooms. Samantha sat down on Harry's vacated seat and gestured to the space beside her. "Thanks for de-escalating back there. That could have been way worse."

"That's alright," Draco said, looking up at the players. "I just couldn't take another second of Potter completely embarrassing himself."

"Sure," Samantha said, grinning up at him. "That, and you like him."

"He's alright," Draco replied, trying for nonchalance. He did alright, if he could say so himself.

"Uh-uh." Here grin was even broader now. "I guess he thinks you are alright too."

"Oh, shut up," Draco grumbled. "Know what your official statement will be?"

Samantha groaned, elbowing him in the ribs. "Thanks for reminding me. You are a horrible person."

"Yes, that's what I strive for. Just tell them it was the Confounding Concoction. He was cleared prematurely, which caused the accident. And he didn't know what he was doing when he hit that wanker."

"Yeah ... that could actually work. Great angle, Draco."

"Always happy to help."

They watched the match in companionable silence until Harry returned a few minutes later, bundled up in a coat, scarf and gloves. He had pulled a wool hat over his now-wet hair.

"Alright, let's bail. Or is there something we need to discuss, Sam?"

Samantha shook her head, a lopsided grin on her face. "Draco helped me think of something. Just try to lay low for a while, will you?"

Harry put a gloved hand above his heart. "I promise to try."

They left Samantha and the stadium behind. Draco offered his right arm to Harry. "Where to? Grimmauld Place, the Weasleys'?"

Harry took hold of his arm, a pensieve look on his face. "Do you want to go somewhere? I could buy you lunch. You know, for saving my life. Again."

"You want to have lunch ... with me?"

"Yeah ... if you want to?" Harry tried to mess up his hair, but only ended up displacing his hat. Why was this so awkward? The two of them had already shared lunch lots of times. Draco had lived at his house, for crying out loud. They had made out just a week ago.

"I could eat," he said, twisting on the spot.

~o~

They reappeared outside St. Mungo's.

"You know I didn't mean the cafeteria when I said I'd buy you lunch?" Harry squeezed his arm for emphasis.

"No," Draco said, smirking down at him, "It was entirely unclear."

There was a crack and a wizard appeared a few feet away, holding his left arm (which was not attached to his body) in his right hand. It didn't seem to be a serious matter, since the wizard was neither bleeding nor in obvious pain as he set off towards the entrance, looking back at them curiously every few steps.

Draco supposed they did make an odd couple, Harry completely bundled up and Draco just in his thin, short-sleeved scrubs (under which he always wore a long-sleeved shirt, for obvious reasons). Harry let go of Draco's arm almost immediately and threw on his Invisibility Cloak as soon as the wizard was out of sight.

"Afraid to be seen with me?" Draco asked, trying not to sound hurt.

And why should he be? He already knew Harry was completely paranoid. This didn't necessarily mean that Harry was ashamed of him. He had paraded him around at his New Year's Party, after all. It was just hard to shake the feeling that people were constantly judging him.

Harry huffed, a mixture between laughter and exasperation. "Afraid to be seen on a date," he explained. "I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to relationships and the general public."

Draco turned his face in Harry's direction just slightly. "On a date?" he asked innocently. "Is that what this is supposed to be?"

"Yeah, it is," Harry said bravely. "So, could we leave for somewhere decent, now?"

Harry grabbed his arm again. Draco set off for St. Mungo's before he could just whisk him away. Harry was the type of person who would do such a thing even if he was possibly still under the influence of Confounding Concoction.

"We can't, because I have to check on Nash first. I'm technically still on the clock for another two hours."

"Don't tell me you just walked out because of me." Harry's voice was almost a growl and he gripped his arm even tighter.

"Well, somebody had to stop you from killing yourself ... again," Draco answered lightly, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He was not looking forward to facing Meadows. Even if the Head of Trauma was, overall, reasonable.

The Welcome Witch was the first to notice Draco. She scribbled something on her notepad and then looked up at him, arms crossed in front of her chest.

"There you are," she harrumphed. "Cortez is expecting you in her office."

Draco froze on the spot.

Valery Cortez was Chief of Healing at St. Mungo's. She was also a massive bitch. If it had been her call, Draco never would have been allowed to step so much as a toe into the hospital, much less start his training.

Fortunately for him, she had only been made Chief two years ago (and promptly banished the lime green robes in favour of multi-coloured scrubs that indicated your ward – the only thing Draco had to give her credit for).

Cortez had been trying to find a reason to fire him ever since then. Which was why Meadows usually didn't tell on Draco, as long as he didn't endanger any patients.

"Did she say what for?" Draco asked, trying for a casual tone. It could be just a coincidence. Could be, right?

"What do you think?" the Welcome Witch drawled. Then she added, without any real compassion, "Good luck."

Draco grimaced and made his way to the stairs. He could hear Harry's footsteps beside him.

"I don't think I will be able to make it to lunch," Draco said tonelessly, trying to fight the sense of impending doom that was overtaking him. Abandoning his post was a pretty good reason to get fired. "You'd better take the Floo home."

"What's going on?" Harry said, "Who is Cortez? Are you in trouble?"

"Cortez is the hag who will kick me out, and I don't particularly want you there when that happens."

Losing his job was bad enough as it was.

What would he do without work? Nowadays it was probably his sole purpose in life. Why should he even get up in the morning? How was he supposed to pay off his mortgage?

Well, Draco could always marry Greengrass and reclaim his place as Malfoy heir. There still was enough gold to last another three generations even after the reparations had been paid.

If only that option didn't sound like prostitution to him.

Harry grabbed his arm, causing Draco to stumble on the stairs. "She can't fire you! You saved my life! That's doing your job, right?"

"She doesn't need a strong reason to fire a Death Eater," Draco replied sullenly. He pulled away his arm and continued to climb the stairs. "Any reason at all will suffice. Now leave. Please."

"But she does not have any reason whatsoever!" Harry was still beside him, sounding scandalised. "Just tell her what happened and she'll have to let you off the hook!"

"That only works if your name is Harry Potter," Draco objected. "Sure as hell won't work for me. If you would leave now, so I can pretend to still have some dignity while I am in there."

They finally came out at the top floor. Chief Cortez stood in her open office door, her eyes narrowed at Draco. She tapped her foot impatiently.

"Inside, Mr. Malfoy," she ordered.

Draco didn't miss the omission of his title. Merlin, she'd probably make this her Patronus memory, the stupid bitch. That thought almost felt worse than getting fired would. Almost.

"Certainly, Chief Cortez," Draco said, mustering every ounce of calmness he still possessed.

She turned around and went back into her office. Draco used the opportunity to ram his elbow into Harry's side.

"Leave! I mean it," he hissed, hoping Cortez wouldn't hear.

Instead, because Potter was a fucking hot-headed moron with a hero complex, he yanked off his Cloak and, before Draco could do more than groan, stomped into Cortez' office. Draco hurried to follow and just managed to catch the look of complete shock on her face as she turned around.

"Chief Cortez! I am Harry Potter," he announced quite unnecessarily.

All she could muster was an open-mouthed nod. If Draco's career hadn't been on the line, he would have enjoyed her unease immensely.

"How …?" She began, her voice barely a whisper. Potter's sudden appearance seemed to have shaken her to the core. "Where …?"

Potter grabbed Draco, who was hovering on the threshold, and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him with a snap. Cortez used the moment to clear her throat and smooth down her skirt.

"What can I do for you, Mister Potter?" she asked, more confidently now. Her eyes lingered on Potter's hand on Draco's arm.

Potter let go of it then to brush away a lock of hair, almost incidentally exposing his scar in what Draco thought was an exceedingly Slytherin move.

Startling Draco just as much as Cortez, Potter said with total confidence, "I am here to request Healer Malfoy as Team Healer for my Quidditch team, the Falmouth Falcons."

"It is my impression that the position is already filled, Mr. Potter," she replied, working very hard to not sound irritated.

"It was," Potter said heatedly. "Until he almost got me killed today. Healer Malfoy heard that Healer Dayal cleared me prematurely and came to prevent what could have been a lethal accident."

There was panic in her eyes now, which Potter chose to ignore in favour of finishing his speech. "That's why I want him for the team. I don't trust anyone else to have our best interests at heart."

Cortez didn't look at all happy and Draco was sure that her mind was working fast, trying to find a way to avoid a possible lawsuit and still be able to fire Draco. Potter seemed to sense her hesitation.

"Unless, of course, you'd rather punish Healer Malfoy for saving my life. That's up to you, really." Potter crossed his arms as Draco shot him a confused glance.

Had Potter even thought about what he was going to say on his behalf? Knowing him, he had not.

"Healer Malfoy abandoned his duties at the hospital," Cortez said finally, looking at him with the usual disdain. "He could have sent someone to come to your aid."

"Certainly," Potter agreed. "You should fire him, then."

Draco nearly pulled a muscle whipping his head around at Potter. What was the idiot playing at? Merlin, was that the potion again? Draco should have petrified him as soon as he took off the Cloak.

"Although," Potter continued before either of them could reply, "that would make for some very bad press, I'd imagine. You've got one infamous Healer on your hands already. He did almost get me killed, after all. Do you really want to punish the incredibly heroic Healer who prevented that? Who saved my life once before?"

Resentment was not a good look on Valery Cortez. She pursed her lips, glaring at Draco loathingly. The room was silent for several seconds while she tried to find a way out of this dilemma.

"Mr. Potter, I apologise on behalf of St. Mungo's. Please be assured there will be an inquiry regarding Healer Dayal." She turned to Draco then, bracing herself. "Healer Malfoy, report to Healer Meadows to work out your new schedule. Dismissed."

"Have a very nice day," Potter said, turning on the spot and walking out without waiting for a reply.

Draco, not exactly eager to be alone with her, followed suit.

He waited until they were back on the stairs to grab Potter's arm and swing him around. Potter was grinning at him broadly, but the expression vanished from his face when he caught sight of Draco's. Draco was fuming.

"I'm guessing you're not going to snog me senseless as thanks for saving your job?"

"I have half a mind to sock you senseless!" Draco replied through gritted teeth. "Who in Merlin's name gave you the right to do that?"

"I am Harry Potter," the bastard dared to say, wrenching his arm out of Draco's grip so he could cross both of them in front of his chest.

"Tell me you did not just say that," Draco groaned, massaging his temple.

"No! I meant –"

"Being Harry Potter is not an excuse to just do as you please!"

"But –"

"There are rules, for fuck's sake!"

"Would you fucking let me –"

"You don't speak for me; I am a fully-grown wizard!"

Potter shut him up by grabbing him by his scrubs and kissing him eagerly, but Draco was having none of it. He would say his mind if he damn well pleased!

So Draco did the only logical thing – he bit Potter's lower lip. Potter yelped and pushed Draco away. He touched his lip while glaring at Draco.

"You will listen to what I've got to the say, fuck-head. Somebody's got to take you down a notch."

"Will you shut up and listen to me for one second?" Potter yelled, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Draco crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow to show that he was listening and couldn't wait to hear the garbage Potter was about to spout.

"I didn't mean it like 'I'm Harry Potter, I do what I want'. It's just that you said reasoning with that bitch doesn't work if your name is not Harry Potter. And well ... that happens to be my name, doesn't it?"

Draco grumbled unhappily. He should have expected a knee-jerk reaction like that – this was Potter, after all. Worse still, this line of thought almost made sense, in a Gryffindor-kind of way.

"Come on, Draco. I didn't try to be condescending. I was just trying to pay you back for saving my life again."

"Did you maybe consider that I don't even want to be Team Healer?" Draco inquired coldly. If Potter thought using his first name would win him some sympathy, he was dead wrong.

"Don't you?" Potter asked, furrowing his brows. He looked like the thought had never occurred to him. Like the prospect of one day being Team Healer for the Falmouth Falcons was every child's dream.

He wasn't exactly wrong, a small voice in the back of Draco's head supplied. This was a real opportunity. And also a chance to see less of people like the Swans, who were just horrible excuses for human beings.

Draco groaned in frustration. "I do," he admitted, disgruntled. A grin spread on Potter's face and Draco hurried to erase it while he still could. "But that's beside the point!"

"What is the point, then?" Potter demanded, the corners of his mouth still twitching. "I am alive and you are not fired. In fact, you just got a promotion. One that will work wonders for your image, I might add."

"The point is: You are neither your team's coach nor the Captain. You don't have the authority to request me as replacement for Dayal."

"Don't worry," Potter said lightly. "Matt will play along if he wants to keep me. You're the only Healer worth anything 'round here. He doesn't have a choice."

"You are awfully confident," Draco judged. "One of these days, you will find out that not everybody is at your beck and call."

"Not today, though." Harry grinned. He threw on his Cloak and vanished from sight. Draco could hear him start down the stairs. "Now can we get lunch?"

"Not yet," Draco said, following.

"I'm starving!"

"Tough luck. I've got to talk to Nash first, see if she is okay with finishing my shift."

They were silent for a minute, save for the sound of their footsteps on the stairs.

"Can't believe you just bit me like that," Harry mumbled. "Prick."

"Can't believe you tried to shut me up by assaulting me," Draco shot back. "Douchebag."

Harry laughed suddenly, startling Draco considerably. "Douchebag? What kind of insult is that?"

"One you learn working emergency trauma healing," Draco explained. "It's a melting pot of insults down there."

Nash was rather relieved to hear he had not been fired (although Draco chose to omit the reason) and more than willing to work Draco's shift. She tried to hug him too, but Draco was able to dodge her, all the while eyeing a large spot on her scrubs, which he hoped was blood.

"Thanks a Galleon!" Draco said gratefully, heading for the exit. "I owe you one!"

"A big one!" she corrected him. "The Swans are still here, by the way. Heard about where you went on the wireless. The whole ward heard it, really. You'd better split before they spot you."

Draco did not need to be told twice.

"Don't tell me you've got friends," Harry said in mock-awe as they stepped outside. Draco led the way down an empty street.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Draco protested. "You know I've got friends!"

"Like who?" Harry demanded to know, sounding way too smug.

"Like Blaise," Draco answered firmly.

"That's one friend, not friends, plural."

"Pansy."

Harry snorted. "Well, nobody called me that before. Another insult you learned in the 'melting pot of injuries'?"

"Parkinson," Draco added, feeling his irritation rise.

"Oh, I know that one. That's a Muggle illness. Didn't think Mungo's would see much of that."

Draco cast a stinging hex at where he suspected Harry, earning a hissed complaint. "Pansy Parkinson is another friend of mine," he elaborated, ignoring Harry's discomfort.

"Tell me again, when did you last see her?"

"She is busy building her fashion empire in France."

"That's what, five Apparition points away? She never has any free time at all?"

"We talk on the Floo sometimes," Draco said. He didn't add that he could not remember the last time he had spoken to Pansy. Surely it had been sometime last year?

"Would she visit you if you were in the hospital? As a patient, I mean?"

"Merlin, no! Because I wouldn't tell her. You need to be perfectly alert to handle her."

Also, Draco didn't know if they were still close enough. He remembered a time when Pansy had been a constant fixture at his side, back when the Hippogriff had attacked him. But that had been before the war, during which both of them had made mistakes.

Coincidentally, one of her mistakes had been to suggest handing Harry Potter over to the Dark Lord. Maybe that was why Harry was trying to convince Draco that she was not one of his friends.

"Face it, Draco. You're not exactly rich in friends."

"I've got you, haven't I?" Draco mused. "You claimed to be my friend."

"I don't count."

"Don't sell yourself short," Draco said in his most condescending voice, "You are worth at least seventy percent of the average friend."

"Only seventy?"

"Well, you did assault me several times in the last six months alone. Also, you brought a deadly snake into my home. Without a warning, I might add."

"Bullshit!" Harry interjected. "That was last year. All over and done with."

"You used me as a punchbag!"

"I pushed you against a punchbag."

"That wasn't a push! That was a full-on force-field."

"Involuntary!"

"It also wasn't last year. It wasn't even two weeks ago. Still very much within the statute of limitations."

"Now you're splitting hairs!"

"I'm just saying! Seventy percent seems appropriate."

"Fine, then how about you?"

"What about me?" Draco demanded, stopping where their street intersected with another. He wasn't even sure where they were headed.

"This one time, you left me lying on the floor for a good three hours."

"It's called physical therapy, Potter. And I seem to recall that you were hell-bent on getting up on your own. Also, you suck at estimating time. It was an hour and a half, tops."

"You bit me!"

"You deserved it!"

"You –!" There was a sudden pause, during which the only sound was Harry's breathing. "Damn it, I can't think of anything else. You are the worst."

"Because I am not that bad?"

"Oh, you are, you're just hiding it really well. But I am on to you."

"So, you don't want to get lunch with me?"

Harry still sounded agitated, even as he said, "On the contrary. Where do you want to go?"

"I know a place," Draco said, smirking in his direction. "But they don't serve invisibles."

"I don't know if I want to support a bigoted establishment like that," Harry joked, taking hold of Draco's arm.

A moment later, they were standing behind the dumpster of Linh's and Harry took off the Cloak. Wind chimes sounded when they stepped inside and Shen Jian, the middle-aged lady who owned the place, called out to them excitedly.

"Draco! I was starting to worry about you."

"It's not been that long," Draco argued, leading the way to a table at the back.

"Almost a month!" she countered, as if that were a long time not to order anything from one single place.

Harry sat down on the bench opposite Draco, barely supressing his laughter. "A whole month? My, Draco, whatever did you eat?" he exclaimed in mock-shock.

"You know full well what I ate, you made me cook it!" Draco shot back. "I'm still not over the trauma."

She handed them the menus with a broad smile. "Time you had a proper meal, then."

"My recipes are proper," Harry protested. "I didn't exactly starve him."

"You are Draco's boyfriend, yes?" Jian said bluntly. "Enrico?"

"Did Mrs. Capitelli send a newsletter?" Draco groaned before Harry could protest. Best to let her believe that Draco was taken care of. "His name is Harry. Harry, this is Jian. She takes an interest in my life, for some reason."

"Well, somebody has to!" she stated while Harry waved at her briefly. "Living all alone, always working. That's no way to live your life."

"I don't live all alone," Draco objected. "I've got a dog."

Harry snorted. "You're only making it worse, mate. Why don't you also tell her that you only own one single cooking pot?"

"You live alone too!" Draco argued.

"I have somebody to talk to."

Draco smirked. "Snakes don't count."

"Draco! That's not a nice thing to say about a person," Jian chipped in.

"Yeah, Draco," Harry agreed. "I'll tell her you called her that."

"Stop throwing me under the bus, Potter," Draco said, kicking his shin for emphasis.

"Ouch!" In hindsight, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise when Harry kicked him back.

"Draco! Are you trying to scare him away? You're going to end up all alone!" Jian threw her hands up in a truly desperate fashion.

"Oh, I'm not –" Harry tried to clarify.

"– going anywhere," Draco finished for him. "Don't worry, Jian. His manners are abysmal. Much worse than mine. People cross the street when they see him."

"Hey!" Harry protested.

"They do!" Draco insisted. Jian didn't need to know that people usually crossed the street to get to Harry rather than away from him.

"I'll take the red curry tofu and a Coke, please," Harry interrupted. Then he used the menu to clock Draco on the head before handing it back to Jian.

"I think I see it now," Jian said with a crooked smile.

"The usual," Draco said, keeping his menu for self-defence reasons.

She rolled her eyes (excessively, Draco thought) and disappeared into the kitchen.

Harry grinned at him. "Feels like meeting the family."

"Not a date," Draco clarified. "As I've already told you. You just had a Quidditch accident because of that potion."

"Then why are you introducing me as your boyfriend?" Harry demanded to know, an eyebrow raised so high it almost vanished under his still damp mob, which hid his scar quite effectively.

"You think she would have believed me if I had told her otherwise? Mrs. Capitelli had weeks to tell everyone all about you. I wouldn't be surprised to hear that she painted them a picture. By now, people would probably recognise you even when I'm not with you."

"So, what you're trying to say is ... you're using me so your nosey neighbour will lay off of you?"

"Precisely."

Harry pondered this for a few seconds and then settled on shrugging. "I've had worse dates."

"Not a date, Potter," Draco repeated.

"Still had worse," Harry grinned. "Like that one time when I asked out a girl who I assumed was a Muggle. She brought her whole extended family to the restaurant."

"Don't tell me you stayed," Draco said.

"Are you mental?" Harry huffed out a laugh. "I didn't even go in. Sent her a message that I was in an accident and wouldn't be able to make it."

"If you didn't even meet them, how did you know they weren't Muggles?" Draco prompted. "Maybe she was just really socially inept?"

"You'd have known too if you'd have seen them," Harry said, supressing another laugh. "And then there was that Prophet article, just the day after I stood her up. 'Harry Potter in mortal peril?!' With both a question mark and an exclamation mark and all that."

"A classic," Draco commented. "So, she immediately went to the Prophet the moment she had something to tell?"

"Oh, not at all," Harry said. "The informant was a 'close friend'. Shame none of those knew about my 'accident'."

"Very unfortunate. Was there a picture?"

"They re-used one of me in St. Mungo's. From before they closed down half the hospital whenever I come around."

"Oh, I always look forward to that," Draco enthused. "The whole wing is silent; you can actually hear yourself think ... it's glorious."

"Nice to know you look forward to me injuring myself," Harry said jokingly. "Long story short, I keep a journal now."

"Like a diary?" Draco grinned. "'Dear Diary, today I had lunch with the Minister. Yawn.'"

"'January 16th: Told Draco Malfoy I keep a diary. Remember to send an assassin if the Prophet should write about it. Preferably with machine gun.'"

"I don't even know what that is," Draco said flatly. "But it sounds painful."

Harry grinned. "Perfect, remember that."

Draco put his elbows on the table to be able to lean forward. "So, what did you tell me?"

"Who says I did?" Harry replied, leaning forward as well. It felt like a challenge, though Draco couldn't exactly say why. Maybe because just talking to Harry had always felt like a challenge, ever since that day on the train.

"Why wouldn't you? Don't tell me it's because I have a very trustworthy face or that you are a particularly trusting person."

"Even I know you're not that stupid." Harry scoffed, leaning back into his seat. "I didn't have to test you, because you already knew far too much about me. Both medical and personal things. If you'd wanted to sell me out, you'd already have done it. Not like anything ever stopped you from feeding all that bullshit to Skeeter."

"Wow, way to kill the mood, Potter," Draco joked half-heartedly. He did feel rather bad about that incident now that he knew Harry better.

"Pretty sure you already did that, when you told me that this was not a date," Harry replied, raising an eyebrow. "Don't worry, I'd like to think you're not that person anymore. I wouldn't have let you into my home if there was any doubt about that."

To say that Draco felt uncomfortable would have been an understatement. This was verging on a 'feelings' talk, and Draco did not know how to do those. Feelings were for ordinary people, not for Malfoys. He was saved from replying by Jian, who brought their drinks.

"So, I treated the most spoilt child in history today," Draco said when they were alone again.

"Impossible," Harry said, oblivious to the sudden change in subject. "My cousin holds that title and I doubt he came to Mungo's."

And they spent the rest of their lunch not-date talking about the worst children Draco ever met, which was a rather fruitful topic, as a trip to the Emergency Ward seemed to bring out the worst in already unbearable children (and their parents).

When Draco had first accepted his homosexuality, he had felt a kind of sorrow at the thought that he would never have children of his own. Six years at St. Mungo's had effectively cured him of that notion.