33. Valentine [Monday, February 14th 2005]

"Malfoy! A word?"

Draco, whose arms were laden with self-pressuring bandages, looked over his shoulder to see who was idiotic enough to come to St. Mungo's for a talk on Valentine's Day. It was Coach Greyson.

"Which one of your idiots is injured now?" Draco asked, walking on so that Greyson was forced to follow him.

"Nobody, that's my point," said Greyson brusquely, falling into step.

"Perfect. Come back tomorrow. Or send an owl." Draco unloaded the bandages on his supply cart and then added, "But not yours!" He really didn't need that wretched beast in his house.

"Tomorrow is too late."

"Tough luck," Draco said shortly. "But if you keep me any longer, it will be too late for my patient." He wheeled the cart into the treatment room and closed the door in Greyson's face.

Greyson was still there when a mediwitch pushed Draco's patient to her room half an hour later.

"Coach Greyson," Draco said, looking at his chart instead of him. "Didn't I tell you to go away?"

"I need to talk to you." Greyson sounded pretty agitated by now. Draco guessed that he didn't like to be kept waiting.

"Come back when your wife has bashed your head in with a cauldron because you forgot to give her chocolates. Maybe then I'll have time for you."

Draco touched his wand to the name and then scanned the trauma ward for the unlucky bastard who had made that mistake. He was pretty hard to miss with the cauldron still sticking out of his head.

Draco flagged down a mediwitch and pointed at his patient. "Get me someone from Potions for bed seven. I need a consult on the contents of that cauldron."

"It's about Potter."

What Draco wanted to say: 'Alright. Come back tomorrow. Or send an owl. But definitely not yours.'

What he actually said: "What about him?" He tried to tell himself that he at least sounded indifferent.

"He missed practice today." Greyson stared at him as if that was his fault.

"Obviously," Draco said coldly. "He's concussed. As I informed you yesterday via owl."

"You have to talk to me first before signing a sick note for one of my players."

Draco crossed his arms in front of his chest and asked sceptically, "What for?"

"So we can talk about upcoming matches and my training schedule," Greyson said resolutely, crossing his arms as well.

"And how exactly will me knowing about your schedule change anything about your players' health?"

"That's how it's done, Malfoy," Greyson pressed out. "That's how Dayal did it and that's how we will keep doing it."

"That's how Dayal almost killed Potter," Draco said coolly. "I don't take orders from you. You are neither my boss nor a Healer. Take it to Chief Cortez if you must. But don't expect her to agree with you on this, because that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Greyson tried to stare him into submission. Draco stared back. He had learned to endure under his crazy Aunt Bella, after all. This was a walk in the park.

"Potter will be back on Thursday," Draco said resolutely. "Don't you have something better to do on Valentine's Day?"

There was an angry vein popping up on Greyson's neck and his eyes narrowed dangerously. Draco got a sudden image – Greyson embracing a woman, who was clutching a letter in her hands and appeared to be crying.

Draco broke the eye contact instantly. He wanted nothing to do with Greyson's private life, however bleak it might be. If he was lucky, Greyson hadn't noticed the connection – Draco wasn't willing to tell people he was a Legilimens. That wouldn't exactly make patients trust him. His left forearm was itching, but Draco kept himself from rubbing it.

Greyson gestured at him with a closed fist. "This isn't over!"

"I can hardly wait." Draco left him standing there and went over to his patient and his cauldron.

~o~

Draco was dead on his feet, and it was only half past eight. He felt so drained that he couldn't even muster the energy to Apparate. He took the Floo home, which really was saying a lot about his condition.

Harry was asleep on his sofa, Aurelius half on top of him. When Draco stepped out of his fireplace, he slowly began to stir and his eyes fluttered open.

"Hey," he said, smiling softly.

Draco lay down next to Harry on the sofa and pulled him into his arms. It was a little crowded, but Draco was too tired to care. Harry didn't protest either, maybe because he still was half asleep. Aurelius acted like this didn't concern him.

"I hate Quidditch," Draco mumbled, burying his face in Harry's minty-fresh hair.

"Yeah," Harry agreed drowsily.

"Greyson ambushed me at Mungo's."

"He sent me four owls," Harry muttered.

"I think he threatened me a little."

"Fourth one was a Howler."

"He'll probably be back at Mungo's tomorrow."

"Came here to escape Odysseus."

"Did it work?"

"Yeah," Harry said with a sigh of relief.

"Hey, do you maybe hate Valentine's Day, too?" Draco asked hopefully.

Harry started stroking his hair slowly. "You have no idea."

"Did somebody try to slip you love potion?" Draco suggested. That certainly was popular on Valentine's Day.

"Not recently," Harry said, yawning at the same time. "You?"

Draco snorted. "Nobody in their right mind would ever try to make me love them. Let's see … Did you ever get attacked with a copy of 'Bewitch that Witch – How to charm your valentine'?"

"That's oddly specific," Harry said, sounding a little more awake.

He turned onto his side so they were lying face to face. Aurelius just let it happen, slipping into the free space at Harry's back. Draco was verging on the edge now, but as long as he held on to Harry, he was confident that they could make it work.

"And also a very heavy book. Enough to break your jaw. I'll take that as a 'No'."

Harry nodded and draped one arm around him, stroking his back. Draco rummaged through his memory of the day, but it was hard to pick favourites.

"I'm guessing nobody shrunk your prick either, because they found out you had three other girlfriends, all of whom you had lined up consecutive dates with?

"Not that I remember," Harry said with a grin. "But I am concussed, so what do I know?"

"Then what's your reason for hating Valentine's Day?"

Harry grimaced. "If I ever dated Cho Chang – and that's a very big 'if', I'm entirely unsure about that – she broke up with me on Valentine's Day. I'm definitely not unsure about the break-up-part. It was very clear."

Draco laughed quite involuntarily. "Right, I forgot about that! You made her cry and then she left you at that horrible tea shop."

"Great. You've heard," Harry said tonelessly, but he kept stroking his back.

"The whole school heard about that."

"Brilliant."

"Almost made them forget about that poem Ginny sent you in second year." Draco was chuckling so hard that he could barely speak. "'His eyes are as green as –'"

Harry pushed him off the sofa, which Draco commented with a startled yelp that Aurelius ignored. The most useless service dog in history.

"Thanks for reminding me."

Harry leaned over the edge to look down on him, so (naturally) Draco grabbed him by the collar and pulled. He probably should have anticipated that Harry would land on top of him. Nobody could have expected him to anticipate that Harry would stay there and make himself extra heavy.

"You're crushing me," Draco wheezed, trying to get his arms under Harry's body so he could push him off.

"Please. It's the least I can do," Harry said like he was doing him a favour.

Draco tickled his sides, which made Harry squeak and grab both his hands to pin them above his head. Draco kissed him. Who knew how long they had until everything went to hell? He'd better take every chance he got.

Some of Harry's weight was lifted, though he didn't get off of him. Maybe Harry had realised that kissing was easier when they both were able to breathe properly.

Things got very hot very fast, which maybe had something to do with the fact that they had officially (well, as official as a secret relationship got, which was not at all) been dating for a week now, during which they had stayed fully clothed the entire time. Not necessarily Draco's decision. He got the feeling that maybe Harry was trying to take it slow.

He himself thought that pining for Harry for months had already been taking it slow.

That was how Draco found himself pulling Harry's t-shirt over his head in a hurry while Harry tried to keep kissing his neck (which was exactly as impossible as it sounded). Maybe Draco shouldn't have pulled the guy with the concussion from his sofa. In hindsight, that had been a pretty dismal medical decision.

He finally managed to free Harry's mob of hair from his t-shirt and was promptly smacked in the face by Harry's necklace.

"Oh, that reminds me!" Harry got up and pulled something out of his pocket, still breathing heavily. Draco was not a fan.

He sat up with his back against the sofa as Harry knelt down beside him and then leaned over and put something around Draco's neck.

It was a tiny golden orb on a thread of silver. Draco grabbed Harry's own pendant – silver wings on a golden thread – and held them next to each other.

"Is that –"

"Yep."

Harry was wearing the wings that had killed him, shrunken down considerably. And instead of repairing the Snitch, he was giving the other half to Draco.

"You found the wings and gave them to me," Harry tried to explain. He seemed to be kind of embarrassed – one hand was glued to his hair. "It seems only fair that you get something in exchange."

"I thought you hate Valentine's Day!" Draco complained. This was way too thoughtful! How was he supposed to compete with something like that?

"Well, I was told I was going to be bludgeoned with a copy of 'Bewitch that Witch' if I forgot to bring a present," Harry said matter-of-factly. "And my favourite Healer already clocked out, so …"

"That's really cheesy," Draco commented, punching Harry's shoulder with one hand and fondling the tiny Snitch with the other. It was hardly bigger than a pea.

"I know, right?" Harry laughed and ruffled his hair. "Want me to take it back?" He held out a hand that Draco slapped away.

"Don't you dare touch my kitsch!"

Harry laughed and kissed him again. Then he put his t-shirt back on, which seemed counter-intuitive to Draco. He was all for some more snogging and groping.

"I've made dinner. You hungry?"

"Nope," Draco said as his stomach rumbled right on cue. Traitor.

Harry laughed yet again and then pulled him to his feet. "Just to be clear, I didn't cook this because it's Valentine's Day. I just got bored waiting for you, is all. So, don't get any ideas for future holidays!"

"Cross my heart." Draco put his wand over his heart for emphasis and sat down at the table, where Harry had placed a warming charm over steak with mashed potatoes and vegetables.

"Oh, so when I do it, warming charms 'screw up the texture', but when you do it, it's all peachy?"

"Shut up and eat," Harry said, ending his charm. "So, what did Matt want from you?"

"I thought you want me to shut up?" Draco said, getting started on his plate.

"I liked you better with my tongue down your throat," Harry complained with a full mouth.

Draco didn't know why a tongue should shut him up while Harry himself couldn't be silenced by a tongue-sized piece of steak. He was kind of glad that he never would have to officially introduce Harry to his parents.

"Me too."

Draco took pity and told him about his encounter with the Coach. Harry didn't seem all that happy to hear that Greyson had apparently meddled with their medical business in the past. Draco noticed because he took an unnaturally long time to chew his steak. Then he seemed to come to a decision.

"Well, Oliver Wood was just the same. Quidditch always came first; that's how it is. And Matt played professionally himself. He was a really good Chaser before the war. So it's no wonder he's a little intense. He just cares about the team. Dayal should have stood up for us and put Matt in his place. That's his job as Healer, right?"

"Well, it certainly was wrong to give in to Greyson's demands," Draco said slowly.

"Exactly." Harry gave him a relieved smile and then frowned down at Draco's plate. "Is something wrong with the steak?"

"No?" Draco looked down at the half of his steak that was still there. "Why would it be?"

"Don't you like steak?"

"Don't be stupid, who doesn't like steak?"

"But you still haven't eaten it. You're just eating the potatoes ... and brussels sprouts."

"You leave the best for last, you idiot."

"What?" Harry looked confused. "Why would you do that?"

Draco shook his head in the face of such ignorance. "So you can finish your meal on a high note, of course."

"What if it's gone later?"

"Why would it be gone?" Draco said, now confused as well.

"I don't know," Harry said distractedly, "Magpies?"

"Magpies?"

"Yeah, they're a thing."

"Where?"

Harry shrugged helplessly, apparently rather unhappy about where the conversation was going. "Australia, I guess."

Meaning his Australian ex-girlfriend must have told him that. No, Draco wasn't jealous, thanks. He knew perfectly well that Harry was allowed to talk about things like that.

"You know this is not Australia, right?"

Harry laughed, but his heart didn't seem to be in it this time. "Forget I said anything. Must be the concussion talking."

Draco still guarded his steak like a hawk until it was gone completely, and then helped clean the table.

Afterwards, Harry took something from his pocket and unshrunk it to reveal a small bag. Draco shot him a questioning look, to which he replied, "Oh yeah, FYI: I'm staying over tonight."

Draco had no illusions that this had sexy reasons – Harry was probably expecting another Howler or two at home. Not that Draco would have tried to start something while Harry still had his concussion. After all, he himself had forbidden him from exercising.

When Draco joined him in the bedroom after brushing his teeth, Harry had already claimed the side of Draco's bed that was closer to the door, which left him with the window side. Draco didn't care one way or the other – he usually lay smack in the middle. Not like anybody ever slept beside him.

Harry had already placed his wand on the bedside table. Draco cast a Protego on himself and then put his own wand aside as well.

"Ha ha," said Harry drily. His arms went right through the shield as he pulled Draco into his arm, so they both were lying in the middle. "You may have noticed that I didn't blast you when you came home."

"Must have been the concussion. Or Lee," Draco said, pressing a kiss to his forehead, right next to the scar. "I'm not taking any chances. I really don't want you to Apparate me to Mungo's while you're concussed."

Harry squeezed him, as if that were a punishment. It definitely wasn't.