39. Death with benefits [Tuesday, May 17th 2005]

Being with Harry meant that Draco used up his stock of essence of arnica way faster than usual, even though Harry only let him treat the really nasty bruises, usually claiming that the smaller ones didn't need attention. Draco guessed that Harry didn't want to overly burden him. He still wasn't great at accepting help, though Draco suspected that it was a little easier with him than with his friends, because helping him was literally his job.

Even so, Draco was running low again, so he got right to that when he had picked up Aurelius after his morning shift and got to Grimmauld Place. He didn't exactly know when they had started sleeping at each other's place every single night or waiting there for each other, but Draco already felt out of place when he didn't do it. He just needed to remember touch his necklace when he came in, so Harry would know it was him and not some home invader.

Under Aurelius' watchful eyes, Draco chopped and measured the ingredients, mixed them together, stirred and then put a spell on the cauldron that would gradually heat it up to 180 degrees Fahrenheit.

The essence had to be vaporised very slowly until only a few crystals would remain, which he would then crush and mix with aloe vera juice. Draco had at least an hour to kill until that point would be reached, so he followed Aurelius upstairs into the sitting room.

He wished there was a way to speed up the process, but messing about with potions was something only an idiot would do. He wouldn't put it past Harry, either. The git was definitely impatient and reckless enough. And no matter what Slughorn thought, Draco didn't believe for one second that Harry really was a potions genius. He must have cheated somehow.

Harry returned sometime later – Draco heard him Apparate into the hallway. Draco stayed on his back on the sofa, his book charmed to float above him so he had both hands free for Aurelius, who was spread out on top of him. They weren't one of those couples, Draco decided. Those that almost devoured each other when they saw each other again, even if they had only been apart for a few hours. Draco still had some dignity.

"How many times, Draco?!" Harry yelled from downstairs, clearly pissed off. "Put away your stuff when you're done using it!"

"And what 'stuff' would that be?" Draco asked innocently, making his book turn a page.

"Your enormous fucking cauldron for starters! I'll start throwing out your stuff right now, you have been warned!"

"Wait!" Draco yelled, upsetting Aurelius and jumping to his feet. "I'm not done with that. It's still in the prepping stages. I didn't break any rules!"

There was a clattering noise as Draco ran down the stairs. In the hallway he almost collided with Harry, who carrying Draco's cauldron in both hands. Draco stopped, dumbfounded. Had his heating charm failed? That had never happened before.

"My kitchen is not a potions lab, you know?" Harry growled, thrusting the cauldron into Draco's arms. "Get that out of my sight, before I vanish it."

Draco dropped the cauldron with a yelp, taking a hasty step back. The noise was deafening in the vast, empty hallway and Harry collided with the wall in an attempt to get out of the way. They stared at each other while the cauldron clattered across the floor.

"What the hell, Malfoy?"

Harry threw his hands up in anger and Draco grabbed both of them, turning them palms-up. They were red and already blistering, and an aborted noise escaped Harry's mouth.

"Did you not notice that?" Draco whispered, looking up into Harry's face.

He had immediately felt the shock, that second during which you couldn't tell if something was either very hot or very cold.

Harry swallowed and shook his head just the tiniest bit. "It thought it felt warm, but that's it."

Draco used a nonverbal healing spell. When he put away his wand, he held onto Harry's right hand with his left, to keep him from fleeing the scene. Already Draco could feel the muscles in his arm twitching.

"You do know, of course, that that is definitely not normal? There is something seriously wrong with you."

Harry immediately tried to play it down. "Gee, thanks Draco. You really have a way with words."

"Why did you never consult a Healer?" Draco demanded. "You are practically a regular at Mungo's, so don't tell me the opportunity never presented itself."

"Who says I didn't?" Harry pulled his hand away and crossed his arms, hands held a few inches away from his sleeves. "Maybe I did and they didn't find anything?"

"Maybe. But you didn't."

There was nothing about this in Harry's charts, only a note about how his body temperature had allegedly always been low. Draco didn't believe it, especially after that day when Harry had thought he was sixteen again. He had been cold when Draco had hugged him, but Harry himself hadn't seemed to feel it.

Harry opened his mouth, but didn't seem to have a strong enough argument. So instead, and despite his still sensitive hands, he grabbed Draco by the neck and kissed him urgently.

"Are you trying to distract me?" Draco asked, pushing Harry away just enough to be able to talk.

"Is it working?" Harry asked, pulling him closer again, kissing his neck.

Draco scoffed. "If you have to ask, it is obviously not working."

"What about now?" Harry said, pushing Draco up against the wall, one of his legs sliding in between Draco's. His tongue was tickling a spot below Draco's ear.

"Still a 'No', I'm afraid," Draco said, his voice strangely hoarse.

Stupid hormones. Draco could feel Harry grinning against his throat. And then the bastard bit him softly and a moan escaped Draco's mouth before he could repress it.

Draco pushed him away by both shoulders, but Harry grabbed his wrists and pinned them against the wall on either side of Draco's head. He bucked his hips in an attempt at throwing Harry off, but of course that made the situation only worse. Much worse.

Draco took a shaky breath as Harry produced something between a low moan and an animalistic growl. Admitting to himself that yes, maybe this was working on him, Draco kissed Harry greedily.

~o~

Draco rolled onto Harry and their heated bodies seemed to melt back into each other. He took Harry's face into both hands and kissed him lazily, indefinitely more softly than before. Harry's hands stroked his sides, caressed his back, touched his hair.

Draco never wanted to leave this room. He wondered if their magic could enable them to spend the rest of their lives in this bed. Probably.

Draco slid to the side, so that only half his body was lying on top of Harry. He propped his head up with a pillow, so he could look him in the eyes properly. His left hand found its way into Harry's soft (albeit catastrophic) hair.

"Why won't you get it diagnosed?" he asked quietly, and Harry groaned in frustration, closing his eyes briefly. "Are you afraid of what they might find?"

Harry rolled his eyes and then locked them on Draco's, daring him to disagree. "No, I am not afraid."

"Quit playing the hero. It's getting old."

Green eyes narrowed dangerously, and Draco recognised it for what it was – anger stemming from being accused of lying when one was actually telling the truth. How could Harry not be worried about this?

"You already know what it is," Draco realised and Harry's eyes widened. One of his eyebrows twitched nervously.

"Stop using Legilimency on me!"

The hand on Draco's back stilled. It had been almost warm a few minutes ago, heated by Draco's body, but now it felt like a cold shiver on his skin.

"I didn't! You are not that mysterious a person, you know?"

But now that Harry had said it, it was almost impossible not to search his eyes for a clue – especially while being this close. There was a flicker of an image – Harry face-down in the grass, somebody kneeling down beside him – and Harry turned his head, facing the wall instead of Draco.

"Stop it, for fuck's sake."

The hand on Draco's back, now icy again, grabbed Draco's waist, and for a second Draco expected Harry to throw him off forcefully – punishment for invading his thoughts. But then Harry took a breath and his grip loosened.

It took a few seconds before he spoke again, this time in a strange voice, way too calm. "It's because I died. Ever since then, I'm always cold. I don't think there is anything you could do about that. You can't exactly unkill me."

"That can't be it," Draco replied pensively. "I've treated you for years now. You already had this problem when you crashed last year."

Harry looked back at him. A light reflected in his eyes, turning them an almost unnatural colour of the most vivid green, which made Draco's hair stand on end.

"Yeah, well. Probably because the first time I died was seven years ago. But what do I know? I'm not a Healer."

"You ... in the war?" Draco stammered, completely blindsided. "How?"

"You know how. Your mother told everyone at her trial." Harry stroked his back absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "A few months ago, you asked me how I survived the curse a second time. Long story short, I didn't."

"I am clearly in need of the long story," Draco protested, wrapping a strand of messy hair around his index finger. "What brought you back?"

Harry shrugged, as if his resurrection was not of particular interest to him. "I did, I guess."

"You 'guess'? If you don't know what brought you back, how do you know you were even dead to begin with?" Draco knew he sounded a little upset. "Maybe you just hit your head. Wouldn't be the first time."

"Are you calling me a liar?" Harry did his best to sound offended, but a grin was tugging at his face. Draco guessed that talking about serious stuff was more bearable if he could exchange some insults in the process.

"I'm calling you an unreliable witness. You got hit by the Killing Curse; I'm not bound to believe anything you tell me about the effects. Especially if you follow it up with 'I guess'."

"Fine, what do you want to know?"

"What happened after you got hit with the curse?" Draco asked eagerly.

He didn't even know what he wanted to hear. That Harry had felt nothing at all, had simply stopped existing for the time being? That he had gone to some kind of afterlife, where his parents had already been waiting for him?

"I had a chat with an old friend," Harry joked instead.

"Old friend? What, like in 'The Three Brothers'?" Draco asked.

He had never really liked the Brothers as a child. He had dreamed of owning the Elder Wand, of course, like every wizard his age. But he had never seen the appeal of the Cloak. Hiding until it was time to go? That simply wasn't the Malfoys' style and he didn't see how it made anyone Death's equal. To hide was to admit defeat.

"I suppose so," Harry said. "He holds his meetings at King's Cross."

"Sure, that's as good a place as any, I assume. Was your friend carrying a scythe, by chance?"

Harry laughed and shook his head, dragging his messy hair through Draco's face in the process. Draco took his face in both hands, keeping him in place.

"Stop that," Draco said, but then Harry was kissing him softly and the irritation left his body.

Harry broke the kiss a few seconds later, smirking at him and then flicking Draco's necklace teasingly. Smug bastard.

"So, who was your mysterious friend?" Draco prompted.

His money was on Fred Weasley. Harry's father or godfather would have been more comprehensible, but he wouldn't have called them a 'friend'. Or maybe the person didn't have to be dead? There was no telling if they had been real or just a figment of his imagination.

"Doesn't matter," Harry said, looking at the ceiling again. Trying to avoid Draco's Legilimency. "He told me to choose. Go on or go back."

"Didn't you think about just leaving? Weren't you tired of all that crap? I know I was."

"Think about it? Yeah, I did. Really consider it? No. I still had unfinished business."

"But did it have to be you? Couldn't somebody else finish it?"

Harry raised his eyebrows, resolving to look at him after all. "I'm starting to think you'd rather I hadn't come back."

"Well, it would be nice to not have my things thrown at me all the time," Draco mused, staring into the distance dreamily. "But also, I've gotten used to eating warm meals twice a day. If I went back now, I would probably starve."

Harry grinned and ran a hand through Draco's hair. "You fucking sap."

"So, you snuffed it, and ever since then, you're an icicle?"

"Guess you can't just die and expect to be fine," Harry said wistfully. "The fucker killed me and now I'm broken."

Harry paused for a few seconds, staring at his glowing golden night light.

"Sometimes I feel kind of transparent, I guess. I can't hold onto my body-heat and my magic just bursts out the second I loosen my grip on it."

"How does that work during Quidditch?" Draco asked thoughtfully. "I've never seen you pulverise a Bludger."

Harry leaned over and took something out of his night stand. He held a simple silver ring up above their faces.

"I always wear this for Quidditch. It suppresses my magic. As long as I'm wearing this, I couldn't cast a Lumos."

"Voluntarily?" Draco took the ring and turned it over. There was a tiny Snitch engraved on the inside.

"Well, getting banned for cheating isn't really an alternative."

Draco put it on, expecting to feel some kind of effect and experiencing absolutely nothing. "Mhhm … any side effects?"

"You could say that," Harry scoffed. "The magic gets bottled up. The longer I wear that thing, the worse it gets. Like pressure rising inside of you."

Draco put the ring on the night stand and then rolled back on top of Harry. He felt like they had been serious for long enough. Time to lighten the mood.

"I know a thing or two about rising pressure," he said with a wicked grin, grabbing both of Harry's hands and pinning them above his head.

Harry didn't object to finding out about it.

~o~

Draco awoke in the middle of the night.

The first thing he noticed was that the bed was damp. The second thing was that he seemed to be lying next to a furnace. Even without touching him, Draco could feel the heat rolling off Harry. He looked feverish and tense.

Then he said something in Parsel, sounding nothing like himself, and Draco knew what had woken him up. He would cast a calming charm, and then wake Harry gently.

But when he turned around to grab his wand, he startled Harry, who gasped for air and grabbed Draco's shoulders like a drowning person. Then a sudden pressure wave whipped everything off their night stands.

The Snitch that hung at the thread around Draco's neck pulsated violently and, to his huge surprise and relief, seemed to cancel out Harry's magic so that it only felt like a slight breeze on his bare skin. Trying to calm Harry down, Draco pressed a hand against Harry's chest, and then snatched it away instantly. The oval scar was burning hot.

"What the hell?"

Harry let go of him to press both hands against the scar, like it was causing him enormous pain. Draco scrambled to get his wand and then knelt down next to Harry.

A wave of his wand created a glowing field around Harry's body. Golden threads indicated the flow of his magic, most potent in the centre of his body. Though Draco had never seen a magic field glowing so brightly, his attention was focused on something else – there was a patch of darkness around the scar, of which the golden threads steered clear.

That was definitely not normal.

"Merlin …," Draco whispered. "It's not burned, it's cursed!"

Harry only groaned and then turned onto his side to curl into a ball.

Draco placed a shaking hand on Harry's shoulder, but he didn't even seem to notice it. "I'll take you to St. Mungo's."

Harry just groaned again, this time in protest. Then he whispered, "Give it a minute."

One hand was still clutching his chest. The other was pressing down on medium sized bruise at his side.

Draco certainly wasn't on board with waiting, but he also didn't want to risk giving the Prophet another story to run. An emergency in the middle of the night was breaking news. Also, how would he explain why he had been there to take Harry to Mungo's?

Harry interrupted his internal debate by rolling onto his back again. He draped one arm over his face, as if trying to shield his eyes from the faint moon light. He seemed much calmer, if pretty exhausted. Draco ran his spell again, but the dark patch was gone. If you knew where to look, you could only just see a small divergence in the flow of his magic around the scar.

"How did you get that scar?"

Harry's voice sounded thin and broken. "You don't want to know."

"I do, that's why I asked."

Draco almost didn't notice him shaking his head. "It's better if you don't know."

"Is that where ..." Draco was searching for a way to put it lightly. How did you address a person's own murder in a casual manner?

"No. The second time didn't leave a scar."

"How am I supposed to help if you won't tell me what it is?"

Draco knew that he sounded irritated, but he couldn't help it. He was supposed to do something, to heal him. He wasn't used to just watching him suffer.

Harry draped the second arm over his face as well. Idiot. As if that would put some distance between him and the conversation. Well, it did shield him from Draco's Legilimency rather effectively.

Draco sighed and stroked the bit of Harry's hair that he could reach. It was completely wet, but Draco didn't even care. He was used to much worse.

"How often does that happen?"

Harry's voice came muffled from underneath his arm. "Not that often. Every other month, and only for a few minutes."

"Nightmares?"

"Yeah, well ..."

Draco realised that had been a dumb question. Harry had nightmares all the time, they weren't really a symptom in this specific case. Draco stretched out beside Harry and then pulled him closer, so that Draco's stomach was pressed against Harry's back.

Draco put one hand on his chest, but the scar wasn't burning anymore. He let his hand drift down and over the side, towards what Draco called his 'Blaise scar' and the row of bruises Harry had been pressing down on earlier.

"Why didn't you tell me that it hurts? We can put some more arnica on these bruises."

Harry just drew a deep breath and shook his head. "I want it to hurt."

"You want –"

"I need it to hurt. Reminds me I'm awake. Alive. There's no pain when you're dead."

Harry lowered his arms and started stroking Draco's hand. Draco didn't say anything else. He was lost in deep thoughts, staring at the wall without really seeing it. That scar was definitely affecting Harry's life – Draco wouldn't even be surprised if it was causing at least some of his paranoia.

If only Draco had made any progress with his scar research. He had yet to find a suitable subject to experiment on. Not that he was going around and asking people. Somehow it felt like he was waiting for a sign, for the perfect patient to present themselves. Truth be told, he had reached an impasse. Every bit of research he did now was so highly theoretical that it was barely of any use at all.

But even if his methods were successful, testing it on that scar would be way too dangerous. He didn't even know what kind of curse had caused it. Knowing what Harry had been up against, it could've been all kinds of sinister things. He couldn't risk making it worse.

A few minutes later, Harry's breathing evened out and Draco pulled up the blanket to cover them both.

He stayed awake for another thirty minutes, anxious to go back to sleep – even if it seemed like Draco himself wasn't in any immediate danger. He turned the necklace over and over, studying it in the faint night light.

Seemed like Harry hadn't just put a Protean on it, then. Thank Merlin, or Draco would probably already be at Mungo's by now. If only that didn't mean that Harry was so used to his nightmares that he had anticipated this.

Still, he couldn't experiment on Harry. There just wasn't a guarantee that he wouldn't make it worse.