Chapter 5

"Draco?"

Harry's rough, quiet voice woke Draco from his fitful sleep and had him bolting upright in his sleep chair. "Harry?"

"Water. Please." Harry's eyes were scrunched closed against the dim light.

Draco rushed across the room, pouring a cup of water from the small, hospital-style pitcher next to the bed. He held the cup up, slipping the straw between the parched lips.

Harry sipped for several seconds, then let his head fall back down. "Thank you."

Draco's throat clenched shut at the simple words, clearer now that his husband's throat was sufficiently wet. He put the cup back down and busied himself, grabbing Harry's glasses off the table and placing them next to his hand—the Healers had removed his contact lenses when they put him under Stasis, so he probably couldn't see much of anything yet—before starting to straighten the blankets that were already perfectly straight.

"Draco," Harry said again, stronger. "Stop it." His eyes were still closed, and he looked exhausted. "Please."

"Stop what?" Draco asked, afraid to hear the answer. Stop fussing over him? Stop taking care of him? Stop…stop what?

"Just sit. I'm okay."

Draco sat, but he couldn't speak. Because Harry wasn't okay. Draco wasn't okay. They weren't okay, were they? They'd fought, and then Harry had gone out into the field instead of coming home and he'd almost died, and Draco hadn't known, he hadn't known, and Harry had been there, laying on the floor of some house in Scotland, and Draco. Hadn't. Known.

Harry's hand on his was all it took to break him. Draco began to sob—loud, deep sobs that were wrenched from the bottom of his chest. He dropped his head to the blanket, trying to muffle the sound, trying not to let Harry see how weak he was, even if there was no way for him not to notice. Harry would feel guilty, feel like it was his fault, and Draco knew it wasn't. It was Draco's fault; all of it was Draco's fault. Draco was stubborn and didn't know how to love Harry like he deserved to be loved, didn't know how to be the family he needed, and he drove Harry away—had almost gotten him killed.

The hand moving to his head made it worse. Harry was comforting him, combing his gentle fingers through Draco's hair in the way that usually made him purr. Now, though, it just reminded him how much he didn't deserve this man.

"Was it really that bad, then?" Harry's voice was soft when he spoke after a while. "How long was I out?"

Draco couldn't speak, he just shook, letting the tears and snot run into the blanket under his face. His nose was clogged, too, and he felt disgusting, but he couldn't stop.

"Draco, I'm here. Talk to me."

"Can't," he managed to get out, mumbling into the bed. "I can't."

Harry was silent for several more minutes, then he gasped, and Draco jerked up, alarmed. "What's wrong? Do you need a Healer? What happened?"

"Teddy." Harry's eyes looked frantic. "Is Teddy okay?"

Draco's shoulders fell and his stomach unclenched. Right. Teddy. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at his nose. "He's okay. You got him here in time, and they healed him right up. He's sleeping at the moment, but he's up and about. I'm sure he'll be in here as soon as he's awake again."

Harry looked towards the dark windows. "What time is it? What day? Gods, I'm so muddled."

Draco stood up, his bones creaking, and walked into the bathroom, grabbing a flannel and running water over it to wipe up his face. His eyes were swollen from crying, and he looked a mess. He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly, watching a bit of colour re-enter his cheeks. "It's Monday, I believe," he finally answered Harry. "Around four in the morning."

"Monday," Harry breathed out. "That was Thursday, right?"

"Yes," Draco agreed from the bathroom as he picked up another flannel and wet it. He gathered a towel and a comb and made his way back to Harry's bed, sitting on the edge and finally looking at his scowling husband.

"I'm sorry I broke down. I'm really tired, I think," Draco said, hoping to brush past the embarrassment. "Let me clean you up a little? I think it'll make you feel better."

Harry nodded, his lips twitching at the corners. "Sure."

Draco scooted closer, gently rubbing the cloth across Harry's oily forehead, wiping away the crust around his eyes. Harry leaned into the touch like a cat seeking a caress, and Draco felt his eyes burn again at the thought that he'd almost lost this man. His mind sought another topic, trying to distract his anxiety from spiralling.

"Lyra has been staying with Molly mostly, but Angelina is with her at the house tonight."

"Is she okay?" Harry asked, taking Draco's hand. "Is she very upset?"

"She was upset, yes, but then she wanted to meet Alex, and she's taken him under her wing."

"The boy." Harry smiled as Draco ran the comb through his thick, dark hair. "He was such a brave kid. He'd just witnessed that terrible scene, and then I was sick and I could tell he was scared, but he just held my hand and kept asking me to tell him stories." He closed his eyes and hummed. "It was my magic, wasn't it? It felt worse when I used it."

"Yeah. The curse turned it against you."

Harry sighed and this time, his yawn was long and drawn out, and his head fell to the side. "I'm so tired. I think I need to sleep some more. Will you lie with me?"

"Harry—"

"Please." Harry's voice was almost a whine, and he opened his eyes just a slit. "I'm too tired to talk about it right now, but I thought I'd never see you again." He paused, as if bracing himself to say something terrible. "I used the Knut."

"I know."

A tear fell from Harry's eye. "Please, lie down with me? Stay here?"

And Draco couldn't say anything to that. He wanted it more than anything, so he gave in and stretched on his side next to Harry on the bed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"I know," Harry echoed and squeezed Draco's hand. "Me too."

It seemed to Draco that his days mainly consisted of waking up randomly to people talking. This time, it was the low rumble of Harry's chest under Draco's ear.

"So what will they do with him?" Harry asked.

"They're still trying to locate someone who can take him," Hermione explained quietly. "They've tracked the mother's family to Canada, but they haven't been able to find them. The father's family has disowned them and refuses any contact. They won't even come to claim the body, though they did claim the uncle who committed the murder."

Draco opened his eyes at that, picking his head up. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

Harry quietly began to rub Draco's back, something that always calmed him. "Shh…you'll wake Draco," Harry said, chuckling.

Hermione smiled. "Good morning, sleepyhead. You looked so cute when I came in, we didn't have the heart to wake you. And no, I'm not kidding. They're staunch, traditionalist pure-bloods, and they didn't take kindly to Alexander's marrying a Muggle." Hermione's voice became more clipped as she spoke. "Evidently, they believe the uncle was doing the family a favour, and they're threatening to sue the British Aurors for using extreme force on their son."

Harry growled, but Hermione held up a hand.

"They'll get nowhere, and we're looking at filing criminal charges against them for conspiracy to commit murder, as it appears they were aware of his plans. We're going to follow this through, but the point is, even if they wanted the child, we wouldn't let them have him."

"Better fucking not," Harry muttered.

"So now what?" Draco asked.

"Well, now you both concentrate on getting Harry better, and we talk to the social worker about moving Alex to a foster home until they find the family." She narrowed her eyes at Draco. "And you. Arthur is coming to sit with Harry, so you need to go home and sleep in your own bed. Molly is at the house with Lyra and Alex, cooking up a storm and filling your kitchen with food. Go home, sleep, shower, and reassure your daughter."

"But—"

"Love," Harry said, so quiet that only Draco would be able to hear him, "I'll be sleeping anyway. Please. I need you to take care of yourself."

"Harry—"

"You'll just make me feel worse if you don't," Harry insisted. "You know that. Please."

Draco closed his eyes, admitting defeat. "Fine." He sighed and looked at his husband. The colour had mostly returned to his face, and he looked well, but tired. "Lyra will want to see you."

"Gods, yes. I want to see her too. And I want to see Alex, if you think you can bring him along. I want him to see I'm okay." He yawned. "Hermione says I owe him a thank you."

Draco nodded. "He was amazing. He did so well, and Lyra held his hand through the whole thing."

Harry dropped a kiss on Draco's forehead, and Draco felt his chest swell, but sincerely hoped that Hermione hadn't noticed that bit of sentimentality. They'd become close and all, but he still had a reputation to maintain.

Draco woke hours later to the feeling of someone curled into his back. It wasn't a completely alien feeling, but when he cracked his eyes open, he could see Cat asleep on the windowsill, basking in the late afternoon light.

It was Monday afternoon, and Harry was in hospital. He was okay. They were okay.

So, if not Harry and not the cat, then Lyra.

Draco smiled to himself, recognizing the small size of the body at his back, and he slowly rolled over, ready to cuddle with the little girl. Instead, he was met with a small head of brown curls tucked into a ball, his head having been what had been wedged into Draco's back.

Alex.

He'd almost forgotten the boy was there. When he'd come home from the hospital, Lyra had claimed most of Draco's attention while Molly had filled him in on everything, forced a bowl of soup into him, and then shooed him off to sleep. Alex had been sitting quietly in a corner of the sofa, watching the telly.

But now he was curled into Draco like a Crup seeking warmth. His thumb was hanging from his mouth as he slept.

Draco looked at the boy's small cheeks, rounded with baby fat, with large, plush lashes feathering from his closed eyes. His dark-chocolate curls fell in ringlets over the tips of his ears and along his forehead.

He was a beautiful child, and he'd been through so much. Draco wondered how much more he'd have to go through before he could start to heal. Would a family member he'd never met come to claim him? Or perhaps he'd become a ward of some well-meaning couple who'd come to care for him, but who might never accept him as their own.

Which was ridiculous and melodramatic. Of course someone would adopt him, give him a family, and he'd grow up happy and loved. Draco just hoped that whoever they were, they deserved this brave child.

"Alex?" Lyra's voice came from the hallway outside Draco's door. It opened a crack, her green eyes peering in and growing wide when she saw the bed. "Papa," she whispered loudly, "you're awake!"

Draco chuckled. "I am. Come over here, Billywig." She crawled up onto the bed and laid her head on Harry's pillow, looking at him and Alex. "Have you been helping take care of him?"

She nodded, and Draco was impressed when she kept her voice low. It was easy to forget that she knew how to do that, since her default volume was generally loud. "He won't talk to nobody, though. Just me. Grandma Molly says it's because he had something real bad happen and grownups probably scare him."

"She might be right, but he's talking to you, huh? What's he said?"

"We just talked about my toys and stuff," she said, giving a little shrug and looking an awful lot like Harry. "I let him play with them."

"That's nice of you to share."

She wiped a blonde curl out of her face. "What's murder?"

Draco swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. "Where did you hear that?"

"Grandma Molly was talking to Auntie Angie. They didn't know I was listening, but I wasn't spying, Papa. I was just getting us juice boxes 'cause we were thirsty." She looked down at Alex and played with one of his curls. "So what's murder? And why does it make Alex poor?"

"Well," Draco started, his stomach turning with nerves as he considered how to approach this. He and Harry had always tried to answer Lyra's questions in an age-appropriate way, and they never brushed her off. "Do you know how Daddy used to catch bad guys before he decided to teach people how to catch bad guys?"

"Yeah…"

"Well, sometimes bad guys or women do something really bad and they kill another person."

Her eyes grew wide. "Like, make them dead?"

"Yes. Make them dead. When someone kills somebody else on purpose, it's called murder."

Lyra scrunched up her brows, clearly thinking that through. "Okay, but why does that make Alex poor? He's too little to be a bad guy."

"No, Billywig," he said, his voice quiet and sad. He looked down at the small boy cuddled between him and his daughter. He was so young. "Somebody murdered his mum and dad. That's why he's here with us right now, because they're trying to find the rest of his family so he can go live with them."

Lyra sat up, tears in her eyes. "That can happen?" She sounded panicked. "Someone can murder your family and you have to go live somewhere else?" She started to cry in earnest. "Papa?"

He sat up quickly, cursing himself. He'd clearly taken it too far, but he refused to lie. "You don't have to worry about that, though. Your dad is the best bad-guy-fighter there is. He saved Alex, didn't he? He wouldn't let anything happen to any of us. And you have so much family that loves you, you'd always have people to take care of you."

She crawled into his lap and wrapped herself around him, tucking her face into his neck. "I don't want anyone to hurt you," she said eventually, her sobs turning into little hiccoughs.

"I know, Billywig. It's okay."

She sat up and looked him in the eyes and then kissed his cheek. "Poor Alex."

"Yeah, baby. Definitely."

A/N: So, most of the angst is passed, but there will still be a few bumps as we close in on the end of the story. I hope it's not been too heavy for you all. Do you like the angstier turn of this story amidst all the fluff of the others?

See you on Thursday night with another update.