A/N: couldn't leave you all hanging for too long...

Harry woke slowly, dimly aware of hushed voices speaking somewhere in his periphery. There was something soft underneath him – a bed? He winced as his eyes opened, becoming aware of a pounding headache and his sore body. Slowly, his argument with Ron and Hermione, his conversations with Mar, came back to him. He let out a frustrated huff of breath. Whoever was nearby must have heard him because the hushed voices stopped.

"Harry?" Suddenly his vision was filled with Andromeda. The lights around him dimmed, too, until he could open his eyes comfortably – although his vision was still blurry. As if sensing his thoughts, Andromeda handed him his glasses.

"Thanks," Harry said, accepting them from her and putting them on his face. "Where's Teddy?"

If Andy was here, Teddy must be somewhere – and Harry was torn between desperately wanting to see the boy but not wanting him to see Harry in a hospital bed, even if he was too young to understand what it meant.

"Draco has him," Andromeda said gently. "How are you feeling?"

"Everything hurts," Harry said, sighing again. Perhaps in the Days Before he would have said he was fine, just so he could get back to his friends and his dormitory; would have protested having to stay in the hospital wing. But in the Days After he was simply tired – too tired to protest, too tired to heal, too tired to lie.

"Drink this," said another voice somewhere past the foot of his bed. Madame Pomfrey bustled into view, potion vial in hand.

"What is it?" Harry asked. He took it and swallowed, dimly aware of Madame Pomfrey saying something before fell back into sleep.

The next time he woke it was darker in his room. His head hurt less – his whole body hurt less, really. He shifted into a sitting position, looking around for his glasses once again.

"You're awake?" came Andromeda's voice again. She was beside him, then, glasses in hand. "How are you feeling?" she asked as he put his glasses on.

"Better," Harry said honestly. "I feel better."

"Good," she said, giving him a warm smile. "You gave us all a fright."

"I'm sorry," he said, shifting in his seat. He could tell she wasn't upset or disappointed, not exactly, but he hated that she worried over him.

"Nonsense," she said as Madame Pomfrey came bustling in. "We're all glad you're alright."

A plate with food was shoved into his lap, Pomfrey telling him to eat as much as he could. And he found, for the first time in a while, that he was truly hungry. "Where's Draco?" he asked as he ate.

"Probably throwing a temper tantrum because he can't see you," Andromeda responded, smiling softly.

Madame Pomfrey clucked in distaste from somewhere behind him. "Camped outside of the Hospital Wing all day – along with half of Slytherin house no less. Whatever you've been doing, Mr Potter, you have a group of very loyal students at your back."

"Can I see him now?" Harry asked, sitting up straighter. "I'm feeling fine. How long have I been here, anyway?"

Andromeda sighed. "Not yet, Harry. You've been here for a day, it's Sunday evening."

Harry dropped back on his pillows. Sunday evening. He had missed so much – his meetings with Binns and McGonagall, cutting Mar's hair, lesson plans – everything. "When can I leave?" he asked sullenly.

"Tomorrow morning, under a few conditions," Madame Pomfrey said, giving him a pointed look. "The Headmistress will be here in a moment to discuss."

"What happened, anyway?" he asked, turning back to Andromeda. "I remember fighting with Ron and Hermione…" he trailed off with a sigh.

He had fought with Ron and Hermione of course, many times, but it was never quite like this. It never felt like it was something that might never be repaired. Never felt quite like the end of the world – a signal, if anything, that the Days Before were really behind him. Perhaps in the Days After he wasn't friends with Ron and Hermione – perhaps it was marked by death. His own, his friendships, his old life.

"Oh, love," Andromeda said with a sigh, breaking him out of his stupor. She reached out to take his hand. He clung back as if he were a child. "They will come around. I know it's hard, but give them time. They're grieving, too."

"Yeah," Harry said. "But I grieved. And I came around. So did Ginny. Draco grieved and practically relearned how to exist in society. Why is it taking them so long?"

Andromeda just smiled and squeezed his hand. "You can't put a timeline on these things, Harry."

"What do I do, then?" He asked. He was aware he sounded like a petulant child. He also didn't care.

"You wait," said Andromeda, prompting another sigh from Harry. "You let them know you're there from them, then you give them space and you wait."

"I've already given them space," Harry grumbled again, but nodded nonetheless.

Before Andy could say anything else, McGonagall came bustling into Harry's little area of the Hospital Wing, Madame Pomfrey in tow.

"Is someone going to tell me what happened now?" Harry asked with a huff. Andromeda squeezed his hand in warning but McGonagall just looked at him with a soft face. Somehow, that made Harry feel worse.

"Well, Mr Potter," she said, seating herself in a conjured chair beside his bed as if he hadn't said anything, "I had hoped the Hospital Wing would be seeing less of you, this year."

Harry couldn't help but give her a rueful grin at that. "Yeah," was all he said.

"It seems as though you had an argument with Mr Weasley and Ms Granger, correct?" she continued. Harry nodded affirmatively, hoping she wouldn't ask what it was about.

She didn't, thankfully. "It appears as though your magic, unstable as it has become, reacted to your emotions during your argument. It exploded, in a manner of speaking."

Harry let his head rest back on his pillow, giving himself a moment to process. His magic had exploded, so – "Are they alright?" he asked, suddenly full of worry. He felt sick. If he had hurt them…

"Everyone is fine," McGonagall said gently. "It was an…internal reaction, so to speak. You were the only person harmed."

"Alright," said Harry, relaxing slightly. Ron and Hermione were being…incredibly infuriating, of course, but that didn't mean he wanted to see them hurt – or to have hurt them. "So – what happens now?" he asked, before his thoughts could take him further than he needed to go. "Am I alright now?"

"You're not alright, Mr Potter, no," Madame Pomfrey said from beside Professor McGonagall. "I've never seen such a large magical core depletion in all my time as a healer. It's a wonder we didn't have to send you to Saint Mungo's – not to mention I'm shocked that you're already awake."

Harry didn't bother to comment. It wasn't as if he had never been an exception to the norm before. And it wasn't as though he had never escaped certain injury – or even certain death – before.

"You will have to be careful," McGonagall said. "Exceptionally careful with the amount of energy you are expending over the next couple weeks."

Madame Pomfrey nodded in agreement as McGonagall spoke. "That means there are some very important rules you'll have to follow," Pomfrey said. "No magic, in class or outside of it for the next two weeks. No extra activities that will put any strain on your body, like quidditch," she said with a pointed look at him. "You'll see me every day for the next week so I can monitor your magic levels, and then every other day the week after. Once we pass the two week mark we'll devise a new plan based on the levels of your magical stores."

"I never realized magic was so technical," was all Harry could think to say. "I didn't think you could lose it."

It was Andromeda who sighed this time. "You can't lose your magic, Harry. If you lose your magic you lose your life."

Well, that explained it. "Can I still teach?" Harry asked. He turned to look imploringly at McGonagall.

"You don't need magic for History of Magic, so I see no reason why not," she responded after giving him a level look. "However, if you are having difficulty catching up with your school work please inform me. Professor Binns will be able to substitute for you if you need."

Harry couldn't help it – he made a face. The thought of Binns teaching his first years, especially Mar, gave him a weird feeling. "Is that everything?" He asked, before the Headmistress could say anything about the face he made. She looked like she wanted to.

"It is," she said instead.

Pomfrey insisted on giving Harry one finally check up, which he sat through with an air of annoyance. He really just wanted to leave the Hospital Wing, knew Draco and Blaise and Pansy were waiting for him.

"Thank you for being here," he said to Andromeda. "I'm sorry I scared you."

She engulfed him in a hug before he could protest. "I will always come, Harry," she said, and he pretended it didn't make him tear up just a little. Then she was off to collect Teddy from Ron and Hermione and Harry was leaving the Hospital Wing, nervous that there would be too many people waiting for him when all he really wanted to do was find Draco.

There wasn't anyone waiting for him, though – except Draco. He was looking away from the door when Harry stepped out, sat on the stone floor with his knees drawn to his chest. Harry leaned against the wall, taking a moment to watch him.

Draco had filled out well over the summer and first part of the school year. He wasn't a shell of a person anymore – neither was Harry. There was lean muscle to his arms now, his face was more than just bones, even if he was still quite aristocratic and pointy-looking. He was all angles, his hair falling in loose waves down to his chin, and there wasn't a single thing Harry disliked.

"I can feel you watching me," Draco drawled without looking over. Harry smirked, but didn't move from where he was leaning.

"You can't," he said, instead.

Draco turned to look at him, grey eyes crinkling at the corners. "No," he admitted, "but I can see your shadow."

"Thwarted by a shadow," Harry said quietly.

"Thwarted?" Draco asked as he pulled himself to his feet. "Enjoying what you were seeing, then?"

"You could say that," Harry said, unable to help the way his voice came out breathy and soft, unable to keep Draco from affecting him so viscerally.

And then Draco was pressing him against the wall and his mouth was parting Harry's, his tongue gently prodding, his hands roaming Harry's body as if making sure he was all in one piece. They parted slowly, Harry unable to disguise his heavy breathing. He reached out as Draco leaned back, hand going to the other boys' hair to push it behind his ear and out of his face.

"I like your hair like this," was all he could say. Draco just smirked.

"I'm supposed to bring you straight to Pansy and Blaise," Draco said.

Harry nuzzled his neck. "They don't know I'm out yet," he said, revelling in the noise Draco made when he bit the tender skin by his Adam's apple.

"They don't," Draco said with a harsh breath. Then he was pulling Harry – or Harry was pulling him, maybe – by the hand in the direction of his room.

Draco pushed him up against the door impatiently as soon as they entered the room. "I was so scared," he said between kisses. It was a small thing to say, but significant nonetheless for a man who rarely talked about his feelings.

"I'm okay," Harry said instead, pulling back as much as he could to look Draco in the face, running his hands through the other boy's hair again. Draco's hand came up, tracing the lines of his cheekbones, running through his hair, which Harry was certain was even more unruly than usual.

Draco's hands strayed, tracing down Harry's sides, around the curve of his arse, back up to his hair. He stood still, hands on Draco's waist, letting the other boy explore him, make sure he was intact. "I'm alright, love," Harry said gently. His words struck Draco out of whatever stupor he seemed to be in because Draco's hands were fisting in his shirt and pulling him close and his head was resting on Harry's shoulder and Harry was clinging back to him as if he were the only steady thing in the world – which, really, he was sometimes.

"I'm okay," Harry repeated again, helplessly. Angry Draco, he could deal with. Controlling Draco he could handle. Demanding and needy Draco was easy. But scared Draco was something he hadn't encountered yet. A Draco that expressed his need for comfort through softness instead of angry quips and pushing him away was new and Harry wasn't exactly sure how to handle it.

So he stood there and stroked Draco's hair instead, clumsily kissing the side of his head until they other boy was able to straighten and look at him again.

"You smell like the Hospital Wing," Draco said finally, shakily. "You need a shower."

"Let's go then," Harry responded, trying to swallow his apprehension at the implication of what he had just said. Draco simply looked at him for a moment before nodding at him to lead the way into the bathroom.

Draco's bathroom was small, but the shower was decent and the air was never too cold. Harry started the water, running it as warm as he thought he could handle. When he turned, Draco already had his shirt off. He drew Harry close again, and Harry allowed Draco to maneuver him against the counter pushing him up and pinning him there with his hips.

Draco's hands wandered down his shirt, undoing each button slowly and precisely. Harry let out an amused huff although he felt like his heart would burst out of his chest from anticipation and desire. "Pomfrey told me I'm supposed to rest, you know."

"I'm sure this is exactly what she had in mind when she said that," Draco said in response. But he ducked his head down, as if supressing a laugh. "Don't worry," he continued, "I plan on doing all the work today."

And then they were in the shower and Draco was lathering soap along Harry's body and it was so simple and so domestic but Harry thought he would very well go out of his head with desire from it all.

"Alright?" Draco asked quietly, breath on Harry's back, body pressed against him under the pressure of the water. Harry could only let out a strangled sort of gasp in response.

Draco spun him around and kissed him soundly. Maybe it was partly the water or the way Draco was touching him but Harry felt like he was drowning in the best possible way. It was all he could do to lean against the cool tiles and kiss Draco back.

Then Draco had shampoo and was lathering it in Harry's hair and really, Harry realized, he hadn't known bliss until this. Draco tugged on his hair, bit his neck and lapped at the spot with his tongue. Harry thought he would implode any minute.

"You should let Pansy style your hair," Draco said suddenly. "She's quite good with hair trimming spells."

"I thought you liked my hair," Harry said, pouting but not really. Draco flicked his nose in response.

"It's to your shoulders when it's wet," he said instead. "You should keep growing it."

Harry felt a smile blooming on his face. "Like it long, hm?" he asked, and began giggling in a quite un-Harry like way. There was no reason, really, except that he was happy to be out of the Hospital Wing and grateful to be here with Draco being treated like a prince.

"You've got that look on your face," Draco said suddenly. He was still working his fingers through Harry's hair, washing the shampoo out.

"What look?" Harry asked, bemused. He let his hands trace the scars on Draco's abdomen, twine through his hair, tug on it gently.

"The look that tells me I should start insulting you before you get a big head," Draco said with a grin. He leaned in, and Harry found his laugh captured in Draco's lips.

He was going to say something cheeky about being the Chosen One or maybe about how Draco was really the one with the big head, or something embarrassing, like yes please insult me, but as Draco dropped to his knees all coherent thought left Harry's mind. In mere moments it was all he could do to stay on his feet, and if it weren't for both his hands bracing on Draco's shoulders he would have collapsed. His panting was cut off by a frustrated groan when Draco stood suddenly.

"Turn around," Draco growled, and how could he do anything else but listen when Draco spoke to him like that? He braced his forearms on the shower wall as Draco pushed a finger into him, and then two.

"I think this counts as exertion," Harry said between gasps.

Draco's breath was hot on his neck as he spoke and Harry felt himself get impossibly harder. "No exertion," he said. "All you need to do is stand there and look pretty, love."

Harry let out a strangled groan as Draco removed his fingers and replaced them with something much larger. The rhythm was perfect, Draco pressed Harry hard against the wall of the shower with his body, his hand stroking Harry's cock in time with his thrusts.

Neither of them lasted long – although whatever Draco had said about exertion was entirely untrue. Harry felt spent – not that it was a bad feeling, but it wasn't as though he could tell Madame Pomfrey that he had broken her orders by having sex in the shower with Draco Malfoy.

"Pansy is going to be angry," Harry said with a sigh as they got out of the shower.

"What do you mean?" Draco asked, giving Harry an unguarded smile.

Harry just shook his head. "We were supposed to straight to see them. And Pansy knows, Draco. She always knows."

Draco's laughter followed them out of the bathroom and toward the eighth year common room. Harry privately thought he had never heard a better sound.

Thanks to Draco's insistence that they begin eating in the kitchens again, at least until Harry was feeling better, Harry was able to avoid any questioning by other students until Monday evening. He, Draco, Pansy, and Blaise had made their way to the Slytherin common room after dinner intent on getting some work done without being distracted by the rowdy eighth years. Professor McGonagall had announced that the sixth through eighth years were to meet in the Great Hall at eight o'clock that night. Harry and Draco knew why, but no one else did – not even Blaise and Pansy.

The minute they entered the common room Harry was accosted by the first year Slytherins, led by Mar, scampering around them and begging to know what happened. He refused to explain to them, but reassured them that yes he was alright and yes he would still be teaching History of Magic the next day. Eventually they left him alone, and the rest of the common room seemed confident that he was alright once he had answered all the rapid-fire first year questions and complimented Mar's haircut, so they were left in relative silence, the four of them.

It was clearly not the type of evening where any work was getting done, though. They curled up on the couch in front of the fire, Draco with his head in Harry's lap and legs across Pansy and Blaise, the latter seated with his back to the armrest of the couch so he could face everyone, talking aimlessly amongst themselves.

"You should do Potter's hair, Pans," Draco said when a moment of silence got too long to be comfortable. "He wants to grow it."

Harry turned an amused look downward to where Draco was lying. "I do?" he asked pointedly. Draco merely smiled innocently at him.

"I'll only do it if he starts actually taking care of it," Pansy said with a sniff. "Hair like Potter's will ruin my reputation."

"What reputation?" Blaise asked with a grin, while Harry glared at Pansy with mock offence.

"I'm not spending anything near the amount of time on my hair that Draco does in the mornings," Harry said. "That's too much work."

"You're just jealous you don't have hair as nice as mine," Draco said, reaching up to tug a strand of Harry's hair – rather harder than necessary.

Harry just swatted at his hand. "Do any of you pay attention to the Daily Prophet?" he asked suddenly. The question had been burning since Ron and Hermione had confronted him on Saturday, but by the time he had gotten out of the hospital wing he had lost the nerve to bring it up.

"Yes," Blaise said almost immediately, his look dark. Harry locked eyes with him for a moment – he wasn't sure when he had begun silently communicating with Blaise, but it was clear the other boy knew exactly what he was talking about. Both Pansy and Draco shook their heads, however.

"Ron showed me an article," Harry said with a sigh, "On Saturday."

"Before you exploded?" Pansy asked with a small smirk.

"If he's talking about what I think he's talking about, I bet it was directly before he exploded," Blaise said. Harry shrugged ruefully, trying to ignore the concerned look Draco was giving him.

"It was front page," Harry said. "I only saw the headline. The Wizengamot passed a motion to track former Death Eaters." He winced, almost, waiting for the exclamation of horror or anger but none came.

After a beat of silence, Draco sighed. "They've been talking about it for ages," he said gently to Harry. "It was bound to happen."

"You're not upset?" Harry asked, incredulous. He would be upset if his movements were being tracked, spells monitored, conversations listened to.

"No," Draco said simply. He sighed again at Harry's expectant look. "No, I don't want to be tracked. But it's not as though I'm doing anything illegal, there's nothing they'll find. And honestly, most of those bastards deserve to be tracked anyway."

Harry gave him a hard look, not entirely convinced but unsure how to argue – unsure if Draco would be upset if he pushed more.

"We need to go," Pansy said suddenly, giving Draco's legs a hard shove. "We're going to be late!"

Mar gave Harry an eager wave as the four friends scrambled out of the common room to get to the Great Hall on time. Somehow, though, Harry didn't think this was going to be the last time they were going to discuss the issue.