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Accolades for the Accursed
Chapter 2: The Vices of the Virtuous
A novel length fiction by;
CalamatiesofaSycophant
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There are new words now that excuse everybody. Give me the good old days of heroes and villains. The people you can bravo or hiss. There was a truth to them that all the slick credulity of today cannot touch.
-Bette Davis
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Draco watched in quiet calculation as he observed Potter's face contort first to something of shock, and then to something akin to amusement.
"Repeat that one." Potter chuckled.
"I said, I think I'm rather attached to you." Draco repeated dryly.
Potter eyed him skeptically, "Right." An uncomfortable shuffling of feet, "Would you, uh, care to explain, how?"
"No." Draco said, stubbornly. "Just be aware that if you leave this room my head bursts into excruciating pain."
"Really?" Potter asked. Did Draco detect a hint of hope in that annoying quack's voice?
"It's not like I take particular joy in the situation, personally." Draco reminded Potter with a scowl. He didn't want the bloody boy wonder to get any ideas.
"I'd assume not." Harry said quickly, bouncing on the balls of his feet while scrutinizing Draco's chart with an extreme amount of concentration.
"You look like you have the trots when you do that." Draco commented conversationally.
Potter looked up to give Draco a withering glance before returning his focus to the chart. "You never did grow up, did you?" He murmured quietly.
"Of course I did. How could I not?" Draco exclaimed defensively.
"I suppose you're right," Potter sighed, eventually shifting his gaze firmly on Draco. "And you say it only hurts when I'm not in the room?"
"Yes." Draco said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Well, to be fair, in his mind it was. The pounding was just a little hard to ignore.
"I really don't see how that can be possible." Potter said, his brows furrowed. "You took the sobering agent, and we pumped your stomach – "
"You WHAT?" Draco burst out.
"Trust me, it wasn't pleasant from where I was standing either." Potter said with a scrunched up face. "But the point is there is nothing that should be causing your reaction. There's not even any way to prove that you're telling the truth and not just looking for some sort of twisted compensation from the hospital for healer mistreatment."
"I have plenty of money on my own." Draco scoffed.
"I'm sure of it." Potter said, rolling his eyes.
"As you should be." Draco sniffed.
"Malfoy, can you swear to me that you're not making up this whole head hurting thing?"
"Why?" Draco said, narrowing his eyes in speculation.
"It's just that I'm still a trainee healer, and…"
"They gave me a trainee healer?" Draco interrupted, his voice incredulous.
"Well, you know, the only thing wrong with you was the fact that you were hammered out of your skull. Nothing too special about that."
"Oh, whatever." Draco interposed. "Just keep on explaining that thing you were talking about." He waved his hands around to get Potter moving.
"I was going to say that even though I'm still only a trainee healer I'm about to enter experienced levels but I have to write a research document on a medical condition first. It's kind of like a final test. So, I guess I was just thinking that if you aren't being a total prick and making a scene over nothing like you used to do in school then maybe I might be interested in seeing if there's anything significant to do with your mystery malady." Potter explained, the entire while looking as sheepish as physically possible. Draco supposed it wasn't every day that you intoned to your schoolyard nemesis that you wanted to research their brain.
"Don't even bother with it." Draco said sharply. "I already know what's wrong."
"Oh, would you tell me?"
"No, you're going to be all smug about it." Draco protested.
"Fine." Potter said, an odd glint coming to his eye. "I think I'd better go down that really long hall and up the really steep stairs over to the very tip of the south wing of the building to see if they need any help restocking potions."
Draco felt his brain start to ache softly as Potter backtracked from the room with a knowing smile on his face. Stupid git.
"Don't." Draco spat out with clenched fists.
"Can you think of something better for me to be doing than going to the other end of the hospital, then?"
"I'm under a CURSE!" Draco yelled, hoping Potter hadn't noticed his voice quaver. Apparently he hadn't.
"You're under a curse." Potter repeated aridly. "Well. I can't think of anyone who would want to curse the great and mighty Draco Malfoy." He added sarcastically.
"That was unnecessary."
"You know what, I think it was." Potter said tersely as he sat rigidly on the end of Draco's bed.
"What crawled up your arse?" Draco asked petulantly. "You don't have the right to brood, I'm the one under the damn curse."
"Well, what the hell do you want me to do about it? Sit here and cry about the unfairness of it all, because it won't happen." Potter pulled a quill roughly from his coat pocket. "Tell me what you were put under and I'll go see if I can find an antidote of some sort."
"You'd have to ask my secretaries, I don't really know what it was called."
"Do you know what it was about?" Potter asked in exasperation.
"Possibly." Draco said nervously. He didn't particularly want to admit to Potter that their minds were connected, or whatever it was.
"Malfoy, despite what you may think, I don't have all day to spend exchanging snide comments with you, so just spit it out." Potter snapped.
"It's complicated." Draco started out slowly. "I guess you could say it began when I told a goblin that he and his friends could go build new caves somewhere other than where I was building my newest development, and then the ugly old thing asked me if I'd ever been in love. Well, obviously I haven't, although I had had a brilliant shag last night. You should have seen the person I brought home. All tan and perfect looking – "
"Spare me." Potter interjected solidly.
"You're missing out on a terrifically smutty story." Draco said, mildly perturbed that Potter didn't seem to give a flying fig. It had been a brilliant shag.
"Just get back to this stupid curse so I can get you to leave me alone."
"Alright then." Draco said coolly. Potter had a lot of nerve making to attempt to dismiss him so fast. Nobody did that to him. "You want the condensed version?" He didn't wait for a response. "You're going to get it." Draco was partly aware that his voice was rising with every word he spoke, but he didn't particularly give a damn. "I more or less told the goblin to go screw himself. The shriveled old thing thought I had no heart and stuck me under a curse that would only be lifted if I learned to care for the first person I encountered after leaving the building. You want to fancy a guess as to who that person ended up being?"
Potter didn't answer, but by his increasingly paling face Draco warranted he knew the gist of what he had been trying to imply.
"That's right, I'm bonded to you until I can learn to care about your scrawny arse." Draco said savagely. "So unless you have an antidote for that I suggest you don't act so uppity and start showing me some respect. Maybe then I'll at least be able to tolerate you."
It took a few moments, but after awhile Potter seemed to stiffen like a board, his gaze heated. "I should show you some respect?" He asked disbelievingly.
"Did I stammer?" Draco snapped curly. "Of course you should respect me, or does your head get overly inflated when you think about how you saved everyone from the big, nasty, evil dark lord."
"If you'll kindly recall," Potter growled through clenched teeth, "I saved you from the exact same dark lord. You owe me your damn life."
Draco's eyes darkened at the memory. "I thought I told you never to bring that up."
"Why should I honor your requests when you get wheeled into my care because you've gotten yourself so sloshed you can't even breathe properly, and the second you wake up start slinging insults like the miserable drunk you really are?"
"I am not a miserable drunk." Draco said calmly, his eyes betraying the fiery rage that was consuming his insides like they were made of paper.
"Oh no, you came in here because you drank too much water. So sorry, my mistake."
"Shut it, Potter." Draco growled low in his throat.
"No." Potter persisted stubbornly. "I'm not going to do what you tell me. As a matter of fact, I'm going to go find a damn antidote right now, even if I have to invent it myself, and hopefully the only other time I'll need to see you after this is in hell."
Draco found himself wheezing unconsciously as Potter stalked out of the room, but he wouldn't cry out. He wouldn't give Potter the satisfaction. Bloody bastard that he was.
------
When most people heard the name Harry Potter their thoughts would immediately leap to an image of a virtuous man standing on a battlefield stomping out evil as he made his merry way through life. An image that would cause Harry's stomach to turn over until the day he drew his final breath.
The fact of the matter was one of such complete simplicity that Harry still staggered with it. The real Harry Potter purely wasn't a good person. Or at least, that's what he thought of himself.
Would that righteous hero leave a man in pain just so he could go sulk over another crappy hand life had dealt him?
Harry tried to remind himself that this was Draco Malfoy and that any other sane person, having the past relationship that Harry had with the man, would have run away screaming at the mere sight of him in the same building. Then again, who had ever called Harry sane?
Harry mused to himself as he wandered the halls aimlessly if Malfoy hadn't just been making the whole ordeal up. It would be the greatest publicity ploy Harry could imagine anyone attempting, and he grudgingly admitted, that if anyone could pull it off, it would have to be Draco Malfoy.
No, it couldn't be. Harry frowned as he remembered Malfoy's cries of anguish. That couldn't be faked.
So, Malfoy wasn't pretending. Harry had figured that much out, but if he wasn't making up the reason for why he had the pains, then did that mean he would really need to learn to care about Harry to be cured? The thought alone made Harry cringe.
Even if Harry could find the strength to stand the crap that Malfoy flung out like it was the most expendable of things he doubted that he could manage it while remaining on any type of friendly terms with the blonde, nevertheless true caring.
And what would people think? Not that Harry cared about the general public, but it was his friends. It was Ron he cared about. Malfoy had taken the punch out of Ron at school and during the war more times than Harry wanted to spend the time to count. What would Ron say when Harry confessed that he was forming a friendship with the amazing bouncing ferret?
Harry couldn't help but imagine that Ron wouldn't have the kindest of reactions to that sort of thing.
Harry stopped short in his tracks as he realized that his ambling had led him to the waiting room. He sighed as he eyed the large numbers of people all nursing various injuries. Maybe it was his hero complex acting up, but Harry had a hard time leaving the people to suffer with no other healers around in sight.
"Hullo there." Harry tried to sound cheerful as he moved over to the first person he saw. It was a young girl clutching tightly to her father's hand, her eyes filled with tears.
"It's about bloody time someone got out here." The father grumbled.
"Sorry about the wait, sir. We're a bit short handed at the moment." Harry said, hoping his voice was still pleasant sounding and not as sour as he currently felt inside.
The father made a grumbling noise of assent before prodding his daughter closer to Harry.
"She fell out of a tree. I think something's broken." The father explained. Harry took one glance at how the girl was holding her arm at a crooked angle and was able to deduce that it had indeed been snapped.
"Hi there." Harry knelt down so he was eye level with the girl. "I'm Harry." The girl started sobbing harder. "Shh, it'll be alright." He tried to soothe her. "I'm just going to have you and your dad go to an exam room and the nurse will take care of you." Harry explained slowly. "And I bet if you're really good and you told her Healer Potter sent you, she might give you a lolly. How does that sound?" Harry added, trying to subside the grief on the child's face. It seemed to work at least a little.
Felling as though the girl was as comforted as she was likely to be in the situation Harry stood himself up to talk to her father once more.
"You'll have to fill out some papers and – " Harry broke off when he realized that the man was not paying attention to what he was saying but rather staring pointedly at Harry's forehead, his mouth hanging open. "Is there a problem, sir?" Harry asked, annoyance edging into his voice.
"You're Harry Potter." The man breathed. Harry stiffened as a few other people in the surrounding area's eyes widened.
"Yes." Harry answered curtly. "Now if you could just take your daughter to exam room five a nurse will be with you shortly."
Harry turned on his heel and walked as quickly as he could towards the other end of the waiting room where he hoped no one had heard that their healer could possibly be the hero of the wizarding world. He had actually been let off his shift early in the past because his presence had caused such an excited uproar amongst patients. He didn't want the embarrassment of something like that happening again.
"Excuse me, Mr. Potter?" Harry went still as he heard a quiet voice behind him. This was not good.
What he had been expecting hadn't been there to greet him. Instead Harry felt an odd sense of relief that he was staring into the faces of Malfoy's secretaries.
"Could we have a word with you?" The older one asked.
"Er, just a moment, I think." Harry said quickly. He didn't want to talk about this whole weird connection with Malfoy thing just yet. "I have patients."
"But Draco's your patient too, and right now he's in a lot of pain." The youngest of the pair said sternly, her eyes betraying a deep sense of anger at the thought.
"Listen, I know you think Malfoy and I have a bond or whatever it is because of this goblin, but you simply don't understand." Harry said in a rush, hoping other people weren't feeling the need to listen in. "Malfoy and I have never been friends. As a matter of fact, I've hated him since the first day I met him. We were in the center of two different sides of a very long and hard-fought war for nearly half it's duration. He's done things to me and others that I simply can't forgive, so, with all due respect, I think you should just find a healer who specializes in curses and leave me out of it."
"If it were you in there about to tear out your bottom lip because you were in so much agony he'd help you." The younger, Cadence, Harry thought her name was, said coolly.
Harry had to raise a skeptical eyebrow at that. "I don't hold a grudge against Malfoy, but I don't want to have anything to do with him, either. I think his thoughts are pretty much on the same wave length."
"Regardless, you're a healer, you can help, and you're refusing. What type of person does that make you?" The older witch, Tebbany, had stepped back by this point and let the argument rage between the younger pair.
"Just, get it through your head that I – I just can't deal with this right now." Harry fumed irrationally as quietly as he could. " I don't have the time or the ability and – I have other patients, too. They need my help as much as Malfoy does."
"At this point, I highly doubt that." Cadence snapped sharply.
Harry had to admit she had a point, but he wasn't willing to confess it aloud. Instead, he rotated his head around as quickly as he could manage, trying to find a point in the room where there was a large amount of commotion he could focus on. He finally found it.
"See that man over there?" Harry pointed harshly at a trainee that had started only that week who was clearly struggling with a patient. "I need to help him now."
"I can't believe you." Cadence said evenly. Harry winced at the disgust that poured out of her voice. It was obvious that he at least didn't live up to one person's expectations.
Harry didn't say anything, only walked purposefully towards the people he had used as a distraction.
"Um, Thomas, is it?" Harry asked awkwardly when he had reached the trainee healer.
"Yeah." The man sighed.
"You look like you're having a bit of trouble over here. I thought maybe you might need a hand." Harry suggested, hoping he wasn't stepping on any toes.
"Sure." Thomas said, dejectedly. "This guy won't cooperate with me and I've tried everything that I can think of."
"Alright then." Harry said, relieved, taking a step forward. "Mundungus?" Harry asked in slight shock once he realized that the man Thomas had been dealing with was an old Order member.
"It 'urts." Mundungus moaned.
"What's his problem?" Harry asked Thomas.
"He says he can't get his contacts out but he won't let me get near his eyes." Thomas lowered his voice slightly, "And between you and me I think he's been tipping a few back as well." He mimed taking a shot.
"Hey Mundungus, it's Harry. D'you remember me?" Harry asked, approaching slowly.
"I can't get 'em out." Mundungus kept on, clawing at his face.
"If you'd just move over and let us see it we could help!" Thomas exclaimed as he lunged at Mundungus' hands, prying them away from his face.
Harry took his opportunity when he saw it and hastily pulled a torch out of his coat pocket and shone it in Mundungus' eyes. What he saw would have sent him into peals of laugher if he hadn't already been in a poor mood.
"What did you find?" Thomas gasped, as he applied all his weight to Mundungus' arms.
"It seems that Mundungus here doesn't wear contacts." Harry paused for a moment. "He's trying to scratch out the membrane of his cornea."
"Oh." Thomas deadpanned, dropping Mundungus' arms limply. "Right, then."
Harry turned his head behind him slightly and was happy to note that Malfoy's secretaries weren't around. "I'd better get going to other patients, now."
"Yeah, thanks." Thomas said, still looking slightly shocked at the anti-climatic finish of his difficult patient's diagnosis.
Harry walked off, but instead of turning to another person who needed help, made a straight line out of the hospital doors and crept around to an area behind the dumpsters in the back of the hospital.
Swearing lightly, Harry moved a loose brick out of the wall and pulled out a pack of muggle cigarettes he had hidden. Lighting one, he inhaled a deep breath, and let his body slump down into a crouched position.
No one ever came back here, the smell was strong enough to see to that, but Harry didn't particularly care. It was a place where he could clear his head. That was all he needed.
He tried not to let his thoughts wander. Tried desperately.
It didn't work.
He kept lingering on a picture of a writhing Draco Malfoy, his sharp aristocratic features screwed up against bouts of pain. Harry shivered. He hadn't had thoughts like that since the end of the war.
"Things are never black and white, Potter."
Those had been the final words spoken between Harry and Malfoy after the fall of Voldemort up until today.
"Things are never black and white, Potter."
They had made a truce, of sorts. A quiet agreement between two people who would never see eye-to-eye but would never try and off the other either. It was as simple as that. It had stayed simple. That was the way Harry had liked it.
God, how he wished things were black and white. Harry would love to say that he was the good one and Malfoy was the bad one. But, he couldn't. Not in good conscious, at least.
The thing that it kept getting boiled down to was that Harry couldn't summon a completely convincing argument in his head to hold against Malfoy. They had made their peace; they had nothing left to fight about.
"Bollocks" Harry swore when he felt the end of his cigarette burn down low enough to burn him. He flicked it carelessly to the side, rubbed his fingers together gently, and then lit another. He had a lot to be stressed over.
No, things weren't black and white. Right now Harry felt as much the villain as he had ever been. Like Cadence had said, he was a healer, who was refusing to heal. It was official; he had reached a new low.
He could go back in and apologize, try and make his negligence all right. He could stay out here all night and neglect his duties. He could apparate home.
Each option had its merits, some more tempting than the rest.
Harry let out a heavy sigh. He didn't need this right now. He didn't need it ever, if he was being perfectly honest, but especially not now. Definitely not now.
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry closed his eyes tightly. Someone else was out here. Just bloody brilliant.
"Yeah." He ground out.
"I'd like to speak to you about Mr. Malfoy."
Harry cracked one eye open long enough to decipher that Tebbany had followed him outside. "Oh?" He asked, flicking the ash from his cigarette on the ground. He knew he was being childish and nasty, but at the moment, he didn't particularly care.
"Draco's in a lot of pain." Tebbany said, her face masking any emotions she may have felt over the issue. "Other healers have tried to soothe him, but their work has been ineffective.
"And what do you think I can do?" Harry snapped.
"He was able to explain to us that you have a rudimentary knowledge of the curse. Is that correct?"
"What if it is?" Harry asked tersely.
"You have to understand that I realize that the predicament you have been put in is unfortunate and that I know Draco isn't the easiest person in the world to tolerate." Harry gave a snort of laughter at this under-assessment. "But you also have to wake up and comprehend the fact that whether or not you want it, his fate is solely in your hands. This curse will drive him insane and into death if he is not properly cared for."
Harry felt his insides clench. He didn't want another death on his hands, but he didn't want to deal with bloody Malfoy either.
"I've been reading more on this curse Draco was put under." Tebbany continued, ignoring Harry's obvious distress as he lit another cigarette. "The longer it takes him to learn to care about you the more the effects will accumulate. The pain in his head is only the beginning."
"What am I supposed to do about it?" Harry whispered, looking pleadingly up at the wizened old witch.
"You need to stay close by and give him an opportunity to learn you." Tebbany paused. "Expert curse breakers were brought in, and that was the only way to a remedy they could suggest."
"What, so I'm just supposed to forget all the animosity between us and invite him to come share a cozy corner of my flat with me?" Harry asked sarcastically.
"Actually, that is precisely what I think you should do." Tebbany said, her tone holding no room for argument.
Harry merely gaped.
"We can finish this conversation inside where you can be near Draco. Chances are he'll probably pass out once he's relieved anyway. There's no real probability that he'll hear anything derogatory you need to get off your chest.
"No way am I letting him live in my flat!" Harry said loudly.
"Then you live with him in his." Tebbany said plainly, taking a few steps out of the area. "Come along, now."
"You can't tell me what to do. This is my problem, not yours."
"As a matter of fact it is very much my problem as Draco is my employer and I seem to be the only one in this place capable of caring about his well being. Now, I suggest you get moving before you have a needless death on your hands." Tebbany said. She looked livid.
Harry lowered his gaze and studied the unhurried red embers burning on the cigarette. He flicked the white stick a bit and watched as a few flecks of light fell off. With a final sigh, he pushed the cigarette into the ground, leaving a trail of gray ash behind him, and picked himself up.
------
It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.
That was the only thing Draco had been able to focus on for what seemed to be forever.
It was like a giant had come and dashed him over the head with a meat cleaver while a nail was hammered in from the side. It was unbearable.
Draco was slightly detached from himself as he noted faint traces of salty tears wetting his cheeks as he bit his lower lip to prevent himself from screaming. But he could only bite down on the flesh for so long until he had to let a roar escape. His throat must have looked like shredded beef by now.
He wanted to die. He, Draco Malfoy, was ready to surrender. And Malfoys never surrendered to anything.
Draco was willing to make an exception.
Hands soothed over his face and arms. He heard someone who he thought sounded a bit like Cadence speaking loudly in the background. Water was brought across his brow multiple times over. Nothing relieved the pain, though.
Then he heard a startled gasp and hesitant yet hurried sounding steps moving towards him. A hand was on his forehead again. But this time, something seemed to have snapped, and the incessant pounding began to ebb away.
Draco didn't even try and prevent a strangled moan as he brought an arm blindly up to the source of the comfort. He made contact with what felt like a shoulder blade and tugged, bringing a warm body on top of his own.
The pain melted away after that. Whoever had helped him was holding him tightly in their arms, whispering soothing words in his ear. Draco felt assured that everything would be all right, even though he had no reason to put belief in such a foolish hope. How could this turn out all right?
That didn't matter now, though. The only thing that was of any real importance was that the pain had mercifully been ended. Draco finally allowed himself to relax and let go.
He found, as he drifted off, that he rather liked being held.
- - -
Draco could barely remember the sequence in which events had happened after he awoke from what he was told was a very long and a very deep slumber, but one thing stood out clearly.
Tebbany had come to tell him that he would be going home with Harry Potter.
Cadence had hugged him and told him that if Potter decided to try anything nasty that he could come and stay with her and she would find a way to make him feel better.
Draco just suspected she was fishing for a raise.
So, Draco had sat desolately in his room for the rest of the day while Potter finished his rounds, and had been taken to Potter's flat after he had finished.
Draco had been surprised at first by the place Potter called home.
It was nice.
Not the same nice as Draco's own living accommodations. Draco's flat held a minimalist quality that Potter had clearly ignored. No, this flat was not only huge, but also stuffed.
It was the penthouse situated on the top floor of a stately old brick building with rows of ivy creeping up the walls.
The rooms inside held polished hardwood floors and brassy fixtures and appliances. Leather couches and tartan poufs were placed about carelessly throughout every room. A room, which Draco presumed was the office, held a small oak desk in the center of stacks and stacks of books overflowing from bookshelves. Half-dead plants lined the hallways along with old frames holding smiling, waving photos. There were groups of herbs tied together with brittle string and hanging above the kitchen sink. A fireplace in every room completed the monstrosity.
It was all so very Gryffindor. Draco hated it.
"I don't exactly have a spare bedroom." Potter called out from the kitchen while Draco stood alone in the living room. "So I thought you could sleep on the couch out here, or, if you wanted, I suppose you could sleep in my room." He didn't sound too thrilled about offering up the latter option.
Draco chose the couch.
"Okay." Potter answered. "Er, just so you know, I've been planning a small dinner party for tonight long before any of this curse stuff came about so I suppose you could hide out somewhere or join us if you'd prefer."
Draco opted to not join in on the Gryffindor love fest.
"So, uh, the curse people told me that I should let you wear my clothes. Just so you're less likely to suffer a relapse. D'you want to go put some on?"
Draco followed Potter into his bedroom, which was just as crowded as the rest of his hovel, and allowed himself to be pushed into Potter's clothing. It was very second rate compared to his own.
After a few more hours of awkward conversation with Potter, Draco was allowed to wander off while Potter started cooking for whoever it was he was bringing over to feed.
Draco cautiously entered a room he hadn't been shown yet, and was mildly pleased with what he found.
There was a large grand piano in one corner of the room, books in another, a crackling fireplace, floor to ceiling windows, and a plush looking chaise lounge. Draco pushed the door open slowly, shutting it with a small click.
Lights burned dimly from a chandelier overhead as Draco took a few paces of the room. Hours seemed to pass by like lightning as Draco stood completely still in front of the expansive windows of the room, staring down into the darkness of the streets below.
Finally, Draco grew tired, and looking at his wristwatch, was able to tell that it was late enough into the night that he shouldn't have to encounter any of Potter's friends if he left the room he had spent the evening in, not that he had even heard them arrive.
Stumbling slightly into the hall Draco noted a soft light on at the end of the hall where Potter's room was located. Dismissing it, Draco walked into the kitchen, looking to scrounge up something to eat.
He hadn't been expecting what he saw.
On the floor were the remains of four plates – all smashed. Draco peered cautiously about the tiled room, hazarding a few steps farther in.
There, sitting on a cold stove, was a forgotten dinner.
The sight pained left Draco disconcerted. Potter's dinner party apparently hadn't gone to plan.
Ignoring the image of a crestfallen Potter, Draco turned to go back into the living room.
He had a feeling his first night at Potter's would be a long one.