Title: legare malade

Genre: Romance/Drama/Angst

Pairing: HP/DM

Rating: M

Summary: AU. There was never a boy who lived, only a boy who died.

Draco Malfoy is ill. Harry Potter is a Healer. Lucius Malfoy is desperate. Slash.

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing. It's all the property of J.K Rowling, and this story is being written for entertainment purposes only. Not a dime is being made.

xxxx

4

Draco couldn't concentrate. On anything. The Slytherin common room was usually a safe haven against the idiotic behavior of teenagers in general, but for some reason, the hormonally unbalancing charge that left the rest of the castle incapacitated had managed to permeate between the cracks in the thick stone walls…leaving the common room in utter chaos.

People were kissing. Everywhere.

It made studying quite the chore, and Draco had long since abandoned his potions textbook to the safety of his lap and was now vainly trying to ease the pressure that was rapidly building in his temples. He had half a mind to try and use his Prefect status to dissuade his house mates from continuing with their…prospects of passion. However, he wasn't a fool, and he knew that such an effort would do nothing to enhance his popularity, which seemed to be deteriorating quite rapidly of late. "Malfoy, you haven't taken your potion yet." A soft voice punctured his train of thought, and Draco gave a start in his seat before sinking more deeply into the soft leather of the armchair. Rhoswen Rainwater had appeared at his side with her usual stealth, a small vial hidden in the palm of her pale hand and slipping with uncanny skill into his own pocket…all without Draco feeling a thing. The small girl bowed her head slightly before disappearing again into the crowd of students.

Rainwater had been commissioned by his father last year to ensure that Draco never forgot to take his potions….a task that had previously fallen onto the shoulders of two older students, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, whom after spending no less than a decade at Hogwarts, had finally finished their Newt level courses. Albus Dumbledore had really been too generous in allowing those two to continue their studies at Hogwarts well into their twenties. In fact, in their final year, their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor had been a year younger than them. The situation had been quite awkward for the young professor, who had never returned to teach. Draco suspected his father's influence had a great deal to do with Crabbe and Goyle's extended stay at Hogwarts. Draco had thought he'd be on his own after they left, as he had been in fifth year at that point and certainly old enough to remember to take a simple potion. His father had decided otherwise. Apparently, someone four years younger than him had more trust that he did.

Rhoswen was a second year student, and when she'd arrived at Hogwarts last year, many students had mistaken her for a Malfoy. She bore the same pale features as were dominant in the Malfoy line, and even followed a ridiculous archaic ritual that required her to keep her snow-white hair bound in two bloody awful braided buns on the side of her head. It was a testament of virtue in pureblood circles, and Draco vividly remembered Pansy Parkinson sporting the same hairstyle when he was a small child.

All the muggle-born students teased her relentlessly about something called a "Princess Leia," though Draco himself had no idea what they were on about. For her part, Rainwater dealt with the teasing as any proud pure blood should: she ignored it completely and walked the halls with a quiet dignity that Draco respected deeply.

The girl had never failed to remind him of his potions, and her discretion was greatly appreciated. Draco couldn't possibly make it in Slytherin House if his condition was made public knowledge. Remembering that he ought to retreat into a more private atmosphere to take said potion, he stood up from his seat and casually sauntered into the sixth year boys' dorm, throwing his potions textbook onto his bed to glance over before he went to sleep. He sat on the bed slowly and cast a quick charm to draw the curtains before he uncapped the foul-smelling potion and downed it in one gulp.

Thank goodness it tasted better than it smelled.

The familiar sensation of dizziness swallowed him up, and Draco gratefully rested his head on his pillow, closing his eyes before the world swirled around him. He hated his condition. Truthfully, he didn't know much about it, as every time he brought the subject up with his parents, they would swiftly quell his curiosity and move onto another topic.

All he knew was that if he didn't take his potions, he would die. That universal truth had been laid down by his father as soon as Draco had been old enough to understand words.

He coughed suddenly, his small body shriveling up into a defensive position as he readied himself to ride out the muscle spasms he knew were coming.

Any minute now…

"Oi! Malfoy! You in here?"

"Go away Olli!" Draco snapped, though it came out sounding rather feeble even to his own ear.

Oleander laughed. "What're you doing Malfoy, having a wank?" He pulled back Draco's bed curtains and winced when he saw his friend cuddled up, his posture telling what Draco refused to reveal himself. "Not again, Draco." He sighed, looking around to make sure no one had followed him into the room. "You okay?"

Draco nodded, burrowing further into his pillow. "Just leave me alone, please Olli?" He knew he couldn't keep everything from his friend, having been discovered by the bigger boy several times before in this same scenario. However, he didn't need anyone watching while he suffered. It was embarrassing enough that Olli knew about it at all.

"Sure thing Drake. You need anything?"

"No" Draco thanked Salazar for Slytherin tact; his friend understood.

Olli pulled the curtains closed and retreated from the room. Just as he left, he picked up a well-read Quidditch magazine off the desk next to the door. Alexander Nott met him just outside. "What's going on?"

Olli grinned devilishly and thrust the magazine at Nott. "Nothing, ickle Drackie fell asleep wanking to Big Bad Harry again." He laughed at the expression on Nott's face as the smaller boy dropped the magazine in disgust. The picture of seventeen year-old Harry Potter on the cover scowled as the magazine fit the floor, shaking a snitch-filled fist at Nott.

"Merlin, Malfoy! You poofter!" Nott shouted as he took off back into the common room. Olli quit smiling. He hoped Draco wouldn't kill him when he woke up. He knew something was wrong with his friend, but they never talked about it. It wasn't the pure blood way. So, Olli made up excuses for Malfoy. He was positive that Draco would have a much easier time dealing with a rumor of homosexuality than if people were to know something was just plain wrong with him. Besides, it was only a rumor. Olli laughed at himself. Oh yes, he'd seen the way Draco looked at his sister.

Back in bed, despite his aches and exhaustion, Draco blushed. If Olli only knew how many of his dreams were filled with smooth muscles and sable-black hair…he wondered what his friend would say about it. He stretched out to get more comfortable, tossing the potions text book aside in favor of burrowing under the covers. He didn't feel like studying anymore.

It wasn't long before he fell asleep.

xxxx

"Harry, blimey is it true!" Blaise Zambini scooted over in the booth to make room for the new arrival. Harry obligingly took the offered seat and ordered himself a pint with a nod at Tom. The Leaky Cauldron was ever a reliable establishment in that respect.

"Is what true, Blaise?" Harry asked tiredly, removing his scarf and stuffing it behind him in frustration.

"That you've been asked to teach DADA at Hogwarts?" Blaise asked over the rim of his mug.

Harry nodded. "Albus sent me a letter inquiring about my interest in the position. Not ten minutes later I got a letter from the University granting me permission to take a leave of absence in my graduate studies. Albus must have made all the arrangements before even asking me about it." Harry smiled as his beer arrived.

"So are you going to take it?" Blaise's interest shocked Harry a bit, but he made no outward indication of it.

"I don't know yet. I still have a meeting with Lucius Malfoy tomorrow afternoon that I'm most interested in. I guess it depends on what Malfoy has to say. It's been awhile since I've dabbled in the spell work involved for defense. Mostly I work with real dark arts spells now, and applying them to medicine."

"But you did teach the DA when we were in school. Rumor has it that your sister keeps it running these days."

Harry smiled. "She tries. Just last night she was flapping at me about her inability to master the practicum, but she must do okay. There haven't been any major complaints thus far."

"I think you should take the job, no matter what Lucius Malfoy tells you tomorrow." Blaise announced solemnly.

"So eager to see me off to Scotland, Zambini?" Harry furrowed his brow in mock hurt.

"Stop pouting, Potter. Merlin knows I don't know how I'll get on without you, but it is a good opportunity. Plus, there are benefits." Blaise smirked.

"Benefits? What kind of benefits are there to hanging around in a dank castle in the middle of nowhere, with a bunch of bratty kids in close proximity to Severus Snape?" Harry sneered.

"Not all the kids are bratty. Some of them are quite sweet, quite…innocent."

Harry gaped at his friend. "You're a pig, Blaise Zambini. Not only is what you're proposing ILLEGAL, it's also…completely immoral." Harry drowned the rest of his tirade in his drink. Blaise was notorious for his seduction of younger partners, but minors? That was a bit ridiculous. "Besides," he added with a smirk, "I prefer older men."

"Comon, Potter. Think about it…all those pretty boys around, just begging you to discipline them when they step out of line."

Harry almost spit his drink out all over his friend. "I KNOW you're not insinuating what I THINK you're insinuating." He glared at Blaise, daring him to say otherwise.

Blaise's dancing dark eyes said it all. "Well Harry, you did spend an awful lot of time in detention with Professor Snape-"

Harry stood up abruptly. "That's it! I can't believe I once called you my friend!"

Blaise laughed. "Sit down, you're making a scene. You also just admitted to liking older men. How much older are we talking about here, Potter?"

Harry blushed, but sat, choosing not to dignify the last question with an answer. "I still can't believe you said that," he huffed, draining the last of his pint. Zambini flagged for another.

"Yes you can. Look, I'm serious though, you should consider the job. Everyone knows it's cursed, so it's not like you'd be making a lifetime commitment."

Harry snickered. "Alright friend, I'll consider it."

xxxx

Harry started from sleep when he heard the distinct rapping of someone at his door. His snowy owl, Hedwig, hooted softly beside the window, and Harry grouchily pulled himself from bed. Throwing on a robe, he padded to the door. "Who the bloody fuck calls on me at-" he glanced at the clock, "four o'clock in the fucking morning!" He threw the door open wildly and stared in shock at his visitor. "Wood," he snipped at his ex.

"Harry, bloody hell, why'd you change the wards!" Oliver Wood looked very displeased at this new development.

Harry crossed his arms over his chest and leaned casually against the door frame, his body effectively blocking Wood's entrance. "You're sober." It wasn't a question.

Oliver blinked. "Of course I'm sober, you sod. Though I have no plans to be soon." He held up a bottle of vintage he'd had tucked under his arm. "Come on, let me in and we'll celebrate together!"

"Celebrate what? Wood, it is four o'clock in the morning. Some of us have work that needs doing and would like to sleep." Harry tried to glare at Oliver, but when the older man turned his eyes on Harry, he knew he was lost.

"Your new post at Hogwarts, of course!" Oliver smiled weakly. "I had to read about it in the bloody paper, Harry. You're going off to Scotland, and you never even told me."

"What! What do you mean you read about it in the paper? I haven't even accepted the position yet!"

Oliver smirked. "Then someone accepted it for you, love."

"Don't call me that. You have no right to call me that, don't you remember? We're split, Wood. It's over, has been for months." Harry couldn't look at him then. It was no secret to him and his friends that he'd taken the break-up badly, and that he still pined for Oliver on occasion.

Oliver shrugged. "Maybe I haven't forgotten. Maybe I just wanted to wish you a fare thee well." While left unsaid, his intentions were crystal clear.

Harry suddenly realized that he would probably be headed to Hogwarts sometime within the next few days. Unbidden, his memories pulled up images of his own professor's while he'd attended school. Most of them didn't look very happy. In fact, they'd looked quite severe…like they hadn't gotten any action in a LONG time. Harry paled. "Come on in, Oliver." He stepped aside.

Oliver smirked and stepped into the unfamiliar flat. Harry had lived with him when they were together, and from the size of the flat, and the complete chaos within, Harry wasn't the tidiest bachelor in the world, but that didn't matter.

It didn't matter because Harry was chewing his lip in the most adorable fashion, and Oliver forgot all about the wine he'd brought in favor of tasting that delicious flesh again.

He set the bottle on the table beside the door and swept over to Harry, leaning up to catch that lip in his own. Harry groaned. "Take me to bed, love." Oliver whispered.

Harry knew he would live to regret this later, but the aching sensation that coursed through his body was too much. It had been far too long. He slipped his hand in Oliver's and silently led him into the flat.

xxxx

Oliver Wood was deathly quiet in bed. Now that the glamour of being in love with him had faded, Harry could see it for what it was: like fucking a corpse. The older man barely breathed, let alone moaned, as Harry so desperately wanted to make him do. He wanted a lover who appreciated the work he put into pleasure, and he wanted to hear that appreciation.

When their relationship had been new, Oliver had been quite surprised to find that Harry was more of a lion than a kitten in the sack. He'd assumed that because he was older and wiser that he would be the one leading the parade.

He'd been wrong. Luckily for him, he'd never minded bottoming during sex, because there was no way in hell that he'd have topped Harry Potter.

In the year that their relationship had lasted, he'd been inside Harry twice, and Harry had somehow managed to top even while bottoming. The experience had been exceptionally rare, and so tense that Oliver had found it rather lacking. He got off much easier when Harry was thrusting so deep inside him he could feel it in his throat, commanding him not to come until he said so.

Now was no different. Oliver was on his hands and knees, his legs spread so far open he could barely keep himself up, but he managed. Harry was inside him, and that was all.

It felt incredible, but in the eight months since he'd left Harry, Oliver had found more enjoyable sex elsewhere. He didn't want to submit to Harry anymore.

After they'd both found release, they lay panting, but neither one was comfortable enough to sleep. After awhile, Oliver gave in. "Maybe I should go."

"Yeah, that would be good."

xxxx