Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, and the licensed copyright holders including Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Warner Bros., Inc. No money has been exchanged and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N: I've had such positive feedback on the first chapter and so rapidly, that I decided to post this chapter early. I hope you'll enjoy. And please do review! As always my deep appreciation to my beta WindandSummer! And Sherree, thanks for pointing out the inconsistency in the last chapter, both me and my beta missed that one.

Road to Recovery

2.

Hermione sat on the edge of the bed and stroked Harry's hand. "You never do anything the easy way, do you, Harry? It'll be alright now. Draco's going to take care of you and help you get better. Maybe…maybe this is your chance to work things out between you. You've been so unhappy since you chucked him. You never want to talk about it so I don't know why, but you were happy together. You deserve to be happy, Harry. Fix things with Draco, at least so you can be friends again." She leaned over and kissed him gently, surprised when bruised lids fluttered and slowly opened.

"Mi-Mione?" the sickly man croaked.

Hermione smiled through her tears, "Oh, Harry! You're awake! How do you feel?"

Harry struggled to draw a full lung of air, "D-did you catch the tags on-n th-the lorry that ran me down?"

She wiped away her tears and smiled sadly, "Oh, Harry," she sighed. "Well at least I know you're feeling a little better."

Harry tried to sit up, but Hermione, held him down, "No, you mustn't get up Harry. You're very sick. Just lay still until your healer comes back."

Hazed green eyes, tried to focus, "H-healer?"

Draco cleared his throat, "Yes, that would be me. You're very fortunate, Mr. Potter. You have a good friend in Mrs. Weasley. Had she not sought immediate medical assistance, most likely you'd be dead now."

Harry attempted to shake his head, but pain stopped him mid-motion, "Dr-Draco?"

The blond sighed, "Yes, Harry, it's me." He came and stood over the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Harry frowned, "Dun-no…c-cold, th-then ho-hot, sl-sluggish…whas wrong wi' me?"

"You've been drinking excessively lately, Harry. It's caught up with you and made you sick." Draco said, compassionately. "Has something been bothering you." Despite the tight lines of pain around his eyes Harry shook his head vehemently, "Ca-n…can't talk about it, pl-please no!"

"Shh, it's alright Harry, I won't make you talk about it right now," Draco soothed and shot a worried look to Harry's closest friend. "Maybe later. Right now, we need to focus on healing your body." He drew several vials from steel box, emblazoned with St. Mungo's insignia. "This won't be pleasant Harry." These potions will purge and neutralize all the toxins in your system. It will be very painful. And they taste like shite," he smirked. Then clasped Harry's hand, "But I'll be with you the whole time. You can yell, scream, curse me, squeeze my hands 'til my bones grind, whatever you need to, I'll be right here. I won't leave you."

Draco read the guilt and confusion clearly in Harry's eyes. "It's what a friend would do, Harry. And I'm your healer as well," he said simply, and handed over the first phial.

Fixing Draco with a look of trust and gratitude, Harry knocked pack the first of the foul-tasting potions while Draco's long soft fingers rubbed his hand. He felt Hermione kiss him goodbye, and faintly heard her saying she'd return in a few hours, and then he knew nothing but raging heat, searing endless flame, and the pain of being burnt alive. He screamed.

It went on for what seemed like days, relentless pain in muscle wracking waves, or worse, to Harry's mind, prickling surges that felt like millions of needles were being forced out of his body through his skin. His blood boiled or burned in icy flows, he had no sense of time, no sense of anything really beyond the feel of Draco's hands and the soothing tenor of his voice, comforting him, telling him it would be alright, that the pain would end, that soon he'd be better.

Just when Harry thought his heart would give out under the onslaught, the burning eased. It was no true respite though, as he was given another potion that caused nearly every muscle in his body to seize up, gripping him paroxysms of excruciating spasms and trembling. He cried out again for Draco, and through the haze of agony thought he could feel the healer's breath on his cheek, it might have been an hallucination, as he also thought he could hear Ron yelling somewhere off in the distance.

It was no hallucination. Draco sighed as Hermione dragged her outraged husband from the master suite as he tried to calm Harry. It had only been four hours and Draco knew it would be worse before it was better. Already he'd steeled himself for a long and devastating vigil. Ron storming in demanding Draco vacate the premises, hollering for answers, and a second opinion, didn't help, but it wasn't unexpected. While Hermione calmed Ron, Draco took a moment to vanish Harry's soiled clothes and spell the sheets clean. The detoxification would purge Harry's body completely; there was no point in dressing him in clean pyjamas until his body's wastes were fully expelled. He'd already had Dietty retrieve specialized self-cleaning linens from St. Mungo's, no point in taxing his own magical reserves to continually spell the faeces, urine, and vomit, away. Harry didn't have anything left in his stomach to sick up by the time the Weasleys arrived, but the sour scent of bile was thick in the air. It was enough to clue a green-faced Ron that his mate was indeed in serious trouble, and went a long way to cooling his temper.

"Mione says you think Harry could die. That true?" The tall ginger-haired Auror asked quietly looking over his pale and profusely sweating friend.

"He might've had your wife not taken quick action this morning," Draco answered simply, and cast another healing spell.

Ron paled, his freckles stark, against his blanched face. "I-I didn't know…"

A blond brow perked up accusingly, and Ron looked away, unable to meet the steely grey gaze demanding truth. "Well," he said after a long pause, "I-I mean I didn't know it was this bad. You know, serious. I've seem him sneaking a few sips from a hip flask at work, now and then, these last few weeks, but it weren't nothing serious," he protested. "We all have a nip from time to time! Harry's been working a hard case and --"

Thunderous anger crossed Draco's face as he stood against the taller Auror. "Enough excuses! Your mate--your best friend, starts behaving uncharacteristically and dangerously--you know as well as I, that Harry would never drink on the job, if things were going alright for him! You said nothing! You don't try to get him to talk about what's bothering him. You don't arrange an intervention, or drop a word to your boss that Harry needs some time away. No! You encourage him; pass him another pint and a shot of firewhiskey as he self-destructs!

"What kind of lousy excuse for a friend are you, Weasley?" Draco's tirade was cut short as his hand was gripped desperately and Harry gave a low pain-filled moan. Deflated, Draco sank back into the bedside chair. "Just get out," he said with a sigh. "Your interest in looking after Harry comes too little too late, as far as I'm concerned, but can make your excuses to him when he's well enough to hear them. Right now, he's fighting for his health, and I don't give a damn about your paltry justifications and guilt. They're not needed here and neither are you."

Ron blinked, but before he could say something petty or spiteful, the truth of Draco's words slammed into him and shamefaced he left the suite, passing his wife in the doorway.

"You were rather hard on him," Hermione said blandly without any sort of judgment, placing a cup of tea on the bedside table.

Draco snorted, "He needed to hear it. It's always 'I'm Harry's best mate' this, or 'Since I'm Harry's best mate I know best' that. He wants the role, let him act the part. Where was Ron 'Harry's my best mate' Weasley, when Harry was drowning himself in bottles of firewhiskey and scotch? Where was his inviolate knowledge of his best mate then?"

Hermione leaned down and brushed the tears away from Draco's cheeks, "You're angry--"

"Bloody buggery hell! Yes! Yes, I'm angry! Dammit all, Hermione. I would have given, done, said, anything, to be close to Harry these last months. Ron crows about how close they are and sits on his arse as whatever it is that's driven Harry to this nearly destroyed him." Draco's voice broke, "The man I love is lying here half-dead--" he stopped suddenly realizing what he'd just revealed.

Hermione clasped his shoulder. "You still love him."

"Yes, of course," the pained whisper seemed torn from him. "How could I not? But," Draco's breath hitched, "it doesn't matter, Bookworm. He-Harry--Harry doesn't love me. He never did."

Hermione's jaw dropped. "How can you say that, Draco? Of course he loved you!"

Resigned, he wiped away a tear, "He told me, it was never about love for him." The young healer shrugged, "I suppose I just saw what I wanted to see. I forced something that wasn't there and this is the price. I'm learning to live with it, Bookworm."

"Oh, Draco. I don't think that's true. Whatever you thought saw, whatever you felt, it was real. I saw it too. I know what love looks like. And it doesn't fade away just like that." She snapped her fingers. "Harry loved you, and I'd wager anything you like, that he loves you still."

Draco shook his head, "He didn't say it to hurt me, Bookworm. You know Harry doesn't lie. Our relationship just meant different things to each of us…" He scrubbed his hand over his face, "look, it really doesn't matter now. You go on your holiday. Dietty and I will look after Harry. Come round when you get back, he should be up for a short visit then."

Hermione hugged him. "I know this is hard for you. Seeing him like this, and feeling the way you do, but thank you, Draco. Thank you so much for taking this on. I couldn't trust Harry to anyone else."

He nodded, "It's fine, Hermione. Enjoy your holiday, and don't worry too much about Harry. He's over the most dangerous stage. It's just painful and unpleasant from here out."

Before he knew it, she and Ron were gone, though Dietty had come to inform him that Mistress Weasley had stocked the pantry and left instructions for Dietty to insure her master ate and took proper care of himself while tending to Harry Potter.

Draco rolled his eyes, but knew Dietty would have no problems navigating the kitchen or caring for the house, as she was quite familiar with Godric's Hollow, having served he and Harry there weekends and holidays when they retreated to the country to get away from bustling London and Draco's flat where they lived during the week.

During those brief moments he was able to leave Harry alone, sleeping fitfully through lulls in the detoxification and organ rejuvenation process, he was relieved that she was around. She'd been able to restore the cottage to a proper state of organization and cleanliness, while keeping Harry's personal tastes in mind. Cleanliness and familiarity would help when Harry was able to leave his bed.

She'd brought a few items for him and set up a guest room for his use, which he appreciated. It was hard enough being back at Godric's Hollow. Two years of memories threatened to overwhelm him, when he lowered his guard in spaces he and Harry had shared together, the living room, the kitchen, the solarium, the study, caring for Harry in the master suite was hard, some part of him still thought of it as their room, their bed. The non-descript guestroom, was a haven of sorts, a more neutral space, where they'd never spent late nights chatting, or working, or making love. He could retreat there and fortify the walls around his heart and mind.

On the fourth day after the detox regimen began, Harry woke, aching but lucid.

"Draco?"

A glass of refreshingly cool water was held up to his lips. "Slowly. Slowly, Harry. Small sips. Don't want to shock your stomach. Too much or too fast and you'll sick it up."

Harry nodded and took a few more small sips. "Bet--" he cleared his throat, "Better. Thank you."

Draco nodded absently; busy as he was, shooting off spells. When the last of the lights faded, he looked Harry over. Seemingly satisfied with what he'd found, Harry watched him make meticulous notes on a nearby sheet of parchment.

"So how are you feeling, Potter?"

Harry's brow furrowed, "I feel really weak, wrung out, and achy, but alright for the most part. Since when do you call me Potter?"

Draco turned, "I am your healer. Ours is a strictly professional relationship. However, if you would feel more comfortable I can use your given name."

Harry shook his head, though it caused his to suffer a touch of vertigo. "Oh, no. No don't do that, Draco, please. I-I can't deal with you going all cold and aloof on me, now. I-I'm still a bit muzzy on all that's happened. I need you, not Healer Malfoy. I need Draco, my--my friend, with me now. Please."

Draco sighed and closed his eyes briefly; it pained Harry that when they opened the grey orbs were shuttered, the bright flicker of life and keen intelligence, hidden away. "Alright, Healer Malfoy has stepped out. Now, Po-Harry, there's a great deal we need to discuss. Can you tell me what you last remember?"

Harry weakly pulled Draco's hand, until the blond healer was seated on the edge of his bed. "Sunday afternoon. We raided a farmhouse in Devon, near Bovey Tracey…" Harry's mind travelled back to the skirmish that resulted in the capture of the NCRCM leadership. He told Draco about bringing the insurgents in for questioning while other members of his team collected additional evidence needed for their trial before the Wizengamot. Adam Cannondale had been injured and was taken to St. Mungo's, Harry felt guilty that the young Auror, fresh out of training, had been injured so badly he might never again qualify for fieldwork. Angry at himself for getting a member of his team hurt Harry had come home and started drinking.

"Just to take the edge off, Draco. I had a firewhiskey or two, and then," Harry blushed, "well there's this witch in Clerical…she-um- she fancies me and invited herself over for a drink last week. She brought this fantastic scotch and left it over. We didn't-we didn't do anything, I swear, just talked," he added hastily.

Draco's face revealed nothing, though the hurt and jealousy raged within, "We're not together, Harry. Who you…date, is none of my business. But please, continue, you drank the firewhiskey and proceeded to scotch. How much did you drink? Do you remember?" He asked, his tone encouraging and non-judgmental, almost friendly. Almost.

Harry picked at his thumbnail, and stared down at his sheet, "No," he finally admitted, shame colouring his face and tone. "I don't know how much I had to drink. It was a lot, maybe the whole bottle. And…" he paused, "I think I may have finished the firewhiskey after."

Draco dropped his head, "Thank Merlin for Hermione," he whispered.

Harry looked up, "What was that?" he asked harshly.

Draco's eyes narrowed, "Don't take that tone with me Harry. You've been irresponsible, and reckless. If it hadn't been for Hermione checking up on you, we wouldn't be having this conversation now. More than likely, I'd be at your viewing. Understand? You nearly died, Harry. DIED!"

Harry blinked, "I-I didn't think--I"

"That's the problem," Draco snarled. "You didn't think! Merlin knows how long you've been drinking like this Harry. But you managed to seriously compromise your body. You've spent the last three days, nearly unconscious, regenerating all the damaged cells in your liver and kidneys, healing the veins in your throat that could have ruptured and caused you to bleed to death. OBVIOUSLY, you haven't been thinking!"

Harry looked away feeling Draco's disappointment, anger and fear, heavily on his shoulders. Draco took a deep breath and reined in his anger. "You have to make some serious changes Harry. No more alcohol. Not one drink. If that means staying out of the pubs to keep from temptation, then that's what you're going to have to do. I'm also recommending that you see a mind healer. Whatever issues that cause you to seek answers or escape through alcohol need to be addressed if you're going to fully recover." Draco took hold of Harry's hand with its square and calloused fingers, "Your friends love you Harry. They want you in their lives for a long time. You've been hurting yourself because something is wounded inside you. But it can be healed. You'll get better."

Harry shook his head, tears fell from his dulled green eyes, "No," he rasped "It won't. It can't ever get better. I'm tainted now." He pulled his hand away and turned on his side. "You should have let me die."

He cursed himself for his weakness, but he couldn't turn away, not when Harry was hurting so badly. Draco stretched out on the bed, and drew Harry's shaking form into his arms. "Tell me," he whispered. "Tell me what's hurting you, Harry. Let me help heal you."

Harry turned in his arms; Draco noticed how spiky his wet lashes were at so close a distance. "Why? Why do you care? After all the horrible things I said." Harry raised a shaky hand to Draco's cheek, "I know I hurt you. I couldn't help it. I-I'm so sorry Draco."

Draco closed his eyes, turning his face into that warm hand, after everything he could still feel such strength there, "You'll get through this, Harry," he said, avoiding the answers which were still, four months later, just too painful.

"I do love you, you know," Harry said quietly.

Draco squeezed his eyes closed tighter. "Don't say that," he rasped out. "Please, Harry don't."

"I can't help it. It's true. I've missed you so much. Everyday I've wanted to come after you. Beg you to come home. But I couldn't. I saw how happy you were. How you've moved on, and I knew I'd lost my chance forever. Plus I wouldn't dirty you like that. I'm so filthy, Angel, how could I love you and dirty you like that. Spread my filth on you?" Harry's breath hitched and Draco just knew the tears were falling. "But I wanted to. Merlin, help me, as filthy as I am, I wanted to touch you anyway."

Draco went still, mind working furiously. The answer was there somewhere. Why did Harry think he was dirty? Had he really broken things off between them because he felt soiled somehow? And worse, had he started drinking because their relationship ended, or to hide from this mysterious taint? Draco knew he had to go carefully. "Harry…why wouldn't you want me to love you?" He asked first, with all the tenderness and encouragement he could muster as he started to realize that much of the end of their relationship had been about what Harry had perceived.

Harry sniffed, "Because I'm filthy, Angel. I'm dirty, and spoiled now. You can't love that. But you tried. You kept trying, wanting to touch me and talk to me. You came and stayed by my bedside and I didn't understand why you wouldn't leave. You weren't supposed to still want me, still want to love me."

Draco's eyes snapped open. It went back to Ashcombe! Of course! Draco cursed himself seven kinds of fool. Something happened during Harry's abduction by the rogue wizard's collaborators! Something, Harry had never talked about, that never made it into the reports. Something so terrible, he'd pushed Draco away, something…His heart sped up and fear gripped him as his mind started connecting the clues. Not Harry. Please, please Merlin. Not his Harry. His sweet and darling Harry. But even as he denied it, his heart knew it was true. "How--how many times did they rape you, Harry?" He forced the words out, though they cut and burned in his throat and mouth, like ground glass.

Harry started to cry.

Tbc…and worth the wait I hope!