"What do you mean you can't help him? You three were practically attached. Why the hell can't you take him?"
"I'm sorry, Draco, but we just can't. With Rose and now Hugo, we can't have… that in the house."
"Are you fucking with me, Granger?"
"It's Granger-Weasley now, Malfoy."
"For Merlin's sake. Who else can take him?"
"Try Neville." Hermione's tired face disappears and leaves Draco kneeling near the Floo reserved specifically for family calls.
He wipes a hand across his brow and follows it upward, combing through the blond locks with a sigh. One deep breath later, he sticks his head back into the flames with a brashly thrown bit of powder and a growl of Neville's Floo address.
"Hello?"
"Neville."
"Draco?"
"Now that we've got that out of the way."
"What are you doing? Do you need to come through? What's going on?"
"No, no. I can't leave. Look, I'll explain more later, but I need your help. More specifically, Harry needs your help." Neville's face drops. He sets the plant he's holding aside, the looping tendrils grappling for his fingers forgotten.
"Harry? What's happened?"
"Weaselette blew him up."
He scowls. "Be straight with me, Draco. You tell me what's happened with Harry right now!"
"I just told you the truth, Longbottom. The she-Weasel threw a botched hex at him while she was drunk. He's been in Mungo's for two days."
"So that's why you didn't show for drinks the other night."
"Yea, and none of you sad sacks even bothered to try and find me, either." Draco huffs out of his nose, as indignant as he can get kneeling on a hospital floor.
"So what does he need?"
"He needs someone to stay with. Someone to keep tabs on him for a while."
"Fuck."
"Sounds about right."
"You know I can't. I bloody well wish I could, mate, but I can't. Term's just started and I'm back and forth between Hannah and Hogwarts. She'll have my hide if I disappear on her again—and I certainly can't keep Harry at home. The flat's barely big enough for the two of us. Well, three, I suppose." Neville looks miserable, his eyes straying down to unclasp a particularly pesky tendril that's latched on. "I was going to tell everyone this weekend."
"Well done, Longbottom. As much as I hate to say it, I understand. Give Hannah my regards." The other man perks up with a shy smile and nods before watching Draco disappear in a swirl of green.
"Salazar's tits, I'm fucked." Draco falls back, snorting in disdain as a mother hurries her child away with hands over his ears. The little one squeaks when she swats his bum for repeating, "Salazar's tits." Draco chuckles and for a minute, he leans his head against the wall, mulling over the options.
Just as Draco nears the door to Harry's room, he hears wild shrieking. His feet pick up the pace and the door dissolves before his wand in his urgency to see what's going on. There are two healers trying to subdue Harry to the bed. They've managed one leg and are working on the second when Draco steps directly behind them.
"Well, boys," Draco drawls. "Unless you want to be able to play with your own organs, I think you should leave." Both pause long enough to stare at him, wand aimed.
They bolt, one stopping long enough to ask him, "You coming with us?"
"No. Why would I do that?"
"Aren't you afraid?" His voice shakes as he asks, looking from Draco to the huddled form on the bed and back to the dark mark displayed on Draco's arm.
"This one's never been a match for me." The young healer bolts as if he's forgotten to feed his children that morning, leaving the two of them alone. Harry unfurls enough to look up at Draco, confused. Draco sighs, walks up to the bed, and begins unfastening the wrist and leg cuffs. Magical bindings, they are. Draco laughs, noticing that Harry has already broken one.
"Are we going to have any issues?" When Harry doesn't respond, Draco tries again. "Are you going to hurt me, Harry?" At the sound of his name, he looks up.
"No." Silence, until— "Why did you help me?"
"I can't imagine anyone would want to be tied up, let alone someone who just went through what you did." Bindings undone, Harry rubs at his ankles. Draco runs a hand through his hair again, moving away to once again take his place in the rickety chair. "Look, Harry. We don't have many options here. You can't discharge home by yourself. Do you have anywhere you want to go?"
"Can I talk to Ron or Hermione?" Draco winces.
"I've already Floo called them. They say with the two Weasel-brats, they can't risk anything." Harry is heartbroken, sinking further into himself and the bed. With no response, Draco continues, "Is there anyone else you can think of?" Harry shakes his head. "All right then. You'll just have to go where I tell you. You have to be monitored for three months. Do you understand that?" Again, no response. "Potter. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"Yes."
"Then explain it to me."
"I can't go home for three months. Someone has to babysit me."
"Good enough."
Just then, a female healer pokes her head around the door. "Mr. Malfoy? Is he ready for discharge? We need the bed."
"No you bloody don't," Draco says tartly. "You are all just a bunch of cock-sucking imbeciles who can't piss in the toilet if the wind is blowing in Surrey." Harry laughs, actually lets out a full belly laugh, and Draco smirks.
"Excuse me, Mr. Malfoy, but at this point Mr. Potter has no valid medical reason for being here. We need to discharge him. Do you have his discharge location? I need to fill out his paperwork." Draco pushes up from the chair in a slow, sinuous motion. His steely glare never leaves her as he does so and she doesn't fail to notice the wand in his hand, nor the lack of restraints on Harry.
"Mr. Potter is going home with me."
"I think that's highly unethical. You're the Auror on his case."
"You are going to question me on ethics, Miss—what was it?" She stammers, but can't quite answer him. "Mr. Potter is going to go where I tell him because you lot are giving him no bloody choice. He will be looked after thoroughly by the house elves and my mother will surely check in on him. I'll likely never see his highness after tonight."
The voices escalate between them and it's all a bit too much. Harry retreats from the hospital bed into the corner, unnoticed by either party. When they are done arguing and stand huffing inches away from one another, Draco breaks only to find Harry. When he does, he rolls his eyes, walks over, and grabs him round the wrist. Harry flails, immediately flashing back to the fight with Ginny. He tries calling out for help, but Draco glares down everyone who steps toward them.
Harry is nearly being dragged across the floor. It isn't until he sees the rapid flare of Floo arrivals and departures that Harry realizes he is leaving. His body goes limp and he begins to allow this follow-tug-drag sort of ramble they are doing. He doesn't make it to the fire, though. He never reaches the flames. Instead, he feels the lurching swirl behind his ribs that preludes side-along apparition. Then they are gone, and things are better. Things are better as fresh air envelops him, he can look around and see… the manor that haunts his nightmares.
He falls to the ground, air unable to penetrate his lungs. He scrabbles at his throat as if doing so will open newer, better passageways for cleaner air. The air here is thick with memory that he is drowning in and it's threatening to pull him under. Beneath him, the gravel shifts against his knees; it leaves welts and angrily mars his hands as he begins to crawl away toward something, anything other than this.
"For Merlin's sake. Tovo!" The distinct pop of a house-elf comes just slightly before the undignified squeak of its owner.
"Master Draco, how may Tovo be helping you sir?"
"Get him inside. See to him."
"Oh!" Her voice goes up several octaves higher as she turns her attention to Harry, who now lies flat on his belly. "Mister Harry Potter, sir?"
"He-elp." He barely gets the word out, but the house elf squeals again and apparates him inside. Draco sighs and walks toward the door, taking the moment to breathe before confronting his mother about their new guest.