Chapter Four - Curse Revealing Charms
When he arrived at number twelve the next morning, coffee in hand, Harry's heart couldn't decide whether to sink at the sight of Malfoy waiting for him – he'd wanted to get there first – or leap at the smile Malfoy gave him. It lurched and fluttered in his chest for a moment.
"Seeing as you got here at a decent time yesterday, I thought we could get another full day here again," said Malfoy, taking his coffee without a word of thanks. Harry held on to the flash of irritation this caused with relief, being much simpler to deal with than fluttering hearts.
The front bedroom on the second floor wasn't one that Harry really ever went into. He sometimes would wander up to Sirius's room when the mood took him, but mostly he only ever really used the kitchen, drawing room and his bedroom. It had been decorated in a sickly combination of yellow and black, a frieze of snakes running around the top of the room. The silk on the walls was stained and torn now, the black of the furniture chipped and cracked.
"I think we'll start with the big pieces first," said Malfoy, nodding at the bed with its twisting serpent posts. "The Blacks were certainly fond of snakes, weren't they?" he said.
"Yes," said Harry. "Sometimes, when I'm bored, I try to get them to talk to me." Malfoy's head shot up.
"Do you mean—"
"Yes, Parseltongue," Harry said, a little embarrassed. He didn't normally talk about his ability to talk with snakes, but after all, Malfoy had seen him do it before. He walked over to the bed, and rested his hand on the curved back of a snake.
"Do you hear me, serpent?" he asked, the harsh sighs and sibilant hisses of Parseltongue filling the room. "I wish to speak with you." Before he could check for a response though, Harry heard a strangled gasp coming from Malfoy. He turned and froze when he saw Malfoy, eyes wide and his lips parted, short, shallow breaths coming from them, and suddenly Harry remembered that Malfoy had lived with Voldemort, and that the last snake he'd heard someone talk to was Nagini. "Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't scare me," said Malfoy. His voice sounded... huskier than normal. He turned to stare at Harry "You—" he stopped, and suddenly he did look a little worried. There was something wild about his eyes, and he took a couple of deep breaths before continuing. "Just let me get on with my job, okay?" he said, and Harry nodded, feeling contrite for not having thought it through a little better.
Malfoy worked in silence as he checked a wardrobe over. Harry found himself becoming restless, and he was aware that every time he sighed or fidgeted, Malfoy made an answering sigh or twitch. Harry thought he might be sent away, but in the end Malfoy pointed over to the wall and asked if Harry could bring the portrait down. Harry leapt at the chance to help, but then he looked between the two paintings and frowned. Both portraits were sleeping. One showed a portly man, his waistcoat straining over his paunch, holding, for some reason, what looked like a bunch of turnips. The other showed an older woman, but dressed up with feathers and bows and a not inconsiderable amount of rouge. Harry vaguely remembered that she had a tendency to make terrible innuendos, when she wasn't asleep.
"Which one do you want first? Middle-aged Vegetable Botherer, or Wrinkled But Saucy?" he asked.
"I heard that, young man," said Wrinkled But Saucy, her voice thin and tremulous. She was obviously not, as Harry had assumed, asleep. "And I liked it," she added, winking before her eyes drifted shut again.
Malfoy pointed at her portrait, and there was another mumbled "Young man!" as Harry lowered it in front of Malfoy.
Before starting though, Malfoy ran his hands over the frame. "Am I correct in thinking that you are going to have an amusing name for every portrait in this house?" he asked, looking over at Harry.
"Yes," said Harry. "Well, it amuses me, anyway."
"Indeed," said Malfoy, and he shook his head slightly.
"Oh, just get on with your Pink spell," said Harry, who had been hoping for at least a smile.
"Pink spell?"
"You know the one that I mean," said Harry. "The first one you do. Before the Blue one." Malfoy sighed.
"How you are the hero of the wizarding world, I do not know."
"Well, that was more a kind of one-off thing," said Harry. "Now I'm just an Auror who makes up silly names for the portraits in my house."
"The 'pink spell' as you call it, is actually a Curse Revealing Charm, and the 'blue spell' is a Travelling version of it," explained Malfoy, his wand in hand. "It both finds hidden curses, and helps to identify which one has been used on an item." The portrait was briefly surrounded by a warm glow, before it faded. "Both are necessary to ascertain if something has been Cursed, as some Curses are hidden within an object, only being brought forward if used in a certain way." There was muffled "Ow!" as the blue light burrowed into the painting.
"Or by a certain person, or in conjunction with a particular object?" asked Harry.
"Precisely," said Malfoy. He nodded over at the other portrait, Wrinkled but Saucy obviously having been clean of any Dark magic. Harry quickly switched them over so that Malfoy could work on Middle-aged Vegetable Botherer. "I was hoping that I would find some linked curses, or ones triggered by a single key, which might help explain your difficulties with the house." Malfoy paused to cast another pink bubble and didn't speak again until that painting too had been checked over with both spells. He ran a hand through his hair. "I can't find anything though, and I have to own, I find it most irritating not to have been able to figure this out yet," he took a deep breath. "But I will work it out. I will."
Seeing the look of determination on Malfoy's face, Harry was struck with the certainty that Malfoy really would do it.
o~O~o
They went out together for lunch again. A cold front had blown in overnight, and Harry admired the fit of Malfoy's robes, which buttoned up to a high collar under his chin.
"That looks almost like a Muggle coat, you know," he said as they walked down the front steps.
"Yes," said Malfoy, "which is precisely why I wear these robes when working in a Muggle area." He shot Harry an incredulous look, and Harry could almost hear the obviously, you idiot, tagged on the end.
"Well, it looks good on you," Harry said. Malfoy didn't respond except to raise an eyebrow, and Harry blushed. He hadn't meant it like— well, actually, he had. He looked away.
They didn't talk much on the way to the café, and by the time they got there Harry's fingers were cold. This time, Malfoy made a huge fuss about which cheese he wanted, and the exact thickness to which he required his chorizo sliced. Harry ordered a jacket potato, and he smiled again as he felt, rather than saw, Malfoy's sneer at his choice. They settled into the same table as before, although it was no longer bathed in golden light.
"The back room above yours would make a better bedroom for you, you know," said Malfoy.
Harry thought about the room they had visited that morning: it was just as run-down as any of the others, with a faded rug on the floor and torn paper on the walls.
"I don't see what's so special about it," he said, puzzled as to exactly why Malfoy felt he could advise Harry on his living arrangements, yet intrigued that Malfoy had been thinking about his home in this way.
"If it was your bedroom," said Malfoy, ignoring Harry's less than enthusiastic response, "you could turn the room downstairs into a study. You could have the bathroom next to the bedroom to yourself, without having to share it with anyone who used your drawing room. And you'd still have three spare rooms for any guests."
"But then I'd have all those extra stairs to get up and down," said Harry, unsure quite why he was indulging this flight of fancy. Malfoy dismissed his objection with a wave of his hand.
"You're a fit young wizard. You'd cope," he said.
"Look," said Harry, "it's all academic if I can't actually live there, isn't it?" Malfoy gave him one of his affronted glares, but sat back and took a sip from his coffee.
"I will sort your house for you, Potter," said Malfoy. Harry was about to protest that he really didn't need him to say where he should sleep, when Malfoy shook his head. "I mean that I'm going to work out what this curse is." He put his cup down and rubbed at his forehead with his long fingers for a moment. "Although at the moment, I don't understand why you've had these things falling down." He looked up at Harry, and raised an eyebrow in question. "Unless you've been faking it to get some attention?" he asked. Harry wasn't sure if he was serious or not.
"Sorry to disappoint you," said Harry, "but this is a one hundred percent genuine house-trying-to-kill me situation. "I don't," he said, leaning forward and meeting Malfoy's eyes directly, "exaggerate about these things." Harry delighted in the faint flush which spread across Malfoy's cheeks as he held his gaze a little too long to be comfortable. Malfoy coughed slightly and suddenly seemed to find his coffee cup fascinating.
In the silence which followed, it occurred to Harry that he might not have sought Malfoy out, but that he was pleased that their paths had crossed again.
"How did you get into Curse-Breaking?" asked Harry, suddenly curious about how the frightened boy he'd seen at the Battle of Hogwarts had transformed into this confident, if still annoying, man. "You seem so... sure of yourself."
"Thank you," said Malfoy. He took another sip of coffee. "Before we lost it, I was trying to remove Dark magic from Malfoy Manor," he said, a far-away look in his eyes. "It was an impossible task, in some ways. I think it was easier for the Ministry to come in with their team of Curse-Breakers; there were more of them and besides, they didn't have the same ties to—" he stopped.
"Yes?" said Harry, "ties to...?"
"The wards," said Malfoy. "You keep saying that it's the house, trying to kill you... I wonder..." He frowned, and began to mutter to himself.
"Malfoy?"
"Eat up, Potter. We need to get back to your house. I need to check the wards."
"The wards?" asked Harry. "I don't understand."
"How much do you know about wards?" Malfoy asked.
"A bit," said Harry. "I know that they can be anything from a one-off spell like an Intruder Charm, to a whole set of spells laid down on a building, tied to an individual witch or wizard." Malfoy nodded.
"Yes, and in an old house like yours, the spells are laid down over generations, and often are intended to protect both house and the family living within it."
"So you think that there might be a curse placed on the wards?" asked Harry.
"Perhaps," said Malfoy. "Or it could be any one of a number of things. These matters are clouded by the age of the house, and the fact that you weren't born a Black. We need to go back, and take a closer look at your wards. And maybe we can find a way to talk to the house, too..." he trailed off, and frowned. Harry was intrigued by this last statement, but didn't dare interrupt Malfoy when he was so obviously thinking through all the possibilities. They sat in silence, eating their food and interrupted by the odd word escaping Malfoy, who didn't eat much, instead chewing on his lip and narrowing his eyes as he thought it all through.
Harry ate half of his potato, then pushed it away as Malfoy had begun to tap his fingers on the table. "Let's go back to Grimmauld Place," he said. "I want to see how you talk to the house."
Malfoy stood up, scraping his chair back as he did so. "Oh, I think you can work that one out for yourself. Just think, Potter."
They walked back, with long strides and not much talk, as Harry tried to work out what Malfoy meant.
o~O~o
As number twelve appeared from between its neighbouring houses, Harry let go of the whole 'speak to the house' issue, and thought instead about Malfoy's theory that his problems with the house might be linked to the wards. It made sense, but he had no idea how Malfoy was going to fix it. He felt the tingle of energy he normally did when an investigation was midway at work: there was a mystery here, and they were going to solve it. Or Malfoy would, with his pink-tinged cheeks and sharp humour, and that lovely arse of his.
The hallway was just as glum as ever.
"I don't suppose you want to hear my thoughts on how to improve this space?" said Malfoy, looking around.
"Malfoy," said Harry, "please just stick to the Curse-Breaking."
Malfoy gave him a flat look. "I'm only trying to help," he said, in his blandest voice. But then his face shifted into something more... alive, as he walked up to the curtained off portrait at the end of the hall.
"No," said Harry. "Tell me that this isn't your plan to 'talk to the house'." Malfoy stopped, and looked back.
"Only in part," he said. "Brace yourself." And then he whipped open the curtains with a dramatic flourish.
"Foul disturbers of my peace! Intruders on the House of Black, children of dis—" Sirius's mother's voice was cut off as Malfoy's Stunner hit her.
"Well that's certainly... direct," said Harry. Malfoy shrugged, and drew the curtain back over the portrait before he answered.
"I only wanted to check something. Does she always talk like that?" he asked.
"Yes," said Harry. "If you can get her down, it would be great."
"Eventually, I will. But for now, what do you know about her?"
"Not much. She was Sirius's mother – you can check exactly how she's related to you on the tapestry in the drawing room."
"That sounds like a good idea. I do want to explore the wards a little more, but I also need to finish examining the contents of your home," said Malfoy. "The drawing room was next on the list anyway."
"Yes, but– you still want to check each thing over?" said Harry, dismayed that Malfoy wasn't going to come up with some speedy solution. He had been hoping that this new line of enquiry would result in some quick results.
"I told you before, Potter: I am always thorough," Malfoy said, and then he did his sweeping off up the stairs thing again.
By the time Harry had caught up, Malfoy was already standing in the drawing room looking at the family tree. "So she's my Great Aunt. How charming," he said. "And she was only sixty when she died. Interesting." He glanced briefly at Harry, "I fear that my family haven't really made a very good impression on you," he added.
"Some of them are ok," said Harry, thinking of Teddy and Andromeda. So, apparently, did Malfoy, as his hand reached out for the charred spot where Andromeda's name had once been.
"Do you see them?" he said quietly. Harry didn't dare look at him, so just kept his eyes trained straight ahead. Malfoy sounded so... vulnerable.
"Yes, I do. I'm Teddy's godfather," said Harry. He knew that Andromeda never mentioned the Malfoys: when she spoke of her family she always meant the people she had lost, Teddy, and now Harry too.
"Sometimes I wish..." said Malfoy. He didn't finish his sentence, and Harry didn't push him. After a while, Malfoy reached up to touch the gilt names again. "I notice that you're not on here either," he said.
"Of course not," said Harry, puzzled. "I'm not a Black."
"No," said Malfoy. "Apparently not."
Finally, he turned to look at Harry. They were standing quite close to each other, and Harry could see very clearly just how striking Malfoy's eyes were; they were pale, and filled with light. He was transfixed with the sight of his eyelashes, each one distinct and so fine that they were almost transparent, as they swept down with each blink. Harry backed away, struggling to remember what they were talking about. Malfoy said nothing, but turned to the tapestry again, this time wand in hand. The familiar pink glow spread across the family tree and Harry sensed that whatever that moment had been, it was over now.
When Malfoy got to the glass-doored cabinets on either side of the fireplace, he sighed. "It seems my work here is done," he said. "But I bet these were crammed to the top with evil little things, weren't they?"
"Oh yes," said Harry. "If I recall correctly, it took us a few days to get rid of everything in there."
"We?" asked Malfoy.
"Some of the Order. Molly Weasley, Fred and George, Sirius. Ron and Hermione, too. We, er, we mainly bashed things to stop them working," said Harry.
"Bashed things?" said Malfoy. "Amateurs," he muttered.
"It worked!" said Harry.
"Yes," said Malfoy, "but there are reasons people hire a Curse-Breaker. One of you could have died. Some of the things these old families kept– they were, are, capable of great harm."
"I know," said Harry, remembering the locket, "trust me, I know."
Malfoy spent a long time checking the room over: apparently the 'bashing' had resulted in small leaks and spillages, with sections of half-cursed carpet and cabinet alike. Harry's room, even with the destroyed bed at its centre, took less time.
"This bed is not, nor has it ever been, cursed," announced Malfoy as the bead of blue light made its way back to his wand. "It is now just an ugly pile of broken wood: there's no need to keep it around," he added. Harry took this as his cue and Vanished it with a twist of frustration.
"So you're still no closer to working out what happened, then?" he asked.
"No, I wouldn't say that. Are you always so impatient, Potter?"
"Yes," said Harry. "Especially when I have to sleep on a lumpy sofa bed every night. Actually, Hermione says my being impatient about some things is because," he paused to remember the exact phrase, "I 'don't want to deal with the emotional pressure around them'. She says it's easier to get annoyed than think about why it matters so much in the first place."
"So why does this house matter so much to you?" asked Malfoy.
"Because it's my home," said Harry, simply. "I've never really had one before."
"And yet it lies, virtually untouched and crumbling around you?"
"Yes, well, Hermione also says that I have commitment issues," said Harry. "She has lots of theories about me," he added.
"She sounds delightful," said Malfoy, without even a hint of malice. Before Harry could say anything, he moved towards the stairs. "I think that we can move downstairs now, this floor is finished."
Once they reached the dining room, Malfoy began checking the portraits, chairs and table, but it was obvious that his thoughts kept returning to the wards.
"Do you feel the wards, Potter?" he asked.
"Feel them?" asked Harry.
"Are you aware when someone enters the house? When someone Floos?"
"Well..." Harry considered the question. He hadn't really given much thought to how he felt the wards before: he had assumed that most things had been sorted by the Order, and hadn't had any problems. Or none until the accidents.
"That's not a very encouraging response," said Malfoy. "Maybe it's just not something you've been aware of before." He sucked his top lip in as he thought. "We'll test it," he said, "I'll go outside, and walk up to the door. I want you to pay especial attention to anything that feels out of the normal, no matter how slight."
"Okay," said Harry. Malfoy walked out of the room, and a moment later Harry heard the front door open and then close. He put a hand on the dining table to lean forward so that he could see Malfoy, standing in front of his house.
The room felt quiet, empty without Malfoy there, and Harry realised how accustomed he had become to having company: Malfoy's company. He shut his eyes and concentrated. He didn't sense anything different, but then Malfoy hadn't come back up the steps yet. Or he didn't think he had. Harry cocked his head to one side, trying to hear if Malfoy was by the door yet, which he knew was probably cheating, but he really didn't feel anything yet.
A subtle creaking noise began to sound above his head. Harry didn't remember hearing it before, but it was definitely there. It grew louder, and something made him open his eyes just as the sound became a tinkling, as hundreds of pieces of glass began to shake and rattle: in a flash Harry realised that the chandelier above him had come loose.
He began to move away, but his reflexes, no matter how Auror-tuned or Seeker-fast, were not enough, and the jarring sound of glass teardrops shivering and knocking against each other grew louder, then stilled for a second, before a loud crash rang across the room. Harry heard the impact first, loud and terrible, as the chandelier hit the table and the floor, and knocked him down; a second later he felt a tearing pain in his shoulder and the echoing thud of his head hitting the floor. For a moment the world went black, and then he heard Malfoy's voice.
"Potter! Can you hear me? Potter... Harry... please."
Harry managed to open his eyes slightly, and groaned at the brightness of the light. Something moved to block it out.
"Don't move," Malfoy said, his voice quiet but with a slight wobble, a rising quiver which made Harry want to reach out and reassure him. Except everything hurt: his head throbbed and his limbs ached from the impact of the fall, but his eyes watered most from the waves of pain from his shoulder.
"I don't think I could... even if I wanted to," said Harry. He shut his eyes, but Malfoy stroked his cheek, and the touch was enough to make them open again.
"Try to stay awake, Potter. I'm going to get a Healer here, okay? Um, I've had problems at St Mungo's before, so I'm going to call my own Healer." He disappeared from sight, and then only a minute or so later Harry heard someone step through the Floo.
"Bloody hell," came a woman's voice. "What have you done, Draco?"
"Just help him," came Malfoy's terse reply.
Pansy Parkinson's unmistakable bob and nose swung into sight. Harry groaned again.
"Overrun by Slytherins," he said.
"Ha!" she laughed, a short loud bark. "Well the decor fits," she said, looking around the room.
She knelt beside him, and cast a spell which brought instant relief to Harry, dulling the pain in his shoulder to a gentle throb.
"Thank you," he said.
"No one needs to endure pain like that if a Healer is around. Now let me see what's happened to you before you thank me," she said. She ran a few diagnostic spells, then rocked back on her heels. "You've got a fractured collar bone, and several lacerations from broken glass. You've also got quite a deep wound on your shoulder, and a considerable weight constricting your breathing and your movement." She looked up. "You can move it now, Draco," she said, and as Malfoy Levitated the remains of the chandelier from Harry's chest, he felt the crushing sensation lift.
Parkinson then spent some time retrieving every single piece of glass from his skin, and healing every cut. Harry lay, immobile, as she steadily and methodically set about healing him, and his eyes found Malfoy. His skin was pale, so pale, and it was drawn tight as he watched. Harry closed his eyes again as Parkinson healed Harry's collarbone with an Episkey to match Hermione's, and then cleaned and healed the deeper cut on his shoulder.
Malfoy and Parkinson helped Harry up to a sitting position. Malfoy sat behind him, with an arm around him to support his weight, and Harry could feel the tremble of his body against his own.
"Well, that does answer one question," said Malfoy. "I think that you're right: this house really is trying to kill you." Malfoy was so close to Harry that he could feel the heat of his breath.
"I did already tell you that," said Harry. He turned towards Parkinson. "Thank you," he said.
"It was a pleasure," Parkinson said. "I– I owed you. I'm sorry for what I said, back—"
"It doesn't matter," said Harry. "It was a long time ago. And besides, you've just patched me up beautifully."
"Is he always this lovely?" she asked, directing her question at Malfoy.
"Sometimes," Malfoy said, "when he isn't being a knob." Harry would have laughed, but he was having trouble distinguishing the individual words; the vibrations as Malfoy spoke were most distracting. Parkinson raised an eyebrow in response but looked back at Harry.
"Potter, my dear, any Healer would have done it, but I'm glad it could be me. Now," she said, standing up and brushing her knees, "you need to get some rest. You won't be thanking me when you wake up sore tomorrow morning. And do shut up, Draco, not everything in life is a dirty joke." Harry longed to turn around and see the look on Malfoy's face. He couldn't quite imagine him as someone who made juvenile jokes: that was Harry's job.
"Hermione will look after me," said Harry.
"Granger?" asked Pansy. Harry nodded. "Good. She's an excellent physician. I need to go now, but I trust that Draco will get you to her safely." She walked towards the fireplace, but just before she stepped through she stopped. "Draco, whatever you were doing that led to this," she looked over at the wreckage of both the chandelier and the table, "don't do it again," she warned. And then she was gone.
"I'm sorry, Potter, I didn't realise that would happen," said Malfoy, his voice small and quiet with contrition.
"I didn't think that Parkinson was that bad," said Harry.
"Not Pansy!" said Malfoy. "I meant—" he stopped as Harry pulled away from him. No matter how good it felt with the arm around his side and Malfoy's firm body pressed close, Harry needed to see his face. As he moved away, Malfoy seemed to understand and he shifted his position too, until they could see each other.
"I know what you meant," said Harry softly. "And although the result was a little more... dramatic than planned, have you learned anything about the wards? I didn't feel anything, well, apart from..." his eyes flicked to his shoulder.
"I did learn something," said Malfoy. "As soon as I stepped out of the house, it tried to kill you. And when Pansy stepped through the Floo, I felt a slight... something." He frowned. "I hate being so vague, but I was a little panicked at the time too. You looked—" He took a deep breath, but his eyes didn't leave Harry's face. "You didn't look great. I should have considered that something like this might happen."
"But I'm fine," said Harry. Malfoy shook his head.
"I think that maybe there's an issue with the wards recognising you fully as the heir to the House of Black," he said. Harry felt a sinking feeling: his own house didn't recognise him as its owner? He made an effort to concentrate on Malfoy's words. "I'm on the tapestry, so I think that when I'm here with you, you're safe. I don't want you here unless I'm here too."
"Okay," said Harry, still feeling stunned.
"And there's something else," said Malfoy, slowing to a halt. Harry nodded for him to continue. "I think that I'm going to need some outside help, some advice."
"Who will you ask?" Harry said, his mind jumping wildly to the thought that Malfoy would be asking his father, locked away in Azkaban.
"My godfather," said Malfoy.
"Severus?"
"Yes, Sev— wait, you call him Severus?" asked Malfoy.
"He's... he's not who I thought he was. After the war," after you found him and saved him, "I wanted to see him, to ask him about... the past. It isn't easy, but we talk, sometimes." Malfoy was quiet in the wake of this revelation.
"He never mentions you," he said in the end.
"I'm not surprised," said Harry. "Things are... complicated between us."
o~O~o
"Hi, Harry, there's some fish left for you," said Ron in greeting, nodding over to the fire. He and Hermione were sitting outside, despite the chill in the air, but as Harry got nearer he felt the welcome heat of one of Hermione's warming charms, and relaxed slightly.
"You'll never believe who turned up for work at the hospital today," said Hermione. "Trained in France, apparently."
"Pansy Parkinson," said Harry, opting to ignore the food and flop straight into a chair. He groaned as he collapsed into it. The Apparition here had taken the last of his energy; Malfoy had side-alonged him to the nearest public Apparition point, but Harry had done the last bit himself.
"How did you know that? And what have you done to yourself?" Hermione asked, getting up to have a better look. "Harry!" she said once her diagnostic dot of green light had travelled up his body, darkening to a murky olive-green over his recently-healed collar bone. "You broke your clavicle today." She sounded shocked, but Harry didn't know why: he did have a habit of injuring himself.
"And are you more upset that I got hurt or that you weren't the one to fix me?" asked Harry with a smile.
"Wait, Parkinson healed you?" she said. "But I didn't know you'd come in today."
"No," he shook his head. "She treated me at home. There was another... accident today."
"I thought Malfoy was sorting your place for you?" said Ron.
"He is. And he has a theory, that the house, or rather the spells which form the wards, don't recognise me properly as the Black heir. He tested whether or not I could feel someone approach by going outside and coming back in again, and that was enough time for a chandelier to fall on me. The house recognises him, because his mother is a Black, and he's on the tapestry."
"And how does Parkinson fit into all this?" asked Hermione.
"I think he was a bit worried about his reception at St Mungo's," said Harry, "and I guess he knew that he could get hold of Parkinson." Hermione frowned but nodded. Despite whatever oath Healers swore, it wasn't outside of the realm of possibility that one of their Slytherin contemporaries would be treated with suspicion, especially if accompanying a wounded war hero.
"So what now?" asked Ron.
"Er, well, Malfoy's consulting with someone."
"Consulting? Who?
"Sev– Snape," said Harry. His friends understood why he'd reached out, but didn't really get it, the connection he felt to their former Potions teacher.
Harry remembered the first, awkward meeting, with Snape, as he was then, still weak after his near-death experience. It turned out that Snape had prepared for all eventualities, including an attack by Nagini, and a combination of Charms and potions had been enough to keep him alive until Malfoy found him. Seeing Snape again had been confusing, but he was determined to get to know the man who had given up so much to protect him. And to know the man who had loved his mother. It hadn't been easy though.
"You seem to be spending all your time with Malfoy and his pals now," said Ron, bringing Harry back to the present, the hint of a whine in his voice.
"Considering that I'm currently living here, I'd say I still see a fair amount of you," said Harry. "Anyway, we're not at school any more. Malfoy's... prickly, but he's ok, actually." He smiled to himself at the memory of how good it had felt, injuries and all, to have Malfoy's arm around him.
"Harry, mate, you're not... Merlin, I don't even want to say it aloud," said Ron. "You don't fancy him, do you?" he asked.
"That would fit with my theory of why you were quite so obsessed with him at school," said Hermione. "When you first told us you were gay, I did wonder about the homoerotic subtext of all that stalking you did in Sixth Year."
"He's just a Curse-Breaker doing his job!" said Harry. "And honestly, with our history, I can guarantee that nothing is going to happen."
"But you might want it to?" pressed Hermione. Both her and Ron were staring at him, and Harry felt trapped.
"I—" he started, and he shifted in his seat. He yelped as a lance of pain shot through his shoulder. Immediately, Hermione stood and got him a pain-relieving potion to drink. They didn't ask about Malfoy again, but Harry could feel them both watching him, and he knew that they were thinking about it. He wasn't sure how he felt about their speculation, or Hermione's theory that this was a longer-seated interest; Harry couldn't really remember how he'd felt at school, because really, he'd never known Malfoy. And now that he was beginning to? He was troubled by where those thoughts led him.