The next day, after stacks of paperwork, instead of Apparating home, Draco went to the Black family Manor. Or was it simply Potter's Manor now? He appeared with a pop in the hallway of the manor and made his way upstairs, like he had been told to.
Potter's room was at the very end of the hallway on the third floor, and he knocked several times before Potter's shuffling feet made their way to the door and opened it hesitantly, just a crack. Downcast eyes and a hunched stance met Malfoy's gaze, and he flinched inwardly.
"Good afternoon, Potter," he said dryly, "could you perhaps let me into your room so I can get this over and done with?"
Draco's only response was the door closing in his face. He gritted his teeth – Hermione had mentioned it sometimes took up to twenty attempts to get bloody Potter out of his bloody room, and he kicked the door open. Maybe part of the problem was treating Potter like a goddamn child. Potter whirled around and had Draco bound in the air without a word, a silent snarl on his lips. His grey eyes widened only fractionally – Draco did a double take there, thinking he had seen a hint of green - before his face returned to its blank expression and Draco dropped to the ground. Potter spun on his heel and retreated into a small, door-less cubbyhole near the bed that must have been added specifically for moments such as these, a cosy space not more than 4 feet square filled with cushions and blankets and reassuring pictures – many of them his parents, judging by their resemblance to Potter – plastered on the three walls.
Draco rubbed his arms where the bonds had been the strongest. Despite himself, he was impressed. Not many people could hold a wordless, wandless spell of that power. He glanced around while he waited impatiently. The furniture in Potter's room was, upon closer examination, teak, a nice and classic timber. The carpet was a delicate cream. The bedsheets, coverlet and curtains were what surprised Draco the most - they were also cream, but with a rich dark green, tasselled and worked in gold embroidery. Even the small hole in the wall was furnished, in a sense, with creams and greens.
Draco muttered under his breath, keeping an eye on Potter, who still had yet to move. He wondered what would happen if he simply left to explore the rest of the manor. Against his better judgement, however, he walked over to the wall with the indentation, pursing his lips as he did so. He sat down cross-legged in front of Potter, who did not turn his head at the sound of Draco's footsteps.
"Hey, Scarhead. Taken to hiding in holes, have you?" Draco winced in spite of himself. He was already reverting to childish taunts. He wondered where the hell Hermione was.
Potter's head turned a little, but only to peer up at a photo of his parents. Draco tilted his head, staying silent. Potter's breathing was very faint, and very shallow. Draco sighed. This Potter was completely useless! He reached out a hand hesitantly – while he didn't particularly want Potter to die, he didn't really want to be here right now. He was no nurse. Potter didn't even blink when a hand was laid on his shoulder, though he did finally turn to stare – not look – at Draco. His eyes were uncannily like stone, and Draco shook his head even as Potter's breathing became even more erratic.
"This is fucked, Potter." He said dryly, and Potter, for some reason, blinked at him, though his breathing remained unsteady. Draco pulled out a set of vials from the air – his own special supply - selected one which would calm Potter's nerves and regulate oxygen flow. Being good at Potions in school was actually one hundred percent his doing, contrary to popular belief, and now that he had been transferred to his dream job he was making use of the Ministry's labs during almost every spare moment he had.
He uncorked it and held it to Potter's mouth, receiving a small headshake in response.
"If you don't drink the bloody thing I'll knock you out and make you drink it myself." Draco finally snapped after several minutes of struggling. It didn't work, not that it came as a surprise, and Draco rolled his eyes, cast a sleeping spell on the tight-lipped ex-Gryffindor, and managed to get the potion down his throat. It worked, Potter's breath becoming even, but even as Potter's lips opened in a silent scream, Draco was remembering too late the warning about nightmares. He heard the sound of someone opening and closing the door just as he was backing away. He broke a vase as he bumped into a table.
Ron came running up the stairs, took one look at Potter, and started yelling. "What the bloody hell did you do? I came here to tell you Hermione's on her way and you've already stuffed it!"
Draco told him, amidst colourful language, exactly what he had done, and Ron winced, his angry expression fading. Obviously he'd made the same mistake himself, because all he did was fling himself at Potter and hug him.
Stunned, Draco watched as Potter's silent scream turned into silent sobs, and his stone-grey eyes turned towards his safe-zone. Ron released him without hesitation and he scrambled into it, turning over so he could watch both Ron and Draco. He blinked – a sign that he was startled, Draco thought, because he barely blinked otherwise – at the sight of Ron standing next to Draco, and he frowned.
Ron shook his head. "We're getting facial expressions out of him a lot when you're around," he murmured, "and right now he's stunned and confused, probably because we're standing together."
"Really, Weasley, because I couldn't have guessed that for myself?" came the reply, to which Ron grumbled to himself.
Potter was blinking rapidly now, and he must have taken the sight in front of him as a sign he really was going crazy, because he started tugging at his hair violently. Ron started moving forward, but Potter shook his head roughly, no doubt pulling loose some clumps of hair in the process, and Ron teetered, obviously torn.
"Potter." Draco said, taking a step towards him. "For God's sake, you are a twenty-one year old man, get a grip."
Potter's eyes narrowed momentarily, and Ron made a noise of amazement – or perhaps he was choking, Draco didn't particularly care. Eyes kept on Potter's eerie stare, he produced the potion vials once more, so that Potter could see them.
"You know I was good at Potions in school, Potter, so I'll say this once, and once only. I have here a sleeping potion called a Dreamcatcher Draught which will give you a dreamless sleep for about eight hours. You need it. Drink it, or I'll force it down your bloody throat again."
Potter closed his eyes. The bags under his eyes could have passed for separate entities. He swallowed, looking at Ron.
"As much as I hate to say this, mate, I'd let him. Glad to see some responses from you though."
Potter nodded weakly and opened his mouth, clearly wanting Draco to give him the potion. Draco grimaced, kneeling down in front of Potter. He uncorked the vial and tipped it down Potter's throat. He immediately fell forward, fast asleep. Draco caught him automatically, and shuddered. Potter's weight was insubstantial.
"You, uh, need some help?" Ron said awkwardly, and Draco's mouth twisted in a grimace.
"He probably weighs less than your daughter, you idiot." Draco shot back, and Ron winced, though his ears had turned pink from anger. Draco carried the sleeping skeleton back to his bed and deposited him there without a second glance.
He heard someone else enter the house, and shortly afterwards Hermione appeared at the doorway. She took one look at Potter and her hand flew to her mouth. "What is he doing sleeping?"
"S'okay Hermione, Malfoy gave him some potion that'll make him sleep without dreaming."
"Ron," she whispered, clearly terrified, "don't you remember what happened the first time we tried that?"
"Uh, I wasn't aware you had. Was that when I had to go away for a few months for that job in Greece?"
Hermione was wringing her hands now, and all but ran around the room activating extra wards.
"Could you perhaps give me some sort of explanation? Or better yet, have you actually recorded everything that's wrong with the bloody fool?" Draco snapped, tired of their incompetence.
Hermione looked over at him impatiently, conjured a book and threw it at him. Draco caught it, but dropped it immediately – it was as thick as his waist.
"He's that messed up?"
"If you had just waited a few more minutes…" She shook her head exasperatedly. "There are that many incidents from different points of view. Plus medical reports, trial medications, treatments. Malfoy. We. Have. Tried. Everything. And we've recorded everything. How long has it been since you gave him the potion?"
"Not even two minutes."
Hermione nodded, weaving an elaborate shield around Potter's bed and a smaller one around herself, Ron and Draco.
"What's going on?" Ron asked, confused. Hermione shut the door and warded that as well.
"You'll find out in...seven minutes."