Staying inside was boring. Boring boring boring. Harry was in complete agony. He had tidied up his bedroom, then tried to clean out his closet until his antlers became too entangled in hanging clothes to make the effort worthwhile. He cooked a pot of noodles and realized afterwards that he had nothing to put on them, so he doused them in soy sauce, declared the batch too salty, and binned the lot of it.
Ron returned from work with Hermione by his side around seven. They had predicted Harry's isolation and brought curry takeaway from his favorite shop. They let him have the sofa and sat together in the easy chair by the telly, kind enough not to mention that his antlers were too wide to share the sofa anymore, but it went without saying.
"So how was Malfoy?" Ron asked casually as he flipped through programmes on the telly. Hermione and Harry had thoroughly corrupted him with muggle technology.
"Okay, I guess," Harry said around a mouthful of chicken. "He's still a prat but he's sort of almost normal. Almost professional."
"Almost like he's matured," Hermione said. "Imagine that."
"He's not that mature," Harry shook his head, calling his attention back to the weight on his head. "He made more than one joke at my expense."
"If he hadn't I would suspect he was possessed," Ron said. "I make jokes at your expense all the time. And I've matured, haven't I?"
"That's different," Harry tossed his empty curry container onto the table. "It's different when you take the piss as a mate, not when you're an..."
"You were going to say enemy," Ron said. "Weren't you?"
"Of course not. Malfoy was never important enough to be my enemy."
"What, then?" Hermione asked. "Rival?"
"Yes. No. I don't know," Harry thought hard. "He was my childhood enemy."
"He's changed," Hermione said. "I didn't want to go to him either but he does work other Healers won't touch. You noticed he was wearing a white doctor's coat instead of a green Healer's coat. He specializes in really complicated stuff that takes difficult potion work. And he works with intelligent non-humans. Who would have expected that?" She shrugged, "He hasn't called me mudblood even once."
"He's already called me Golden Boy," Harry grouched.
"Oh no, call the Wizengamot!" Ron gasped in mock-horror.
"Look, I don't care, as long as he can make these things go away," Harry yanked on the left antler. "I have to go back tomorrow at one to try out a potion."
"Make sure he knows you're connected," Ron said. "If he bollockses up your treatment we could have the Minister on his back in an instant."
"I think he knows that," Harry sighed. "It's part of what he hates about me."
"He probably doesn't hate you anymore," Hermione said. "It's been years."
"Of course he still hates me," Harry said. "He's never had a reason not to."
0oOo0
After hours of mindless telly Harry finally turned in before cabin fever could drive him insane. But once he laid in his bed he realized he had a problem. He couldn't lay on his side, he couldn't lay on his back. He couldn't lay on his stomach and breathe unless he turned his head to the side, which just presented the same problem. He tried laying with his head dangling off of the foot of the bed, but found that the weight of the antlers dragged him back, straining his neck painfully.
He tried sitting up and leaning against the wall but he had to slump his head forward to accommodate the rack, straining his neck in a different but equally painful way.
When he heard Ron and Hermione retire to the other bedroom he crept out to the couch and spent thirty minutes building a reinforced pillow fort so he could sleep sitting upright. It worked, but he had no wiggle room. It meant he had to hold one position all night. By morning he was a wad of grumpy resentment and neck pain.
"Morning," Hermione had always been too much of an earlybird. Harry's eyes creaked open like rusty hinges and he gave her the full weight of his baleful, bloodshot stare.
"Yikes, what happened to you?" Ron flinched as Harry swung his glare around to focus on his flatmate.
"I can't sleep like this," his voice was dry and raspy. He unkinked his arms and legs and arched his back to crack it, and managed to thunk his antlers into the wall behind him, rattling his teeth and raising his ire.
"What time are you due back at Malfoy's," Hermione sat beside him and patted his hand.
"One."
"I'll bring you breakfast and something for lunch. Go have a shower," Hermione went briskly to the fireplace and waved him towards the loo. "Go now."
"Sod off," Harry grumbled. "Thank you."
He slid the glass shower door closed and stood sideways, paranoid that he would shatter the enclosure with one shake of his head. He shampooed carefully around the bony growths, then shaved his face and rinsed down. He usually felt more human when he was clean. These days he didn't feel human enough.
Hermione was true to her word and had left two packed meals on the table, one marked "breakfast" and one marked "lunch." She had even left a small packet of biscuits with a label that read "tea." He felt like a right bastard for telling her to sod off earlier.
More muggle telly helped pass the hours, and during adverts he plumbed his memory for clues to the spell the dark wizard had cast on their last case. He felt like if he concentrated hard enough he could almost hear it, but his memory was mostly filled with the sound of his own spell, "Expecto Patronum."
He wondered if he could force the memory to the surface. He stood and shook his wand into his hand and closed his eyes. Deep breath, solid focus, happy memory, and swish. "Expecto Patronum," he called.
A white light guttered and sputtered at the tip of his wand, and then drifted lifelessly to the floor. He frowned and tried again. Breath, focus, happy, swish. "Expecto Patronum!" he called.
White light gobbed out of his wand and spattered to the floor before dissipating. One more try. Breath, whatever, swish, "Expecto Patronum!"
His wand might as well have made a flatulent blat as the light fizzled and failed once again. He shook his wand like it might be stopped up, levitated a few objects, and cast Lumos Maxima. It seemed to be functioning fine. It was his Patronus that wouldn't play along.
A glance at the clock told him he'd better get a move on if he wanted to rid himself of his cranial curse. He swirled his invisibility cloak around his shoulders and checked the mirror to make sure he'd covered everything. Wouldn't do to hear reports of a pair of disembodied antlers floating down Main Street of Hogsmeade. Satisfied that he was concealed, he Disapparated for Draco Malfoy's house.
Three raps on the brass knocker, he remembered. Who knew if the number or method of knocking mattered. But he remembered that Draco was big on respect, and on the off chance that knocking was a strange pureblood respect issue, he figured he'd stick with what he knew. The door handle jiggled, the locks rattled, and finally the door swung open, spilling warm golden light out into the dim December afternoon.
'Harry Potter, I presume," Draco leaned languidly in the doorway, eating an apple like he hadn't a care in the world. His white Healer's jacket hung open, and his feet were clad in nothing but black woolen socks.
"Who else would it be, you git?" Harry snapped. "Are you expecting any other invisible patients today?"
"I never expect anything," Draco stepped aside and waved Harry in. "Expectations lead to surprises and disappointment."
"Charming," Harry pushed past him and waited until the door was closed and locked again before sweeping the cloak off. As the day before, it tangled up in his antlers and refused to come free. Draco clenched the apple in his mouth as he reached up to help free the fabric, reminding Harry of a platter at a pig roast. Draco caught him looking and crossed his eyes above the apple core, in an uncharacteristic display of whimsy.
Harry stepped back, now free from his cloak, and found himself at a loss for what to say. Had Draco just joked around with him? Where was the precedent for that?
"Come on, the potion's ready," Draco waved for Harry to follow him into the examination room, then pointed for him to sit on the table. "Forgive my stocking feet, I was up late brewing and I need a break from my shoes."
"Okay," Harry was still at a loss. What kind of nutter needed a break from his shoes?
"It's a paste," Draco said as he returned with a tiny cauldron and a spatula. "It's usually used for taxidermy preparation, when hunters want to mount the skull and antlers separately. It should remove the antlers and leave enough behind for a complete skull."
"Should?" Harry wrapped his hands protectively around the base of his horns. "Should leave enough behind for a complete skull? Are you mad?"
"You know what I mean," Draco said. He leveled an even gaze at Harry, dropping the casual air and returning to the professional reserve he'd shown the day before. "I tested it on my own skin. It won't hurt flesh. It should, rather it will dissolve through the bone of the antlers and leave living tissue behind."
"You're sure?" Harry wasn't yet ready to let go of his head. "You tested it on yourself?"
"I'm sure," Draco held out his arm. "Look at my wrist, it's fine."
"Well," Harry considered his options. Nope, still none. "I guess we can try it."
"Hold still," Draco hefted the cauldron and scooped a bit of the gray paste with the spatula. "It's going to be cold."
Harry tipped his head forward for better access. Fortunately Draco anticipated the movement and ducked out of the way. He dabbed the sticky goo all around the base of the antlers, getting it mashed through Harry's hair and smeared onto his scalp.
Harry had nowhere to look while Draco worked. He perched on the edge of the table and peeked up at Draco's intense expression of concentration as he worked the paste in, the tip of his tongue held lightly between his teeth as he went. His pale blond hair was combed neatly back, with the forelock tucked just behind his ear. He showed no affinity for his father's preference for showy jewelry, not an earing nor a necklace nor a ring adorned his body. His shirt collar was unbuttoned and spread wide, revealing a vee of milky white skin that stood out in sharp contrast against his navy blue sweater vest. His skin was so pale that his white Healer jacket was the only thing in the room that was paler-
"What?" Draco glanced down and retracted the tip of his tongue. "Does it hurt? Don't tell me Saint Potter can't handle a little deossification ointment."
"I'm fine," Harry snapped out of it. He shuddered, the tiny shiver in his neck translating to a full wobble of his antlers. Draco jumped back and shouted in protest. "Sorry," Harry mumbled.
"It needs some time to sit," Draco said. "If you'll return to the parlor I'll come check on you in an hour."
"An hour?" Harry's jaw dropped. "I can't just sit in your bloody parlor for an hour!"
"You can go home and wait it out," Draco shrugged. "But I don't recommend it. You don't want to get this stuff on anything."
"You're right," Harry said. "Of course something that's okay to be smeared on my head would be dangerous to anything else."
They stared at each other for a moment, neither one willing to offer up an alternate suggestion. Finally Harry held out his arms, "Do you want to do another examination? Make sure it's not spreading?"
"No," Draco turned away and shuffled with the parchments on his desk. "I got enough information yesterday."
It didn't take a Head Auror to know that when Draco busied himself with his papers, he was covering up an emotional reaction. If he was laughing again, for Merlin's sake-
"It's almost time for tea, if you'd like to join me in the lounge," Draco turned back around, his cheeks a bit pink.
"Well that's a damn sight better than doing nothing in the parlor," Harry hopped to his feet and followed Draco out of the examination room, up a flight of stairs, where he managed to sweep three framed photographs off of the stairwell wall, and into a cozy and comfortably appointed sitting room.
This space was much more appealing than the ostentatious parlor on the first floor. This room had leather club chairs and downy throw pillows and soft cashmere blankets and deep wooden shelves covered in interesting knickknacks from around the world. In other homes Harry would have assumed the worldly objects were collected from a local importer. Given the Malfoy family's wealth, it seemed likely that these items had been collected personally from their places of origin.
"Have a seat," Draco pointed to a chair with no lamps within striking distance. He then sat gracefully on the sofa and leaned back with his ankle crossed over his knee. He watched Harry warily but did not speak.
"So," Harry cleared his throat. It was impossible to pretend he didn't look completely daft with his head full of horns and a smearing of batter around the base. "It's been, what, six years?" A house elf wheeled a rosewood tea cart into the room and began placing cups and saucers on the coffee table.
"Since what?" Draco asked. "Since the war? Since my father went to prison? Since you and I last saw each other? Which one?"
"All of it, I guess," Harry shrugged.
"Six years," Draco shrugged back. They stared at each other silently again.
"What have you been doing since then?" Harry asked.
"Does this not adequately explain?" Draco plucked at his white Healer jacket.
"No," Harry gritted his teeth and swallowed a sharper retort. Why was he making it so hard? He'd been almost friendly when Harry first arrived.
"After old Voldie kicked off and my father lost out in the trials, I left home," Draco said as the house elf handed him a teacup and saucer. "I traveled around the world for a year, sort of vacationed in non-wizard societies, I suppose. Just wanted to see what all of the fuss was about."
"You?" Harry paused with his teacup halfway to his lips.
"Yes me," Draco glared. "In spite of what you and your cronies thought, I was never irredeemable. I was," he looked up at the ceiling in search of the right word, "ignorant," he finished. "Try not to begrudge me the effort to shed my ignorance," he went back to glaring at Harry.
"So," Harry gestured for him to continue.
"I saw things,' Draco said vaguely. "I saw sick people. I decided I wanted to be a Healer."
"That simple?"
"No," Draco sipped his tea. "But that's all I feel like sharing."
"So what about this practice?" Harry noticed the plate of biscuits on the table and snatched one.
"I run it on my terms," Draco said. "I only accept patients I want to work with."
"Does that mean you want to work with me?"
"Don't be daft," Draco snorted. "I want to solve the mystery of the antlers. The fact that they're connected to your head is irrelevant."
"Irrelevant? Come on," Harry snorted back.
"You haven't asked how much I'm going to charge you," Draco reminded him. "I'm also in it for the money."
"Great," Harry shook his head. Then, feeling the weight of the antlers he shook his head again. "You're just lucky I'm willing to do whatever it takes to lose these things by Christmas."
Draco smirked but politely didn't comment.
Harry took a turn at sharing the ins and outs of his own past six years, although much of his professional transition had been captured for the public in the usual rags. He denied the rumor that he had given up an engagement with Ginny Weasley to take a promotion in the Auror's office, but stopped short of discussing the awkward first few years of sexual self-discovery and coming out to his friends. Yes, that was something that had taken place in the last six years, but no way was he sharing that with Draco Malfoy, Healer Code or not.
"Come on," Draco checked the clock on the mantle and headed down the stairs. "Let's have a look at the progress we've made."
They went back to the examination room and Harry sat obediently on the edge of the table. Draco wiped the glop away with a cloth and grunted thoughtfully. He guided Harry to lie down on the sheet and inspected closely with his magnifying lens.
"Grip the edge of the table," he said as he grasped Harry's left antler. He pressed his weight down and with a sickening snap that Harry could feel all the way down to his jaw, the antler broke free. Another lean and the right one snapped free, too. And just like that the awkward weight was gone.
"Malfoy!" Harry rocketed to his feet and staggered off balance. Draco caught him by the elbow and set him back on his feet. "Malfoy!" Harry shouted again and threw his arms around Draco's waist, then lifted him and spun him around before setting him down with a grunt. Probably not enough size difference for that.
Draco stumbled back and gawked at him in shock for just a brief second before straightening his shirt and jacket. He smoothed his expression over and squared his shoulders. "You'll need to shower as soon as you get home," he said. "Normal soap should remove the rest of the paste."
"You're amazing," Harry gushed, tipping his head this way and that and enjoying the lightness of his natural skull. "Not even the Ministry Healer could fix this."
"Chesterton Elroy Payne?" Draco sneered. "What that man doesn't know could fill Hogwarts' Great Hall. The man's name is Chest Pain, for Merlin's sake."
"Chest pain," Harry was suddenly struck giddy by this information. Between the removal of the antlers, and this absurd turn of conversation, he was lost in a gale of laughter.
"Potter," Draco half-laughed and then caught himself. "Potter, pull yourself together."
"Sorry," Harry wiped his eyes and tried to reel it in. "Sorry, sorry. I'm done."
"Well," Draco sniffed haughtily. "Try to show some dignity."
"I've got taxidermy goo in my hair and you're holding my antlers," Harry pointed. "Dignity went out the window ages ago."
"I'll be sure to send you my bill in the morning," Draco shooed Harry out of the examination room. "That ought to put a serious step in your stride."
"Thank you, Malfoy," Harry extended his hand with a bright smile. "You're brilliant. Really. Thank you. Draco."
"You're welcome," Draco took his hand and quickly released it. "Harry."
Harry tossed his invisibility cloak over his arm and let himself out. He threw his arms out wide on the stoop and made a big show of pointing to himself, as though drawing the attention of a hoard of invisible onlookers.
"Thank you again!" Harry called as he readied himself to Disapparate. He couldn't stop grinning. "I hope you have a happy Christmas!"
"Hey Potter," Draco called from the doorway. "Just one thing I need you to remember before you go."
"What's that?"
"You still stink." And then the door closed and the locks rattled, leaving Harry standing in the middle of the cobblestone road, alone and silent and blessedly horn-free.