"Level Five – Visitor Tearoom and Giftshop."

Draco ignored the voice as he stepped from the lift and into the overly bright hallway, adjusting the shoulder strap of his leather case. His steps echoed gloomily off the walls as he passed the gift shop entrance and turned down the hallway leading to the Healers' offices. Disregarding the stony faces of the medi-wizards and witches that brushed roughly past him, Draco stopped outside an office door marked with a large ornate plaque displaying: Head Healer – Milo Tillerman. Draco smoothed down the front of his robes and relaxed his face into one of indifference before rapping smartly on the door.

"Come in," a voice called from inside.

Draco opened the door and stepped into the office. The Head Healer sat with his head bent over a thick stack of charts. He was a slender man of middle years with salt and pepper hair slicked back. The office was elegant, the hospital sparing no expense on the rich mahogany furniture. Various awards and plaques were displayed on the walls. The healer, dressed in deep magenta, looked up at Draco and frowned.

With an internal smirk Draco politely said, "May I have a seat?"

Milo twisted in his chair without answering, grabbing a small stack of files off a shelf behind him and briskly tossed them across his desk towards Draco.

"This is all for now," Tillerman said sharply, looking pointedly at the door.

Tillerman turned away from Draco again, suddenly very interested in a stack of charts behind his desk. Draco held back a sigh, grabbed the files, and exited the office. When the door closed behind him, he stole one more look at the gaudy plaque and rolled his eyes. Tillerman was a wanker and Draco didn't know why he bothered with niceties. Plus, the man had horribly dry skin that aged him around the eyes.

Draco began shuffling through the files as he walked down the corridor and didn't realize his mistake until he felt the hex hit his shins as he passed the employee lounge. He flung his arms out to break his fall but still landed painfully on his knees. His files skidded across the floor, loose parchments fluttering into the air and his case landed hard and burst open. Draco hoisted himself up, whipping his wand out and turned to the sounds of laugher drifting from the open door.

"Accio." Draco seethed through clenched teeth. The papers flew at him in a jumbled pile. He stuffed the mess into his bag, snapped it closed and stalked down the hall, keeping his wand ready at his side.

A few minutes later he had locked himself in an empty patient room and thoroughly warded the door. Reorganizing the files was taking a painful amount of time but he considered it an appropriate punishment for being so lax in his awareness. It had been two years since he'd stepped foot near the employee lounge even though as a contractor for St. Mungo's he had every right to use the facilities. The multiple tripping hexes, someone turning his tea to toad spawn and the constant threats muttered to him hadn't been enough to deter him for the first few months. Then someone took it upon themselves to set fire to his stack of patient files while they were on his lap. Head Healer Tillerman had threatened him with termination of his contract and legal repercussions for the loss of the files if it happened again.

There were only two patients he'd interview with today, which both excited Draco and dismayed him. He wanted to leave as soon as possible after that embarrassing fiasco but he also wanted to be able to bill the hospital for more hours. It was a terrible line to walk.

Draco made his way to the fourth floor for Spell Damage. His first patient: Nanni Bryndis, 42, Yorkshire – 3rd Degree Burns (unresponsive to healing). Finding the correct room, Draco entered and cast a Medical Shielding Charm on himself. The risk of infection was always high for burn patients, plus the shield helped if there were any strong odors. There were no other medi-wizards in the room, for which Draco was relieved. Nanni was lying quietly in bed, her injured arm suspended above her with a containment charms shimming from her fingers to just below her shoulder. Nanni opened her eyes and looked at Draco with trepidation. She was a plump, dark skinned woman who looked young for her age.

"Ms. Bryndis, I am a specialist with St. Mungo's. I'd like to take a look at your arm," Draco said, placing his bag on an empty chair and removing his wand from his pocket.

She was instantly on edge "Um, okay. Every time they take off the containment charm it starts flaming again."

Draco nodded and performed a quick revealing charm on her. There was a nerve deadening spell cast on her shoulder that would prevent her from feeling whatever was happening to her. Draco rolled up his sleeves and removed the containment charm. It took all the willpower he possessed to remain calm. Her arm was sizzling like bacon in a pan, crisscrossing embers flowed up and down her skin. Without hesitation, he placed the containment charm back on her, silently scolding himself as his heart quicken. Feeling his breakfast fighting its way back up he nodded at Nanni and thanked her. He watched her face pale as he collected his files and turned to leave.

"Is that all you need?" She asked in a shaky voice.

Draco nodded and exited the room. There was a private restroom down the hall and he beelined to it as nonchalantly as possible. He stepped inside, locked the door then threw his paperwork on the floor. Rushing to the sink, he turned on the tap and splashed water on his face.

"That dumb cow," Draco hissed, rubbing his eyes.

She had been dabbling with Fiend Fyre. No doubt. She obviously hadn't been able to cast it correctly otherwise she'd be dead.

Like Vincent.

"Idiot!" Draco smacked the corner of the counter as he calmed his breathing. Crabbe was an idiot. He deserved what happened to him. So did this woman. She had to live with the consequences of her actions. Just like Draco had to.

Draco sat down in the corner of the loo, grabbed Nanni's file and wrote his recommendations. He noted the use of a Dark Curse, listed Fiend Fyre underneath and underlined his prognosis: death without amputation. After that she would be brought before the Wizengamot.

Draco stared at the wall for a few more minutes. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he and his mother had been cleared of all charges. Draco had wandered listlessly for a few months, unsure of what to do with himself. His mother had forced him to take his N.E.W.T.'s of which he had unsurprisingly excelled in. He had applied to the Department of Mysteries, a career that had appealed to him since early childhood. Even through all the terror of the Dark Lords rise, Draco had harbored a desire to be an Unspeakable. As a teenager, it didn't matter to him if it was for a mass murdering psychopath or the Ministry of Magic.

But Draco was denied the position.

He applied to the Auror training program, knowing they often worked through the ranks and could end up in the Department of Mysteries.

Draco was denied again.

He was denied to every job he applied to, often within minutes of sending his application. In a daze, he had applied to an internship at St. Mungo's and was accepted. He had only learned later it was because at some point the Dark Lord's followers had started killing medi-wizards and witches, so they were desperate. Draco had lasted four months before quitting. The constant harassment was unbearable.

There were another few months where he was lost in the world then an idea had come to him late one night when he was reading an article about some unknown dark ailment affecting a couple who'd been attacked by an ex-Death Eater. There was a taboo on Dark Magic currently but still quite a few dark wizards were loose causing mayhem in the community. St. Mungo's medics had a very poor understanding of the intricacies of dark magics and most Auror's had just the basics. The next day he offered his services to St. Mungo's and the MLE as a freelance Dark Magic Diagnostic Expert. Within a week both organizations had contacted him regarding cases that had them stumped. Sure, they shafted him on pay, but it was better than nothing.

Draco rose with a grunt and checked the second, and last, patient of the day. There was a moment of confusion as he saw the diagnosis: Eliza Thorn, 9, Brighton – Werewolf Scratch. Underneath was a handwritten note from Tillerman:

-They asked for you specifically-

Draco sighed, relaxed his face and exited the loo. This should be interesting, he thought sarcastically.

Several hours later Draco finally slipped out of the Thorns private room. Nigel, Eliza's father, had pounced on Draco the moment he walked in, Draco not even having a moment to greet the small, terrified little girl lying in the bed. There was a mad spewing of some sort of backstory on how his daughter deserves to be saved, she's precious, never hurt a fly, blah blah blah. He continued and on as a shocked Draco stared in confusion. Draco finally interrupted him and asked why they wanted to speak with him. Marianne, Eliza's mother, jumped and bluntly asked what dark magic he knew that could cure their daughter.

Draco had felt his mouth drop open at that point. He offered them a list of Potion Master's that could help with her monthly potion. Nigel began screaming at this point, demanding to know the names of any secret "connections" Draco had who could could fix this. Draco repeated that there was no cure to Werewolf-ism that they needed to accept this and start preparing for her transformations. At one point Draco was certain Nigel was going to resort to wands or maybe fists. Draco slipped out when Eliza started bawling. There was nothing he could do for the family and fighting with the little girl's parents would do her no good. Draco notated that family be assigned a therapist and made his way to Tillerman's office.

Outside the door Draco pulled out his work notebook and marked his hours. As he slipped the little book back into his breast pocket the office door banged open, smacking Draco in the face and sending him careening back. He recovered himself just in time to see the back of a red-haired man in slate grey robes disappear down the hall corner. Draco straightened his clothes and strode into the room.

Tillerman looked pissed and was glaring at a file on his desk. Draco cleared his throat and set the two files down.

"Look, Wea-" Tillerman started then looked up to see Draco. He scowled at the blond, "About damn time. I need you to see to a patient immediately. Here."

Tillerman stood and shoved the file he had been glaring at into Draco's hands. The suddenness of the action caused Draco to take a step back and Tillerman slammed the door in his face. Draco stood in the hallway, feeling a bit dazed.

What the bloody hell is wrong with people today?! Draco thought angrily as he stormed down the hall. He avoided the employee lounge and returned to the empty patient room he'd started his day in. As he sat on the squashy bed he opened the file and gaped. It was the most heavily redacted file he'd ever seen. One in five words were visible and made absolutely no sense. There was a written note from Tillerman:

-Return this file immediately once you're done. The patient is in the MLE private room #6.-

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as he took out his notepad. He crossed out this completion time and returned the notebook to his pocket. He picked up the file and headed down the hall.

Draco had been standing outside door numbered with a blocky six and staring at the name written on the board besides it for almost four minutes. It blocky text it clearly stated: POTTER, H.

"What the fuck…" Draco whispered. He looked back to the file in his hands. Sure enough, every printing of the patient's name was redacted. Draco smoothed his hair back, pulled his shirt smooth and set his face in an air of haughty politeness. He knocked once and entered the room.

Harry Potter was sitting propped up on some pillows in bed, wearing a pair of muggle pants (jeans, Draco had recently learned), a black shirt and some sort of weird sweater with a pouch in the front. The Chosen One had grown out his hair since the last time Draco has seen him and had it pulled back to the nape of his neck. The same hideous glasses framed his emerald eyes, which were glued to Draco.

Draco took a step closer when suddenly a shocking amount of red hair appeared in his line of sight. Ron Weasley seemed to Apparate in front of him, literally blocking his path and sneering in his face.

"We won't need your services, Malfoy," Ron growled, making Malfoy sound like a swear word.

Draco opened his mouth to answer when the door opened behind him. He was shoved closer to Potters bedside by a dark haired, willowy medi-wizard, who Draco recognized as Danny Sheehan. The man was two or three years Draco's senior and from what Draco could remember was in Ravenclaw, not that such nonsense made much difference now. Draco cast an appraising eye on the man's broad shoulders and trim waist when the medi-wizard brushed past him..

Sheehan glanced at Draco blankly then turned to Weasley, "Is there a problem, Auror Weasley?"

Weasley puffed himself up impressively, "Yes, there bloody well is. We do not require Malfoy's assistance. I don't want him anywhere near Harry."

Draco looked down at Potter and was surprised to find him staring back up at him. His attention was drawn back towards Sheehan at the sound of the curtain being drawn, blocking his view of Weasley and the medi-wizard. Draco attempted nonchalance, studying the flowers and well-wish cards on the bedside table. It was quite an array of exotic and unique plants, though most of the cards seemed to be from the Weasleys.

From the other side of the curtain Sheehan's voice was clearly audible, "Sir, I can assure you that he wouldn't be here unless the Head Healer requested it."

"I don't care!" Weasley shouted, "There must be someone else who can figure this out."

"Unfortunately, sir, that cesspool of an inbreeder is one of the best dark magics diagnosticians we have," Sheehans voice didn't waver.

Draco flinched and looked down to Potter at his sharp inhalation. Potter stared at him, an array of emotions swimming through those green eyes. Suddenly anger flared in them as the curtain slid back open. Weasley stood dumbfounded, his face pale and the array of freckles standing out clearly. Sheehan looked unabashed as he turned to Potter, "Auror Potter, I've brought your dressing gown. Is there anything else you'll be needing?"

"No, thank you," Potter answered curtly.

"Excellent, I'll be back momentarily. Please give us a ring if you need anyone…" Sheehans voice trailed off as he locked eyes with Draco. The unspoken word removed was blatant in his stare. Sheehan left the room and the air was thick with discomfort. Draco placed his case on the floor by the bed table and turned to Potter.

"Right, Potter, I'm going to need a little information because this," Draco held up the redacted paperwork, flipping through the pages so Potter could see the heavy censoring, "gave me absolutely nothing to work with. I'll just start with the basics, shall I?"

Weasley stepped forward again, "Most everything is classified to you."

There was a snort of laughter from Potter. Draco was momentarily taken aback by the sudden outburst but Potter waved a hand at Weasley, "What does it matter if my situation is classified. Not like there's much to tell."

Potter looked up to Draco, a small smile tugging the corners of his mouth, "No one, including me, has any idea what's going on with me or why I can't remember the last eight days. I was working a case, then poof, woke up eight days later in Muggle London with a headache. They found and admitted me two days ago."

Draco was stunned. The Savior of the Wizarding World was missing for eight days and the idiots at the Ministry of Magic managed to keep it from The Prophet for the entire time. He hadn't heard a single rumor, and Draco read The Prophet daily and thoroughly. Draco stole a glance to Weasley, who looked put off.

"Besides headache, there are no other symptoms?" Draco asked quietly. He had a brief thought that this might be a waste of time. Maybe the Golden Boy simply went off on a bender and didn't want his friends or boss to know, he knew Potter had an arrogant streak.

"Yah, that's right. We admitted him to St. Mungo's for a wee headache. Needed a rest and some water, so obviously Healers needed to be involved. Bloody idiot," Weasley seethed.

"Ron, come on. I want out of here and they won't release me for work until St. Mungo's clears me." Potter said calmly to the redhead.

"Which means placating this idiot," Draco sneered back at Weasley.

Weasley's face contorted and he opened his mouth but Potter cut him off, "Ron, can you grab me something to eat? And none of this hospital crap. I need real food. I'm starving."

Potter grabbed his stomach and gazed beseechingly at his friend, all but pouting. Draco wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it was to see a grown man faux-pouting. Weasley hesitated, looking from Draco to Harry.

"Oh, come on," Potter pleaded, "I'm going to pass out if I don't get some real food soon."

Weasley rolled his eyes, "Okay, fine." He turned to Draco with fire in his eyes, "I'll be right back. Don't try anything."

Draco maintained a stoic face as he watched Weasley leave. He turned back to Potter, "So what are your symptoms?"

Potter shrugged, "I have a headache, I'm exhausted all the time and the Healers have been having trouble running tests on me."

Draco nodded, pulled out his wand and rolled back his sleeves. Potter stared at his bare and unmarked forearm with shock. Draco ignored the unspoken question, "I'm going to run some simple diagnostics. You should only feel a slight tingling."

"Best of luck to you, mate. No one else has been able to get a single reading. According to Healer Platten they couldn't even get a reading on my heartbeat, but obviously you can still feel it," Potter lifted his upturned wrist to Draco.

Instinctively Draco placed two fingers on Potters wrist, which felt cool and smooth. Draco locked eyes with Potters emerald gaze and felt a tickle in the pit of his stomach. Potter lowered his arm and rested his head back, closing his eyes, "Have at it, Malfoy."

Draco lifted an eyebrow and set to work.

An hour later found Draco in a foul temper. He had performed every spell, charm and incantation he could think off, but every test came back negative. Not just negative, completely blank. It was infuriating.

Weasley had returned fifteen minutes ago with a box of sandwiches, crisps and a giant batch of homemade cookies. Draco packed up his notes but Potter grabbed his wrist when he had turned to leave. Draco looked back the raven-haired man who was holding out a turkey and cheese sandwich.

"Just to get our energy back up," Potter said with a smile. "I want this over as soon as possible, so just a quick break and we'll keep going."

Draco thanked him quietly and took a seat in the chair on the opposite side of the bed. Weasley begrudgingly threw him a bag of crisps and Draco caught it deftly.

"Seeker skills still sharp," Weasley said gruffly before turning to Potter, "So, any news?"

Draco answered, "No, not yet. He was right, he's not showing up on any kind of diagnostic spells. I even tried a few questionable ones and nothing."

Weasley nodded and bit into his sandwich. They ate their sandwiches silently and started in on the batch of cookies. The chocolatey treats lightened the mood and Potter and Weasley talked easily of the Quidditch games Potter had missed, their friends and the Weasley clan. Draco sat quietly, thinking of Potter's resilience to healing magic, when a thought popped into his head.

"Weasley!" Draco suddenly stood.

The freckled man reared from his chair just as abruptly, drawing his wand and taking a dueling stance. Draco tried not to laugh at the man, who had crumbles on his face, a mustard stain on his shirt and a mouth full of cookie.

"Ron! Sit back down. Seriously, you're so paranoid! Malfoy hasn't done anything," Potter exclaimed.

Weasley made to put back his wand but Draco stopped him, "Potter is resilient to magic! Has anyone tried to attack or jinx him since you found him?"

Potter shook his head, "No, why?"

Draco was barely containing his excitement, "Weasley, cast something on him. Anything. Simple bat-bogey or hair loss hex. Something small."

Weasley stared at him, "You've gone nutters."

"If you don't want to, then I can," Draco said, taking his wand from inside his robes.

Weasley snorted, "As if I'd let you jinx him." He turned to Potter, "What'll it be, mate?"

Potter shrugged, "Hair loss is fine. If anything, it'll be cooler."

Weasley smiled and raised his wand, "Folicitius!"

There was a muffled hissing as the jinx hit Potter. A dark silver shadow rose from Potter's skin soaking in the purple light of the jinx before dispersing into wisps of lilac smoke.

"Bloody hell!" Weasley shouted.

Draco walked to stand by Weasley, waving his wand at a quill, which began to write furiously on the notepad he'd left on the bedside table. Draco focused on the scribbling quill, feeling he might be able to finally get somewhere.

"What just happened?" Potter asked, his voice small and shocked.

"We thought we couldn't get a read on you with our diagnostics charms. But diagnosis is passive magic. What we just saw there is whatever is affecting you reacting to active magic. Oh, this is something entirely different," Draco continued to write on his notepad, his voice shaking with excitement, "I think it's your wild magic. Something is upsetting your magical core and from what I can tell your wild magic is trying to protect itself from further harm."

Draco reached into his bag and pulled out a thick text on accidental magic, "It might be some sort of botched protection spell. Do you remember anything of what happened before you woke up in Muggle London? What was the last thing you do remember?"

Weasley shook his head, "It's classified, Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes as he began moving some of the vases of flowers to make a work space. He felt a searing pain in his hand as it made contact with bright yellow flowers and blood began pouring from the back of his hand.

"What th-" Draco studied the sunny little flowers, "Why do you have Damuvuju flowers?"

Draco turned to Potter, attempting to contain the increasing flow, "They literally mean 'blood leaking' and they're not even that-"

Draco was cut short when he looked down at Potter. The man's face was contorted into a mask of hideous fury and the shadowy silver essence began to pour from the green-eyed man. Draco took a step back as Potter lunged from the bed and grabbed Draco by the neck. The world slowed down to Draco. He was aware of Potter's raging eyes inches from his own. He could hear Weasley screaming and felt a tugging on the back of his robes.

"Ventus!" Draco shouted. There was only the silver glow of Harry's wild magic as Draco's spell faded ineffectually.

He felt Potter pull him close, one hand painfully grabbing the hair on the back of his head and the other forcing his wand hand down. Draco felt teeth sink into his neck and screamed. There was an explosion, but Draco couldn't tell if it was in the room or his head. He felt something he hadn't felt in years. Since his childhood.

Wild magic.

Uncontrolled.

Uncontained.

Coursing through his body as he felt Potter tearing his flesh. There was a moment he thought for sure he was bleeding to death and then the world went dark.