My knees almost buckle under me as I land, but I can't let myself stop now. I'm not quite there yet. I'd tried to make it to the front door of his flat, but instead I find myself facing the front door of his building. After a quick look around to make sure no-one has seen me appear from thin air, I enter and glare at the steep flight of stairs before me. Fuck.

It had been a long five days. We'd been in charge of a team of six, including one newly qualified rookie. We'd spent four full days staking out the cottage where Macnair was hiding, watching others come and go, but no sign of our target. Then, at about 1pm today, our rookie had strayed too close to the cottage and tripped the magical wards. We had no choice but to move.

We piled in, firing stunning spells and sealing the area so no-one could escape. There were only three of them, and Macnair was huddled right at the back. The coward immediately dropped his wand and held up his hands in surrender, but his two accomplices fought us. One of their spells caught me in the chest, and I'd flown back against a glass-fronted cabinet. The glass splintered, digging and slicing into my back as I'd fallen. I'd let out a roar, then my assailant was on me.

I'd managed to headbutt him, breaking his nose, his blood showering down across my face and chest. It was a hard enough hit to concuss him, and as he turned from me to vomit I'd bound his wrists behind his back. We'd called in another team to take them in, promising write-ups on Monday as we all parted ways, finally relieved from duty. Harry had waited for me, expectant that I'd be going home with him, but my back gave me a convenient excuse: I needed to see a Healer. Which was technically the truth. So, he'd headed back to Grimmauld Place alone, taking my mission bag with him, and I'd headed here.

I heave a sigh, and force my leg to lift. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, and finally I reach his door. It takes more effort than it should to raise my fist and knock, pain searing across my back as I do. That's not good. I'm beginning to worry about it when -

The door flies open, and he locks eyes with me. He's initially startled, then his face shifts to a faint horror. I know the smile I give him is sheepish.

'Weasley! What - '

'It's not all mine,' I blurt, gesturing to the blood spattered across my chest, my face. His eyebrows raise higher into his hairline.

'That doesn't make things any better!' he hisses, but grips my wrist and pulls me through the doorway. I just stagger after him, then stand awkwardly, not wanting to get mud on his sofa. But he sighs irritably and pushes me towards it. 'Sit down before you fall down.'

I gratefully comply, sinking into the soft seat. It's the most comfortable I've been all week, and I lean back, my head falling against the huge cushion behind me. My eyes are closed, and I hear him leave the room but I don't have the willpower to raise my head again. It's not long before I hear him return, and his knees press in on either side of mine. I peel my eyes open as something warm and damp meets my cheek. He's leaning over me, a flannel in his hand, wiping away some of the blood that covers my face. His brow is so deeply creased, and his silver eyes are laden with worry.

'What happened?' His voice is soft, but I still hear the concern behind it.

'Don't want to talk right now,' I grunt, and find the energy somewhere to hook my hands behind his knees and pull. He yelps as his knees bend and I slide him onto the sofa, so that he's straddling my lap. He's tense for a moment, then settles down into me, his arse against my thighs, one hand against my chest, over my heart, as his other continues to wipe my neck, my cheeks, my lips.

My thumbs trace patterns against the insides of his thighs, and I feel him quiver slightly in response. A smile tugs at my tired mouth, and it grows as his hand drifts up from my chest and brushes into my hair. But I hiss in pain as his fingers tangle in my dirt-and-sweat-encrusted hair. He makes a mildly disgusted noise in the back of this throat as he pulls his fingers free.

'Fuck this.' He climbs out of my lap, and my eyes open again, my vision bleary from exhaustion, as he grabs my hands and tugs me up from the sofa. I protest weakly as I stagger against him, but he ignores me and supports me as he leads us into his bedroom. I expect to be dropped onto the bed, but he keeps walking, and leans me against the counter in his bathroom.

He squats down in front of me and helps me to step out of my filthy shoes and even filthier socks. I'm too tired to care why he's doing this, until he straightens, pulls me to standing again, then turns me and shoves me into the shower cubicle. I fall back against the tiles, and growl in pain as my head and back thump against the wall.

'Draco - ' My words die in a gasp as he turns the shower on, the heat and power of the water relaxing me immediately. I blink through the thick sludge that's running down from my hair and watch as he strips his own clothes off quickly. He steps into the shower after me, closing the door.

He reaches down and grasps the hem of my now soaking jumper and pulls, peeling the garment up and over my head. It sticks to my shirt, and he sighs in irritation but drags that up and off too. His slender fingers nimbly undo my jeans, and he rolls the wet denim down, taking my boxers with them. I have just enough brain power left to step out of the legs, and he kicks them to the side as he reaches behind him for a bottle.

'My shampoo doesn't smell as nice as yours.' His voice is soft again, and I squint through the now clear water that runs over my head and down my face. His silver eyes are still worried, but his face is set, focused on his task.

'It smells fucking fantastic on you,' I whisper, and see his lips pull up in a smile as he reaches up and rubs a dollop of it into my red hair. I let him support my head as he lathers, his nails scraping against my scalp as he cleans deep. I raise my hands to his hips, just to confirm it's real, that I really can feel him near me again. He blinks rapidly as his gaze returns to mine. 'It's been five days. I was so worried.'

'I'm sorry,' I breathe. 'We didn't have much opportunity to send out letters. It was too risky, it could have put you in danger.'

'It's OK.' He swallows thickly as the shampoo rinses from my hair. He reaches for another bottle and scrubs soap all across my shoulders, my arms, my torso, the fronts of my legs. Then he turns me away from him, and I hear him let out a shallow breath at whatever state my back is in.

I grit my teeth and brace my hands against the wall as he washes me. My body responds feebly to his touch, but I know I don't have anything left to be able to act on my need tonight. For five days all I've done is think about him, and I want nothing more than to take him into that bedroom and pin him to his bed, explore his body, learn more about what makes him whimper and mewl and writhe and fall apart. But I guess I'll just have to wait.

Finally, I'm clean to his standard, and he switches off the water. I feel cold air around me as he leaves, but soon he's back and wrapping a large, fluffy towel around my shoulders. I slowly turn to face him again. He already has a towel wrapped around his waist, and my eyes linger on it as he reaches up to dry my hair.

'Not a chance.' He's smirking, even with his eyes fixed on his own hands. 'You drastically need sleep, and I'm not going to start anything tonight just to be interrupted by your snoring.'

I roll my eyes, but press a kiss to his shoulder as he leans forward to wrap a second towel around my own waist. He twines his fingers through mine and pulls me along behind him as I trip into the bedroom. I discard my towels and flop down onto my stomach on his bed, my vision swimming again. When I don't feel him join me, I turn my head and force my eyes to open a thin crack, and see him staring down at me, his gaze hard.

'Sorry, I didn't mean to mess up the - '

'That's not why I'm upset, Ronald. Have you seen the state of your back?'

'That bad, huh? Ah well, just more scars to add to the others.' Pain flashes across his face, and I instantly feel guilty. But before I can say anything he's leaning over me, and running his fingers slowly down my spine. Those cool, healing tendrils spread out across my shoulders, my ribs, my pelvis, and I groan in satisfaction as the stinging ache eases for the first time in hours. 'It's so fucking hot that you know how to do that.'

I can hear him trying not to laugh as he moves around the bedroom briefly. Finally, finally, the mattress next to me sinks, and he slides his naked body against mine. He pulls the duvet over us, and nuzzles his face against my shoulder. Sleep is racing towards me, I can feel it shutting my body down, but just before I surrender to it I swear I hear him murmur, 'I'm so glad you're OK.'

When I open my eyes again, the room is dark. I reach out beside me, but the bed is empty. And cold. I ease myself up into a sitting position, mentally traversing my body, assessing the damage. Surprisingly, it's not as bad as usual. At least my back feels incredibly loose.

I remember the feeling of those magic tedrils, and smile slightly. I look around, and see that the room is once again very tidy. My clothes are folded, clean and dry, on top of his dresser, next to a pair of black joggers. Assuming they're for me, I stand up cautiously. I realise I've never had a mission where I didn't have my concussion before, and this probably accounts for why I feel significantly better than I ever have. I enjoy the lack of dizziness as I pull the trousers on, chuckling when I find that they're very fitted and a little too short for me. But they're comfortable, and warm. And his. I leave the room and go off in search of him.

It doesn't take me long to find him. He's sat in the living room, his nose in a book, a blanket over his legs. I grin at how comfortable he seems, no creases on his brow as he enjoys his book. I'm reluctant to interrupt him, but I'd been surprised by how much I'd thought about him during the mission, how much I'd missed him. So, I enter the room, making sure to make enough noise that I won't startle him.

'Hey,' I murmur as he looks up. He smiles, and puts a bookmark in his page before setting the book down. I walk around to the front of the sofa, and cast an appraising eye over the cushions. 'No lasting damage, I see.'

'You get good at cleaning up messes, when you're a Healer.' His eyes twinkle, then he sits up and throws his blanket off, draping it over the back of the sofa. 'Speaking of which - show me your back.'

I sit next to him and face the empty fireplace, and his cool slim fingers trace up and down my spine. I can feel the goosebumps that raise in a trail following his touches, but sit as still as possible as he examines me.

'There'll be no scarring,' he says finally, and I hear relief in his voice. I turn back to him, and reach out to twine the fingers of one hand through his.

'Thanks to you.' He looks at our hands as I rub his knuckles with my thumb, and when he looks up again I see apprehension in his eyes. 'What is it?'

'You were hunting Death Eaters, weren't you?' I stiffen slightly, but I nod, not wanting to lie to him. He lets out a staggered breath.

'How many are left?'

'We don't know. But of the inner circle, now, we think only three.'

'I could help - '

'No.' I squeeze his hand, and he looks up at me, a little shocked. 'You've done more than enough, Draco, with the testifying and the interrogations you went through in the days after. You don't need to be involved in this any more.'

'Neither do you.' His voice is quiet, but his jaw is set. 'You were instrumental in ending the whole bloody thing. Why are you still fighting?'

'Because it's my job.' I keep my voice patient, wanting him to hear me, needing him to understand. 'Because I wanted to be an Auror, and this is the most pressing thing for us to do at the moment.'

'But it's just so bloody dangerous!' His voice is suddenly loud, and he throws both of his hands in the air, releasing mine in the process. 'Surely there are other things you could be doing than having to face those fuckers yet again? You've already done it, more than once, let someone else take a turn!'

'That's not how the world works.' I'm really trying to keep hold of my temper, but I'm struggling to understand where all of this is coming from. He knows what an Auror's job is, surely? 'I can't just ask to sit out on a mission, especially when I'm the one whose done all the background work. It wouldn't be fair - '

'So it's fair for me to sit here going out of my mind, not knowing if you're alive or dead, just so that others don't feel hard done by?'

There it is. The reason behind all of this. It rattles me slightly that he was that concerned for my safety, but as I absorb this new piece of information I see it now. The purple bags under his eyes, his palid face, the shaking of his hands. I suddenly realise how ragged his breathing is, and catch both of his hands in mine as I fix my eyes on his.

'Draco, Love, I need you to calm down for me. I need you to take some deep breaths, yeah? I'll do them, too, just follow me. In ... out ... that's it, in ... out ... '

I coach him this way for about thirty seconds, and slowly the shaking subsides, his breathing evens out. That look of wild panic ebbs from his silver eyes, to be suddenly replaced with tears. His breath hitches in a sob, and I open my arms. He falls into them and I scoop him closer, turning him to sit in my lap as I hold him against me. I murmur soothingly into his hair that I'm here, I'm safe, everything is fine. And slowly, he hiccups into silence, just holding onto me. I slide my hand under his chin and tilt his head up.

'I'm sorry.' His lip wobbles a little as he says this, and my heart aches.

'There's no need,' I say softly, using my thumb to wipe the last of his tears away. 'I know it's hard, but I need you to know that I'm not going to be changing my job. There's always going to be some level of risk.'

'I know,' he sighs. 'I think it was just that it happened so soon after I - ' He cuts himself off, and though I wonder what he was about to say I don't push him.

'I know your last relationship was pretty messy at the end, and that's probably got you on edge, but I don't have any plans to leave you just yet. In any way.' I give him a lopsided grin, trying to lighten the mood, and he smiles back before nuzzling back into my chest. We sit in silence for a while, but suddenly it's broken by a loud rumble.

'You must be starving.' He disentangles himself from my arms and stands, heading for the kitchen. 'When was the last time you ate?'

'Oh, don't worry, I ate this morning.' He stops in the kitchen doorway and looks back at me, a funny look on his face. 'What?'

'It's Sunday evening, Ron. You've been asleep for almost 24 hours.' I stare at him, and as if to prove his point my stomach gurgles loudly again. He chuckles and continues into the kitchen. After a while, I get up and follow him, feeling a strange pull to just be in the same room as him. I look around, and smirk at the cleanliness of everything.

'Been scrubbing the cupboards, I see. Any particular reason?'

'Sit down and keep that filthy mouth of yours on a leash, Weasley, or I won't make this as tasty as it could be.' He raises an eyebrow, challenging me, and I bite back a comment about him being exceptionally tasty as I sit at the table and look up at him innocently. He snorts, then turns away and begins pulling things out of the fridge. Eggs, cheese, ham, peppers, potatoes, all find their way into a big pan, and he stirs and flips the contents occasionally. I watch him in silence for a while, but I can't resist the topic that's been on my mind since my realisation.

'You haven't been taking care of yourself while I've been away.' His back tenses slightly, and I watch as he forces himself to relax again.

'I suppose not.'

'Come to think of it, Draco, you've not really been taking care of yourself since we started talking.'

He shoots me a look over his shoulder, then turns back to the pan on the hob. 'What do you mean?'

'Well, I've never really seen you eat more than half a pasty. At first I just thought that you were saving things for later, but then you made me breakfast and didn't eat anything yourself. And I've learned enough about cooking from Mum to know that although you're making a big portion of something, it's not going to fill two people.' I take a breath in, having rattled this all off quite quickly. He's watching me now, his eyes a little wary. 'What gives?'

'I ... I struggle with my appetite when I'm anxious.'

'You must be anxious a lot.'

'You have no idea.' His brows are furrowed again, and he turns away to dish up the meal he's made. He places it in front of me - a Spanish omelette, the eggs thick and fluffy, the meat and vegetables and cheese nicely crispy. It smells so good, especially after the meagre meals I've had in the field, but I look at him steadily as he lowers himself into the chair opposite me. I cut the omelette into pieces, then spear one and hold it out to him.

He eyes it cautiously, then takes it from my hand. I watch him place it in his mouth, and wait till he's chewing before I take my fork back. I eat a piece, then pass him another. There are tears in his eyes again as we finish the plate in this fashion, and then he gets up to make another.

'When you say it happens when your anxious, what made you so anxious on all of the days we met at Rita's?' He sighs as he stirs the second omelette, but seems resigned to talking about it now.

'Honestly, I was anxious about meeting you.'

My head reels back with genuine shock. 'Me? Why?'

'Because you're very attractive, Weasley.' He shoots me a smirk over his shoulder, and I feel my jaw drop. 'You have been since we were fifteen. My intent behind suggesting our meetings was true, I really did want to help you the way I wished someone would have helped me, but I was still put a little ... on edge by just how much more you've grown into your body. I mean, fuck, those shoulders ... '

His eyes skate over the mentioned body part, and I feel myself blush at the hunger in his gaze. He draws his eyes away, back to the pan.

'And then something changed, and I started to feel a little jolt, a connection, every time we touched or caught each other's eye or when you chewed your damn lip. And it made me nervous. About what it meant, whether you felt the same way, whether I was ready to feel that way. And how it would look if we were discovered even at that stage of just being friends. The papers would have lost their shit, stories about one of the Golden Trio meeting and ex-Death Eater for lunch. Stir all that in with the fact that you wanted to keep our meetings low profile and hey, presto, crippling anxiety.'

I swallow against a lump in my throat as he returns to the table with the omelette and a second fork, and I catch his eyes as he sits down again. 'Draco, I'm - '

'Absolutely none of it is your fault. Well, save making me miss you terribly by immediately abandoning me for five days after you literally ravished my body.' He winks at me, his sudden ease making me pause. But he just reaches over, takes a forkful of food, and bites down, chewing slowly, deliberately.

'How can I help? With the anxiety?'

He seems surprised again, then his eyes soften. 'You can't. Other than what you've just done; remind me to take care of myself. And I'll try and see someone at work, to talk about it. I think it's about time.'

I nod, happy with this plan, and we finish the omelette in comfortable silence. He leans back, his hand on his still-flat stomach, looking satisfied. And I feel a smirk pull at the corner of my mouth as I lean towards him and murmur huskily, 'So, about this ravishing of your body ... '