Draco dragged his tired body through the heavy wooden French doors of The Apothecary, relief coursing through his body as the familiar scents of his shop wafted over him.
"Where the hell have you been?" Pansy screeched from the front desk.
The relief was fleeting.
"I'm not sure if you've been engaging in blissful ignorance for the past decade, Pansy, but I happen to work as a healer. One could presume, given the information that you rudely pulled me out of bed for a job last night, that I have been working." Draco said impatiently. He was too exhausted for inane questions.
Pansy rolled her eyes. "No shit you were on a job, but it's nearly noon. You couldn't have sent me a message letting me know you were alive?"
"I overextended myself and passed out. I just came to a few minutes ago." Draco slumped heavily into the rolling chair behind the register. Pansy's brows shot up, disappearing behind her fringe.
"What are you doing here? You need to lie down. Go upstairs and rest, immediately." Pansy ordered, voice firm, but Draco shook his head.
"I need to get started on a potion for last night's patient. Sleep is going to have to wait." Draco sighed and ran his hands down his face. All he wanted to do was wrap himself in his nice, expensive silk sheets and rot there, but the full moon was only a little over a week away. Potter would need to start Wolfsbane as quickly as possible, and it took forty-eight hours to brew.
Pansy scowled, her arms crossed in displeasure. "Fine, I guess. Can I at least make you some tea?"
"Coffee would be lovely." Draco cocked his head and looked up at her, giving her an appreciative smile.
"I'll have to go pick it up. I assume you'd like it the usual way, mostly sugar? Too sweet to be considered coffee?" She teased.
"Precisely." Pansy grabbed her bag and ruffled his hair as she left, flipping the sign on the door to 'Closed' before she stepped out.
Draco pulled his sluggish body from the chair and dragged his feet to his crafting room. He walked up to the large stack of shelves containing the bulk of his ingredient stores and started collecting what he needed. He let his body go on autopilot while his mind wandered.
He was still rattled, he realized. Seeing Potter in that state and hearing Turner's name had brought him back to a time he didn't like thinking about. It was easy to close his eyes and picture him in Potter's position, his own body torn up instead, as Turner and Greyback had threatened him with for nearly a year. Frankly, their threats of physical violence weren't the worst of it. The wolves made it crystal clear that they thought Draco would be more useful in their bed, and the Dark Lord enjoyed hanging the threat over Draco's head. It was omnipresent, the possibility that he'd been given to the wolves if he failed to kill Dumbledore.
The bottles in Draco's hands clattered against each other dangerously and Draco realized his hands were shaking. He pushed the thoughts back into the little vault inside his head. Wolfsbane was a finicky potion and required a steady hand, so morbid thoughts would have to wait.
"Ah, we're making Wolfsbane today? How fun. In my day, we simply put werewolves down after the initial bite." Priya's portrait mused pleasantly.
"Don't make me put you in the lavatory," Draco responded to her casual mention of genocide.
"Well, I never!" Priya bristled.
Draco got to work.
It had been two and a half days since Harry's attack, and he couldn't stop pacing. Hermione and Ron had returned to the Burrow to pick up the kids up from Molly shortly after Draco left, and though they'd sent owls to check on him, both had been tied up with work. Ron had gone back to the house Turner had been hiding out in to investigate and found the murdered body of the old wizard who owned it, keeping him and the Aurors busy. Hermione was neck-deep in research about alpha werewolves and sent him snippets of any information she found, but her discoveries were few and far between.
Which left Harry alone, out of work, and bored. He was about to throw on a hoodie and go for his second jog of the day when he heard tapping at his bedroom window. Harry lifted it and stepped back as a brown and white great-horned owl flew in.
"Well, aren't you gorgeous?" Harry crooned as he retrieved the parcel attached to the owl's leg. He sat down and unfolded the brown paper wrapping. Harry looked at the seven small, carefully packaged vials curiously. A letter was attached.
Potter,
Firstly, give Penny some treats, or she can be quite the cow.
Harry opened his desk drawer and retrieved some treats, plopping them in front of Malfoy's pretty owl. She chirped at him happily.
The potions I've sent you are my improved Wolfsbane recipe. The taste should be more tolerable than what you'd get from the Ministries potioneers, and you only have to take the potion five days before the full moon, as opposed to seven. Given that there are only five days between now and the next full moon, please take the first round today. As we're not sure exactly what the result of the lycan infection will be, it's better to err on the side of safety.
Secondarily, I would like to schedule a follow-up appointment to assess how your body is doing post-healing. As soon as possible would be ideal, given the severity of the injuries. Please let me know your soonest availability and I will rearrange my schedule as needed.
You'll find my bill for the healing and potions attached. I apologize, Potter, nearly dying is quite expensive.
Best,
Draco Malfoy
Harry reread the letter a few times, admiring Malfoy's elegant script. He snagged one of the vials from the parcel and popped the cork.
"Doctors orders," He mumbled before downing the liquid. The taste certainly wasn't pleasant, a strong menthol-like flavor assaulting his taste buds as he gulped it down. Harry grimaced and wiped his mouth, rummaging around his desk for a piece of parchment. He picked up a quill, dipped it carefully into his ink pot, and began writing.
Thanks, Malfoy. Hows tonight?
Harry's letter looked like a troll had written it in comparison to Draco's, but he folded it and attached it to Penny's leg anyway. He watched the owl fly away and threw on his favorite charcoal hoodie, deciding to go on that second jog. He was suddenly overcome with anxious energy, thinking about his healer coming to visit.
A handful of hours later, Harry switched from pacing his kitchen to pacing in his sitting room, impatiently awaiting Malfoy's scheduled arrival. His fireplace came to life and Harry's heart skipped a beat, his head whipping towards the sound. Malfoy carefully walked through the floo and Harry's mouth instantly started salivating. Malfoy looked stunning in his fitted white healer robes, the white of the cloth making his skin look alabaster. Malfoy's hair was styled so that it was longer on the top and shorter on the sides, and the longer bits fell gracefully over his forehead. Harry was suddenly extremely grateful that Malfoy had abandoned his youthful slicked-back style.
He realized he was staring and blinked, collecting himself. Harry swallowed his excess saliva and greeted the other man. "Malfoy, thank you for coming."
"Of course. I was surprised you could see me so soon." Draco said, shifting his heavy-looking black medic bag on his shoulder. Harry's gaze beelined to the bag, and he walked up and carefully slid it down Malfoy's slim arm. Harry set the bag on his coffee table and blinked at it for a second. He didn't remember deciding to take it.
Malfoy gave a quick cough, redirecting Harry's attention.
"Oh, yeah," Harry turned back to him, "The unemployed are notoriously busy." He said with a smile. Draco rolled his eyes and wandered towards the previously soiled couch, running his hand over the suede.
"You had it cleaned?" Malfoy remarked, noticing the lack of gruesome blood stains.
"I contacted Madam Malkin's not too long after you left, and she sent an associate of hers over. The cleaner said we'd gotten to it quickly so she was able to get most of the damage out, but there's still some discoloration." Harry frowned down at one of the dark stains, making his once perfect sofa look dingy.
"I must say, I'm not sure I've ever seen a straight man be this obsessed with upholstery," Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at him.
"What a bold assumption, Malfoy. Don't you read The Prophet?" About a year ago, a reporter had spotted Harry stumbling out of a bar with Lee Jordan and snapped a photo right as Lee had placed a kiss on the corner of his mouth, his hand snug in Harry's back pocket. The photo had been undeniably intimate, despite the fact that the reporter had actually caught the tail end of a bad date. Harry'd been interested when Lee asked him out after they happened to run into each other at one of Ginny's quidditch matches, having found the other wizard attractive when they were in school, but Lee was seemingly already in love. With himself. He didn't ask Harry a single question and exclusively talked about himself the entire evening. Harry had gone home alone that night.
"I don't put much stock into any of that drivel," Malfoy didn't ask him any follow-up questions, despite looking curious. "Are you comfortable moving forward with the appointment here, or would you prefer a different room?"
Harry would prefer they move to his bedroom, but he kept that bit to himself.
"Here's fine," Harry plopped into a chair by the fireplace.
"I'll need you to remove the sweatshirt," Draco gestured towards his hoodie.
"Wow Malfoy, kinda forward of you. You haven't even asked me to dinner yet," Harry winked at the blond and started on his zipper. Draco's ears went pink as his eyes followed the movement of Harry's fingers intently. Harry slipped the sweatshirt off and dropped it on the tiled floor, leaning back and looking at him cockily. "I'm ready for you, Doc."
Malfoy's eyes zeroed in on Harry's chest and he watched as a warm flush crept up his neck. Oh, Malfoy blushed. This was dangerous information in Harry's hands.
Malfoy coughed, seemingly having a mild fit.
"Erm, you good? Need me to grab you some water?" Harry asked.
"No. I'm fine. Fantastic, actually. Let's get started." Malfoy recovered and conjured a stool in front of Harry, sitting down. Malfoy inspected the scars from the wounds he'd healed intently for a few minutes, his focused expression turning into a grimace. "I'm not happy with the color of the scarring."
"What's wrong with them?" Harry asked, curious.
"They're too dark. They should be pink, not crimson. If I leave them as they are now, they'll likely look angry for the rest of your life. We want them to eventually go white. Would you mind if I applied an advanced healing salve I brought? It's more potent than the ones you usually purchase from me." Draco reached out to brush his knuckle over one of the raised scars on Harry's abdomen, and his muscles there clenched tightly at the feather-light sensation. Harry was fine with whatever Draco wanted to do if it meant his hands would be on his body. He nodded.
Draco retrieved his medic bag and fished around until he found the tin full of salve. He leaned down between Harry's spread legs and dipped two fingers into the pot. He looked up, meeting Harry's eyes, and muttered, "I'm just, uh, gonna get started, then."
Draco's fingers traced the line of scarring on Harry's bicep, and Harry sucked in a breath. Malfoy used his thumb to massage the balm in thoroughly, concentration knitting his brows together. His hand trailed to Harry's chest, pausing to dip back into the tin, and this time he used both hands to coat the large jagged scar there. Draco's thumb barely brushed a nipple and Harry's entire body jerked, a jolt of pleasure going straight to his groin.
"Sorry," Draco muttered breathily, not meeting Harry's eyes. A pretty pink flush graced his cheeks now.
"'S Okay," Harry said quietly. Draco's hands continued rubbing, and Harry wondered if anything could feel better than Draco Malfoy's elegant fingers on his chest.
Then Draco's hands sunk to his lower stomach and the world as Harry knew it shifted on its axis. Draco's thumbs were massaging his abdomen in tight circles, Harry's muscles clenching and unclenching beneath them. His pinkie accidentally grazed the hemline of Harry's joggers, and he was officially panting now, something in his chest feeling loose. Harry gazed down at the blond head of hair hovering above his lap and realized his mistake too late. From this angle, it was easy to imagine them engaging in a different activity. To imagine Malfoy easing his joggers down, gripping skillful fingers around Harry's quickly hardening cock, his plump, pretty pink lips wrapping around the head-
"Potter," Malfoy started.
"Yes?" Harry responded innocently, as if he hadn't just been imagining debauchery.
"You're purring," Malfoy's fingers had paused their ministrations, his eyes locked on Harry's rattling chest. "Why are you purring?"
"I'm not purring Malfoy. I don't purr." He protested. Draco swiped a balm-coated finger over Harry's abdomen once more, and Harry purred louder. "Okay, I'm purring." Harry conceded.
"That's… alarming." Draco removed his hands from Harry's body, and Harry did his best to not lean forward in an attempt to follow those hands. He succeeded, mostly.
"Has this been happening since your attack?" Draco asked.
"There was a moment that night where I thought I felt something strange in my chest, but it went away and I haven't noticed it again since," Harry said. Draco got up and stood behind Harry's chair, reaching his arms around Harry's large torso so that one hand was pressed against his back and the other flush with his chest, trying to assess exactly where the sound was coming from. Draco's palms shifted, and the sound got louder.
"It's coming from the direct center of your chest. Is it causing you any pain?" Draco asked him, tone seeming genuinely concerned. He came back around to sit on his stool, trying to gauge any discomfort in Harry's face.
"There's no pain," Harry was a bit too embarrassed to explain that he was feeling the exact opposite of pain, his entire body lit up from just a few brief touches from the healer's hands.
"Well, if it's only been happening since after your attack, I think we have to move forward with the assumption that it's a symptom of your lycan infection. I'm sorry to tell you, Potter, but it looks like there will be effects from Turner's scratches, despite it being an anomaly." Malfoy looked distressed at this news, his hands laced together in his lap so tight that his knuckles were white, and Harry had the odd impulse to comfort the blond. Harry reached forward and unlaced Malfoy's hands gently, taking one fair hand in each of his own and guiding them to rest lightly on his knees.
"I'll be okay, Malfoy. I'm The Boy Who Lived Thrice. What's a little werewolfism?" Harry reassured with a crooked grin. Draco looked down at his hands, his fingers resting on Harry's upturned palms, and looked back up at Harry's eyes before quickly pulling them back and standing up, grabbing his bag in the process.
"Yes, I'm sure you'll be fine. I'm going to return after your first full moon to do your checkup, but please owl in the meantime if you have any other questions or concerns. Oh, and I assume Granger is researching your condition, yes?" Harry frowned at the sudden change in atmosphere but nodded. "If she discovers anything that could assist with your medical care moving forward, please forward it to me. Good day, Potter."
"Bye, Malfoy," Harry barely got the words out before he was alone in his house again.
Harry rubbed the heel of his hands into his eyes and grumbled, "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Why had he done that? Why had he touched Malfoy unprompted? It had clearly freaked the other man out enough that he'd felt the need to flee. It seemed like he suddenly had no impulse control where Malfoy was concerned. Hell, he'd almost gotten an erection while Malfoy was just doing his job.
He sighed and sat up, heading upstairs to send Hermione an owl asking for any updates, or to request a lobotomy from St. Mungos. He'd decide which once he got to his room.
The instant Draco got home, he floo called Pansy.
"Pansy! You're never around when I need you!" Draco called out to the dark, empty room of Pansy's foyer. He heard a crash from her kitchen, a particularly crass swear, and Pansy stomped into the room until she was in front of him in black silky pajamas that matched her hair.
"You scared the shit out of me! What's going on, what do you want?" She scowled at Draco's disembodied head floating in her fireplace.
"My skin is weird," Draco explained.
"Your skin… is weird," Pansy answered, looking like she was seconds away from locking her floo.
"It's lighter. My skin is paler than it was yesterday," Draco told her expectantly. Surely she would be as shocked by this news as he was.
"Get the fuck out of my house before I quit my position as your store manager and your friend," Pansy threatened.
"No! You don't get it! I was sitting there looking at my hands on Potter's hands-"
"Why exactly were your hands on Potter's hands?" Pansy cut him off, arms crossing as she looked down at him.
"I was at his house to help with some scarring and then he held my hands and at first I was just a little turned on but then I looked at them together, and mine are lighter. Than they were before." He finished lamely.
"Draco Malfoy, you are pale. You were pale as a baby, which I know because your mother sent me some absolutely adorable baby photos of you-"
"Why Are you talking to my mother?!" Draco asked, appalled, but Pansy continued.
"You were pale at Hogwarts, and you have been pale every day since then. As far as I can tell, you've never been touched by the sun, which probably means that your constant grouchiness is caused by low serotonin levels. Please consider taking some Vitamin D, and do not bother me like this again unless it's to tell me that you got Potter's Vitamin D. I will see you tomorrow." She said.
"That joke was awful." Draco scowled, and Pansy promptly locked her floo.
Draco's body flew back out of his fireplace and he brushed himself off, grumbling. Pansy may not be concerned, but Draco was. His skin was definitely one-third of a shade lighter than it had been even a week ago, and Draco had no rational explanation for how this could happen. Pansy wasn't wrong, it's not like he tanned. His skin had never gotten darker, so it couldn't naturally lighten over time.
He looked down at his hands, brows furrowed. What the hell was happening?
Harry was completely exhausted, but he somehow found himself in a whirlwind of small red-headed children. Rosie was nine now, and she had begged him within five minutes of his arrival to have a tea party with her and her dolls. She was such a perfect combination of Ron's red hair and freckles and Hermione's curls and delicate features, Harry couldn't say no, which is how he found himself at his best friend's kitchen table in a large blue sunhat, surrounded by creepy looking dead-eyed dolls.
"More tea, Miss Charlotte?" Rosie asked him primly.
"Oh please, I'd love more tea, Madam Rosie." Harry offered his empty cup to her, Rosie tipped the teapot, and Harry pulled his still empty cup back towards himself. Hugo cried from the other end of the table and threw his cup at Harry's head. At three, Hugo's interests were primarily dirt and violence.
"MUM! Hugo's throwing things again!" Rosie called. Hermione shuffled quickly out of her office, snatching Hugo up. She threw him an apologetic smile.
"Thanks for entertaining them, Harry. I just need a few more minutes to get my documents together." She bounced her toddler on her hip, discouraging him from any more throwing. He pulled her hair instead. Fortunately, Ron chose this moment to walk through the kitchen door, clad in his red Auror robes.
"Oh thank Merlin, take your children." Hermione immediately plopped Hugo into Ron's outstretched hands.
"Why are they always my children?" Ron muttered. "Oi, Harry. You look like shit."
"Language, Ronald!" Hermione swatted Ron in the back of the head and both Rosie and Hugo giggled.
"I swear, I'm bullied in my own home." Ron despaired.
"Take the kids and get bullied upstairs, I need to talk to Harry." Hermione rushed her husband and children out of the room. "Daddies going to play with you while mummy talks to Uncle Harry. Love you, babies!" Hermione called after them. Once they were out of eyesight, she slumped into a chair across from him and sighed deeply. "I love motherhood, right up until dinner is over, and then I'm done."
"You're doing great, Hermione. It's okay to need breaks," He told his friend seriously. He knew how hard she was on herself, needing to be the best lawyer, the best wife, the best mother, the best friend. If she felt herself faltering in one area, she could hit one of her lows, and Harry didn't like to see her that way. He reached over and held her hand on the table. "I love playing with them, you can ask me for a break any time. Especially now that I'm unemployed."
She scowled. "You're not unemployed, and you won't be any time soon if I have anything to say about it. I've only just started building your case, and we have plenty of time until you go back. We'll be ready to tackle this." She squeezed his hand back. "Oh, also, you're still Miss Charlotte." Hermione gestured towards his head.
"Fuck," Harry snatched the hat off his head and tossed it on the table. "Do you still need a few minutes?" He asked her.
"What? Oh! No, I was lying. I was just waiting until Ron came home to take the kids from you," She smirked, looking very Slytherin. "Let's move into my office." Harry followed her from the table into the small room. Large stacks of papers loomed on and next to the roll-top desk, disorganized in a way most wouldn't expect from Hermione. Harry liked to see her office as a representation of what it looked like inside her mind at any given time.
"Sit, sit," Hermione pointed him to the bench beneath the only window in the room. Harry sat. "Okay, so I've been researching the purring."
"Can we call it something besides purring?" Harry pleaded.
"No. So, the purring," Hermione continued, "I've been researching books on werewolves, not just the alpha wolf myths, and I've found a little bit about it. In several accounts, it's been described as a sign of a werewolf's contentment."
Harry nodded. This sounded in line with his own experience.
"More specifically, contentment with one's chosen mate. In your case, it's probably your body trying to express interest in courting a mate." She explained. Harry stopped nodding.
"Hermione, what the fuck?" He gaped. She shrugged.
"It's what the books say, Harry. You said it happened when Malfoy touched you?"
"Yes, but being attracted to the bloke doesn't mean I want him to be my mate," Harry exclaimed.
"Harry, have you considered that it might be more than attraction?" She had her mum voice on now, speaking to him softly and carefully.
"We haven't spent enough time together for it to be more than attraction. I only discovered his shop a year ago! I hadn't seen him for years before then."
"And the second you found him, you went in every week, whether you needed the potions or not. You could have sent your assistant for them, but you always went yourself at the same time on the same day, every single week like clockwork. Plus, you're always weirdly airy after you see him like you don't even notice anyone else," She challenged him.
"I, well, I-" Harry sputtered.
"You like him, Harry, a lot. The purr is just a physical confirmation. I wanted to explain this to you now, before the shift, because every account I've read has emphasized how much stronger the physical symptoms are after the shift. You may find yourself doing things you wouldn't normally do otherwise to prove to him you're the ideal mate. Buying him things, feeding him, trying to make sure he's comfortable." Harry thought about the hand-holding incident earlier and put his head in his hands.
"He doesn't like me like that. The other day, I may have accidentally done some 'proving' when he was over, and he couldn't get away from me fast enough." Harry looked down at his hands. He'd been reeling ever since Malfoy stormed out, feeling the weight of his rejection.
"Oh, Harry, you must feel awful. Any sign of displeasure from your intended mate is really hard on the wolf." Hermione came to sit by him, rubbing his shoulders. The contact soothed his nerves more than he thought it would and he leaned into the touch. Hermione's eyes widened. "Did that help?"
"A ton, actually. Best I've felt since Malfoy left," His tired eyes went lidded.
Hermione seemed to get a little choked up, and Harry looked at her curiously.
"Your wolf considers me pack. Contact with your pack will make you feel comforted when you're anxious, in pain, etcetera." She kept rubbing his arm thoughtfully. "If you're interested in Malfoy, Harry, I wouldn't count him out just yet. You haven't even begun trying to court him, really. If you don't think he's the one, however, I have to advise you to minimize contact. Lack of contact with him will show your wolf that Malfoy isn't a viable option, and the instincts will eventually die down."
"Thank you, Hermione. I appreciate you using your time to find all of this for me, even if it gives me more questions than answers at the moment." Harry had no idea what he wanted from Malfoy. Was he serious about the blond? He enjoyed their small moments together, and there were weeks when their quick interaction was all Harry had to look forward to. He had to admit that it sounded a little serious.
"Of course, Harry. It's been my pleasure. We do have one more thing to discuss before you go, though. On the night of the full moon, what's your plan? Do you want me and Ron there?" She asked.
"Gods, no!" Harry exclaimed. "Absolutely not, I'd never put you two at risk like that."
"You said Malfoy has you on Wolfsbane, I'm sure we'd be safer than you think," Hermione assured him, but he shook his head at her.
"No, it's fine. I'm going to ward myself into my bedroom, and you and Ron can come to check on me in the morning if it would make you feel better." Harry told her.
"Alright, we'll be there. Are you scared at all? Of what might happen?" She asked softly.
Harry smiled at her. "Terrified."