The most bizarre problem with the hospital wing was how many people could fit into a single bed. It would have been easily solved with a few more well-placed chairs, but Harry wasn't about to tell Madame Pomphrey how to do her job regardless of how much he might want to. The real issue was with Pansy and Theo lying on either side of the tiny bed, and Blaise camped out at their feet, Harry was having no luck seeing Draco from his place next to Ron in the infirmary. And that was a problem because-well, it was.

"You look like an abandoned crup, Harry." Ron said, "It's not helping my recovery."

Harry chuckled, tearing his eyes away from the mass of bodies on the other side of the room to stare at the perfectly healthy face of his friend, freckles and all. "Recovery my ass. You could've left yesterday."

Ron winked, "Neville told me Pince is having us rehome venomous tentaculars today, so I'll stay right here. Thank you."

Harry laughed at that, the first real smile he'd indulged in since the incident. It helped that Draco wasn't in critical condition anymore, and apparently, he was well enough to be crushed by his friends, so as all things went, smiling felt like less of a betrayal than it had for the last few days.

"As flattered as I am by your constant vigilance, you can go over there, ya know." Ron picked up a copy of the quibbler-lovingly delivered by Luna to ease his boredom-and started to skim through the pages.

Harry shook his head. "I think Theo would kill me if I tried." He hadn't told Ron about their confrontation in the hall, but the dirty looks Harry received every time he passed by Draco's bed were enough to speak his intentions to anyone watching.

"Slytherins." Ron sighed, flicking his magazine straight. "They should be thanking you."

Harry had already had this conversation with Hermione and was too tired to argue. It was perfectly reasonable that they would be cross with him. He'd left Draco alone at a vulnerable time when he had specifically promised Theo he wouldn't. He saw the mark and what it was doing to Draco and walked away. If he had asked more questions or gotten help, maybe he wouldn't have resorted to lighting himself on fire. If Harry had just been there for him…

Instead of voicing any of this, Harry shrugged, returning his gaze to the group of Slytherins chatting quietly to each other over their unconscious friend. Draco hadn't woken up yet. After the first time he came to and started screaming, Pomphrey had given him a stronger sedative, hoping to heal the issues before letting him wake up again.

Harry was grateful. He didn't think he could handle hearing Draco scream like that ever again.

Hermione brought Ginny with her the next time she visited. She pressed a soft kiss on Ron's forehead and hugged Harry in lieu of a greeting. Ginny stood behind her, flashing weary glances to the other side of the room where Blaise watched the Gryffindors with narrowed eyes.

"What's got them all twisted?" She asked, sitting at the end of Ron's bed and snatching the Quibbler unceremoniously out of his hands.

Hermione shot Harry an exasperated look as Ron began to protest the abuse, but ignored her pouting boyfriend in favor of answering a question. "Oh, just hurt Slytherin pride, I assume." Ginny nodded. The entire Weasley clan had done their rounds of visitations over Ron's week-long stay in the infirmary; Ginny had been unfortunate enough to be present when he brought Draco in. It was nice to see her, but Harry didn't think he could ever look the girl in the face after the scene he'd had caused with Pomphrey-who was being entirely unreasonable about him staying with Draco. He turned to Ginny, resolved to repress the embarrassment sweeping over him.

"So, how are O.W.L.s looking?" He asked, with just a bit too much energy behind the words.

The conversation sailed by after that, Hermione turning on her academic advisor persona, discussing this class and that with Ginny. Harry was happy to coast, listening, and nodded here and there. His eyes flicked back to Draco's bed whenever he thought he could get away with it.

Hermione was just in the middle of reciting the virtues of her favorite study planner when all conversation stopped; Harry, who had been listlessly watching Pansy card her fingers through Draco's hair, didn't notice until the woman passed him. Her white hair hung in long drapes past her shoulders, the regal elegance of her posture commanding respect with every motion. The Slytherin group parted at the sight of her, freeing Draco from their clutches long enough for her to collapse into a chair next to him, long, elegant fingers gently reaching out to touch his pale face.

Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry's heart gave the slightest jump at the sight. She was here.

Dumbledore trailed in after her, hands held behind his back as he surveyed the crowded wing with mild interest. When his eyes found Harry, he gave a slight nod of acknowledgment. Harry hadn't seen him since Draco's first night in the infirmary.

Harry stood, waving off his friends and moving to stand next to the older man. "You brought her here?"

"I dare say Draco would not trust any other assurances of her safety I could offer."

Harry smiled despite himself. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"He's a very spirited young man." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

"Do you know where she'll go now?" Harry asked as Ron's laughter echoed around them as Ginny made vague gestures to a giggling Hermione.

Dumbledore hummed, the smile never leaving his face. "She plans to stay in France until the war passes. The Black's have family there that will be more than capable of keeping them safe."

Them. The word splintered through Harry's chest like an ax embedded in wood. "Oh, that's great!" His eyes flicked back to Narcissa by his bedside, the soft rise and fall of Draco's chest doing little to soothe Harry's frayed nerves.

"Yes. I think things have gone much better than they could have. You should know I'm grateful to you, Harry. I fear what may have happened if not for your quick thinking." Harry nodded, a lump lodged in his throat. "I should have had the foresight to ask him whether he was marked. Voldemort's magic is dark and merciless and has claimed lives before."

"I knew he was marked…" Harry said, his voice quiet. "I should have gone to you."

The room smelled of antiseptic and fresh linen, the soft buzz of conversation lulling in and out of focus as they watched, separated from the rest. "It should not have been left up to you, Harry. There was a fault with us all on this matter."

Harry nodded solemnly, his voice unsteady as he asked, "He's going to be okay, right? The mark?"

"Severus and I found a countercurse for its ill effects long ago." Narcissa stood from the bedside, crushing a very startled Madame Pomphrey in a hug. "He should recover fully with time and a bit of patience."

Harry smiled, letting the relief trickle through him. Draco would be okay; even when he left for France, he would be alright.

"I should ask you not to be too harsh with the boy, Harry. He's been through a tremendous ordeal. Despite what you must think of him, he was quite brave in the end. It is not an easy thing to ask for help." Dumbledore patted Harry's shoulder in what was meant to be reassuring, but the lead weight in Harry's stomach shifted. Harry knew better than most that Draco was brave, yet he'd still called him a coward.

A commotion around Draco's bed was enough to pull him out of his spiral. Madame Pomphrey bent over the bed, wand drawn, and Theo locked arms with Pansy. Harry leaned forward, if not unconsciously, waiting for someone to move aside to let him see.

"Go on, Harry. I suspect he'll want to see you." Harry followed the wave of Dumbledore's hand, taking a few short steps forward before looking back to see the infirmary doors swinging aimlessly where Dumbledore had left them. Harry didn't wait, stumbling past the rows of empty beds to stand a few feet separated from the group. He didn't dare push his luck with the Slytherins, but he was close enough to hear Draco's muffled whimper as he woke up.

"M-mother?" His voice was weak and scratchy, sounding like it took a great deal of effort to force the words out. He didn't sound like Draco; the usual charm and ease drained from his words, and Harry swallowed the instinct to cover his ears. The Slytherins pressed forward around the bed, blocking him completely from view. Harry didn't mind as much as he thought he would: the urge to run to him was quickly overshadowed by the desperate and overwhelming need to hide. Harry had failed in every possible way; what could Draco have to say to him except to get away?

Harry glanced around, blinking fast. He took a step back, and then another, before jogging as quietly as he could past the empty beds and out of the infirmary doors, ignoring the looks of concern coming from the Gryffindor side of the room.

Draco was all right, but everything was still ruined, wasn't it?

The empty corridor stared at him, exposed against the castle's stones. Draco's hollow screams rang in his ears, the taste of sulfur and smoke in his throat. Draco's body was limp in his arms, ash, and blood staining the tile around them. Harry's panic as Draco slipped away, his heartbeat weak against Harry's chest as he ran with him cradled in his arms. Draco's arm… his fucking arm. He'd almost died, and Harry should have been there to stop it; he should have done something sooner. After all that talk of help, Harry was only good for picking Draco's broken body out of the wreckage.

Harry crouched by the wall, holding a hand out to steady himself. His eyes caught on his fingers, and he stared, his breath heavy in his lungs. He'd scrubbed them for hours that first night when he wasn't sure if Draco would make it, and his blood was dried into the bed of his nails. He'd scrubbed until the skin was raw and aching under the scalding water. It still didn't feel like enough, the phantom red still staining his palms even now.

Theo called his name. "Hey." Harry looked up to see the blond-haired boy standing awkwardly in the doorway, one foot propping it open in a stance that made it clear how unhappy he was to be there. "He's asking for you."

"What?" Was all Harry could manage to say.

Theo sneered, "Believe me, I tried to talk him out of it, but he's a stubborn bastard, so don't waste our time being a dick."

"Okay." Harry followed numbly behind him.

The Slytherins had gathered by the adjacent bed. Their heads turned to face the pair as they entered. Harry ignored a particularly biting look from Pansy, focusing his eyes on the pale boy in the bed, his head propped up on a large pillow. He was smiling.

It was tiny, colored by exhaustion and ware, just the barest curve of the lips, but it was unmistakably Draco. "I was hoping you'd come." He said softly as Harry approached, his thighs bumping against the edge of the mattress.

"Of course, I'd be here." Harry smiled back, unsure of where to put his hands. He settled for shoving them into his back pockets.

"That's not what I meant." Draco closed his eyes, his lungs rattling dangerously as he breathed in. Harry looked desperately at Pomphrey, but based on her non-reaction, it was nothing new. Harry clenched his hands and plastered on his best impression of normal. Draco's grey eyes opened again, catching Harry's. It was so familiar and yet completely new, like meeting an old friend for the first time.

"I'm sorry." They spoke at the same time, and Pansy snorted from her perch on the next bed. Harry shot her a look and grinned at Draco, deciding he wanted to go first.

"I've been worried-"

Draco's smile widened, "I can tell. You look like shit."

"Speak for yourself, dumbass." Harry laughed, though it was a bit wet.

"Thank you for saving me, I suppose." Draco's hand reached out for him, and Harry tentatively took the fragile fingers in his, stroking his thumb over the smooth skin. There was so much left to say, but for now, this was enough. A silent message passed between them that nothing was too badly broken and there would be time later to fix it.

"Anytime."

Harry didn't think he would ever understand how Slytherin friendships worked. In the following three hours, as the evening wore away to night, the group of snakes sat around Draco's bed and teased and prodded at each other, seemingly for no reason, about things that Harry would never have thought mattered. And then there were the insults that very much did matter, though it seemed to make no difference. Part of him was surprised Pansy didn't get hexed when she made a snide comment about Blaise's mother in retribution for a dig on her shoes, but Blaise only laughed and the conversation moved on to other things.

Harry was utterly perplexed.

He would never complain, though, and he didn't attempt to leave as Draco's hand never left his for the remainder of the afternoon. Draco didn't speak to him much, or to anyone really-his voice too weak to carry much lengthy conversation- but he clutched to Harry's hand and met his eyes ever so often, a gentle smile still playing across his lips. Harry could have died.

After a brief dinner, a disgruntled Madame Pomphrey began to usher people on their way. Hermione stopped by before she left, greeting Draco with a curt nod and squeezing Harry's shoulders, promising to return the next day to collect her fully recovered boyfriend. Harry smiled, meeting Ron's exasperated eye roll over her shoulder. Pansy and Blaise dragged Theo away after that, and many threats were made to Harry's well-being on the occasion that anything happen to Draco ever again. Harry made several promises that he didn't entirely understand but laughed when Draco rolled his eyes at the antics of his closest friends. Narcissa kissed his forehead goodnight, holding her son's face gently between her hands as she whispered reassurances and apologies. Harry looked away, feeling like an intruder in such a private moment, but Draco's grip was firm, and he didn't fight it.

Eventually, it was just them and Harry stood to make his goodbyes. Before he said anything, Draco spoke for him, "Will you stay?"

Harry's chest ached, squeezing Draco's hand before an involuntary nod decided for him. He couldn't go; It was impossible as long as Draco wanted him here. After a brief but spirited argument between Draco and Pomphrey accented by snorts of laughter from Ron's bed, Harry was allowed to stay the night.

With a bit of help, Draco adjusted himself to the side of the bed, letting Harry crawl in next to him on his right. His left arm was still heavily bandaged, and Harry was grateful he wouldn't be afraid to accidentally jostle it in his sleep. He pulled Draco close under the covers, letting Draco's head fall snugly against his chest in the dark. They held each other, the closeness and warmth reminiscent of colder days when things were new and easy. They didn't speak, the silence of the dark infirmary enveloping them in heartbeats and steady breathing until soft snores echoed from Ron's side of the room.

Harry shifted closer, breathing in the familiar scent of Draco's hair as he whispered. "I should have been there for you."

"You were, Harry." Draco countered, voice equally soft. "I should have trusted you." Harry twirled his tongue over his teeth, considering the thousands of questions and apologies he had rehearsed in the days Draco lay unconscious. None seemed appropriate now, with Draco held so close against his chest.

"You were right, by the way." Draco said, "Dumbledore knows what he's doing."

"I'm always right."

"Yes, you are. Even about me."

Harry clenched his jaw. "I shouldn't have said those things to you-I was angry, and I'm sorry."

"If I recall correctly, you weren't the only one who said things they regretted. I'm sorry, too." Draco left out a puff of air. "For everything."

"Can I just ask one question?"

"Anything."

Harry inhaled slowly. "When you started writing to me, was it real?"

"What do you mean?"

"Were you…" Harry paused, "I don't know, ordered to get close to me?"

"No. It was just me. All of it." Draco replied without hesitation, his voice shakier than it was moments before. "I'm sorry I made everything so complicated. I knew it would be messy when I replied, but I did it anyway."

Harry's smile faltered. "I'm glad you did."

"Do you hate me?"

"No," Harry said, because it was true. "Do you hate me?"

"I could never."

"Good." Harry pressed a kiss to the top of his head. "Seems like we're on the same page then."

Draco hummed, his breath petering on the edge of sleep. Harry pressed a smile into Draco's temple, savoring the warmth and realness of Draco next to him. He doubted he would ever take it for granted again.

The next few weeks passed with inexplicable speed. Harry spent most of it besides Draco in the infirmary, only leaving to occasionally attend class and update Ron and Hermione on the situation. Draco's recovery was slow but steady, and Harry found that most days were good for them both, sitting in easy chatter and keeping each other company.

Occasionally, Draco would disappear, his eyes glazing with a faraway look. He wouldn't respond to anything Harry said or did, and shaking him out of it never worked. So Harry would kiss him on the forehead and hold his hand, waiting patiently for Draco's fingers to brush through Harry's hair with a quiet reassurance that he was back from wherever he'd gone.

"You're still here," he would say, his eyes blown wide.

"Where else would I be?" Harry would reply, flicking Draco's forehead in protest of the disbelief.

Narcissa was there often, having been boarded in a spare room in the castle, and she hovered over her son most days like any caring mother would. Harry tried not to intrude when they were talking, but one look from Draco would summon him to the other side of the bed, interlocking their fingers wordlessly as Draco continued his conversation. Narcissa was too well-bred to comment on this, but her knowing smile was enough acknowledgment of her approval.

The day Draco's bandages came off started with a fight.

"What if I say no?" Draco spat, recoiling in his bed.

Madame Pomphrey gave him an exasperated sigh. "Mr. Malfoy, we can't continue to heal your arm unless we can see it. Enough time has passed that-"

"I'm not ready!"

"Mr. Malfoy-"

"You'll just make it worse!" His eyes were wild, flicking between the healer and his mother, pleading for some kind of backup. "I don't want to!"

"Draco, it's time." Narcissa touched his hair, pushing a loose strand out of his face. "Poppy knows what's best, dear."

His eyes met Harry's for a brief second, desperate and terrified, a look Harry hadn't seen since the day everything went wrong. Harry swallowed, stepping forward. "Can I talk to him for a second?"

The older women looked at each other but nodded. Pomphrey shuffled to her office, and Narcissa followed behind, her head held high in indignation at being dismissed. Harry hoped she wouldn't hold it against him and nudged Draco over, crawling into the bed to crush him in a tight hug.

"What's wrong?" Harry pressed his ear to Draco's chest, closing his eyes to hear his steady heartbeat.

Draco stammered, "I don't know; I just want to wait a bit more."

"They want to help you heal, Draco."

"I don't need their help." He hissed, body tensing. Harry lifted his head to look at him, his terrified expression still evident. Harry drew his eyebrows together in silent question, and Draco looked away, ashamed. "What if it's still there?"

The words were so quiet that Harry barely heard them. "So what if it is?"

"I'd still be a Death Eater."

The linen sheets were smooth under Harry's touch as he traced the outline of Draco's chest, measuring his thoughts on the slow rise and fall he'd become intimately familiar with in the last few weeks. "You were never a Death Eater, and you won't start now."

Draco snorted, "I was for a little while."

Harry considered this. "Fair, but you were shit at it, so I don't think it counts."

Draco's shoulders shook with repressed laughter, and Harry smiled as they fell into a contented silence, the faraway sounds of a pick-up game of quidditch echoing through the large glass windows. It was the first sunny day after a long bout of rain; Harry had hoped to take Draco outside.

"It might be-" Draco whispered, his voice shaky, "hard to look at."

Harry frowned. What did that have to do with anything? His head shot up, catching the flustered blush crawling up Draco's neck. "Are you worried about what I'll think?"

Draco didn't reply. His lips pursed.

Harry ran a hand through his messy fringe, exhaling. "Draco, you're a fucking idiot sometimes." He flicked the crease in Draco's forehead, demanding to be looked at. "You could have 'Voldemort's whore' tattooed across your forehead, and it wouldn't change what I think about you."

"Well, in that case, you're insane!" Draco protested mockingly, the worry still clear on his brow. "It's hardly my fault I'm dating a psychopath-shall I get a few more cult tattoos if that's what you're into?"

Harry grabbed his face, eyes wide, so there could be no misunderstanding. "Draco, you're it for me." His throat bobbed, grey eyes watching as Harry spoke slowly. "No matter what's under that bandage, I'm still going to be obsessed with you."

Draco nodded dumbly, a bit of blond hair falling into his eyes.

Harry shook him, a smile creeping over his face. "Did you get that? Or do I need to say it in the other ear, you deaf motherfucker."

Draco smacked his hands away, but his expression was soft, the terror gone. Harry kissed him, chaste and gentle on the lips, letting his hands fall easily on his chest. There would be time later, before Draco left for France, to convince him how true his words were, but for now, this had to be enough as he pulled away.

Madame Pomphrey, pleased with the turn-in events, made quick work of spelling the bandages off, slowly unraveling the deepest layer by hand. The magic on the strips of clothes shimmered as she pulled at it, soft waves of lavender pulsing with each twist. It wasn't a new process for Harry, having done his fair share of hospital visits, but he didn't blink as she worked, hand clutched painfully in Draco's.

A sharp intake of breath echoed through the room as Draco's arm came into view. The skin was red and twisted, the burns marbling down the length of his arm, mixing with the pale skin that was left. The few remaining strands of ink warped and mixed into the melted skin, creating a strange effect of spilled paint. Harry squeezed Draco's hand as Pomphrey performed diagnostic charms over the brutal site.

"Will it heal?" Narcissa was the first to speak, her arms folded defensively in front of her chest.

Madame Pomphrey frowned, turning his wrist to see the extent of it. "It's hard to say. Could you move your fingers for me, dear?" Draco's thumb and pointer finger drew together, and her frown deepened. "All of them?"

"I'm trying." The three remaining fingers didn't budge.

"Well, I suppose that's the best to be expected with a burn this severe." Madame Pomphrey shook her head, muttering something about "irresponsible" and "Asphodel Oil, really?" Narcissa stared openly at Draco now, her face torn between anger and regret. Madame Pomphrey stepped back, putting away her wand. "Well, the scarring is likely permanent if it hasn't healed by now, but there shouldn't be any pain. You did damage your nerves; it's tricky to heal, but you might get use of them back eventually. It's hard to say this early."

Narcissa covered her mouth, "Oh, Draco…"

"It's fine, mother." His smile was surprisingly genuine, the light dancing off his hair in little sparks. Harry resisted the urge to smother him in kisses and squeezed his hand again. Draco grinned at him and Harry returned it happily.

The next day, Dumbledore came for the first time since Draco had woken up. He spoke to Harry in quiet, rushed tones about a trip they would need to make. Dumbledore had evidently found one of the Horcruxes they were looking for, though he didn't say it in so many words. Harry agreed to accompany him without hesitation; He wanted Voldemort dead, now more than ever.

Dumbledore asked to speak to Draco alone, and Harry obliged, sitting awkwardly by Narcissa in the hallway as her heel clicked against the tile, impatient. Harry got the impression she didn't like Dumbledore very much, but he didn't pry.

"What was that about?" Harry asked Draco once the headmaster left, and Harry was back in his usual seat by the hospital bed.

"He just wanted to clear up some things with the cabinet."

"Oh?" Harry prodded.

"He's going to use the twin as an escape exit for students, it seems." Draco laughed a bit sarcastically. "I told him where to find the second one."

"That's great!"

"Is it weird that I'm relieved he didn't destroy it?" Draco held up his damaged arm, flexing the two fingers that still worked. "I wasn't sure what he'd do, but I thought he might just get rid of it after my mother was safe. I worked on that damned thing for so long-" his voice choked back, and his shoulders started to shake. He was laughing. "Fucking hell."

Harry laughed with him, not really understanding what was funny about it, but happy to be involved nonetheless.

The day after that, Madame Pomphrey gave the Malfoy's the all-clear, assuring them both that she'd done all she could and the best they could do now was hope. It was not the news Narcissa had wanted, but Draco looked ecstatic to be free of the cold, gloomy infirmary room he'd been sequestered in, use of his fingers aside.

Harry sat quietly at the edge of the room as they talked, the feeling in his chest only splintering more as he watched Narcissa levitate her packed trunk to the end of his bed. They would leave soon, but there was nothing for Harry to say. He couldn't beg him to stay with a clear conscience; Draco would be leagues safer in France, and he'd already been through too much. Harry couldn't ask that of him.

He wanted to, though.

"Alright, mother. It's time to go." Draco scolded, pushing her doting hands off his robes. He hadn't worn regular clothes in weeks, and seeing him in anything but the pale blue of the hospital gowns was a bit jarring. Harry only realized now how much they drowned out his skin tone. He wasn't nearly as sickly as Harry had begun to think of him, his skin returning to its former health and sheen as soon he donned a darker color. The bags under his eyes were gone, and a subtle blush painted his cheeks. Harry wanted to cry.

He walked with them past the courtyard, ignoring the strange looks from the younger students as they exited out onto the lush green lawn. The sun laced through the leaves, dappling warm light against the figures as they met Dumbledore. Harry stayed back, lingering in the shadows of the pillars. He didn't know how to say goodbye. It was never something he'd done with the Dursleys, and he'd always known he would see Ron and Hermione soon when he left them each summer. He didn't know when he would see Draco again, and it felt too raw to ask-too uncertain.

Narcissa spoke to Dumbledore, the breeze pushing their words away, the rustling of leaves crinkling in the air. Dumbledore held out something in a clothe-a portkey- and waited as she pulled Draco into a firm hug. Harry turned, not wanting to watch him go. Moments passed, and the crack of the portkey sounded sharp and painful in Harry's ears. He began to walk. Maybe he would find Ron and Hermione, though the idea of sulking under his duvet for the next century was also mildly tempting.

Footsteps echoed behind him on the cobbled ground, and he turned, expecting to see Dumbledore.

Draco, however, was jogging after him, his blond hair flying wildly in his face. "Where are you going?" He asked as if nothing strange were happening.

"You-" Harry stammered, pointing a dumb finger toward him.

Draco sneered, "How eloquent, Potter."

"I thought- Why didn't you go with her?" Harry's eyes jumped to the empty space the group had stood only minutes before.

"What? Why would I go with her?"

"Because-what?" Harry was too confused to form actual questions, and Draco gave him a pitying look like one would give a toddler stranded in a grocery store.

"Seeing as I'm not expelled, I really don't know why you thought I would be leaving."

"But- Narcissa-"

"Gave me a choice. I'm almost of age, you know." The look persisted, flabbergasted at Harry's confusion, and it was utterly unfair how empty Harry's head was at the moment. "I chose you."

Harry opened and closed his mouth several times.

"C'mon, let's sneak some food from the kitchens. I want to eat by the lake." Draco grabbed his hand and dragged him along, refusing to give Harry any opportunity to ruin their first moments of freedom with sappy Gryffindor sentiment.

Harry smiled, his world just a bit brighter than it had been.