The knife came from the kitchens- part of a standard set used for paring vegetables and just small enough to fit in the pocket of a Hogwarts uniform.

It was an easy thing to miss for how much damage it could do.

McGonagall arrived first, followed in quick succession by Ron and Hermione, and then the room splintered into halves as Pomfrey ran in, shouting orders and waving her wand. And that's when time went all funny in the chaos. Harry couldn't remember how long he'd been standing there or if he needed to be somewhere else. He could hardly remember waking up. There was only the night before-the kiss- and then the open freefall of his world being ripped out from under him.

Hermione was speaking, but he couldn't hear her over the blood on his clothes. It didn't make sense that it was there because the war was supposed to be over.

He looked at her face, squinting, "What did you say?"

"Harry, I'm so sorry-"

He didn't hear what came next because there was blood on her clothes as well, and that couldn't be right.

And then they were in the infirmary, and Draco was missing, and Ron was saying something about a paring knife, and what did that have to do with anything?

People shouted, asking too many questions he didn't know the answer to. Pansy and Blaise were there, but not for long, and somehow, he ended up in a clean set of clothes.

He almost missed the blood.

"Where's Draco?" He asked, and his voice was hoarse. Had he been the one shouting?

"They're taking him to St. Mungos."

A panic. "What about his parole? He's not supposed to leave the grounds."

He was talking to Ron apparently, "Don't worry, mate. Special circumstances." The air had that bitter-sweet antiseptic taste to it. 'Besides, he'll be back soon." His face didn't look so sure.

And then the day ended, and by the next morning, someone who might have been Draco was asleep in the infirmary, only there were streams of magic attached to his arms, and his face was too slack like all the blood had been siphoned out. People kept telling him it was Draco, but that couldn't be right.

Draco was bright and clever and beautiful.

Draco was alive.

This person didn't seem like Draco.

Someone touched his shoulder, "You should go back to your room, Harry." He didn't look up, his eyes stuck on an awkward section of bandages over the would-be-Draco's forearm. Had he always been so skinny? Harry could have sworn he had been getting better-eating more. "There's nothing else you can do here."

He hadn't spoken in several hours, and his reply came out raspy, "I'd like to stay if that's alright."

A pause. "Whatever you need." Whoever it was moved away.

Time came back to him slowly after that, a drip feed of awareness like the magic being slowly fed through Draco's veins. He became aware of his legs pressed against the hardwood of a chair and Madame Pomfrey buzzing around the hospital bed, feeding potions and whispering incantations Harry didn't recognize.

Hermione and Ron were next to him more often than not. And on some level, he knew that two days had passed since they had found Draco in the bathroom, though he only vaguely remembered the details.

He did remember enough to know that by all accounts, Draco should be dead. The charms McGonagall laced around their dorm intervened with the attempt long enough for Pomfrey to save him, but apparently, being magically frozen in a state of bleeding out wasn't conducive to one's overall health. So now they could only wait, and see if he woke up.

Pomfrey said he would, but Draco had said he was alright, so who really could believe anything these days?

"Have you fire-called Narcissa?" Harry thought to ask once the sensation returned to his fingers.

Pomfrey, who was administering some kind of green sludge to Draco's right arm, looked up and stared at him as if he had suggested feeding Draco rocks. "Yes, we have."

"Has she come by?"

She shook her head, frowning, "No, and I don't see that she plans to."

A landmine had gone off in the conversation, abruptly ending any further questions on the subject, but before he could think too hard about how odd the interaction had been, Hermione was back.

"The whole school knows," she said, her voice uncharacteristically small.

He almost asked howsheknew? And then he remembered that she was there that morning. She had seen.

"Okay," he said.

And then he was alone, and it was late. Pomfrey tried to push him out, but he refused to go, and she seemed to feel so sorry for him that she brought him a quilt before turning the lights off for the night.

Harry leaned forward against the edge of Draco's bed, looking for any sign of life-any movement. But like he could sense what Harry wanted and was determined to spite him, Draco remained completely still. At least he wasn't quite as gray as he had been, and the magic was disconnected from his arms. Now there were only bandages.

"Why did you do it?" Harry whispered, adjusting Draco's hair so it wouldn't be in his face when he woke up. "What did I miss?"

Draco didn't respond.

"Was there something I should have said?" Nothing. Harry could feel his questions taking root in his throat, settling like weeds he would never be able to detach from himself. Was this his fault? Or was there an inevitable part of Draco that was always going to end up here? Neither option made him feel particularly better about the situation.

Harry brushed his thumb over the back of Draco's hand. He squeezed gently, "Draco, I need you to stay. I know you don't want to, but-" The lump in his throat was too much, and he pressed his face into the mattress, hand gripping Draco's. "I need you."

Draco didn't wake up that night.

Or the next.

And then, five days after their first kiss, he did.

"Is that you?" A hand touched behind Harry's ears, and he jerked awake. Draco's eyes sparkled despite the clear exhaustion, and-oh-that was the Draco Harry knew. He was alive after all. "You might've mentioned you were anactuallabradoodle."

Harry moved quickly, jumping off the hospital bed and shifting back into himself. It had been easier to sleep as a dog, and on day three, Pomfrey had given him the OK to take the extra space at Draco's feet.

"A fuckinglabradoodle,Potter," Draco said again. His voice was barely audible but still managed to be that Slytherin brand of judgmental. "You look like something out of a pet store."

"You're an asshole, you know that?" Harry said, but he only meant it a little.

Draco hummed, and his face broke into a sharp wince before he could say anything else. Harry called for Pomfrey.

The buzzing resumed, spells cast and vitals checked. Harry was downgraded back to his chair by the bed, and Draco didn't look at him as Pomfrey worked. His eyes remained blank and open as if taking stock of the ceiling tile while she poked and prodded.

"With some time, I'm glad to say you'll make a full recovery." Pomfrey patted the back of his hand, smiling softly. She looked at Harry, "I need to let Minerva know he's awake. You'll keep an eye on him for a bit, won't you?"

"Of course."

And while Harry was used to being alone with Draco by now, the silence that filled the absence of Pomfrey was almost entirely unbearable.

Harry still had a million questions, but now seemed like the worst time to ask them, and Draco still wasn't looking at him.

"So, I'm still here," Draco rasped after several minutes of them ignoring each other. "Isn't that interesting."

Harry didn't know how to answer that.

"Was this your doing, then?"

And now, Harry didn'twantto answer, "No. There were emergency stasis charms set up in the bathroom." Every word felt ripped out of him. An accusation. "You stole a knife."

Draco's eyes wandered over, "Not my most elegant work, but yes."

"You lied to me."

"I did," his face softened, eyebrows pulling together, but his voice remained tired and emotionless. "Are you very cross with me then?"

Harry barked a strangled laugh. Yes? No? Maybe? He was alive, so Harry doubted he could ever be upset with him again, but at the same time, Draco had lied to his face. And if his plan had worked, Harry would never have forgiven him. In the end, Harry shook his head and looked away, eyes burning.

Draco waited.

"I don't know how to talk to you right now," Harry managed, his eyes closed.

"That's understandable," he said. "I've made quite a mess, haven't I?"

Harry looked at him then, and he wanted to shout. He wanted to curse him for thinking he could leave. He wanted to kiss him again. "Just-" Harry shrank back into his dog form, ignoring Draco's huff of delight and hopping onto the bed. He was careful not to jostle him, pressing gently against his side and laying his snout across Draco's abdomen. He didn't acknowledge when a hand tentatively came to rest on his ears.

He wasn't ready to forgive him. He wasn't even ready to talk about it. But Harry would be damned if he left Draco alone.

"I see you've got yourself a pet," Blaise said in his usual nonchalant tone a few hours later. Harry ignored him.

"Ah, yes. It would seem I do." Draco didn't sound very sure about that, but his fingers were massaging the inside of Harry's ear, so he didn't mind. "Is Pansy coming?"

Blaise inhaled through his teeth, "No, I don't think so."

"Oh, alright."

"She's happy you're recovering. She's just-" a pause, "working through some things on her end."

Draco nodded, a second hand starting to work on Harry's other ear. "I understand."

"She'll come around. She always does." Blaise took Harry's old chair and sat, "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Draco said, and Harry could tell he was lying. Harry let out a low, rumbly growl. Draco faltered, "Ah. Well. Still sore. Still tired. So the same, I suppose."

Blaise gave the pair an odd look, "Sorry to hear that." He reached forward to pet Harry's flank. Harry growled, a real one this time, with teeth. Blaise took his hand back, "Feisty little bugger, isn't he."

"Oh, very," Draco said, his chest buzzing with a nervous chuckle. Harry wanted to melt into the feeling.

"And where, if you don't mind me asking, did you find a dog?"

Draco looked down at Harry for help, but Harry just pressed his head into the palm of Draco's hand. His fingers had stopped moving, and that was very rude.

"He's, ah, Hagrid's dog." He said it like it was a question.

Blaise cocked an eyebrow.

"Why else do you think he's so poorly trained?"

Harry licked a long, wet stripe up the inside of Draco's hand if only to prove his point. Draco made a face. Harry demanded more scratches.

Blaise leaned away from them in disgust, "More of a cat person, myself."

"I'd have to agree," Draco said, wiping a coating of slobber off onto the sheets.

Harry shoved his cold nose into Draco's side, earning him a gratifying yelp.

Blaise stayed for a long time, chatting endlessly about anything that popped into his head. He complained about professors, rehashed old gossip, and recounted the chaos of the Hogsmeade trip the weekend before. Draco's voice was still weak, so he did most of the talking, and the only thing he didn't bring up was the morning they'd found Draco or the reason he was in the hospital to begin with. It was almost impressive.

Eventually, he yawned. "I'm really glad you're alright, Draco." He stood, "Nothing would be the same without you. I mean that."

Draco chewed his lip but didn't respond.

Blaise sighed, "I don't want to leave you alone, but I'm exhausted. Where the devil is Potter when you need him?"

"He'll be back soon. You can go." Draco's voice sounded strained.

"I'm surprised you got him to leave at all," Blaise stretched, yawning wider. "Not sure he's stepped outside all week."

Draco made a sound, high-pitched at the back of his throat, "Well, I figured he deserved a break."

"I'll just head out then." Blaise leaned down, careful not to touch Harry, and pressed a soft kiss to Draco's hair, "Have a good night."

And then Blaise was replaced by Pomfrey doing another round of vital checks and nutrition potions. She didn't comment on Harry but made sure to leave them with an extra blanket.

Draco shifted. "Do you plan to stay here all night?"

Harry sneezed.

Draco didn't seem to find that very helpful. A worried look flickered over his face, "Are you still cross with me?"

His voice was fragile and quiet. It gave the impression of someone who would walk off the end of a bridge if he told him to, and Harry hated that. Besides, he wasn't angry anymore, not really. Just confused and a bit overwhelmed.

But he liked being so close to Draco, pressed into his side, able to feel each beat of his heart. He didn't think Draco would let him stay like this if he turned back, so he would keep this going for just a bit longer.

He couldn'tnotrespond, though, so he whined and licked his cheek. A slight movement, just a brush ofit's okay.

Draco sniffed, "You make a surprisingly convincing mutt." He wriggled and drew the covers back. "Come along. It's cold."

It took several seconds for Harry to register what Draco wanted him to do, but before either of them could change their mind, Harry got up, stretched and burrowed into the offered space. Draco turned on his side and let him settle against his chest, an arm slung over Harry's back. The collected body heat toasted him through, and Harry could immediately feel his eyelids droop.

"A fuckinglabradoodle," Draco muttered to himself, his hand petting soft circles into Harry's fur.

Harry slept very well.

Four days after Draco woke up and nine since their first kiss, Pomfrey removed the bandages. She said he was lucky to get away without nerve damage, but with how fast Draco covered his arms in a jumper, Harry could only assume there were scars. But that was just another thing in a long list of things they both refused to discuss.

Scars and paring knives and late-night moments on a window ledge. The list went on.

Harry could feel the hospital stay winding down. Pomfrey checked on him less urgently, visits from friends became more sporadic as classes rose on their list of priorities, and the amount of time Draco spent asleep slowly lessened, his energy leveling out.

Things would go back to normal soon. Whatever 'normal' had been. Harry wasn't completely sure he knew anymore. Draco had seemed normal minutes after slipping a knife into his pocket. He'd spoken to Harry as if he wasn't actively planning to use it. Normal didn't seem very reliable, all things considered, but this was something they didn't talk about, so Harry didn't bring it up.

Draco was alright, and Harry would make sure he stayed that way.

"As much as I appreciate the moral support, Potter, you're crushing my legs." Draco attempted to shove Harry off the bed, but he was having none of that and went boneless on Draco's knees. "Oh, for Merlin's sake-"

Harry made a sound somewhere in between a growl and a bark. Pomfrey told him to stay in bed while she was away, and Draco was looking suspiciously like someone who wanted , boneless.

"I can hardly tell a dog to go fuck itself, Potter. Turn back so I can say it properly."

Harry barked again.

Someone that wasn't Draco coughed.

McGonagall stood at the end of the room, her hands clasped in front of her. There was no way she hadn't heard them, but her face remained unbothered. "Good evening, boys."

"Headmaster," Draco said, his cheeks pinkening slightly.

Harry stalled, unsure if he should turn back or commit to staying a dog for the entire conversation. McGonagall knew it was him, of course. She had been the first person he owled when he started looking into animagi. But it was hard to tell who she was here for as her eyes flicked between them.

"Are you well?" She asked Draco.

He nodded, "I'm feeling much better."

"That's wonderful to hear." She straightened the cuff of her sleeve. "I thought you should know that I've cleared the situation with the Aurors. The breach of parole was short enough and had enough documentation of the severity that they let it slide. I would not count on them doing so again, considering their reluctance."

Harry bristled. If they could even consider punishing him for what happened, Harry would take down the whole fucking ministry. He'd done it before.

"Thank you, Headmaster," Draco said quietly.

The infirmary darkened, the purples and reds of sunset slowly dissolving into blues as the day ended. McGonagall's face softened, "I'm really, very glad you're alright, Mr. Malfoy."

He cleared his throat, "Has-" He stopped, his jaw working, "Has my mother-"

"I'm afraid not."

Draco winced like he'd been stung but nodded gratefully. "Thank you," he said again.

McGonagall hummed and turned to Harry. "May I have a word?"

Out in the hall, Harry back in human form, McGonagall wilted. Her spine untensed, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'd like to thank you for your diligence, Mr. Potter."

"Of course." This was more awkward than he was used to with her. "What is this about, Professor?"

"Well, you know I've spoken to the Aurors, and they remain quite adamant Draco fulfill the terms of his parole. It's unfortunate, but we'll have to do with what we have for a little while longer."

Harry waited. She clearly wasn't done.

"I thought things would improve more quickly than they have when I originally spoke to you. And now, I realize with great trepidation that I was wrong, and the situation has been entirely too much to ask of a student." She gave him a weary look, "Even an exceptional student."

"Professor-"

She held up a hand, "I can't, in good conscience, ask you to resume the prior arrangement. I've spoken to Professor Flitwick, and we can pursue alternatives going forward."

Somewhere along the way, Harry stopped breathing, "Professor, I'm fine." He insisted, "I don't want to pursue alternatives."

She considered him like one might consider euthanizing a rabid animal.

"I know it was a mistake taking him into the kitchens, but I don't think isolating him is the answer to any of this." Harry was very near panic. If he couldn't see Draco, he would never stop worrying. It would drive him actually insane this time. But what good had Harry done? He hadn't made much of a difference when it counted. "Unless you think he'll be safer with someone else."

McGonagall sighed heavily, "What happened wasn't your fault, Mr. Potter. You did as much as anyone would have been able to."

A beat of silence.

She continued, "If you'd really like to continue on, I can't say it wouldn't be a tremendous help. But if at any point, it becomes too much, please let me know and we'll correct the situation to the best of our ability."

"Okay." Harry already knew that was never going to happen.

She looked at him like she understood that. "I'll be adding several stronger charms to your room, and you'll receive a new schedule tomorrow. Will that be alright with you?"

"Yes."

"Thank you, Mr. Potter."

She looked ready to leave. Harry cleared his throat, "Professor-" and then he made his only request.

Harry walked back into the quiet infirmary alone and immediately knew something was wrong.

Draco's blanket was pulled over his head, a muffled hiccupping sound ricocheting off the walls. The lights were dimmed, and the beds were made, meaning Pomfrey had already made her final round for the night.

Harry approached, feeling incredibly small. Draco hadn't cried since waking up, and this sounded less like tears and more like wrenching sobs. A kind of crying that made his chest ache with the force of it.

"Please don't," Draco's ragged voice begged once Harry was only a few feet away. "I just need a few minutes."

"Draco," Harry said softly, touching his shoulder.

"Please," the word cracked halfway and dissolved into a splintered sound. "I just want to be alone."

Harry didn't move. He couldn't. "That's alright. We'll be alone together." He sat on the edge of his bed and shifted down. It was easier as a dog, but he couldn't stop the tiny whine that escaped him as he laid his head over Draco's blanketed shoulders.

Draco sobbed harder, each cry rattling through Harry's entire being, rewriting him. He nudged his nose under the edge of the blanket. He knew where he wanted to be, but if this was as close as Draco wanted him, that was alright, too.

A few minutes passed until, finally, Draco held the blanket open, letting Harry crawl his way under and nuzzle into the space between Draco's arms. The sobs continued, louder now that Harry was with him under the blanket, but also more manageable. Harry pressed his nose to the corner of Draco's mouth.

It's wanted to say, gently licking at the tears on his cheek,I'm here.

Draco melted, squeezing Harry in a hug and burying his face into the scruff of his neck as a fresh wave of tears began. Harry whined softly and let him cling.

It was easier as a dog. He could hide how desperate he was to cling back-to hold him- because this wasn't about what Harry wanted. It was about Draco, and maybe it always would be.

Harry supposed he didn't mind as long as Draco let him stay.