FIC: That Cannot Be Changed (R)

[mpreg_fest_mod]

Title: That Cannot Be Changed
Author: boshfaker
Prompt: #39 - After the war Draco becomes addicted to Potions thanks to his assigned mind Healer. Draco manages to keep his secret for years then when he and Harry settle down together and he becomes pregnant the secret comes out he and the baby are in danger due to the addiction as he struggles to overcome and save their baby Harry struggles to just keep his lover alive and fighting and Hermione fights to take down a corrupt mind Healer
Word Count: 24,051
Rating: R/NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view): *Addiction, withdrawal, mental illness, mind Healer malpractice. Discussion of abortion, pregnancy complications, self-harm, suicide, minor character death and potential major character death.*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Epilogue compliant?: No
Who is pregnant?: Draco
Notes: Beta read by the amazing lauren3210 who I cannot thank enough.
Summary: Harry’s comfortable life with Malfoy takes an unexpected about-turn when long-hidden secrets are revealed. Hermione is on the case of crooked mind Healer. Harry and Malfoy just need to weather the next few months – or so Harry hopes.



It was a testament to how many times Harry had been in this situation that he recognised Malfoy's shadow in the doorway before he had even opened his eyes. He gave a pathetic groan, only half-forced, into his pillow. He hoped it would be enough to inspire Malfoy to go easy on him.

He finally opened his eyes to see Malfoy looking thoroughly unmoved by the display, gazing at the bed with the same apathy he might bestow on a particularly easy to solve Arithmancy puzzle.

"You've been sprung," he drawled with a slight quirk of his lip.

The window behind him showed that it was not yet dawn, grey-tinged darkness hanging over the city beyond. Malfoy did not look as if he had just been rudely awakened. Every hair was spelled into place, his grey robes pressed into creaseless perfection. His eyes were sharp as he looked Harry over.

"Confringo to the chest, again?" He asked evenly.

"Reducto," Harry said. He hissed as he pushed himself into a sitting position. His chest was still soft in the centre, pain radiating across his lung. "I'm growing new ribs."

Malfoy sighed and flicked his wand at Harry's crumpled robes. They stood up on their own, shaking out their creases and unbuttoning until they stood wide-open by the side of the bed.

"Thanks," Harry said.

He slid from the bed and his robes embraced him, sliding up his arms before gently buttoning in a slow caress from hip to throat. Malfoy's smile was as tender as his wandwork. He quickly looked away when Harry smiled back, pretending to pick a piece of lint from his sleeve.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"You should be," Malfoy retorted. He pushed the door open, stepping calmly into the criss-crossing traffic of Healers and flying memos that filled the corridor beyond what he had dubbed the future 'Harry Potter Memorial Ward for Particularly Dim-Witted Aurors.'

"I am," Harry said. "Can we rebook?"

Malfoy was walking one step ahead, facing away. Harry could almost feel him roll his eyes.

"It is fine, Potter," Malfoy said.

"I know you wanted to go to-," Harry began.

"We need to talk tonight anyway," Malfoy said.

Harry stilled mid-step. A particularly young Healer squeaked as she veered off-course to avoid running into him, a file slipping momentarily from her hold before floating back into place.

"We need to talk?" Harry asked.

Malfoy had not paused in his onward motion and had now reached the fireplace. He turned around, hand hovering over the bowl of communal Floo powder. He had clearly remembered the Apparition debacle from the last time Harry had taken strong pain Potions and was taking no chances.

Harry scurried across to join him.

"I came to get you from the hospital at four o'clock in the morning despite knowing that I have a presentation on the role of occamies in Ancient Peruvian spellwork starting in five hours," Malfoy said.

"Sorry," Harry said again, wincing.

"If I didn't want to keep you around," Malfoy said. "I think I would have stayed in bed."

Harry smiled slightly as he watched Malfoy disappear in a flash of green smoke, relief easing the thrumming pain in his chest. He saw a matching smile on Malfoy's face as he helped him from the Floo a moment later, careful not to touch his still-soft ribs.

"I promised the mediwizards you'd be on bedrest," Malfoy explained, steering Harry towards the bedroom. The kettle boiled as they passed the kitchen, the scent of strong coffee rising up a moment later, following them into the bedroom. Harry settled down, only letting out a soft grunt as he shifted towards the center.

"Keep me company?" Harry asked, patting the bed beside him.

"Always."

Malfoy lay an inch away, no doubt mindful of Harry's ribs, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of Harry's lip. Harry pulled him closer, ignoring the ache in his chest. Malfoy tasted of his peppermint breath charm and, inexplicably, faintly of liquorice. Harry's lips tingled as if feeling the after-effects of magic when he pulled away.

"I love you," he said.

Malfoy rolled onto his back and stared up at the bed canopy. His cheeks were slightly flushed, pink spreading to the high collar of his arithmancer's robes.

"I love you too," he breathed.

Harry reached out and took Malfoy's hand, tangling their fingers together. He took in Malfoy's profile. His expression gave nothing away.

"I'll be more careful," Harry said.

Malfoy's cheek twitched. He squeezed Harry's hand.

"I'd be happy if you just learned to duck," he said. It was an old argument that had long ago lost any heat. Nonetheless, Malfoy’s hand lingered longer than usual in his hold.

He turned his head, eyes half-closed as he smiled. His fingers slipped away. "Promise you won't move from this bed."

"I promise," Harry said. "I'll be right here waiting for you."

Malfoy groaned melodramatically as he stood. A quick flick of his hand straightened his robes again. Another slicked his hair.

"You'll be the death of me, Potter," he muttered.

Harry grinned, his attempt at a tempting wiggle cut off by a sharp pain in his side. Malfoy snorted, already turning away.

"I'll be back at six," he said. "Remember to send Shacklebolt your report before twelve."

"Mother hen," Harry muttered.

Malfoy stilled for a moment, back stiffening. When he looked back over his shoulder his face was softened, a tender smile quirking his lips.

"I'll see you at six, Potter," he said.

A moment later, Harry heard the faint crack of Apparition as Malfoy Disappeared.

-

Six o'clock found Malfoy walking through what he generally termed the 'Muggle entrance' looking distractingly human. A plastic bag of Muggle Thai takeaway hung from one elbow, both hands cradling a potion bottle as he kicked the door closed behind him.

"What's that?" Harry asked from the sofa. He had managed to keep his promise to Malfoy until noon when the promise of re-runs of 'Woolfe and Lyon, Supernatural Hit Wizards' on WWN2 has pulled him from his bed.

"Thai," Malfoy said.

He set the potion bottle down on the coffee table, turning to unload his bag.

"I meant the Potion," Harry said.

Malfoy set the container of gai khing down a little too roughly. Yellow sauce splattered onto the cuff of his immaculate robes. He grabbed a napkin and began to scrub.

"The Potion?" Harry prompted.

Malfoy dropped the napkin. He took a deep breath and turned to Harry.

"It's a pregnancy testing Potion," he said.

Harry felt rather as if he had taken a Bludger to the stomach. It took a moment for him to remember how to breathe.

"Right," he said. "Right. Right. Is that-? Have you used it?"

Malfoy nodded abruptly. He held up one finger, the tip still slightly pink from a healing charm.

"And purple means that-?"

"I'm pregnant," Malfoy said. He raised one brow, looking at Harry from the corner of his eye.

"What do you want to do?" Harry asked.

Malfoy swallowed, opened his mouth and then closed it again. Harry felt as if his stomach was in his throat.

"I want this," Malfoy said. "I want a child."

Harry heard his own laugh before he felt it. His cheeks ached with his smile as he reached across the table, knocking a container of pad thai over as he grabbed Malfoy's hand.

"A baby," he laughed. "We're having a baby."

"Yes, Potter," Malfoy muttered. He was smiling wider than Harry had ever seen, showing a row of perfect white teeth. "I see those years of Auror work have really honed your reasoning skills."

Harry fell back onto the sofa after a moment, feeling dizzy.

"A baby," he repeated. He stared up at the ceiling, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "What are we going to do?"

Malfoy righted the spilled containers with a sweep of his wand.

"Well," he said. "I was thinking we could eat our dinner and then I'm expecting some quite spectacular sex. I suppose afterwards I will fall asleep and you will spend the night staring at the bed canopy angsting heroically over how you aren't ready to be a father."

"I meant-," Harry began.

"I know what you meant," Malfoy said. "I obviously won't be going on the Peru trip but I doubt that will harm my chances of promotion. I'm the best they have."

Malfoy preened and Harry smiled.

"Otherwise I'm sure we'll work it out," he said. "Hufflepuffs manage it all the time."

A moment passed as Malfoy shared the takeaway contents unevenly between two plates.

"What about Quidditch?" Harry asked. "I assume you won't be able to play anymore."

"Oh," Malfoy said. He narrowed his eyes, pointing an accusing spoon at Harry's chest. "A win by default is hardly a real win, Potter. You don't get to brag about topping the Saturday league if you only managed it through sneaky impregnation of the opposing team."

"Well, not the whole team," Harry said.

"You better not," Malfoy muttered before shoving the largest miang from Harry's plate into his mouth.

"Oi!" Harry muttered, making a grab for the container.

"Baby needs it," Malfoy sang, fending Harry off with a chopstick.

Harry laughed and conceded. He thought, fondly, that it was likely to be a long nine months.

-

"Congratulations," Healer Trimble trilled, beaming at the golden glow shining from Malfoy's exposed stomach. "You're pregnant!"

Malfoy normally was not one to suffer through outpourings of positivity in silence but he was being uncharacteristically tolerant. His gaze was focused on the light as it faded back into his pale skin.

"I'd say about six weeks," Trimble chirped, making quick notes on the parchment on her desk. "Is that about right?"

Harry had no idea but he nodded quickly, following Malfoy's lead. Malfoy had spread his hand over the skin below his navel, his brow furrowed in a way normally reserved for The Quibbler's Sunday Slitherlink.

"You can keep your hand there," Trimble said softly. Her grin was growing wider by the second and Harry wondered if it might eventually reach her ears. She flicked her wand over Malfoy's stomach, colours and lights flickering across his skin like short-lived, luminous bruises. Each flash caused her to reach apparently higher levels of elation.

Finally, she sheathed her wand and the colours faded.

"All brilliant!" She said, shuffling back onto her chair to make another series of hastily scrawled notes. Harry craned to see what she was writing but the words were indecipherable. The form, like all Wizard forms, appeared to be handwritten in a script too tiny for the non-spell-assisted eye.

"Just a few questions and then you can enjoy the day," Trimble said. She turned back to Malfoy who hastily pulled down his shirt, the hand that had been lying on his stomach now curling at his side. Harry hurried to take it in his own, weaving their fingers together.

"Are you planning on undertaking any international magical travel?" She asked.

"No," Malfoy sighed.

"Do you take part in any Duelling clubs or Quidditch leagues?" She asked.

"No," Malfoy replied. He shot Harry a quick glare which spoke of a rivalry not soon forgotten.

"Do you frequently come into contact with mandrakes, banshees or lethifolds?" She asked.

"Not frequently," Malfoy replied. He rolled his eyes at Harry, smirking slightly. Harry snorted in reply.

"Do you take any prescription Potions?" She asked.

There was silence for a moment. Malfoy's hold on Harry's hand tightened.

"Only Alacritas," Malfoy said.

Harry felt slightly sick at the way Healer Trimble's ever-present smile faltered. It returned after a moment, brightening in a way that didn't look quite natural.

"Not a problem," she said. "But you're going to want to stop taking that as soon as possible."

"Right," Malfoy said. He pulled his hand from Harry's too-tight grip and straightened. "Can I ask why?"

"We don't recommend that expectant wizards take any Potions containing arborvitae or wormwood," she said. It was clearly a well-rehearsed line. Harry was relieved at the thought that they were returning to the typical script.

"I don't-," Malfoy began.

Trimble held up a hand, cutting him off.

"It might seem daunting," she said. "But if you mention the pregnancy to your Mind Healer at the next session I'm sure they can come up with an alternative treatment plan."

"Right," Malfoy said.

Harry clenched his jaw to keep quiet. He knew Malfoy was the last person to enjoy the airing of his dirty laundry in public. Nonetheless, Harry felt as if the word 'Mind Healer' was echoing around his head, each repetition a reminder that he had had no idea.

Harry only realised the session must be at an end when Malfoy strode out of the room. He nodded as politely as he could at Healer Trimble before breaking into a run. By the time he managed to catch up, Malfoy was already half a block away, striding through the rain.

"I didn't know you had a Mind Healer," Harry said.

"That's because I didn't tell you," Malfoy said.

Harry grabbed his hand, trying to slow him down. Malfoy pulled his hand back, pushing it into the pocket of his Muggle-style coat.

"You're my partner," Harry said.

"I thought that was Khouri," Malfoy said.

"You're my partner," Harry repeated. "If you're sick I want to know, Malfoy. You can't just keep these things from me."

Malfoy stopped. When he turned his mouth was pulled into a cruel sneer but it fell quickly away as he took in Harry's face. He pulled his wand from his pocket, casting a wordless drying charm. It was clearly a little shaky since it made Harry's hair stand on end.

"I apologise," Malfoy said. "I didn't want to talk about it."

"You still should have told me," Harry said. "I care."

Malfoy cast a shielding charm. Harry felt warmer, unsure if it was the sudden absence of freezing rain or the way Malfoy was smiling at him.

"I know," Malfoy said.

-

"I want to know about a Potion," Harry said.

Hermione did not bother to look up from her book. Her hand reached beyond it to grab the steaming mug of tea Harry had set down a moment before.

"Any one in particular?" she asked lightly. She turned a page and took a sip.

"Acaritas?" Harry ventured.

"You mean Alacritas," Hermione corrected. She looked up, frowning. "Is it for you? I can't prescribe Potions to friends but I know a number of-."

"It's not for me," Harry said. "I'm just curious."

Hermione pushed the book away. Her lips thinned as she fixed Harry with a gaze sharp enough to convince him she was a loss to the MLE's Inquisitorial Team.

"Curious?" she repeated.

"Malfoy takes it," Harry said.

"Really?" Hermione said. "I had no idea."

"It's fine though, right?" Harry said. "I mean it isn't dangerous or anything? And it's good he's getting help."

Hermione hummed noncommittally. She reached for the mug again.

"What?" Harry asked.

"Nothing," Hermione said. "So what did you need to know?"

"Well," Harry said. "What's it for?"

"I think that's Malfoy's own business," Hermione said. "Harry, this is really a discussion you should be having with him."

"Please," Harry said. "He's being really Malfoy about it. He won't tell me anything."

Hermione sighed.

"I really don't know," Hermione said. "It's a stop-gap potion, really. It's used for a range of psychological curses and mental illnesses. Healers really only prescribe it for a few days or weeks while a treatment plan's being worked out or while the curse is being lifted."

"So it's something recent," Harry said.

"Probably," Hermione said. "It can only be prescribed for three months at most, normally not more than a few weeks."

"Right," Harry said. "So he'll be coming off it soon enough and I don't need to worry."

Hermione's smile was a little brittle as she set down her empty mug.

"Keep an eye on him anyway," she said. "Even if it's only been a few weeks he’ll probably feel a bit shaky."

Harry nodded.

"I will," he said.

Hermione smiled.

-

Harry had kept an eagle eye on Malfoy.

His behaviour had been referred to as anything from 'hovering like a billywig' to 'lethifold-levels of smothering' which suggested that he was both finding it frustrating and spending far too much time on his recent magical creature project.

There appeared to be nothing wrong with Malfoy. After his discussion with Hermione, Harry had been expecting cracks to appear in Malfoy’s calm façade. However, if Malfoy felt any less than his best he did not let on. Instead, Harry found a new appreciation of Malfoy’s composed dignity.

Waking one morning, Harry grinned as he took in the sight of Malfoy casting the pressing charm on his robe, enjoying the way the fabric clung momentarily to the plane of Malfoy's chest and hugged the subtle curve of his backside.

Malfoy snorted, casting him a sidelong look under pale lashes. He made a show of bending over to lace his boots, grinning when Harry gave a breathless groan, admittedly exaggerated for effect.

When Malfoy straightened his hair had fallen into his eyes, making him look momentarily windswept.

"Don't tempt me," Malfoy said, eyes flicking towards Harry's crotch.

He winked before walking, with what could only be a purposefully over-emphasised sway of the hips, towards the bathroom.

Harry threw his head back into the pillow and huffed. The bed was still warm and he sighed as he stretched into the space where Malfoy had just been, ignoring the muttered charms coming from the bathroom.

He almost missed the curious clink that followed Malfoy’s shaving charm. Instead, it seemed magnified, the sound sending a bolt of cold through his stomach.

He reached the bathroom door just in time to see Malfoy swallow the last of the viscous blue potion. Malfoy dropped it onto the counter, looking at Harry without any hint of guilt.

"You're still taking it," Harry said.

Malfoy looked down at the empty bottle.

"You don't understand," he said. "I tried to stop."

"I just watched you," Harry said. "You weren't trying very hard."

Malfoy pushed the bottle away from the edge of the counter, lining it up perfectly with Harry’s toiletries. He looked at his reflection in the mirror for a moment, considering his reflection, before his shoulders slumped.

"I don't like how I feel without it," he said. "It makes me-. I don't want that."

"You have to give it up," Harry said. "Hermione said it isn't safe to take for more than few months. You'll have to stop eventually."

Malfoy laughed. It was a harsh, choking sound like a death rattle.

"Granger," he spat, "doesn't know what she's talking about. I'm fine."

Harry watched Malfoy's eyes narrow in his reflection before he turned, frowning.

"You went behind my back," he spat.

"You didn't want to talk about it," Harry said. "I was concerned."

Malfoy huffed and turned back to the mirror. He flicked his hand at his hair, slicking it back into its usual perfect order. A quick turn of his wrist filled the room with the smell of peppermint as he breathed out a cloud of cool blue-green.

"Are you ignoring me?" Harry asked.

Malfoy looked at his reflection again.

"I'm not surprised," he said. "You always tell your bloody sidekicks everything."

He disappeared with a crack.

Harry looked at the empty potion bottle on the edge of the sink until he felt like the image was burned into his eyes. He pushed it aside, finding pleasure in the sound it made as it smashed against tile. He stared at the broken shards for a full minute before he started on his own morning routine.

-

Harry had been expecting the atmosphere to be tense when he returned home from his shift. He had even expected that Malfoy might have made a tactical retreat to Nott's house. He had not expected to find Malfoy sat on the sofa pouring tea for a gently smiling Hermione.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hello," Hermione greeted. She took a biscuit off the small plate on their coffee table. "Malfoy and I thought it a good idea if we all have a discussion."

"This was Granger's idea," Malfoy corrected. He brushed a wrinkle from his robe, raising one eyebrow.

"And since you've clearly decided Granger is going to be involved in this I agreed. No need to tell anyone else." He narrowed his eyes at Harry in clear warning.

"I gather there's a problem with the Alacritas Potion," Hermione said. "Harry, why don't you sit down?"

Harry sat down in the armchair. The gap between him and the sofa seemed like a gulf. Malfoy shifted away, clearly suggesting he felt no need to build any bridges.

"I am trying," Malfoy said. "Potter is being unreasonable."

"Just stop taking it," Harry said. "How hard can that be?"

Malfoy snorted.

"Alright," Hermione said. "Malfoy, can you just tell me what the problem is? You said you can't contact your Mind Healer?"

"I haven't spoken to him in six years," Malfoy said. "I owled his office but apparently it's now the Headquarters of a minor Quidditch team."

"Six years?" Hermione asked. She moved closer to Malfoy, leaning in so he had no choice but to look at her. "How long have you been on the potion, Malfoy?"

"I don't-," Malfoy began.

"Malfoy," she prompted tightly.

"Eight years," Malfoy said.

"God!" Hermione hissed. She looked as if she had been struck, reeling back and turning away. "Eight years?"

"I did just say," Malfoy said but his normal sarcasm fell flat. "I tried to stop a couple of times but it was difficult."

"I can't even imagine," Hermione breathed. "But you're going to have to at some point, Malfoy. I can't even imagine the damage that much accumulated wormwood must be doing."

"I know," Malfoy said. "I just thought it was best to consider all my options."

"Malfoy," Hermione said. "There is no other way. You have to give it up."

Malfoy nodded. His back had gone beyond its normal impeccable posture, now held so straight and still that it looked painful. Harry reached across and touched his knee, tense in expectation of being pushed away.

"I'm here for you," Hermione said. "I can find you a Mind Healer if you need one."

Malfoy winced.

"And I'd like to think we're friends," Hermione said. "Right, Malfoy?"

Malfoy nodded, straight mouth not giving even a hint of his normal sneer.

-

Malfoy poured the last of the potion down the sink with a pinched look on his face. His whole body was tense, his hand clenched around the neck of the flask, his shoulders pushed too far back. Harry reached out to touch him but Malfoy jerked out of reach.

"You're doing the right thing," Harry said.

"I know," Malfoy said. He banished the bottle and turned back. A breath and then he reached out. Harry grabbed his hand, pulling him closer until he could take him into his arms.

"I apologise," Malfoy said stiffly.

"So do I," Harry said. "I'm so sorry you have to go through this, Malfoy. But I will do everything I can."

Malfoy chuckled, pulling back slightly. Harry let him and was rewarded with a kiss, feeling Malfoy's lips curl into a weak smile against his own.

"You can't just hex our way out of this, Potter," he said.

"I can try," Harry said.

Malfoy laughed and kissed him again.

"We can do this," he said. "I can do this, Potter."

"That's my Malfoy," Harry grinned.

Malfoy's smile faltered. He curled his fingers around Harry's lapel, eyes focused on what Harry would otherwise assume was an offensive stain.

"What if I wasn’t?" Malfoy asked.

"Wasn’t what?" Harry asked.

"Wasn’t ‘your Malfoy’," Malfoy said. "There is a possibility that I will be different without the potion and I might not be the person you love.”

"Never," Harry said.

"You don't know," Malfoy said. "You don't know what I'm like."

Harry felt sick.

"Then neither do you," Harry said.

Malfoy winced. Harry realised how tight he was gripping his waist and let go, leaving his hand barely touching Malfoy’s side.

"I love you, Malfoy," he said. "And I know you. And I know that you are strong and talented and good. And I refuse to believe that is all magic."

Malfoy smiled.

"If you're sure," Malfoy said.

"I've never been surer," Harry said and tried his best to mean it.

-

"I want everything you have on Healer Winickus," Hermione said, striding towards the File Well.

"Winickus?" The searcher asked. She cast her wand around in the air and then shrugged. "No file."

"There has to be a file," Hermione said.

"No file," the searcher repeated with slightly more force. "Are you sure it's Winickus?"

"Fine," Hermione huffed. "Malfoy, Draco."

The searcher cast her wand around again.

"Which one?" she asked.

Hermione sighed.

"The one who's alive now," she said. "Obviously."

"No need to be rude," the searcher muttered. A file shot up from the well and landed on the desk between them.

Hermione opened it and raised an eyebrow.

"Is this it?" She asked.

"That is the file," the searcher said.

"There should be magenta notes," Hermione said. "Mind Healer records."

"That's all the files on Malfoy, Draco Lucius," the searcher said.

"Then someone's taken them," Hermione said.

The searcher shrugged, glassy eyes turning towards the clock. Another searcher shuffled in, carrying a pile of new files for the pit.

Hermione closed the folder and pushed it across the desk.

"Thank you," she said, as sweetly as she could.

The searcher nodded as she threw the file back.

-

"Malfoy?"

Harry had expected the loss of the potion to bring about immediate effects. Malfoy had, however, remained the same as always. Admittedly he had complained one morning about a pain in his hip. The sheer melodramatic performance, however, had convinced Harry that Malfoy was not truly suffering. A point that had been proved when Malfoy had suggested he massage it better.

A week had passed and Harry was, therefore, thoroughly unprepared for a sudden change to his routine. Nonetheless, he returned home to find the flat in total darkness at six in the afternoon. The curtains had clearly been spelled closed and warded. He bashed his shin into the coffee table as he rushed to open them by hand.

"Shit!" Harry groaned, rubbing his bruised leg. "Malfoy?"

He pulled the curtain open and saw Malfoy's briefcase abandoned in the centre of the room.

"Malfoy?" Harry called, drawing his wand.

It was almost a relief to hear a pained groan coming from the bathroom. The very thought caused a guilty cramp in Harry's stomach as he hobbled towards the door. He flicked on the electric light, inspiring a hoarse whimper.

Malfoy was curled against the tiles, red cheeked and shaking. His hair was damp, clinging to his flushed face. He was pressed against the edge of the bath, dressed in only his boxers, shivering where he lay.

"Malfoy?" Harry sank to his knees. "Malfoy?"

"Yes, Potter," Malfoy groaned. He peeled open one eye and the lightbulb shattered, raining glass onto both of them and plunging the room into darkness.

"Shit!" Harry hissed, drawing out his wand.

He cast a Lumos just in time to see the wand-lit shape of Malfoy as he made a desperate lunge for the toilet. He gave a few painful wretches and then hung on to the pedestal as his whole body trembled. He sobbed, a guttural choke on every shaking breath.

Harry grabbed a towel from the rack and wrapped it as gently as he could around Malfoy's shoulders. Malfoy grabbed the edge, fingertips brushing Harry's knuckle, before he gave another futile heave, his whole body contracting as he seemed to choke on air.

Harry held on with one hand, the other holding his lit wand in a shaky grip.

"Potter," Malfoy finally breathed. He slumped backwards, leaning against Harry's chest. His skin was damp and too warm. His head rested against Harry's shoulder. He could feel the too fast gasps against his jaw. Another shiver and Harry grabbed at the towel, trying his best to keep Malfoy covered and remain holding his lit wand.

"Bed?" Harry asked.

"Sorry," Malfoy said. "I'm sorry, Potter."

"Bed," Harry repeated, this time with conviction. He extinguished his wand and then hesitated. It was difficult, levering them both up. Malfoy was slender but not weightless. He almost slipped from Harry's grasp when they regained their footing, his legs shaking so badly that Harry was forced to hold him up.

Malfoy’s steps were uncertain. Harry steered him, pulling him to his chest as they moved from the dark bathroom to the only slightly lighter hall. The curtains had somehow managed to close themselves again.

It was only when they reach the bedroom that Harry looked down and saw the bloody footprints tracing their path behind them. He had forgotten the glass. Malfoy looked dispassionately at his shredded knees as Harry lowered him onto the bed.

"I need my wand for that," Malfoy said after a moment. "The carpets will need a charm."

"I'll do it," Harry said.

Malfoy smirked.

"This is nice," he drawled. "Harry Potter at my beck and call."

Harry snorted.

"You'll regret saying that once I start," he said. He lingered for a moment, his wand hovering. Finally, he reached forward with his spare hand and gripped Malfoy's wrist.

"This will hurt."

"I'm not a child, Potter," Malfoy said but he squeezed Harry’s wrist in silent thanks.

-

It was a surprise to Hermione to see one of the postal owls sitting outside her office on Monday morning. It had been five days since she had sent out twelve owls to colleagues she thought most likely to have heard of Healer Winickus, older Mind Healers and two she knew who were making money on the side selling illegally prescribed Potions.

"Healer Granger,

"I was not glad to see such a name turn up yet again. Winickus has stolen several of my patients away with the promise of quick fixes and guaranteed results. I had hoped that he was merely a unicorn blood salesman but I assume if you are concerned the truth may be more troubling.

"One of my patients mentioned that Winickus has moved offices to Coventry (which unfortunately for me made him more accessible despite her Floo powder phobia). I can only presume he is operating somewhere in Whitmore Park.

"I apologise that I cannot be more useful, Healer Granger, but I do hope this helps.

"Senior Healer Lysander Borage."

Hermione penned a quick reply, thanking Healer Borage for his help. It was not a perfect lead, it was true, but Wizarding Coventry was certainly a smaller area than the entirety of Britain. She was troubled, however, by the thought of Winickus still taking patients.

She could ill-afford to waste any more time.

-

Harry thought he could probably go through his whole day blindfolded now. It was a rare afternoon indeed when he returned home to find the curtains open or the Muggle lights lit. He had become an expert at dodging wild magic and repairing delicate valuables. He thought it was probably better basic training than any Magical Law Enforcement had offered.

This evening, however, he came home to find the curtains open, pallid autumnal sunlight filtering into the living room. He put his bag down beside Malfoy's briefcase, stowed neatly in its normal place beside the fireplace.

"We need to talk," Malfoy said. He was leaning heavily against the bedroom doorway, wand clasped loosely in one shaking hand. As Harry watched he began to shiver again only to stiffen, hands clenching into tight fists as he fought to stay still.

"Sit down," Harry said. He did not say 'before you fall' but it was clear from Malfoy's squared jaw that he had heard the implication anyway. He shuffled over to the armchair, eyes fixed on Harry, narrowed and cold.

"I need to take the potion," Malfoy said.

"No," Harry said without a second thought.

"I need it, Potter," Malfoy insisted. "Or something like it. I cannot carry on like this."

"No Potions," Harry said. "We had an agreement, Malfoy."

"Look at me!" Malfoy spat. He held up his right hand. The wand he clasped was shooting sickly sparks, lights that quickly fell away and spluttered like damp flares.

Harry swallowed and focused on Malfoy's face. He still carried the greenish pallor Harry was slowly growing habituated to. His eyes were shadowed by purple-blue circles and his cheeks showed dark hollows where there had been smooth lines.

"You're tired," Harry said. He reached out and gripped Malfoy's wand hand. The sparks spluttered out and stopped. "This will be over in no time, Malfoy. You just need to take it easy."

"I can't take it easy, Potter," Malfoy hissed. He pulled his hand away. A series of cracks sounded from Harry's office and they both winced.

"I have a job to hold down," Malfoy said. "How good an Arithmancer do you think I make when I can't even stop a simple inference spell from blowing up half the reference section? I can hardly call myself a professional when my pressing charms have singed all my work robes and I keep falling asleep at my desk."

"Then take a break," Harry said. "You must have enough annual leave saved up."

"We're in the middle of preparations for Peru," Malfoy said. "I can't 'take a break.' They'll give the promotion to Wildsmith and I'll be out the door."

"Who cares about the bloody promotion?" Harry said. "It's not like we need the money, Malfoy."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Harry watched Malfoy's face grow red, the normal shivers taken over by shakes of rage. The sparking wand once again stopped and Harry instead felt a prickling heat that suggested he was moments away from feeling Malfoy's wrath.

"You're right," Malfoy said calmly. He stood up and smoothed down his robes. His next words were over-enunciated, every syllable knife-sharp. "As always, Potter, you're right."

Malfoy stormed towards the bedroom. Harry chased after him, but managed to reach the door just in time for it to slam in his face. He tried the handle but it had been locked.

"Malfoy?" He called through the door. "Malfoy? Whatever I said-."

The bedroom on the other side was silent. Harry thought for a moment of leaving, just stepping out and giving himself room to breathe. He had missed the last night out with Ron and George. Perhaps they could tell him what he was doing wrong. Malfoy would probably be calmer once he had had a chance to cool down too.

An image of the blue flask flashed in his mind and he winced, dropping his wand hand back to side.

“Malfoy,” Harry called. “I was wrong.”

It would normally be enough to inspire a ceasefire. Malfoy never passed up a chance to gloat over Harry’s ignorance.

Instead, there was a muffled scream on the other side of the door and a crash. Harry leaned his head back against the wall and hoped the couch was comfier than it looked.

-

Healer Winickus' office was above an apothecary, sandwiched between a rundown restaurant and what purported to be the offices of a local sports paper. The light was on and Hermione stood below for a moment, watching a shadow move back and forth behind the thin blind. Steeling herself, she drew her wand and knocked on the door.

"Are you a new patient?"

The man who opened the door was younger than Hermione had expected, no more than forty. He had a round, kind face and was dressed in an eccentric, corduroy-heavy outfit that looked rather like his boyhood clothes had merely been stretched to fit his larger frame.

"No," Hermione said. "My name is Hermione Granger. I wanted to ask you about Draco Malfoy."

The door slammed into Hermione's foot, her toes just across the threshold, and she gave a cry of pained surprise. The man was already making toward the Floo and it was sheer instinct that meant her body-bind to hit before he could reach the Floo powder.

Hermione turned him over, wand drawn. The fall had knocked the man's glasses askew but his eyes, slightly unfocused, squinted up at her. His breath came in wet, feeble pants. Hermione pocketed his wand, left unattended on his desk, and lifted the spell.

"You can't do this," the man said. "I haven't done anything wrong."

"Are you Healer Winickus?" Hermione asked.

Winickus nodded. He settled his glasses back on the bridge of his nose and pulled his knees up. He gave another shuddering sob as Hermione stepped towards him.

"You were Malfoy's mind Healer?" Hermione asked.

"I cannot confirm or deny who my patients are," Winickus said with a wince.

"And you removed the files," Hermione said.

Winickus was shaking. His eyes darted between the Floo and the door, no doubt hoping that rescue would be forthcoming. Hermione twirled her wand absently.

"It's like you were never there," she said.

Winickus' lips twitched slightly and she pointed her wand at him sharply. Winickus was frozen in place. His round face was very pale and he was gasping for breath as if he had just run a marathon.

"Why are you doing this? Is it revenge? Do you want to hurt them?" Hermione had seen people do worse in pursuit of vengeance against former Death Eaters.

"I don't want to hurt anyone!" Winickus cried. He held his hands up between them like a shield. "I haven't hurt anyone."

Hermione frowned.

"You're not stupid," she said. "You know you’re lying. Was it just Malfoy or are there more? Was it just Alacritas or-?"

"He got better!" Winickus cried.

"You know the law," Hermione spat.

Winickus flinched.

"It can't just be Malfoy," Hermione said, casting her gaze around the room. "You've taken all the files in your name. There must be others."

"I was trying to help," Winickus sobbed. "Believe me. I was just trying to help."

Hermione frowned. She dropped her wand arm, sitting down on the edge of the desk.

"You can't have destroyed the files," Hermione said partly to herself. “I’ll find them eventually.”

She twirled her wand thoughtfully, watching Winickus closely enough to see his eyes dart quickly towards a drawer by the window. Hermione flicked her wrist, opening it with a simple Alohomora.

The drawer was full of shrunken files, hundreds of them piled on top of one another. A few columns had fallen, leaving messy heaps of open manila folders and loose magenta parchment. Hermione reached for the top one.

"You can't take them," Winickus said loudly. His voice grew louder, steadier, bolder. "You've broken the law already but if you take those files I’ll have you put away."

Hermione hesitated, looking down at the teetering pile of shrunken files. Purple sheets fell from the top-most pile, falling like feathers in the breeze to the bottom of the drawer. She slammed it closed hard enough to shake the whole cabinet.

"Fine," she said. She set Winickus' wand down on the desk where she had found it. A file sat open, covered in scribbled out notes and chicken-scratch writing. The word 'Alacritas' jumped out at her and she felt a sick squeeze in her stomach.

She cast one last, furious look at Winickus before she Apparated away.

-

When Harry awoke on the sofa the curtains were already drawn and the bedroom door stood open. Malfoy had left for work without waking him. Harry's cup, never usually empty when Malfoy was around, was upturned on the drying rack. The kettle was still cold.

Harry walked into the bedroom with some trepidation but whatever Malfoy had spent half the night breaking had been carefully spelled back together. Everything was in its place from the carefully ordered products on Malfoy's dresser to the haphazardly piled t-shirts on the floor of Harry's wardrobe.

Harry pulled a t-shirt free from the pile, sending a tidal wave of coloured cotton tumbling across his shoes. It was a Holyhead Harpies shirt, the emerald colour faded to mottled greenish-grey and the middle sporting a ragged tear across Harry's navel from a fight with an angry Kestrels fan.

Harry went to pull it over his head and then noticed the note fixed to the back, a sensible grey-white square of memo paper.

'Potter is an idiot.'

Harry smiled and pulled the note away, placing it carefully on Malfoy's nightstand. His back twinged as he pulled the shirt over his head but his reflection gave him a cheerful smile.

-

Hermione hesitated as she walked into Harry's office. He was sat behind the desk, staring morosely into an empty mug. He looked pale and unfocused.

"I need a warrant," Hermione said.

Harry jumped and grabbed at his empty wand holster. Hermione picked his wand up off the floor by his desk and held it out, handle first, for him to take.

"Thanks," Harry said. He sheathed his wand, fumbling, before he looked back up.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked.

"Tired," Harry said. "But I've got the good end of the bargain, I suppose."

Hermione smiled wanly.

"I meant it about being there," she said.

"I know," Harry said. He tapped his finger against the edge of his cup and a fresh coffee pot whizzed towards his desk. "You said something about a warrant?"

"I need one to search Winickus' office," Hermione said. "Or rather, I need one for an Auror to search Winickus' office but since I married one-."

"Since you married one you should know we don't issue warrants," Harry said. He picked up his now over-filled mug and took a gulp of too-hot coffee.

"I was hoping you could pull some strings?" Hermione asked.

"No," Harry said evenly. He held the coffee cup to his chest.

"I wouldn’t ask if I didn't need it," Hermione said. "You might hate all the fame and attention, Harry, but this might be our only chance to take the bastard down."

"I'm not exactly employee of the month, at the moment," Harry said. He drained his mug and set it down before gesturing at the teetering pile of reports on the edge of his desk. "I don't think I can start calling in special favours from top brass."

"You're Harry Potter," Hermione said.

"No," Harry hissed as if struck. "I'm not. I'm 'Just Harry' here and I'm happy with that, Hermione. I start throwing around the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing..."

"Fine," Hermione said. "I'll just have to ask Ron."

Harry rested his head on one hand, letting out a low sigh.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. "If I thought it was worth it I would-."

"He's still practicing," Hermione said. She stepped forward until she towered over his desk. She couldn't keep the shaking from her voice. "Right now he's poisoning someone else the way he did Malfoy."

Harry swallowed, looking up. He bit his lip, hesitating, before shaking his head.

"I can't do anything, Hermione," he said. "There are rules and we can't just skirt them whenever they get in our way."

"Fine," Hermione said. "Give my best to Malfoy."

"Don't," Harry said.

Hermione hesitated, regretting the words the moment she saw Harry's shoulders stiffen.

"I didn’t mean that," she said.

Harry tapped his coffee cup again but the coffee pot had wandered off. He let out a moan as Hermione closed the office door.

-

The living room was full of smoke, acrid and magic-tinged. Harry coughed as he made a panicked sweep of the room, drawing his wand, before kicking open the bedroom door.

Malfoy was stood in the middle of the bedroom, wand drawn and staring at a blackened mark on the floor. Harry hurried over to him, grabbing him by the shoulders. Malfoy refused to look at him. His eyes were wet and red but Harry could not tell if that was due to tears or smoke.

"I'm okay," Malfoy rasped after a moment. "I'm okay."

His gaze was still fixed on the sooty mark. When Harry pulled away, moving to push open the sash windows, Malfoy sank down to the floor. He pulled his knees towards his chest, bare toes curling in the pile of the carpet as he stared.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"A robe-pressing charm," Malfoy said. He finally looked up, quirking a wan smile. "You always said my vanity would catch up with me one day, Potter."

Harry leaned towards the window, taking deep breaths of fresh air. Malfoy uncurled and moved to join him, leaning half-out into the street as he took a deep, gasping lungful of fresh air. He gave a sudden, rattling cough and Harry wondered how long he had spent in the smokey flat. How long had it taken for Malfoy to get his wayward magic to put out the flames?

Malfoy pulled himself back into the room, sliding down to the sit on the window seat. His skin was puckered with goosebumps but for once he did not shiver. He pulled his knees up, eyes once again focusing on the remains of his robe. His brows were knitted.

"We need to talk about the potion," Malfoy said.

Harry huffed.

"We have talked about the potion," he said. "The risks are-."

"I've been fine for eight years, Potter," Malfoy said.

"But now you're pregnant," Harry said. "There's a baby to think about and the risk to them isn't worth it."

"I don't have to be," Malfoy said. He had pursed his lips into a determined moue. His hand, however, betrayed him by curling on his lap, fingers brushing against the slight curve of his stomach.

"I don't have to be pregnant," Malfoy said voice barely more than a whisper. "I could..."

"Malfoy," Harry said softly, ducking back into the room. "Don't."

"It's a simple potion," Malfoy said. His voice almost broke on the last syllable.

"If I thought you meant that I would stand by you, Malfoy," Harry said. "But we both know you don't."

Malfoy's hand clenched into a fist. He turned away.

"It could be fine," he said. "The books suggest there's a high level of risk but that doesn't mean it's certain. It wouldn't have to be a-." He winced, choking on the word. "It wouldn't have to be a squib.”

"No," Harry said. "But they could be. Or worse."

"But you'd still love it," Malfoy said. "You're Perfect Potter. You'd have to."

"Of course," Harry breathed. He couldn't imagine not loving their child, a tiny person half-Malfoy and half-Potter. A little child who'd call him Daddy and would listen to his stories when Malfoy worked late. A link to everything he held dear, to Malfoy and to his parents and to the future he had fought to protect.

"I just don't know if I can do this," Malfoy said. "Trimble said that if I keep losing magic and weight..."

Harry reached across and wrapped his arms around Malfoy. He felt the sobs, wracking Malfoy's body, until they gave way to the now-customary tremors.

Harry remembered lying in St Mungo's, sobbing through the pain of reattaching three limbs. Malfoy had held his good hand, straight backed and stern. Harry had let out a scream and Malfoy had leant forward, lips brushing against his ear.

"This too shall pass," Harry whispered.

Malfoy gripped his waist tighter. Harry stroked his hands down Malfoy's bare back, fingers tracing the uneven line of over-defined vertebrae. He hesitated as his thumb brushed over Malfoy's waist, holding his breath as he slid his hand to settle over the hard swell below Malfoy's navel.

"You're doing so well," Harry said. "And I know you can do this, Malfoy."

Malfoy pulled back, overtaken by a yawn. His body was still shaking and when he stood he flailed, grabbing Harry's shoulder. His head drooped and he took a series of shallow, hurried pants, eyes squeezed closed. Harry fumbled for his wand, ready to summon whatever was needed.

"I'm bored of this," Malfoy muttered after a moment, one eye opening slightly to show a slither of pale grey.

Harry stood. He settled a hand on Malfoy's hip and nodded towards the bed.

"Think you can make it?" He asked. They took a step forward.

"You just can't wait to get me into bed," Malfoy muttered, a ghost of a smirk pulling at one cheek.

"Never could," Harry said.

He tightened his grip on Malfoy's hip, feeling sick at the feel of hard bone against his hand. Malfoy shuffled a few steps and then veered left, leaning into Harry's chest. He breathed in, tilting his head to place a gentle kiss on Harry's jaw. He touched a hand to Harry's shoulder, stopping their progress.

"There's a Potion in the bathroom cabinet," he said. He brushed Harry’s chin, forcing him to look into Malfoy’s eyes. "I didn't take any."

"Good," Harry said. His tie felt too tight but he was unable to loosen it with Malfoy in his arms. He settled for swallowing.

"That's good, Malfoy," he said.

"I try," Malfoy said. He took a step away on his own, managing to angle his next wobble to send him sprawling on to the bed. He blinked up at Harry, face carefully blank, eyes slightly glassy.

"I do try."

-

Hermione had contacted six former patients of Senior Healer Borage, a kindly man of over a hundred who had been only too pleased to help despite Hermione's inability to give many details. She supposed his lack of patient confidentiality might have otherwise been a concern but she was grateful to have any chance to find support for a warrant application.

Only one former patient had been willing to speak. Hebe Phemister was a sweet heiress with two young children and a recently-diagnosed addiction to mind-sharpening Potions. She was only too glad to tell Hermione everything she could about Winickus. The unfortunate problem was that weaning off the mind-sharpening potion had made her scattered to say the least.

Nonetheless, it became clear there was little linking Phemister and Malfoy. She was a Beauxbatons student and had played no part in the war, although her family had been strong supporters of the Light. She was ten years Malfoy's senior, worked for a fashion magazine writing a particularly vapid column about robe lengths and had failed all but one of her OWLs. It was clear that the only commonality was they both had had money to burn and had clearly felt the need to seek out a Mind Healer.

Hermione did not know if it was better or worse not to have a clear patient profile beyond apparent wealth. There was no way for her to find anything against Winickus without knowing where to look. Phemister's testimony alone, scattered and conflicting and prone to rambling as it was, would clearly not be reliable enough to get Hermione access to those files.

Nonetheless, Hermione found herself somewhat thankful she was not coming up against another demented Death Eater catcher. She had had enough of that for two lifetimes.

-

Malfoy looked better.

Harry stilled in the doorway, watching as Malfoy stirred a bubbling pot of bolognese sauce, hips swaying to the Muggle-fusion music coming from the wireless. If he ignored the way Malfoy's once fitted t-shirt hung loose between his shoulders and pulled taut across the swell of his stomach, he could almost imagine things were as they had always been.

"Grate some parmesan," Malfoy said in greeting, not looking up.

"What's the magic word?" Harry grinned.

Malfoy snorted a laugh.

"Imperio?" he asked. He knocked the spoon against the pan with a clang. "Parmesan, Potter. It won't grate itself."

Harry opened his mouth to retort before he took in the way Malfoy was stirring by hand and the still knives lying abandoned on the counters. The words died in his throat. He brushed his hand along Malfoy's lower back as he passed, trying his best to offer comfort as he picked up the grater.

Malfoy grinned, wiggling his hips suggestively, as he turned down the heat by hand. He turned in to Harry's side, placing a loud, wet parody of a kiss on Harry's cheek.

"My hero," he cooed.

Harry grinned as he finished grating the cheese, bumping their hips together as Malfoy leaned closer. He sprinkled a handful on his own spaghetti before heaping a more generous serving onto Malfoy's plate. Malfoy flushed, before heading to the door.

"You look better," Harry said hesitantly, taking a seat at the dining room table.

"I didn't take anything," Malfoy said quickly, fork hovering over his plate.

"I didn't mean to imply that," Harry said.

"Why not?" Malfoy asked. "It's the obvious assumption."

He shoved a heaped forkful into his mouth and grinned, lips painted red by the tomato-rich sauce.

"Do you think..?" Harry asked, not daring to speak his hope aloud.

Malfoy wiped a napkin across his lips before plunging his fork back into the pile of pasta.

"I think it's over," Malfoy confirmed. He twirled his fork, the ball of spaghetti growing so large that Harry assumed he must have been using magic to keep it together. "I think, now, it's pretty much just a case of getting fat while you tell me I'm wonderful for making such a brave sacrifice for your future happiness."

"You are," Harry said. "Wonderful, I mean."

Malfoy smiled another red-lipped smile.

"I sure am," he said.

-

The young woman looked awkwardly back at Winickus’ door before pulling insistently at her collar. There was no way for her to disguise the odd golden glow she emitted, a clear sign of an increased dose of confidence draught.

She looked up and her eyes fixed on the woman standing across from her.

Hermione cursed her lapse in concentration, flicking her wand to try to recover her camouflage.

It was too late, the woman had narrowed her eyes and was approaching. Emboldened by a dose of restricted Potions, she didn’t even falter in her step until she was standing before Hermione, blocking her view of Winickus’ office.

“Do I know you?” She asked.

Hermione straightened up, slipping her wand back into her pocket. Her attempts to engage with Winickus’ current patients had so far not yielded a single success. Nonetheless, she embraced the unexpected opportunity to try once again.

“Hermione Granger,” she said. “Pleased to meet you.”

-

"Get away from her!"

Harry grabbed for his wand, still half-asleep. His hand came back empty and he scrambled across the bed, heart beating wildly. He could see nothing in the darkness but he could hear sobbing. Something was moving beside him, thrashing around. His hand curled around his wand and he spun, dropping off the edge of the bed to take cover.

"Stop! Stop! Please!"

It was Malfoy's voice, urgent but slurring. Harry whispered, "Lumos," and watched the pale light spread across the room. Malfoy was curled on his side, his back to Harry. He gave out a whimper as the light grew but gave no other reaction.

"No," he whispered, almost too quiet for Harry to hear.

Harry climbed back onto the bed, reaching out tentatively to touch Malfoy's shoulder. He could still hear his own heartbeat in his ears, loud and fast.

"Malfoy?" he whispered.

Malfoy hissed as if scalded and Harry pulled back.

"Malfoy?" He called, voice growing louder. "Draco?"

Malfoy muttered something under his breath. His shoulders loosened slightly, his hand releasing from the tight grip he had had on his pillow.

"Draco?" Harry called.

Malfoy was asleep, breathing softly. Harry Noxed his wand light and settled down beside him, Malfoy's skin was warm and sweat-damp when Harry pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

A breath passed, Harry's chest tight, before Malfoy rolled towards him, settling into his place at Harry's side.

Harry smiled as he closed his eyes, tangling his fingers in Malfoy’s hair.

-

“You can’t keep hassling his patients,” Ron said. “I’m getting buried under all the complaints. You said you would be using camouflage.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, tucking the covers around Hugo’s huddled form.

“Are you here to arrest me?” She asked lightly.

“That’s not my choice,” Ron said. “And it’s not your job to investigate crimes.”

“I’ll be more careful,” Hermione said. “They won’t even know I’m there. If one or two more are willing to talk to me I might have enough to appeal to Kingsley.”

“Good,” Ron said. “I’m not sure if I can be the voice of reason much longer.”

-

Harry opened his eyes into darkness. His heart was beating fast again and he felt the tingle of wild magic against his skin. His body felt heavy, exhausted and aching from too-long days and too-short nights. He lay still, listening, but Malfoy was silent.

"Protego horribilis," Malfoy muttered after a moment of tense silence, voice breaking on the last syllable.

Harry rolled to his side. Malfoy was facing him, face contorted into a pained frown. His hand gripped air as he twitched his wrist in a muted imitation of the familiar incantation.

"Protego horribilis," Malfoy muttered again. He pulled his hand to his chest, fist clenched. "Hold on."

His body tensed and Harry reached across, grabbing Malfoy's shoulder. He knew it was not to be recommended but the constant static prickle of magic had put him on edge.

"It's okay," he said, shaking him softly. "Malfoy, wake up. It's okay."

Malfoy gave no warning. Harry's hand tightened slightly and then his back slammed into the wall. He gasped for breath, winded, as he hit the floor. His head was spinning, a sickening pain at the back of his skull. He looked up.

Malfoy's eyes were open, staring. Harry could only watch as Malfoy sobbed, body shaking. His eyes were glazed but seeing nothing, flicking around the room as if taking in a hundred threats that only he could see.

"Malfoy," Harry hissed desperately. "Wake up."

He inched forward, keeping low to the ground. He could see his wand beneath his pillow, the handle just out of reach.

Malfoy blinked, his brow furrowing. His eyes fixed on Harry and for a moment his face was perfectly blank.

"Potter?" He asked.

"It was a nightmare," Harry said. "You're home and you're safe, Malfoy. I won't let anything hurt you."

Malfoy pushed himself up, eyes fixed on Harry. The pale morning light caught the glimmer of something on Malfoy's cheek and Harry realised he was crying. He reached up and wiped the tear away, ignoring Malfoy's flinch.

They remained in silence for a moment, staring at one another.

"Malfoy?" Harry prompted.

"I couldn't save her," Malfoy said. Harry had no idea to whom he was referring but each possibility seemed more horrid than the last. He thought of Narcissa Malfoy's heartbroken departure, of Pansy Parkinson's body floating in the Thames, of the unidentified bodies in Malfoy Manor.

"You tried your best," Harry said. "There was nothing more you could do."

Malfoy turned away. His shoulders shook and Harry heard a choked cough as he tried to suppress more tears. He reached forward, laying a gentle hand on Malfoy's shoulder. This time, Malfoy didn't move, merely stayed stock-still, staring into the darkness.

"I can't do this," he said, quiet enough that Harry wondered if he had imagined it.

-

"I have your warrant," Harry said, standing in Hermione's doorway. He was unkempt, robes incorrectly buttoned and chin dusted with stubble, but he looked triumphant as he held out the scroll.

Hermione grabbed it, unwinding until she saw the signature at the bottom.

"Thank you," she said. "Harry, you have no idea how useful this will be. I've been trying to work around it but this is just what I need to be able to..."

Harry nodded. He leaned to the side, propped up against the doorframe. He closed his eyes and his head bobbed twice before he opened them again.

"I thought Malfoy was feeling better," Hermione said.

"Nightmares," Harry muttered.

"I thought they'd gone away," Hermione said. "Are you still in contact with-?"

"Malfoy's nightmares," Harry said. "It's every night and, as much as I love him, I just want to sleep."

"You have to get him some Dreamless Sleep then," Hermione said promptly. She set the warrant down on the edge of her desk, moving to grab her prescription pad.

"He can't take it," Harry said.

"I know you said no Potions," Hermione said. "But if he's even half as exhausted as you are then you will have to make an exception. You can't in good conscience expect him to just push through all this without any magical help."

"No," Harry said. "He's not allowed to take it."

"Oh," Hermione said. She put the prescription pad down, pausing for a moment before the answer dawned on her. "Oh! Harry, I can't believe you didn't tell me!"

"I'm not telling you now," Harry said, straightening up as if he had just been dunked in ice water. His eyes grew huge and he held his hands in front of him, palms forward. "Hermione. I'm not telling you anything."

Hermione smiled.

"It makes so much sense," she said.

Harry groaned.

"I won't tell him," Hermione said, beaming. She mimed a zip before her mouth. "I won't say a thing."

"You better not," Harry muttered.

He was startled when Hermione pulled him into her arms. He patted her back, his face buried in a mass of frizzy hair. It felt good, he realised, to be held. He leaned against her, eyes closed.

"Congratulations," Hermione said, pulling away.

Harry blinked, startled, before he managed to choke out a thanks.

-

The first glimmer of morning light was coming through the window, illuminating Malfoy's profile in cold, faded light. He looked, Harry thought, like a marble statue, colourless and unmoving. His cheeks were dry this time but there was a redness to his eyes that could have come from tears or merely from lack of sleep.

"I don't want to talk about it," Malfoy said. He lifted his chin looking down his nose, a perfect Malfoy pose of defiance.

"Are you getting any sleep?" Harry asked. "I'm exhausted. I can't imagine you feel any better."

"I'm fine," Malfoy said.

"Maybe if you told me what you saw," Harry started.

"No," Malfoy said.

The silence was heavy, almost suffocating. Malfoy shifted slightly, pulling the covers up to cover his softly rounded stomach.

"I heard what you said," Harry said.

Malfoy's breath caught. He turned his face and stared at Harry. His drawn brows said clearly that he did not think Harry would dare to continue. His white knuckles made it obvious he knew better.

"You were calling for Crabbe," Harry said.

"Potter," Malfoy hissed. His whole body was tense. His eyes narrowed.

"I had nightmares too," Harry said. "After what happened. I understand, Malfoy, and if you tell me about it then it might get better."

"I said no," Malfoy said.

"Then tell someone else," Harry said. "You could get a Mind Healer."

Malfoy rolled away, ripping the duvet harshly away from Harry. He covered himself entirely until only a tuft of white-blond hair remained visible.

"I don't want a mind Healer," he said lowly.

"Then talk to me," Harry said. “You need to tell someone what’s bothering you, Malfoy.”

Malfoy gave no reply.

-

Hermione wished she could have seen the look on Winickus' face when Ron took the drawer of shrunken files. She knew the exact moment it had happened, momentarily distracted from writing up notes when the clock's Ron hand loudly whirred, moving from 'office' to 'out.'

She had, however, clearly underestimated quite how many patients Winickus had managed to attract. She had begun unpacking the drawer, unshrinking the files and sorting them onto her desk, only to find herself running out of space and then floor until she was forced to begin again, shrinking anything not under the first three letters of the alphabet.

Her task was complete by the time Ron brought her a bowl of soup, raising a pale eyebrow at the magenta pages spread out before her.

"This is A-C," she said by way of explanation.

"Bastard," Ron muttered.

Hermione nodded in agreement as he sat down opposite her. Ron pulled his knees up to avoid knocking any boxes, balancing his bowl awkwardly on his knees.

"This is cosy," he said. "Like being back at school."

"Except now you'll pull your weight," Hermione said, shoving a file his way.

-

"I keep dreaming about Pansy," Malfoy said.

Harry looked up from the report he was writing, a drop of ink falling from his quill to obscure the case number. He forgot to breathe for a moment. Malfoy seemed to be having a similar problem, sitting stiffly as if startled by his own words. He had dug his fingers into his own stack of parchment, crumpling the corners of a half-dozen calculation sheets.

"I know you were close," Harry said when a moment passed in silence.

"I loved her," Malfoy said absently.

Harry nodded, swallowing heavily.

"I know."

Malfoy's lips quirked and he looked across at Harry.

"No need to be jealous, Potter," he said. "She's not taking me back."

Harry swallowed, absentmindedly ticking the wrong box on the form. He scribbled through it, ignoring Malfoy's muttered curse.

"What do you dream about?" Harry asked. He set his quill back in the inkpot.

"Surely it's obvious," Malfoy said. He looked away again, staring sightlessly down at his calculations. "I know I wake you up."

Harry sighed.

"You know all the messy details, Potter," Malfoy continued. "I'm sure you've read all my files."

"Yes," Harry admitted. Malfoy had sounded so matter-of-fact that he didn't consider denying it. "But you were there."

Malfoy ignored him, tapping his quill against the top of his stack of parchment. He made a quick scribble and then cursed, immediately scratching it out.

"You could tell someone else," Harry tried.

"Yes," Malfoy said. "I'm sure there are witches and wizards lining up around the block to give sympathy to a known Death Eater. I could start a touring show, tell them all about the rituals and the murders and the werewolf settlements."

Harry swallowed, pushing his reports aside. Malfoy was squinting down at his parchment but it was clear he had lost all concentration. His hands were shaking so hard that Harry could hear the crackle of the parchment across the room.

"Is that why you haven't told anyone?" Harry asked.

Malfoy looked down at his stomach, the buttons of his Arithmancer's robe straining over an increasingly conspicuous curve. Another few weeks and they would be a lost cause.

"I'm not stupid," Malfoy said. "I know that I'm carrying Harry Potter's blessed baby and no one can hurt me without risking the full force of your over-zealous wrath."

"But you don't want to risk it," Harry said.

Malfoy's mouth twisted to one side as if he had tasted something particularly unpleasant.

"It's hard to keep something out of your head," he said softly, "when you're reminded of it every night."

"I know," Harry said.

"But I should tell someone about the baby," Malfoy said. He tapped the feather of his quill against the top of the bump. "They probably assume it's some kind of tumour. The goblins keep suggesting I put black blood root on it."

Harry smiled as he dipped his quill again. Malfoy rolled his shoulders and muttered something under his breath, holding the parchment at arm’s length.

"Oh," Malfoy said as an afterthought, writing neat Persian characters on the edge of the parchment. "And I know you told Granger."

Harry's smile fell.

-

"It's worse than I thought," Hermione said.

Harry had taken off his glasses. His eyes felt hot and swollen from lack of sleep. His head thrummed and he could do little more than nod, leaning forward until his face rested in his hands.

"I’ve gotten documents, willing witnesses, Pensieve memories," Hermione said. "There is a lot of evidence here. He won't practice again."

"Good," Harry muttered.

"But then I noticed Frobisher," Hermione said.

Harry's back stiffened quickly enough to send a shooting pain across his shoulders. He bit back a groan of discomfort.

"Exactly," Hermione said, speaking too quickly for Harry to focus. "I don't think he knew what he was doing when he took these documents but it's enough. The Wizengamot won't let him get away with this."

"He didn't know what?" Harry asked, frowning. His head felt heavy and his thoughts felt jumbled. He put his glasses back on, pushing them up his nose so he could frown at the file in Hermione's hands.

"I'll explain later," Hermione said calmly. "Your shift ended ten minutes ago. Get some sleep."

Harry hesitated for a moment, considering the possibility of merely falling asleep at his desk. Malfoy was a competent adult, he reasoned, he could look after himself.

"Home, Potter," a voice said.

Khouri leaned on the edge of the desk, looking unimpressed. Harry's face hurt where his glasses had dug into his cheek. His head was pounding.

"Okay, Potter?" Khouri asked. "You don't look good. I'm sure Kingsley would let you take a day if you need it."

"I'm fine," Harry grumbled. The twinge between his shoulders struck again, breath-taking pain shooting down his back. He longed for his bed, for the warm presence of Malfoy at his side. There was a chance that it could be his, he thought, if tonight was a quiet one.

-

“Bed,” Ron said.

“Five more minutes,” Hermione said, opening another thick file. The notes inside were a jumbled mess, nothing kept in date order, teal notes mixed in with green and blue.

“They’ll still be here in the morning,” Ron said.

“And so will he,” Hermione said. “If I could just find a link then I’d know what I’m looking for but they’re all so different.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “But Camelot wasn’t built in a day, love.”

Hermione smiled tenderly for a moment before her eyes opened wider. She looked, for a moment, as if she had taken a blow to the head. Then she reached blindly for a file in the pile at her elbow.

Ron sighed before turning around and heading to bed alone.

-

The Bansal house was in perfect darkness. Harry crouched in the hedges, wand drawn. He looked down at his watch. Three in the morning. If anyone was going to appear it was going to be now.

"Nothing in the West," Khouri's voice hissed in Harry's ear.

Harry looked over his shoulder, taking in the row of darkened houses and the silent, empty street.

"South's clear," Harry answered. "Barbary? Waffling? Report."

"North," Barbary said gruffly. "Nothing."

There was silence.

"Waffling?" Harry prompted. "Waffling? Answer."

"They're here, Potter," Waffling whispered. "Five masked individuals, wands drawn, approaching from the East."

"Damn," Harry muttered. He had almost made it home early but now he'd have to risk another duel.

"On our way, Waffling," Harry said. "Hold tight. Don't break cover."

He raised his wand, Disapparating just as he heard Waffling hiss.

Harry appeared with a pop beside Waffling. She was shaking but held steady, eyes fixed on the group of masked wizards approaching. They were not Death Eaters, Harry realised. The masks were wrong. There were not, he realised absently, only five of them.

"Khouri," he hissed.

There was a faint pop to his left.

"Right here," Khouri said smiling. She looked across to the street and swore.

"Barbary, we need back up," Khouri said. "Almost twenty of the bastards. Get a message to Shacklebolt."

"Done," Barbary said.

No more than a minute passed, the masked group moving slowly up the road towards them. They reached the next house. Harry corrected his grip on his wand, a curse on his tongue. Beside him, Waffling shifted onto her toes, preparing to sprint forward.

There was a loud pop behind him followed by three more. The masked group stopped and Harry felt the moment their hidden eyes fixed on them. He ducked just in time to miss a blast of red light, rolling onto his stomach and shooting a blasting hex towards them. It went wide but managed to knock the four leftmost wizards onto their backs.

"Alright, Potter?" Khouri asked, dropping to the ground beside him.

"Fine," Harry gasped.

"Good boy," Khouri said. Harry watched her take off in a crouched run towards the house. He pushed himself onto his knees, casting a quick shield over his partner before sending a barrage of curses at the first line of masked attackers. Five fell back, stumbling, and he shot an Incarcerous at the closest.

"We want them alive, Potter," Barbary shouted, Apparating in just behind him.

"Hey!" Harry yelled, managing to petrify the struggling captive.

"Force of habit," Barbary grinned.

A crack announced the arrival of another masked figure and Harry aimed an Incarcerous at them before they could cast any spells. They fell backwards, head bouncing on the tarmac, and Harry grinned. His smile faltered as another crack sounded followed by three others. The four untied figures had disappeared but he could hear them in the trees across the road.

Two of the figures fell from the treeline, hit by Barbary's hexes, before Harry managed to shoot an Expelliamus at a third. It went wide and Harry was forced to duck an Incendio aimed at his robes. He rolled out of the way of the flames that sprang up in his wake. His second Expelliamus hit the target but another masked figure had come to the rescue, running forward, wand drawn.

Their curse went wide and Harry heard a cry behind him, Khouri, and he turned. It was for a split-second but that was enough. By the time he turned back he could already see the curse approaching and had no time to dodge. He took the blow to the shoulder, feeling flesh and bone tear like paper in the spell's wake.

He was on the ground, staring up at the starry night. Incendios and Incarcerouses shot over his head, some close enough that he could feel their heat. He blinked slowly. He curled his hands but only the left one touched earth. His right shoulder burned, an all-consuming pain that spread until he couldn't breathe.

"Calm, Potter," Khouri said. Harry saw her face, blood splattered and stern, hovering to his left. "We'll find it in a second."

Harry turned his head to the right and took in empty space past his shoulder.

"Did anyone get my wand?" he asked dizzily. He turned his head, feeling sick. He tasted metal.

"Confringo," Khouri hissed, aiming somewhere to their left. She smiled as she looked down at him, unconcerned.

"We've got them, Potter," she said. "I'll have Waffling do a sweep for your arm once they're in cells."

Harry choked slightly, spitting blood onto the damp grass. He turned his head again, taking in the bloody wreck of his shoulder.

"Malfoy's going to kill me," he muttered.

He slipped away to the sound of Khouri's soft laughter.

"Traitor," he muttered absently.

-

The pain of knitting a limb back together never got any easier. Harry was aware that he had been given a pain potion; the bed felt as if it was swaying beneath him, the world tilting oddly with each breath. Nonetheless, his first attempt to lift his head inspired a sharp pain to shoot from thumb to shoulder. He buried his face, screaming into the pillow.

In the silence that rang afterwards, his head feeling foggy as he gasped for breath, he thought he heard crying. He thought it might be himself, remembering regrowing his left foot and the disembodied screams that made his throat ache. This time, however, he could feel every breath and hear the panicked sobs, too fast and too loud to be his own.

"Malfoy?" He whispered. Even that slight movement was enough to cause a flare of red-hot fire through his fingers. He bit his lip as he choked down another scream, splitting his lip.

He heard a door slam.

The room was silent except for his own gasping breaths.

-

"Where's Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Great to see you too, mate," Ron said, setting an oversized bar of Honeyduke's finest on the bedside cabinet. He sat heavily in the visitor's chair, gaze focused on Harry's new arm. "Good as new?"

"Better," Harry said. He flexed his fingers, still slightly pink in the places where they had been newly joined. "I have a matching set now."

Ron grinned and broke off a bit of the chocolate. It appeared two minutes was long enough for him to forget it was meant to be a present. Harry reached for a piece, fingers coming slightly short, and Ron reached forward to help him. The first bite was heaven, magical heat growing in his chest and spreading outwards until he felt warm all over. The Christmas blend.

"Is he okay?" Harry asked.

"Hermione took him home," Ron said. "It looked pretty bad and Hermione thought he might..."

Ron broke off another piece of chocolate, the crack loud in the painful silence.

"He just needed a little time to calm down," he said with a smile that was too tight and small to be genuine. "He's probably much happier helping Rose with the tree. I didn’t know you could have that loud an opinion on tinsel."

"He's under a lot of stress," Harry said tightly. There were cards on his bedside and a writhing poesy of snarfalumps and poinsettia. He admired them absently. "When can I go home?"

"No idea," Ron shrugged, spluttering through a mouthful of chocolate. "Hopefully before Christmas lunch, eh?"

Harry groaned as he threw his head back into the pillows.

-

"Free to go."

Malfoy's voice was rough and little more than a whisper. Harry's smile died on his lips at the sight of him, eyes red-raw and hair tangled in peaked tufts. His cheek bore pillow creases that made it clear that despite it being long past noon he had just woken up.

"Malfoy," Harry breathed. He reached out but Malfoy moved from his grasp.

"I'm sorry," Harry tried.

Malfoy hovered for a moment, uncertain, before he stepped forward. His arms wrapped tightly around Harry's waist, pulling him close. He buried his face in Harry's shoulder, taking a deep, shaking breath.

"I'm so sorry," Malfoy whispered.

"What-," Harry began.

"I thought I'd lost you," Malfoy said.

Harry wrapped his good arm around Malfoy's shoulders, holding him still. He felt small in Harry's arms, unsubstantial and hollow, like he might crumble.

Malfoy sighed, body sagging, breath ghosting over Harry's throat.

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated. He grabbed Malfoy's hand in his repaired one, tangling their fingers together.

Malfoy shook, arms tightening around Harry's waist. Harry's shoulder felt damp.

"You were tired," Malfoy said. "I know I've been keeping you up. You don't need to..."

He gasped for breath, holding on to Harry's shoulders like he expected him to be ripped away.

"You could have died," he rasped.

Harry stroked a hand through Malfoy's hair. The knots tangled around his fingers and he stopped, leaving his fingers gripping the hair at the nape of Malfoy's neck. He tried his best to breathe calmly, not allowing himself to echo the too-sharp, too-fast sobs against his chest.

"I'm okay," Harry said. "We're both okay."

-

"I came from the Weasleys," Malfoy said. He had recovered enough to attempt a tone of cheerful disregard but had yet to let go of Harry's newly-repaired hand. "I haven't made dinner."

"You don't need to," Harry said. He sat heavily on the sofa, pulling Malfoy with him until he was sprawled half on his lap. "I can whip something up. What do you fancy?"

Malfoy grinned, moving the hand laid on Harry's chest up to the top button of his robe. He slipped his finger under the material, cold against Harry's collar.

"Guess," he smiled.

"Really?" Harry asked. "You're still a bit-."

"Really," Malfoy said.

Harry reached for the collar of his robe. Malfoy batted his hand away, moving his fingers painfully slowly over the placket, throat to hip. The buttons slipped open, cold air hitting Harry's skin. Malfoy hummed and leaned forward, knees on either side of Harry's hips as he kissed him.

Harry moaned, gripping Malfoy's robe. The material fell away, wandless magic, and he ran his hand over the warm skin. Malfoy pulled back, gasping, chest heaving. His cheeks were flushed and his pupils blown wide.

"So long," he gasped. "I want you, Potter."

Harry grinned, reaching for the waistband of Malfoy's trousers. The buttons were already undone beneath his round stomach. Harry pushed them down, brushing his hand from Malfoy's collar down until he stopped on the hard swell of his stomach.

"Lower," Malfoy hissed, bucking his hips forward. Harry stilled them, hands curving around the blade-sharp bones.

Your fault.

Harry swallowed. Malfoy leaned forward and kissed him again. His hands held Harry's jaw as he stepped back, slipping his trousers and underwear off.

Harry gasped, pulling back. Malfoy shivered slightly, looking awkward. He looked away. His body was more angular than Harry remembered, a study in contrasts, flat planes and deep hollows against the roundness of his stomach, the soft puffiness of his chest.

"You're beautiful," Harry breathed.

Malfoy flushed, stepping forward. Harry pulled him the rest of the way, hand wrapping too easily around the slender bones of his wrists.

Your fault.

Malfoy kissed him again, unzipping the fly of his jeans. Harry shifted, bucking his hips as Malfoy wrapped his hand around his cock. Malfoy panted, hot breath against his throat, as he stroked him. He keened when Harry's hand stroked down his lower back, fingers tracing between pale cheeks.

Malfoy shuddered, hand falling away as he reached out to grab Harry's shoulders. He leaned forward, eyes squeezed closed. His breath was coming in desperate pants. He buried his face against Harry's throat, pressing their bodies together.

Harry looked down, seeing the contours of Malfoy's back, the stark peaks of jutting shoulder blades and the curved length of his spine, every vertebra visible. There were bruises, purples and sickly yellows splashed along the edges of sharp bones. His skin was paler than ever, near transparent over blue-green veins.

Your fault.

Harry felt cold.

Harry only realised his hands had stilled when Malfoy pulled away. Grey eyes narrowed as they took him in for a moment. A heartbeat passed and Harry looked away.

Malfoy's hand slid down his stomach before wrapping around his cock. Harry could feel it softening.

"Oh," Malfoy breathed.

His hand dropped away and he reached for the throw. Harry grabbed his hand, pulling him back.

"I love you," he begged.

"You love me," Malfoy said hollowly. He had pulled the throw up to his chest like a shield. "You just don't want to fuck me."

"It isn't that," Harry said. "Malfoy, you're gorgeous. I mean that."

Malfoy ripped his hand from Harry's hold and stood up. His legs trembled for a moment and he grasped the arm of the sofa. Something hit the kitchen floor, a ceramic smash echoing through the flat. Malfoy slid to the floor until Harry could see only pale, ruffled hair and the top of one angular shoulder.

"You can go now," Malfoy said. He wrapped his arms around his bare chest, fingertips digging into the flesh of his shoulders.

"I'm not going anywhere," Harry said.

Malfoy snorted.

-

"I want to go," Harry said.

"It's not our arrest, Potter," Khouri said. "And it's pretty dull stuff."

"Right," Harry said sullenly.

"There'll be a raid soon enough," Khouri said. "Then you'll stop pouting about not getting to wrangle rogue potion dealers."

Ron winked as he leaned over Harry's desk.

"I’m under orders to throw in a few spare hexes," he said. "You just hold tight."

-

There was a picture of Malfoy on Harry's desk sent from Mongolia three years before. He smiled up at the camera, eyes squinting against the bright sun. He was lightly burned, pink painted across his shoulders and the bridge of his nose. He laughed, head thrown back, nose crinkling.

Harry turned the frame face-down and gritted his teeth.

The Muggle-style clock on the wall ticked onwards. Khouri sighed, taking more paperwork from Harry's desk. She did not comment and Harry wondered how he must look. He felt tense, a bow-string strung too tightly. His quill split in his hand and he dropped it to the desk, clenching a fist.

There were a series of pops.

Ron had his wand trained on a short, round wizard. He was dressed in garish, purple-and-green pyjamas. He had clearly just woken up, his sparse hair standing on end, his eyes too-wide behind his round glasses. He looked lost and afraid, clutching his hands together as he stood stock still, staring around at the row upon row of busy aurors.

"Keep walking, Winickus," Flair said, wand trained on him.

The wizard shook in his slippers. He took a hesitant step forward, shivering as though caught in a gale. He looked around and his gaze fixed on Harry. His eyes grew comically large and he squeaked like a squashed rat.

"Forward," Flair growled.

Winickus stumbled on his next step. He threw his hands, magically bound, before his chest, a universal sign begging for clemency.

"Please," he said. "I don't know what-."

Harry didn't remember rising from his chair but somehow he had made it to the other side of his desk. He was aware of Khouri's voice in his ear, asking if he was okay, but he couldn't take his eyes off the strange man. It seemed preposterous that this snivelling creature was behind this.

Harry lunged.

There was a cry and Winickus scrambled backwards, scattering papers in his wake. Harry shook off Ron's hands. His wand was not in its holster but that did not faze him. His hand hurt as he clenched his fist, his whole arm shaking with the pressure of holding back.

His fingers grasped air and then Winickus' collar. He pulled, watching Winickus' face redden and then pale as he pulled him closer. Material ripped in his fist and Winickus gave a small sob.

"Please," Winickus sobbed.

Harry pulled back his hand, body taut.

Someone grabbed Harry's wrist.

Kingsley Shacklebolt was glaring at him, face close enough that Harry could feel his furious, hissing breath against his cheek.

"Potter," he growled. "My office. Now."

-

"Care to explain?" Kingsley asked, sitting down in his chair.

Harry looked away.

"Then I'll describe the situation to you," Kingsley said. "I just pulled a senior Auror off a suspect in our custody. You are very, very lucky, Potter, because if that punch had landed you would already be on your way out of here."

"I know," Harry said, closing his eyes.

"Harry," Kingsley said. "You are a very good Auror, one of the best, but that won't save you if you can’t control that temper of yours."

Harry sighed.

"Go home," Kingsley said. "Get some sleep."

"Thank you," Harry said.

"And Potter," Kingsley said. "If you don't have you shit together by your next shift, don't bother coming in."

-

The flat was on fire.

Harry could feel the heat before the light even hit him. He dropped to the ground, wand drawn. His training left him as he lay beside his own coffee table, choking on smoke. His lungs ached as he tried to draw in breath. His hands trembled as he reached for his wand.

"Malfoy!" He coughed.

The ceiling shook, plaster raining down in a growing cloud of grey dust. Harry rolled under the table, holding his wand in front of him. A quick pulse of magic showed that someone was in the house. Harry crawled towards them.

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted before his throat seized around a frantic cough.

A few more feet and he reached the door of Malfoy's study. He reached for the knob, flinching in preparation for heat.

There was a zing of electricity and Harry cried out. His skin burned. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth, as he took a long, deep breath.

"Malfoy!"

He pushed open the door.

Malfoy was curled beneath the desk, gripping his head. He gave a sob, hands clutching at his hair.

"Malfoy," Harry gasped. "Malfoy. We need to get out of here."

He started forward only to be thrown back. His head struck the bedroom door opposite and his vision swam. He blinked against tears, stars floating before his eyes.

There was another pulse of magic, hot and sharp. The heat grew unbearable, smoke pouring from every corner of the flat. Malfoy gave a moan, whole body shaking.

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled.

Malfoy was crying. Harry could see the red lines on his cheeks. Books spilled from the shelves around him, bursting apart before they hit the floor. Malfoy grabbed his stomach, letting out a moan. It was low and guttural, barely human. It grew louder and higher until it rent the air like a banshee's cry.

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled.

Malfoy stilled, voice fading to nothing more than ragged pants. A moment of deafening silence passed before his eyes rolled back. He slumped against the desk, head flopping back against the drawers with a sickening crack.

-

"We'll take it from here, Mr Potter," the Mediwizard said.

He peeled Harry's hands from Malfoy's side. Malfoy flopped forward like a ragdoll, eyes closed and skin pale, and they put him on to a stretcher. They didn’t levitate him or cast any diagnostic spells. They used their hands. Harry began to ask why but they were already moving away.

The doors slammed behind them and Harry stared at the exact spot where Malfoy had just been.

His hands felt sticky.

-

"Harry!"

It was Hermione's voice. A moment later her face filled his view. She looked concerned, hair in disarray and face pale grey.

"Harry," she said more softly. It was the way she spoke to Rose during a tantrum. "Harry. Let's get a coffee."

Harry said he didn't want a coffee, he thought. But when he blinked they were in the cafe and he was staring down at a floral cup. His hands still felt sticky but they were clean. He spread them on the table. There was blood under his nails and he did not know where it had come from.

"Malfoy," he said, looking up.

Ron was sat across from him looking pale under his freckles. He didn't even attempt a wan smile. He reached across and took Harry's hand.

"They'll do all they can," Ron said. "He's a stubborn bastard."

Harry laughed. He couldn't stop. He felt sick. His mouth tasted of bile and smoke and he was still laughing.

"Come on, mate," Ron said. "Deep breaths, eh?"

-

Hermione was sat next to him in the small office. Her hand was in his and it felt wrong. Her fingers were too small, too soft, too cold. He pulled away.

"Mr Malfoy is stable for now," the Healer said.

"For now," Harry repeated hollowly.

"His magical aura is," the Healer paused, clearly trying to think of the correct word. "Irregular."

"What does that mean?" Harry asked.

"He means that Malfoy is having difficulties controlling his magic," Hermione said. "It's a common side effect of magical pregnancy."

"It's rare that the side effects are this severe," the Healer said sharply. "It is likely to be an exacerbation of an underlying magical imbalance.”

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand.

"Is he going to be okay?" Harry asked.

"It's too early to say," the Healer said. "He is currently recovering well but it is likely he may experience a dampening effect on his magic."

"And the baby?" Harry asked.

"Harry," Hermione said softly. It was the voice she used to soothe Rose but Harry was too old to be appeased by optimistic fairy stories. He wanted the truth.

"The foetus is relatively unharmed for now," the Healer said. "But this is a magical pregnancy, Mr Potter. It is Mr Malfoy’s magic that is supporting the pregnancy. It would be foolish to ignore the possibility that magical instability will lead to further complications.”

Harry nodded, looking back down at his hands. Someone had scrubbed his fingernails clean, the skin around them was reddened and sore. Harry couldn’t remember if it had been him or Hermione.

"I want to see him," Harry said.

"I wouldn't advise-." the Healer began.

"I want to see him," Harry repeated louder.

-

Malfoy was laid very still on the bed. His head was turned towards the door and he appeared to be asleep. His skin was still ashen apart from the blue bruise-like circles beneath his eyes. He was breathing shallowly, too quickly.

"Malfoy?" Harry whispered.

Malfoy opened one eye and then closed it again.

"I was so scared," Harry said. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Don't be ridiculous," Malfoy muttered. He shifted slightly, stilling when his hand brushed against his stomach.

"The baby is fine," Harry said.

Malfoy opened his eyes again, fixing them on Harry.

"I killed it," he said.

Harry flinched.

"The baby is fine," Harry repeated. "You're both safe now."

-

"What happened?" Harry asked.

Malfoy had been sat up. The pillows behind him, spelled to move to best position, shifted constantly. Malfoy's eyes were fixed on the wall. The meal in front of him had not been touched. The utensils lay in their neat lines by the side of the cold plate.

"It appears Gringott's have no use for Arithmancers who cannot cast simple spells," he drawled hoarsely. The lightness of his tone was belied by the way his hands clenched in the hospital blankets.

"There must be a law against-," Harry began.

"Leave it, Potter," Malfoy said.

"Hermione could-," Harry said.

"I said leave it!" Malfoy shouted.

Harry felt the crackle of magical energy, a shiver of static across his skin. Malfoy paled and turned away, arm wrapping around his middle. Harry could hear him panting, the slight catch in his throat on each breath carrying across the room.

"I almost killed someone," Malfoy said.

"Malfoy," Harry said. "I know you would never-."

"My calculations were off," Malfoy said. "If Keitch hadn't checked my work I might have killed half the Curse-breakers in the department."

"But he did," Harry said. "Nothing bad happened, Malfoy."

Malfoy sighed and pulled at a pil on the hospital blanket. The pillows behind him shifted again and he sank back, turning his face towards Harry.

"No one was hurt," Harry said, trying his best to make Malfoy hear his words.

-

"It helped," Madeline Klug said. "She came back from his office that first day and it was like having the old Tamsin back."

Hermione pushed the box of Muggle tissues across the desk.

"I was so happy," Klug said. "I was so relieved and I didn't stop to think for a moment that this wasn't a miracle. I was so proud of her finally doing everything she had been too scared to do before."

"I know this is difficult," Hermione said. "But the records I took from the Healer's office aren't detailed. Can you tell me what happened?"

Hermione could guess but it never did to make assumptions.

"The money ran out," Klug said. "We couldn't afford to buy so many Potions. Every month they seemed to run out quicker. She didn’t want to stop taking the Potions but we had nothing left."

She sobbed, grabbing a fistful of tissues out of the box. Hermione swallowed hard as the woman's shoulders shook.

-

"I brought your slippers," Harry said, setting them down on the end of the bed.

It had seemed a clear idea until this moment. They were not magical slippers but Harry remembered Malfoy grumbling about cold feet on bitter winter mornings, refusing to set foot out of bed until Harry had braved the icy floor to fetch them like a well-trained dog.

Malfoy slipped his feet into cosy wool and then stopped. His hands were buried in the pockets of his dressing gown. He blinked at Harry, brows furrowed.

"I thought we could go for a walk," Harry said.

"Where?" Malfoy asked. He looked across to the door, seeing the busy corridor beyond the small window. Harry smiled, taking in the bustling mediwizards and Healers and the steady traffic of patient files and brightly coloured memos.

Malfoy lifted up his feet, slippers falling from stiff toes. He shifted back on the bed until his back once again hit the mountain of jiggling pillows.

"Okay," Harry said. He settled on the edge of Malfoy's mattress, trying his best not to let his smile falter. He brushed his fingers against the delicate bones of Malfoy's ankle, making Malfoy wriggle his toes in unconscious response.

"We can stay right here," Harry said, still staring at Malfoy's pale feet. He placed a hand on Malfoy's ankle. A moment passed before Malfoy pulled away.

-

"I want to take him home," Harry said, closing the door behind him.

The Healer raised one pale brow.

"I understand that you have a very busy position in Magical Law Enforcement, Mr Potter," she said.

"And?" Harry asked.

"Mr Malfoy needs support," the Healer said. "Support St. Mungo's is more than capable of providing."

"He doesn't want to spend the next four months on the Closed Ward," Harry said. "He needs me. He needs his home and his things and his own bed. He hates hospitals."

"Mr Potter," the Healer said. "I understand that you think you know what is best for your partner. I would ask you, however, to think long and hard about this decision. It is not just Mr Malfoy you are putting at risk."

"I know that," Harry said.

He paused for a moment, pretending to consider his options.

"I'm taking him home."

-

"Malfoy?"

Malfoy didn't so much as flinch. Harry sighed.

"Malfoy," he tried again. "We're going home tomorrow. The flat is back to-. I cleaned the flat."

Malfoy looked at him with the same expression he had previously spared for the blank wall opposite. Harry looked down at his shoes, scuffed trainers that still bore scorch marks from the fire. The silence felt even deeper for the lack of scorn directed at his wardrobe.

"I thought we could start on a nursery?" Harry tried. He looked back up. Malfoy was staring back at the wall, jaw set.

"It's only a few months until the baby gets here," Harry carried on, trying his best to fill the silence. "They'll need somewhere to sleep."

Malfoy was staring down at his stomach now. His lips were pressed in a thin line, almost invisible against his pale face.

"Say something," Harry said. "Malfoy, please."

"Where?" Malfoy asked.

Harry frowned. He thought of how he had imagined this would play out. He would pretend that he was set on Malfoy's office, Malfoy would insist that Harry barely even used his home gym. They would fight until Malfoy would kiss him, cutting off any argument. Harry would pretend to stick to his guns until the afterglow when Malfoy would smile smugly at the thought that he had won.

"My gym?" Harry ventured.

Malfoy nodded.

-

"Feeling better?" Harry asked, setting down his bag.

Malfoy was sat on the sofa, staring sightlessly at the catalogues spread out on the coffee table. Witches and wizards grinned from the covers, some held perfect, rosy-cheeked infants dressed in pastel coloured baby robes, others cupped their pregnant bellies, plump and glowing.

"I'll put those away," Harry said. He swept them into a pile, putting a cup of tea over the face of the obnoxiously happy spokeswitch for Babble and Kou's Cradle Charm Emporium. She peered around the edge, holding a hand up over her smeared nose.

"I'm tired," Malfoy said.

"You can’t be," Harry said too quickly. He winced.

Malfoy gritted his teeth.

"I'm tired," he repeated. "And I'm going to bed."

Harry watched him walk away, shoulders slumped and feet dragging on the carpet. He looked down at the pile of catalogues, flinching when he heard the door slam closed. He sat and opened the nearest magazine, swallowing hard at the picture of the gently smiling white-blond wizard on the first page. The model giggled when Harry ran his fingers over the soft bulge of his stomach. Harry cheeks heated and he felt guilt coil in his gut.

-

"We're making good progress," Hermione said. "Malfoy won't have to testify."

"Good," Harry said. "I haven't really told him about the case."

"You should," Hermione said. "You know he hates being kept in the dark."

"Yeah," Harry said. He rubbed at his cheek with the back of his hand, trying his best to keep his voice even. "I just don't want to upset him. Not after what happened."

Hermione sighed and poured a cup of tea from the kettle boiling at the edge of her desk.

"You can't keep him in a bubble charm forever, Harry," she said.

"I suppose not," Harry sighed.

-

"Potter," Malfoy whispered.

Harry turned his head, seeing the faint silhouette of Malfoy's still form. He was staring towards the bed canopy although it was dark enough that he could likely see nothing at all.

"Malfoy," Harry breathed.

"If-," Malfoy cleared his throat and shifted. The sheet pulled taut over the bulge of his stomach. "If I die."

"You won't," Harry said.

"I might," Malfoy said. "And we need to talk about this."

"We don't need to talk about this," Harry argued. "I won't let anything happen to you, Malfoy. I'll do whatever it takes."

"But-," Malfoy began.

"No," Harry said. "We are not talking about this, Malfoy. Go to sleep."

A moment passed in silence. Harry thought that his harsh tone echoed for far too long in the silent room.

Malfoy shifted, turning onto his side with a breathy moan. Harry could feel Malfoy's gaze through the darkness.

"Just promise me," Malfoy said. "That you'll tell the baby that I loved it."

Harry reached out but he couldn't find Malfoy's hand. He clenched his fist in the empty space between them.

"Of course," Harry said. "I know you do, Malfoy."

-

Ron slammed a file closed, pushing it across his desk. His eyes rolled up to the ceiling and he blinked slowly.

"Alright, Weasley?" Khouri asked.

"Yeah," Ron said. He looked across the office, catching Harry's eye. He quickly looked away, fiddling with the edge of the file. It was already slightly dog-eared, suggesting Hermione had already been through it with a fine-tooth comb.

"Need help?" Khouri asked.

"No," Ron said. "You're alright."

His hand shook as he pulled free another piece of parchment. Harry recognised the black edging of a death notice and quickly looked away. He drained his coffee quickly, swallowing against the squeezing in his chest.

"How's Malfoy doing?" Khouri asked.

"Huh?" Harry asked.

"You said he was sick," Khouri prompted. "You know, after you tried to punch that Healer."

"Yeah," Harry said. "Yeah. Malfoy's fine."

-

"How are you doing?" Harry asked.

Malfoy was laid in the same position as when Harry had left, curled on his left side on the bed. His eyes were fixed on the window. Outside, snow was falling, no more than few pale flakes against the dark sky.

"It's moving," Malfoy said.

It took a moment for Harry to realise what he had said.

He clambered up on to the bed, reaching out a hand. He hesitated a moment, palm hovering above Malfoy's limp hand.

"May I?" he asked.

"Sure," Malfoy said. He wriggled, inching the loose robe open until Harry could slip his hand inside.

Harry settled his palm on Malfoy's stomach. The skin was warm and taut, smoother than it had been before. Harry brushed his fingers softly against the warm flesh, enjoying the once-familiar feeling of Malfoy's body under his hands.

"Harder," Malfoy muttered. He pressed down on Harry's hand, pushing it into his side.

There was a flutter, the press of a tiny limb.

Harry leaned forward and kissed Malfoy, a chaste press of lips. Malfoy loosened his hold on Harry's hand, pulling away.

"I'm tired," Malfoy said.

"Right," Harry said. He pulled his hand back, clenching it at the side. "I wasn’t going to… I'll get dinner."

Malfoy dropped his head onto his arm, letting out a huffing sigh.

"I'll make it something nice," Harry said. "Just-. Just try it."

-

"I need to be there," Harry said.

Hermione frowned, scribbling something on a pile of Tabby Treloar's Tacky Tabs. The files before her were covered in similar neon slips, colour-coded and neatly labelled.

"I don't think it's a good idea," she said. She put down her quill and looked up at Harry. "I don't think it will make you any happier and I don't think it will help the case."

"I'm not a child," Harry said.

"You tried to attack him with your bare hands," Hermione said. "In front of twenty-six Aurors. Those aren't the actions of an adult, Harry."

"I wasn't prepared," Harry said. "I can control myself, Hermione."

He looked down at the pile of magenta pages on Hermione's desk.

"I need to be there," he said.

Hermione sighed.

-

Malfoy was sat on the sofa, staring down at his hands.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked.

Malfoy looked up, brow furrowed. Harry stepped closer and caught sight of Malfoy's hand; the skin of his palm was blistered, the edges angry-red.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"I don't know," Malfoy said.

"How can you not know?" Harry asked. "It would have hurt, Malfoy. Surely you felt it."

Malfoy blinked.

"No," he said. He turned his hand around, staring at the uninjured side and then turned it back. He was considering it with the same disinterest he used to reserve for Muggle artefacts.

"You didn't heal it," Harry said.

Malfoy opened his mouth.

"With a potion," Harry said. "Or a poultice."

"I didn't think," Malfoy said.

"You never do," Harry muttered. Malfoy flinched.

Harry took a deep breath, holding his hands before him. Malfoy had his head turned down, hiding his face behind a curtain of unkempt hair.

“Was it magic?” Harry asked. “Have you been practicing when I’m not here?”

“I don’t know,” Malfoy said.

“How can you not know?” Harry asked.

“I can’t think like this,” Malfoy said.

“Well try,” Harry spat. “It’s our baby on the line here, Malfoy.”

Malfoy sobbed, clutching his stomach with his unharmed hand as static fizzled in the air. He curled in on himself, taking shaking breaths through gritted teeth.

"I didn't mean that," Harry said, collecting himself. "Malfoy, I didn’t mean any of that. I'm just frustrated."

"I know," Malfoy said. "I told you the potion... I can't do this, Potter. My head feels like it's full of limbo mist."

"I thought that was over," Harry said. "It's been months. This is supposed to be over."

"I know," Malfoy said. He relaxed slightly, taking deep breaths for a moment before his breath caught. "I said I was useless without it."

"You're not useless," Harry said automatically. He reached for Malfoy's hand, taking his wrist in a loose grip. The skin paled beneath his wand tip, deflating and smoothing until no sign of the burn remained.

"Do you think my magic will come back?" Malfoy asked, grabbing the edge of his robe.

Harry didn't have an answer.

-

"Mr Winickus," Borage said, leaning forward from her bench, "you stand accused of malicious conveyance of controlled Potions contrary to The Misuse of Potions Act 1246. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Winickus said.

"Further," Borage said. "You are charged with unauthorised removal of Ministry files. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty," Winickus said. He was shivering despite his thick formal robes, shrinking away from Borage's glare. "I never meant to hurt anyone. I was helping them."

"A noble sentiment," Borage said. "Nonetheless, intention is not everything, Mr Winickus. The charges laid before you are very grave indeed. Arguer Jewkes, if you will begin."

"I call Mrs Ariadne Selwyn," Arguer Jewkes said loudly.

Selwyn was a young witch, dressed in impeccable black robes. She took to the stand with ethereal grace, almost floating as she moved.

"Mrs Selwyn," Jewkes greeted. "Could you identify the defendant before us?"

Selwyn spared no more than a single glance at Winickus. It was enough to cause her whole body to stiffen.

"Healer Winickus," she said in a voice so soft that, even amplified by magic, it was barely audible. "He was my husband's Mind Healer."

"And when did your husband leave Mr Winickus' care?" Jewkes asked.

"Five years ago," Selwyn said. "I made him."

Her voice disappeared entirely on the last syllable. She shook, grabbing a black lace handkerchief from her handbag. Her fingers trembled so badly.

"Mrs Selwyn," Borage said, not unkindly. "Are you able to continue?"

"It's my fault," Selwyn choked.

"Where is your husband now, Mrs Selwyn?" Jewkes asked.

Selwyn sobbed.

"I didn't know," she choked on the words. "I thought he would be okay. It's my fault."

Harry turned his head, looking at the rows of witnesses with new eyes. He saw the pale, shivering figures, the black-clad widows, the crying baby in the arms of a vacant-eyed witch. His throat burned with bile and he turned, slamming the doors behind him.

-

"I needed to get out of there," Harry said, placing his hands against the rough-stone wall outside the Main Chamber. His head hung down as he took a deep breath through his nose, trying his best to slow his thundering heart.

"I advised you not to attend," Hermione reminded him.

"I thought he would-," Harry began and then swallowed against the burning in his throat. "I've been sitting here thinking it will be okay, that everything will be fine, but-."

"Malfoy is making progress," Hermione said.

"Malfoy can't be left alone for five minutes without burning down the house," Harry spat. "Six months ago he was a shoe in for Head Arithmancer at Gringott’s and now I have to remind him to feed himself."

"Harry," Hermione started. "I don't know what to tell you."

"Tell me he'll get better," Harry said. He pushed off the wall, looking Hermione in the eye. "Tell me, Hermione, that I will get him back."

Hermione swallowed.

"Promise me he won't be like this forever," Harry begged.

"Harry," Hermione said softly. "I don't know."

"No one does," Harry said. He was aware that his voice was raised. His hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. "I want my partner back. I want to be able to stop worrying about him being alone, about whether he's safe if I'm not watching, about whether he's going to do something stupid. It's like-."

The words died on his throat, realisation hitting like a chilling charm to the chest.

"It's like having a child," he said evenly. “Merlin!”

"Harry," Hermione said softly. "You will-."

"We were meant to be doing this together," Harry said. He was startled to feel his eyes burning, his lashes wet. He felt like he was drowning, his throat tightening around an unexpected lump. "We were meant to be together."

He started walking. He didn't know where he was going, he just needed to leave. He couldn't bear Hermione's worried look or the dark tunnels of the Ministry basement or the thoughts pounding in his own head.

-

"You've been here for four hours," Khouri said, sitting opposite Harry.

She had a pretty face, Harry thought, even if it was hazy. He rested his head on the table, watching her through the pyramid of firewhiskey glasses. She was so pretty and she was a good partner. A very good partner.

"Thanks, Potter," she said. "I think."

She took a sip of her tankard of pumpkin juice. When she set it down the whole table jumped. Liquid splashed over the rim and she glared at him. He didn't know why. His head hurt.

"You know," she said conversationally. "Everyone was jealous when I was made your partner."

Harry grinned. Yes. Everyone loved him because he was Harry Potter. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. And he was a good Auror. He was top of his intake and no one could beat him at duelling.

"Yeah yeah," Khouri said. She was smiling again. Harry liked her smile. "Pity no one else knows what a pain in the arse you are."

Harry made a noise of slurring disagreement. Khouri's pretty, hazy face shifted into a frown.

"Go home, Potter," she said. "Isn't someone waiting for you?"

"Malfoy," Harry whispered.

Malfoy needed him because he was sick but Harry didn't know what to do. Harry wasn't a Healer and he wasn't a hero and he couldn't save everyone. He couldn't even save Malfoy and he loved him so much. He loved him and he couldn't do anything and Malfoy deserved better.

"It's alright, Potter," Khouri said. "You always try your best."

Harry's cheeks were damp. His head felt like it was burning. He was so drunk and he was going to be a terrible father. The baby was doomed because Harry could not do this alone and he needed Malfoy and Malfoy was gone and maybe he would come back or maybe Harry would have to do it all and he wanted Malfoy. He loved Malfoy so much.

“I know,” Khouri said. “Everyone knows, Potter.”

He needed to get home and make sure Malfoy was okay.

Harry lifted his wand.

"Floo, Potter," Khouri said. "I'm not doing overtime scraping Potter-bits off the ceiling."

She steered him towards the fireplace. The world was swaying oddly. Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder, sending green dust across his shoes and the floor.

-

Harry awoke on the sofa. There was sunlight streaming in the window and it felt like his eyes were full of sand. His stomach gave an angry twist. His mouth tasted bitter and smoky.

"Malfoy?" He called.

There was no answer. Harry opened his eyes, squinting at the ceiling. Everything was blurry. He reached up and ran a hand over his face. He was missing his glasses.

"Accio glasses," he rasped, waving his wand. They slammed into his chest and he grunted.

The world came into terrible focus. His head was pounding. His throat felt tight and rough. His stomach lurched when he sat up, his mouth flooding with bitter spit. He took deep breaths through clenched teeth, holding on to the arm of the sofa desperately to avoid falling.

"Malfoy?" He groaned.

His first steps were unsteady. He bounced off the wall, off the kitchen door, off the sides of the corridor.

Malfoy wasn't in the bedroom. The duvet was to one side, scrunched into something approximating a human shape, but it was empty. Harry tilted his head and found himself sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Malfoy?" He called. There was no answer.

He stepped forward, foot stinging as glass smashed beneath him. Whatever had been in the vial was long gone. Harry felt sick.

-

"I haven't seen him," Nott said, leaning away from the fireplace. He crumpled his nose as if Harry was something unpleasant left by the cat. "He sent me an owl about the little mandrake he's brewing, of course, so I assumed you were busy cooing over baby brooms or whatever parents do."

"Well," Harry said. "Where could he be?"

"I've no idea," Nott said. "It depends how badly you messed up, Potter. Maybe he’s shacked up with Zabini again or buggered off to Timbuktu like I suggested."

Harry rolled his eyes.

“It’s important, Nott,” he said. “I wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t.”

Nott sighed.

“I’m not his Keeper,” he said. “The Three Crones? Diagon Alley? I know he used to spend time with Pansy when he needed to think so you could check there too.”

Harry tried not to think about Malfoy spending any time with Pansy Parkinson. He knew what Nott had meant but the suggestion that Malfoy might have joined her spread in his mind until he could think of nothing else. He pulled his head from the fire without so much as a good bye, manners be damned, and fought to keep calm.

Harry’s foot throbbed. The healing charm he’d used had been shaky at best and his skin still felt overly thin from too much Firewhisky. He groaned, sitting on the floor and trying his best to pull his thoughts together.

Malfoy could be anywhere, he thought. There was no way to find him.

Harry looked at his wand for a moment, frowning, before the obvious answer struck him. There were limitless travel options when one was a wizard, Apparition could take you to any spot in the country in a blink, but Malfoy's wand had gone untouched for weeks, gathering dust on the mantelpiece, reduced to little more than decoration.

Floo network security had increased in recent years and Harry could think of only a handful of places where the wards would let Malfoy pass. There were even fewer that Malfoy would hazard if he was in anything but the most tolerant of moods.

Harry raised his wand and disappeared.

-

"Malfoy?" Harry called.

The Manor looked as bleak as ever. The East Wing was crumbling now it was abandoned. Vines from the arboretum climbed through the smashed windows and crawled, writhing, across the roofs. Window frames stood empty, cobwebs thick over the spaces left behind.

Harry turned away from the house and walked across the grounds. There were screams coming from the woods, peafowl and augurey cries that sounded like tortured souls. Harry pulled his cloak collar up, shuddering at every squawk. His hand hovered over his wand but he made no move to draw it.

The mausoleum was still sealed and Harry wondered why he had decided to check there first. The marble skulls turned eyeless sockets towards him as he approached, lipless mouths open in silent screams.

Harry turned, looking over the rose gardens. Malfoy has said his happiest memories had been spent there, skipping between the bushes as his mother entertained his friends’ mothers. The blooms had faded, the bushes no more than burnt husks, and it now appeared overshadowed by the towering symbol of death beside it.

Harry hurried away.

There was a lake on the other side of the West Tower. Harry could see the glimmer of pale sunlight on the water through the dark trees. He drew closer, heart in his mouth, fingers itching for his wand.

Malfoy was sat close to the edge, paper white and barefoot. His fingers and toes were curled in the grass as if he were afraid of floating away. One of the white peacocks strutted nearby, tail patchy and ragged. Malfoy paid it no mind even as it moved closer. His eyes remained fixed on the dark, still water.

"Malfoy," Harry said. "I was looking for you."

"You didn't come back," Malfoy said.

"I'm sorry," Harry said. "I had a lot on my mind and I just needed to think things through."

Malfoy sniffed the air and then snorted.

" 'Think,' " he muttered. There was a trace of his old sarcasm to the words. He wriggled his toes in the damp grass, feet flat and knees bent. He raised one hand, rubbing slowly at the side of his stomach.

"I thought you were gone," Malfoy said.

"I wouldn't leave," Harry said.

He sat down beside Malfoy. If Malfoy had even noticed he gave no indication. His face was impassive as he stared out. There were ripples close to the shore and Harry wondered what made them. Merpeople, perhaps, or kelpies.

"I used to come out here to think," Malfoy said quietly. "During the war."

"It's very peaceful," Harry agreed. “Beautiful.”

Malfoy closed his eyes. His breath was very shallow. His chest looked still, as if he was barely breathing.

"I want them to be safe," he said lowly. "I love them, Potter."

"I know," Harry said. "I never doubted that."

"But I don't know if I can-," Malfoy said. "If I can be what they need once they're out here."

"You said you love them," Harry said. “And that’s the most important thing.”

"Love isn't enough, Potter," Malfoy spat. His hand clenched into a fist. "I'm not enough."

"Well," Harry said. "You won't be alone."

Silence reigned for a moment. Harry looked at Malfoy's face, eyes squinting against the wind, lips thin and flat. He could not remember, in that moment, what Malfoy looked like when he smiled. It seemed like another life, the one where Malfoy had laughed and smirked and loved him.

"If I-."

Malfoy turned away from Harry, eyes fixed back on the ripples in the lake.

"If I wasn't there," he said. "You'd look after them, wouldn't you?"

"You'll be there," Harry said. "You're not going anywhere."

"But if I wasn't," Malfoy began. "If I couldn't be there because... If I just wasn't there, you would look after them. Love them. You wouldn’t let them grow up thinking they weren’t enough."

"Stop it!" Harry shouted.

Malfoy flinched.

"Stop," Harry repeated, more softly. "I don't know what you're thinking, Malfoy, but I'm sure I don't want to. Just stop!"

He reached forward and grabbed Malfoy's hand, holding it tightly in his own. Malfoy tried to pull away but Harry held fast.

"You are not going anywhere, Malfoy!" He said. "I won't let you."

Malfoy nodded but he refused to meet Harry's eye. He pulled his knees closer to his body, the curve of his stomach pressed against his thighs.

"I wouldn't take them with me," Malfoy said. His words were almost lost in the noise, voice no more than a whisper. He had begun to shiver in earnest, shoulders drawing up to his ears. "I couldn't do it."

Harry thought of the pieces of broken bottle on the living room floor. He wondered what it had held, how long Malfoy had sat there staring at it.

He frowned and reached for his wand.

Malfoy held his breath, back stiff, until a quilt settled over his shoulders. He reached up, gripping one corner. He looked confused as he peered down at the faded green material.

"I can't stop thinking," Malfoy said. "It never stops. I just wanted it to stop."

"Tell me," Harry said. "We're partners, Malfoy. You can tell me anything."

"You'll hate me," Malfoy said.

"Never," Harry said. "You could never do anything to make me hate you, Malfoy."

Malfoy took a deep breath. He pulled the quilt tighter around himself until he was entirely covered except for his head. His gaze switched back to the lake.

"What if I hurt them?" Malfoy asked.

"Why would you do that?" Harry asked.

"I already have," Malfoy said. "I've only had them a few months and I've already-" He choked. "I'm not a good father, Potter. I don't know if I ever will be. Sometimes I lay there and I think-."

"What?" Harry asked.

"I think I would be happier if it had never existed," Malfoy said. "Isn't that terrible? I think, if only I have never fallen pregnant, then I would still be me and we would still have each other and then..."

Harry sighed. He followed Malfoy's gaze to the lake. He saw a shape in the water, a flick of a pondweed-like mane.

"I think then you'd be happy," Malfoy said.

"I am happy," Harry said.

Malfoy's laugh was hollow, brittle, like ice cracking underfoot. He shifted awkwardly under the quilt.

"I want you to be happy," he said. "I know I'm not the person you wanted. I don't like being like this."

"You're still my Malfoy," Harry said. "Believe me because I mean it, I know you're still you."

Malfoy shifted minutely closer to the lake. Harry turned and saw the horse's head rising from the shallows. The kelpie's blue-green eyes rolled until they fixed on Malfoy's curled form.

"Let's go back," Harry said. He reached across and grabbed Malfoy's hand, still curled around the edge of the quilt. He fought to keep calm, eyes not leaving the water. "I'm not going for a swim in this weather."

"I'm trying, Potter," Malfoy said. "I'm trying to be better."

"I know," Harry said. "So am I."

-

"I think I need to talk to someone," Malfoy said. He was still wrapped in the faded green quilt, still shaking slightly from the chilled damp of the lakeside. He swayed slightly where he stood, eyes heavy-lidded.

Harry settled behind him, holding him upright. Malfoy leaned heavily against his chest, focused on the floor, chin resting against his collar.

"Of course," Harry said. “You can tell me anything.”

"Someone else," Malfoy said to the floor. "I think I need to talk to someone else."

Harry swallowed.

"Of course," Harry said tonelessly. "I'm glad you feel ready, Malfoy."

Malfoy sighed, turning in Harry's arms. He was wrapped in the quilt like a cocoon, swaddled and shapeless. Harry held him close, feeling the brush of lips against his cheek. His body felt suddenly too warm and the realisation brought a lump to his throat. It had been so long since they had been this close.

"Is this okay?" Harry asked, pressing a kiss to Malfoy's brow. The skin was still chilled against his warm mouth. Malfoy was shivering under the green silk.

"It's good," Malfoy said.

He tipped his chin up, pressing their lips together. Harry sighed into the kiss. It felt like the first heat of spring after a bitter winter, like coming home after a long day.

"Is this okay?" Malfoy echoed, pulling back. His lips were wet and reddened, his lashes pale and damp.

"It's good," Harry said.

-

Harry focused his eyes on the parchment before him, trying his best to still his pounding heart. There was a Muggle clock over the mantelpiece and every tick seemed to pluck at his tense shoulders. He tapped his foot against the coffee table and muttered the words of the report under his breath, trying to keep his mind on his work.

A whoosh from the fireplace had him jumping to his feet without a thought. The parchment dropped away, ink spilling on to the cream rug. His quill snapped under his bare foot but he barely felt it.

Malfoy stepped out of the fire, momentarily composed. He looked up, meeting Harry's gaze, and stopped. He took a shaking breath, bringing a hand up to his chest. A silk handkerchief, monogrammed with Malfoy's initials in huge, ostentatious letters, was grasped in his fist. He took a deep, exaggerated breath and let it out between pursed lips.

"How did it go?" Harry asked.

"Fine," Malfoy said with a stiff nod.

Harry waited for him to say something more but Malfoy just stood there, silent. He turned his head slightly and Harry saw the slight shimmer over one sharp cheekbone. Malfoy swallowed, rubbing awkwardly at his cheek. The skin reddened under his rough treatment.

"We could ask someone else?" Harry suggested.

"I am not talking to Granger," Malfoy muttered. He flicked his hand at the sofa, dwindling magic only managing to ruffle the corner of a pamphlet on experimental disarming spells. The effort was enough to make Malfoy sway.

Harry quickly moved to clear the way, stacking his work in the centre of the coffee table. Malfoy slumped on the sofa, putting his head in his hands.

"I don't want to do this," Malfoy said.

"Which this?" Harry asked.

"Any of it," Malfoy said. "I just want to wake up."

-

"I'm not interested in Wizengamot business," Malfoy said, not looking up from his bowl of cereal.

Harry had expected to be relieved by anything less than hysterics. Instead, he felt disappointed. He opened the Daily Prophet and pushed it across the table. Malfoy looked down, his hand hovering just above the bowl.

"I don't want to think about it," Malfoy said, looking away. “You made the right choice when you decided not to tell me.”

He dropped the spoon back into the bowl, milk splattering across his shirt. He grabbed a napkin, giving the largest stain a half-hearted rub.

"Okay," Harry said. He pulled the paper back towards him, scanning the article. “I just don’t want to keep anything from you.”

-

It was four in the afternoon and Malfoy was laid on the bed. One hand rubbed absently at the distended side of his stomach. He made no other movement. He barely blinked as Harry came in.

"Malfoy," Harry said.

Malfoy looked up. He didn't smile. He closed his eyes instead, shifting slightly closer to the centre of the bed.

"Can I get in?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Malfoy muttered, barely more than a whisper.

Harry climbed in, pulling the duvet over them both. The world blocked out, he focused on Malfoy's still face, raising his hand to trace one lightly-stubbled cheek. Malfoy's brows twitched into a frown.

"Too hot," he muttered.

"It's freezing out there," Harry said. "You can't be too hot."

Malfoy kept his eyes closed but swatted feebly at Harry's hand. His mouth thinned into a pale line and he stilled, hand falling back to the bed beside his face. He let out a heavy sigh, flushed cheeks puffing out as he peeled open one pale eye.

Harry sighed and pulled the duvet back down. The chilled air caused him to shudder but Malfoy seemed to delight in it, rolling his head back to reveal his flushed throat to the bitter breeze suddenly blowing through the wide open window.

"Did you do that?" Harry asked.

Malfoy opened his other eye, looking startled. He pressed a hand to his stomach as he looked over at the open window.

"I thought you did," Malfoy said. His whole body was taut, eyes widening, his hand clenching in the thin material of his nightshirt. “I’m okay.”

Harry smiled, sitting up. He suddenly couldn't feel anything but the lightness that seemed to be filling his chest.

"You're getting your magic back," he grinned.

"I can't," Malfoy whispered. He tried to push himself up, his shoulders lifting while his stubborn waist remained pinned under the bulge of his stomach. He rested on his elbows, half-raised, staring at the window.

"You are," Harry said.

Malfoy turned to him, mouth open. He closed it after a moment, the corners of his lips pulling minutely upward. It was not a proper smile, nothing like the expression that Harry had one thought of as only his, but it was enough to make Harry's heart skip a beat nonetheless.

-

Malfoy was wearing the Kestrel's shirt. It was too tight over the stomach, straining over Malfoy's navel, the tear at the side pulled wider over pale flesh. Harry frowned as he entered the kitchen, watching Malfoy stirring a pot by hand, Muggle music playing low in the background.

"Is that my shirt?" He asked, unnecessarily.

Malfoy frowned, narrowing his eyes.

"I'm leaking," he hissed. He turned towards Harry, gesturing with a wooden spoon at the damp patches on the front of the shirt.

"Is that meant to explain why you're wearing my shirt?" Harry asked.

"Well," Malfoy said. "I wasn't about to ruin one of mine."

Harry snorted.

"Plus," Malfoy said. "It almost fits."

"Almost," Harry smiled, reaching a hand towards Malfoy's stomach.

"Hey!" Malfoy shouted, moving out of the way. He held up the wooden spoon like a duelling wand. Harry reached forward again and Malfoy swung the spoon like a sword. Harry laughed, crowding him against the counter until they were pressed together.

"I love you," Harry laughed.

Malfoy kissed his nose.

"I love you too, Potter," he said. "Now get out of the way."

-

"You have to have an opinion," Harry stated.

Malfoy was sat stiffly in the dining room chair opposite him. He had made a spirited attempt at eating a bowl of Harry's healthy veggie stew and was now eyeing the kitchen door.

"I thought this one," Harry said. It was a sensible choice, sturdy oak carved into the shape of woodland creatures and heavy red material trailing from the canopy to the floor. It called to Harry and he was sure it would be enough to spur Malfoy into action.

"Sure," Malfoy said absently.

Harry sighed and pushed the catalogue aside. The sight of Malfoy's swelling form had begun to remind him of a ticking clock. They had no nursery, no clothing, no name. It was beginning to look like a real possibility that their child would be sleeping in the bottom of Malfoy's wardrobe.

"Have you thought about baby names?" Harry said, flipping open a Muggle-style notebook. The pages were still mostly blank apart from the odd scribble in Harry's unsteady writing. He pretended to read aloud. "James Sirius?"

"No," Malfoy spat.

He looked startled by his own reaction. Nonetheless, he gave in to it. His eyes narrowed as he focused on Harry.

"No James. No Harry. No Potter names. This child is a Malfoy and he needs something proper."

"My name is-."

"Something dignified," Malfoy stressed.

"Like Draco?" Harry asked smiling.

"Exactly," Malfoy said. "Or Hyperion."

"Hyperion?" Harry asked.

He expected to see Malfoy smirking. There was nothing either of them enjoyed more than an argument and this time Harry would not back down. There was no way he was going to allow his child to be called Hyperion.

Malfoy's expression was perfectly serious. Harry felt his own smile falter.

"Or Scorpius," Malfoy said without a hint of irony.

-

"It was money," Malfoy said.

Harry frowned, undoing the top button of his red auror robes. "What was?"

"The motive," Malfoy said. He nodded to the table in front of him. The Daily Prophet was laid flat on the Wizengamot pages, Winickus' snivelling face staring up at them. "Quick fixes for rich wizards. He was just another unicorn blood salesman."

Harry hovered in the doorway, watching Malfoy read over the article no doubt for the third or fourth time. His pale fingers gripped the edge of the dining table but his face did not change.

"I was an idiot," he said as he reached the end of the article. “He must have rubbed his hands with glee when he saw me coming.”

"You were desperate," Harry said. "Anyone could have fallen for it."

"But it wasn't anyone," Malfoy said. "It was me."

Harry stepped forward and put his hand on Malfoy's shoulder. He wanted to hold him close, to kiss him and tell him it would be okay. Malfoy clung to the edge of the table with all his strength and Harry could not pull him away. Instead, he squeezed Malfoy's shoulder as gently as he could bear, and tried to ignore the way Malfoy leaned away.

-

Malfoy looked strong and dignified. He was dressed all in black, the robes cut loose enough to almost disguise the proud swell of his stomach. His hair had been charmed into place on the third attempt by Harry. His face was calm and impassive, his posture betraying none of the aches and strains he moaned about on his more vocal days.

"Are you sure?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Malfoy answered. He took a deep breath through his nose, head held high, and stepped through the Wizengamot’s heavy doors.

The room was already overfull. Malfoy stopped a few steps in. His fingers twitched at his side and Harry reached forward, linking their hands together. He pulled as gently as he could, guiding Malfoy into the back row. They were close to the door, far enough away that the shouts coming from the front row were little more than an apian buzz, removed enough that there was little chance of being pushed or bumped.

"Thank you," Malfoy said.

Harry thought he might have wanted to say more but the room was already falling silent. Malfoy shifted forward, peering into the centre of the room. Harry followed his lead.

Winickus looked tiny, almost comically small surrounded by the high benches and baying crowds. He was cowering, cowardly, his snivelling amplified by the sonorous covering the floor.

Hermione stood at Ron’s side close to the front, head held high as she watched Borage take his place. Harry considered waving but her attention was focused on the rows of Wizengamot members filing into the benches.

"Mr Winickus," Borage boomed, looking at the cowering mind Healer over the top of his severe, rectangular glasses. "We have heard the evidence against you along with your arguer's ... emotional defence."

Malfoy squeezed down on Harry's hand a little too hard. Harry bit his lip and squeezed back.

"The Wizengamot has found Theodorick Caecus Winickus guilty of all the charges laid before him," Borage said.

Winickus shuddered, already beginning to cry. The triumph Harry felt, hearing the amplified sobs and seeing the distant, shaking figure, was sickening in its intensity. He imagined this is how it might have felt if he had been allowed to punch him.

"Your Healer’s license is henceforth revoked," Borage said, raising his voice to be heard over the cheers from the front rows. "You will be barred from practicing Healing Arts or supplying Potions above Category D. The assets of your Healing business will be seized. Furthermore, you are sentenced to three years in Azkaban."

Harry heard no more. His free hand tightened on the wand at his side. He could feel his own heartbeat in his ears. There was something building in his chest that might have been a scream or a curse or vomit. There was a roaring in his ears that he believed to be disagreement from the front rows right up until he heard Malfoy’s voice in his ear.

"Let's go," Malfoy said.

Harry was being pulled towards the nearest door. He fumbled for his wand, pulling it from his pocket. Malfoy ripped his hand from his grip as they entered the corridor.

"Three years!" Harry roared, the moment the door had closed behind them. He was holding his wand so tightly he could feel the imprint of the handle on his palm. "He should rot in there!"

Malfoy stepped back, hands held up.

"I'm sure Granger has some tricks up her sleeve," Malfoy said. “There will be an appeal.”

"I'll make sure of it," Harry continued. "I won't rest until he spends the rest of his miserable-."

"It's over, Potter," Malfoy said. “He won’t practice again.”

“I-,” Harry stumbled at a loss for words. Malfoy was stood before him, looking as strong as ever. There was a slight shake to his hands but otherwise he was standing tall, hand held out to offer Harry strength.

"Let’s go home," Malfoy said.

Harry felt as if he was deflating. He sagged against the wall. His jaw ached from gritting his teeth and his hand cramped where he gripped his wand.

Malfoy reached across and took his hand. Their fingers tangled together as Malfoy pulled him close. He didn't fit quite perfectly against Harry's side anymore, his shoulders were too angular and his waist had long disappeared, but Harry refused to let him go.

"Okay,” he said. “Let’s go home.”

-

Harry felt his heart beating hard in his chest as he took in the empty bedroom. It had been a difficult week, rarer but not unheard of as time passed. They had spent most evenings in bed, Malfoy's head buried against Harry's chest in the mistaken assumption that Harry wouldn't know if he cried.

"Malfoy?" Harry called.

The kitchen, the living room, the dining room, every room stood empty.

"Malfoy?" Harry called, louder.

"In here!"

There was light shining from under Malfoy's study door. The dust that had settled around the threshold since the fire months before had been brushed away.

Harry pushed open the door and stopped still.

The dark room was now so bright Harry was momentarily struck blind. The bookshelves and bureau had been banished, replaced by dark-wood furniture of such spindly construction that they could only have been created with magic. The crib took pride of place, a canopy, fairy-wing fine and transparent, fluttering in the slight breeze blowing through the open window.

Malfoy paused, holding a tiny blue robe in front of his stomach. It looked impossibly small in his long-fingered hands.

"Your study," Harry said.

"I thought a little redecoration was in order," Malfoy said. "Granger helped. I hope you don't mind but I told the shop assistant to burn that monstrosity you thought an appropriate bed for a Malfoy child."

"It's fine," Harry said absently.

He blinked.

"And they're a Potter too," he corrected.

Malfoy smirked and shut the drawer. He took an aborted step forward before letting out a pained grunt, his whole body arching as he tried to stretch. He dug a fist into the tight muscles at the base of his spine.

"Your back?" Harry asked.

"He's going to be a Beater," Malfoy moaned. "I can tell. He must be twice the size of a normal baby."

"Trimble said they're a normal size," Harry said. He lowered his hand, rubbing at the tight muscles at the base of Malfoy's spine. Malfoy purred, dropping his head to rest against Harry's shoulder. "And that she can't tell for sure whether they're a girl or a boy."

Malfoy smiled and placed a soft kiss on his jawline.

"I know better," he said. "All Malfoy children are boys. Just you wait and see."

"Little James Sirius," Harry smiled.

"Little Scorpius Hyperion," Malfoy smirked.

"We'll see," Harry said.

Malfoy laughed.

-

It was a testament to how infrequently Harry was in this situation that he didn't immediately recognise the shadow in the doorway.

"You're free, Potter," Malfoy said.

Sirius rested against his shoulder, a damp patch spreading across the grey material under his drooling mouth. If Malfoy noticed he made no move to dry it. Beyond that he looked as he always did, every hair spelled into place and his expression giving no hint that he had doubtlessly been awakened in the early hours of the morning by a Floo call from St Mungo's.

"I'm sorry," Harry groaned.

"You should be," Malfoy said. He rested his free hand against the back of Sirius' head, bouncing him softly to avert any tears. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to intimidate a mediwitch when you have a sobbing baby in your arms?"

"Very?" Harry ventured. He reached out and brushed his hand across Sirius' tiny head, ruffling the delicate blond curls.

"You're lucky I'm so charming," Malfoy said. "Or you'd be stuck here for a full week."

"I am lucky," Harry agreed.

Harry's robes shuddered slightly as they unfolded, standing between them. Harry spared a cautious glance towards Malfoy but if the spell was causing any strain he showed no sign. Nonetheless, Harry hurried to grab them from their position in mid-air. He would have to button them by hand. Malfoy's wandwork was still shaky enough that he occasionally ripped off a button when he broke concentration.

“We’ll need to rebook,” Malfoy said. “You’re on bedrest until Tuesday, I have an appointment with the Healer on Wednesday so that’s pretty much a lost cause and obviously the practice won’t run itself.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said, amused more than worried by the slight shake in Malfoy’s voice. “It can wait.”

“I know you were looking forward to it,” Malfoy said.

Harry patted his pocket as casually as he could, checking that the box had not been lost in the furore. It was still in place, nestled in the deepest reach of his outer robe. He attempted to school his expression into Malfoyish nonchalance, a look Sirius was unfortunately mastering faster than him.

“We need to talk anyway,” Harry said.

Malfoy had stilled, tightening his hold on Sirius. His eyes narrowed as Harry looked up, gaze flickering to the pocket. He raised one pale brow, a smile twitching the corner of his lip.

Malfoy smiled and said yes.







[ ♥ Please return to LJ HERE and
leave your comment for the author. ♥ ]