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The soft snuffling sounds of someone crying are so normal these days that at first he hardly notices it. Then he realizes that the rest of his year mates are still down in the common room, sharing yet another round of firewhiskey. Nothing good ever comes of Harry getting drunk, and he has long since learned to cut himself off after a few shots. Watching Hermione and Ron practically having sex in the middle of the room was plenty of incentive for him to retreat to the calm quiet of the dorm room. It’s not Gryffindor tower, but it is still the same round room, with the beds arranged around the outside and the wardrobes in between only now it is huge, housing all of the eighth year boys. Harry still thinks it might actually be the worst idea the school has come up with yet, but at least the daily fights have died out.
He thinks for a moment that it must be Theo, who always seems to be on the verge of tears these days. He lost his father in the war, and his mother died when he was too young to remember. Harry thinks he remembers hearing something about an older Nott sibling, but he’s not sure if they are alive or dead. A quick glance toward Theo’s abandoned bed, curtains open and covers neatly tucked in shows that he must be elsewhere. Blaise is still in the common room, lounging in an armchair with Padma Patil wrapped around him. Harry is pretty sure that Terry Boot is in the library, and he knows that Zacharias Smith is downstairs, drunk beyond recognition. The only remaining bed with drawn curtains is alongside his and the conclusion skates across his consciousness slowly. Draco.
The fragile looking blonde who returned to school this year is nothing like the boy he used to know. Draco will do almost anything to avoid a fight now, and nearly everyone walks all over him. Harry has heard plenty of times quite how talented Draco’s mouth is, and it always causes an inexplicable wave of sadness. There is something so very wrong about the boy who always had a snarky retort for everything simply lying back and taking whatever is dished out.
“Malfoy?” he calls out, not wanting to startle the other boy but wanting to offer comfort if it is needed. He doesn’t know why, but it seems so important somehow. The only answer is more of the soft sounds that seem to have morphed into something resembling a sob. Harry has no idea what makes him do it, but he goes to the bed and pulls open the curtains, releasing the locking spell with nothing more than a wave of one hand. There in the middle of the bed is Draco, face buried in his pillow and every inch of his thin frame shaking. He turns his head at the sound of the curtains moving aside and looks up at Harry with puffy eyes.
“Go away, Potter. I don’t need you making this fucking worse,” he whispers, but his voice lacks venom and Harry doesn’t move. It is in that moment that Harry remembers a conversation he had with McGonagall a few weeks earlier, regarding the sentencing of the Death Eaters who had survived the war. Lucius Malfoy had been sentenced to the Kiss over the summer. The date for the act was swimming just out of Harry’s conscious memory until he focused in on it: November 9. Lucius Malfoy had been kissed this morning.
“I’m sorry,” Harry says quietly.
“Save your fucking false sympathy for someone else,” Draco says, but his voice breaks and tears are still streaming down his face. He pushes himself up off the pillow and brings his knees to his chest, hands hooking around slender ankles as he rests his chin on his knees.
“No matter what he did, or what I thought of him, he was your father,” Harry continues. “I am sorry. Honestly.”
Draco was watching him now, appraising his expression and weighing his sincerity. “Go away. You know nothing,” he snaps, and this time, his voice is bitter and hard despite the still flowing tears.
Harry stared at him. He was ready to give up and turn around when he realized that Draco’s wrists beneath his rolled up shirtsleeves were covered in shallow cuts. Draco saw him looking and hastily reached to cover himself. Not having a clue what possessed him to do it, Harry unbuttoned and rolled up his sleeves, holding out his arms so that Draco could see the tracery of scars that covered them. “I know more than you might think,” he said softly.
Draco stared at him, then glanced toward the door. “If you’re not going to leave me the fuck alone, get your arse on the bed and close the fucking curtains. The whole damn world doesn’t need to know I’m having a fucking breakdown here.” His voice had softened, and regardless of his words, he sounded outright defeated. Harry sat carefully on the mattress, closing the curtains and quickly warding them closed and silenced.
“So what’s your fucking plan now, oh great and mighty Chosen One? Going to cuddle the poor idiot baby Death Eater and make it all fucking better now?” Draco hissed at him.
Harry managed not to let the words bait him. “I’m just going to sit here with you. I don’t think you actually want to be alone, or you would have silenced your bed to begin with.”
“An oversight, I assure you,” Draco snapped back, but the fight was gone out of him again, and he looked lost. He bowed his head, tucking his chin tight against his chest with his forehead on his knees, effectively shielding his face from view. It did nothing to hide the way his shoulders shook, and despite all rational thought demanding he not touch him, Harry reached over and put one hand on Draco’s back, just between the thin ridges of his shoulder blades.
Draco flinched but didn’t move away. After a moment, he relaxed a little bit under Harry’s hand, and they sat there in silence for a long time, Draco’s body trembling as he cried quiet tears into his knees. When the first sounds of others entering the dorm came to them, Draco sat up, his eyes nearly swollen shut and his face a tear streaked mess. His ability to stop crying on cue had literally been beaten into him. “How good are your silencing wards?” he asked Harry.
“Seamus Finnegan is a nancy boy with the most annoying accent the world has ever known!” Harry said at top volume. Draco cringed and looked as though he was ready to bolt, but nothing happened. They could still hear Seamus and Ron talking to one another, and at one point heard one of them asking about Harry. Ron said something about his curtains being closed so he must already be asleep, and nothing more was said about it. “Does that answer your question?” Harry asked.
Still looking a little shell shocked, Draco nodded. Harry watched him, and it was almost physically painful to see how utterly broken he looked. He conjured a flannel and cupped Draco’s chin with one hand as he carefully cleaned the tears from his face. Draco made no move to resist, and when Harry was finished, he flopped onto his pillow and curled up in a little ball. It was half amazing to Harry that anyone that tall could make themselves seem so tiny, all curled up like a young child.
“Do you think you can sleep?” Harry asked him. Draco shook his head.
“I have dreamless sleep in my trunk,” Harry told him quietly. “Would it help?” That got a hesitant nod, and Harry summoned the tiny bottle, using a trick Mad Eye had taught him for summoning things without them being seen. He handed the phial to Draco, who examined the label but did not open it.
“You really, really don’t make any sense,” Draco whispered. “You hate me. I don’t understand why you’re taking care of me.”
“I don’t hate you. You made some shit choices, but it’s not like you had many options to choose from. I know what it feels like to lose someone you love, that’s all. You shouldn’t have to be alone.”
“I didn’t want it,” he whispered. “He told me if I didn’t, he would kill me. He meant it, too. Fucking crucioed me when I told him I wasn’t ready yet.”
“I never could please him. Couldn’t best Granger in class. Couldn’t win against you at Quidditch. Couldn’t manage to go out on a raid without puking my guts up. He hated me. All I ever wanted was for him to be pleased with me for something. I think the closest I ever came was when I was Marked and even then, he beat me half the night afterwards because I screamed when they did it. Everyone fucking screams, it fucking well hurts! But no, I’m a fucking Malfoy and I was supposed to somehow just take it. Too much of a weak little twit to keep my mouth closed, I suppose. And now I’m stuck with it and no one is ever going to let me forget what I did and everyone just sees him when they look at me and I don’t want to do it anymore. Ruined everything and it still wasn’t enough and now nothing will ever be enough.”
Draco was crying hard now, words difficult to understand and coming in little bursts between shuddering breaths. Harry didn’t know what to say. Telling Draco it would be alright seemed utterly trite and inappropriate. He finally pulled Draco into his arms, holding him close and running a hand through his hair as he cried. “So tired,” Draco finally whispered, his head against Harry’s chest. Despite what Hermione had long termed the emotional range of a teaspoon, it was pretty clear to Harry that Draco was talking about a lot more than needing a decent sleep.
“Tell me what you need,” Harry said softly, his arms still wrapped around Draco. The tears had stopped, but his breath was still unsteady and his shoulders continued to tremble.
“Doesn’t matter,” Draco finally answered, his voice barely even a whisper now. “Worthless little whore. Can’t be anything more, not after what I did.”
“You’re more to me,” Harry answered, not thinking before the words were out of his mouth. Draco went rigid against him.
“Potter. I’m a fucking whore. I’ve been fucked by half the school. I’m Marked. I’m not worth shit and you know it. Save the fucking platitudes, would you?”
The abrupt change in Draco had Harry’s head spinning. Seven years of knowing one another had its advantages, though. “Trading sex for safety doesn’t make you a whore, Draco. It makes you a survivor.”
“Fine. I’m a fucking survivor. I’ve precious few talents and lucky for me one of them is a lack of gag reflex. I vomit at the sight of blood but I can put a dick halfway down my throat with no problem. Is that what you want to hear? Another fine legacy from Father, that one is. One gets rather adept at deep throating when the practice begins at age 12. Damn. Looks like the kiss works as well as death for removing a tongue locking curse. I’ve never been able to say that one out loud. Fuck. I’ve never wanted to say that out loud.”
Harry watched as Draco’s pale face went gray. He took a couple of shallow breaths and his eyes widened in panic. Harry had found his way through enough flashbacks of his own to recognize what was happening. “Breathe, Draco. It’s not real. You’re alright. I’ve got you and we’re safe in your bed. You’re alright, now, just breathe. It will pass,” Harry reassured him softy. For good measure, he cast a silent nausea charm on the trembling boy in his arms as he choked and gagged repeatedly.
Draco clutched at Harry’s shirt, breathing in shallow pants with his lips clamped shut until the sensation of semen dripping down his throat faded. It was far from the first time he’d been hit with a visceral memory flashback, but he was so tired and he didn’t have the will to put up much resistance. The curse was intended to prevent any risk of Draco revealing what had happened to him, triggering hallucinations and panic any time he so much as considered confessing. The intensity of the flashback was the last shred of the broken lip locking curse, but it was terrifying none the less. When he was finally able to stop frantically swallowing the flood of semen that wasn’t real, he felt utterly wrung out. He could vaguely hear Harry’s voice in his ear, reassurances of safety accompanied by the firm pressure of arms around him. He turned a little until he could bury his face fully against Harry’s chest now that he was no longer terrified that he was going to vomit.
Harry held him close, continuing to speak softly to him as Draco’s body shook in uncontrollable tremors. When he was finally able to form words again, he asked in a barely there whisper for the Dreamless Sleep. Harry tipped it into his mouth and Draco drank it down. Harry had a bit of trouble believing his ears when Draco whispered a request that he stay with him. When the potion took effect and Draco drifted to sleep, Harry carefully repositioned him on the pillows, lying down beside him atop the covers. A simple warming charm would suffice for the night, since he wasn’t sure how much of the last few hours Draco was going to recall when he woke up. Then he closed his eyes, one arm wrapped protectively against the now sleeping Draco.
Morning came far too soon, and the noise from the other boys moving around the dorm had Draco sitting up with a look of panic on his face. Harry reached out to him and Draco practically melted into the offered embrace. “Curtains are warded. I renewed the charms a while ago,” Harry told him quietly. “I’ll disillusion myself if you prefer no one know where I spent the night.”
“Ashamed to be seen with the Death Eater whore, Potter?” Draco snarked back. Harry managed to bite back a snarky reply of his own when he looked at Draco and saw the barely concealed hurt in his eyes.
“Hey, you know that’s not what I mean,” Harry told him quietly. “If it means no one else hurts you I’ll shout it from the Astronomy tower that you’re mine. I just don’t know what you want.”
“I’m not some fragile little girl, Potter. I told you before; a few blow jobs aren’t going to break me.”
“It’s not the act. It’s the intent. I’m not half so stupid as you think I am. Go ahead and tell me that what I saw last night doesn’t happen often. Tell me the reason you’re stoned on calmia half the time isn’t to stop yourself from having flashbacks.”
Draco looked at Harry for a long while before he answered. “You don’t know what you’re offering, what you’d be stuck with.”
“I’m not asking for a lifelong commitment here, Draco. Just, let me take care of you for a bit. You’re a fucking mess and I’m sick of watching you self destruct.”
Draco nodded, reaching out to twine his fingers in Harry’s. “Hope you don’t mind drunken sex. I haven’t fucked sober in longer than I can remember,” he whispered.
“I don’t think you’re listening, Draco. I do not care if you don’t want sex. I don’t want you to have to drug yourself senseless to function,” Harry said, and he watched as Draco’s eyes closed tight and he took several deep breaths, clearly calming himself. When he opened them again, Harry held out a hand in a silent request and Draco leaned against him. Harry quietly cast additional wards on the curtains of the bed and held him close, waiting as Draco’s tense shoulders relaxed.
The sounds of the other boys began to fade, and still they sat huddled together. Draco clung to Harry as though his life depended upon it, and Harry rubbed his back and shoulders in an effort to keep him calm. Draco eventually dozed off, and Harry lay down with him in his arms, deciding that the other boy clearly needed the rest far more than he needed to attend classes. It was near noon when he woke again, this time drifting slowly awake in the circle of Harry’s arms.
“How are you feeling?” Harry asked him.
Draco shrugged. “Worn out,” was the whispered reply.
“We’ve a few minutes before lunch is served. We can go down to the Hall, or I can Summon an elf to bring us something instead. Are you up to doing classes this afternoon?”
“No,” Draco said, his voice barely audible.
“Do you want me to stay with you?”
All Draco managed was a small nod, but Harry held him a little closer and assured him he wasn’t going anywhere. “Can you knock me out?” Draco asked, and Harry cast a sleeping charm over him, watching as Draco drifted under once more. He wondered how long it had been since the fragile blonde in his arms had properly slept.
Draco slept off and on all day. Harry had one of the house-elves bring him food in the late evening, and he woke Draco long enough to coax a small portion into him. The attempt at bravado that Draco had managed the previous night was long gone. He looked utterly broken, an exhausted mess of a boy who barely seemed able to sit up for longer than a few minutes before beginning to tremble from exhaustion. Harry began to wonder if the calmia potions weren’t the only thing Draco had been downing in bulk.
He got his answer late that night, when the rest of the room had long since gone to sleep. Dozing beside him, Draco began to shake. Within a few moments, he was convulsing and Harry recognized the symptoms of withdrawal from Vitalis, a potent invigoration draught that he had watched Molly Weasley wean George from in the late summer. Harry held him through the worst of the seizure, keeping him on his side as Molly had taught him to do for George. When it finally ended, Harry summoned a cloth to clean Draco’s face and silently spelled his trousers clean. It took a long while before Draco opened his eyes at all, and even then, it was only a little bit. “You’re alright,” Harry told him softly. “Squeeze my hand if you can hear me,” he instructed, placing his hand against Draco’s fingers. A moment later he felt Draco attempt to do so.
“Are you in pain?” Harry asked, and Draco squeezed his hand again. Carefully, Harry rolled him over until he was facing him properly. He cradled him against him and used his free hand to rub the tight muscles of his back and arms, working the knots loose and gently straightening out his clenched fingers. As he worked, he whispered reassurances, telling Draco it would be alright. Tears fell freely down Draco’s face, and Harry wiped them as quickly as he could, telling the other boy over and over that it was alright, that he would take care of him.
When the curtains parted to admit Blaise Zabini, Harry automatically tightened his hold on Draco. Blaise held both hands up so they were visible. “Just checking in on him. My watching charm went off,” Blaise said quickly. Draco mumbled something unintelligible, and Harry ran a hand against his cheek.
“It’s alright. I’ve got you,” Harry told him softly. He watched Blaise for a moment. Blaise closed the curtains behind him and balanced himself on the foot of the bed, not quite touching Harry or Draco.
“He’s had seizures since we were kids. I keep a charm on him so I can clean him up after. I won’t hurt him,” Blaise said softly.
Beside him, Draco nodded, once more attempting to speak and coming up with unconnected syllables instead. Blaise watched him for a moment, before scooting further up the bed, sitting down on Draco’s other side.
“You were with him?” he asked Harry, who nodded his response.
“How long did it last?”
“A few minutes. Four or five, maybe? Didn’t think to time it. I thought he was detoxing off Vitalis or something.”
“Not going to ask how you’d know what detox seizures look like. Any vomiting? How’s his breathing been? How long did it take for him to wake?”
“No vomiting. Breathing was a little rough, especially during the stronger convulsions. Too dim in here to really know if he lost color, though. I don’t know how long before he woke. Ten minutes? If you’ve got a watching charm on him why did it take so long for you to come check on him?”
“If you really need to know, I was in the girls’ dormitory,” Blaise snapped. “Draco, I’m going to run the scans now. I’ll be fast about it.”
With that, Blaise pulled out his wand and recited a rapid sequence of unfamiliar incantations, which displayed a number of runes in the air around Draco. When he was finished and the runes vanished, Blaise placed a hand on Draco’s chest. He shook his head, looking concerned. “You aspirated a bit, I need to clear your lungs out. I’m sorry.”
Draco groaned, and Harry held him a little closer. “You’re probably going to want to roll him away from you,” Blaise told him. “He’ll likely sick up from the charm. It’s effective but harsh.”
“I can do a cleaning charm. Moving him hurts,” Harry countered. In his arms, Draco groaned again, as if offering his agreement.
“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Blaise told him, before performing the charm. Draco went rigid, taking in a huge, ragged breath before forcefully coughing out what appeared to be an alarming amount of frothy fluid. The coughing continued for several minutes, with him retching repeatedly before it was over. Harry silently vanished the mess from the pair of them, stroking Draco’s hair and reassuring him in a soft voice that it was alright. Once he was still again, the rattle that had been present in his breathing was finally gone.
Blaise watched all of it with a look of mixed shock and admiration on his face. When Draco closed his eyes and drifted back into unconsciousness against Harry’s shoulder, Blaise spoke once more.
“When he wakes, he’s going to be hurting. There are potions in his trunk. He can tell you which ones he needs. Don’t try to wake him. It’s better if he sleeps it off on his own.”
“Does this happen often?” Harry asked, looking at the fragile boy in his arms.
“A couple times a month, maybe. Not usually this intense, though. Most of them only last a minute or so. Stress can be a trigger. He was an absolute disaster 6th and 7th years. My guess is that with the mess over Lucius, he probably skipped a few doses of his preventative. Five minutes worth of seizing like that and he’s going to be feeling it for days. He probably won’t remember much. Even when he’s awake right after, he’s not really aware of what’s happening to him. Keep an eye on him. Sometimes he clusters if he’s skipping doses. I’ll reset the watching charm just in case. I’ll stay in here so I’ll be close. There are potions we can give him, but he hates them. Says they make him feel wrong. There are charms to protect his lungs. I’ll go ahead and set that one on him. One aspiration is bad enough for one night.” Harry nodded, not fully understanding what Blaise meant, but assuming that clustering meant there could be more seizures coming.
When the charm was finished, Blaise headed back to his bed and Harry closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep. He had no idea how long it had been when he woke to the sensation of Draco stiffening in his arms and beginning to flail. Blaise was back almost immediately, and Harry once more held Draco on his side as he thrashed. This time it lasted only two minutes, but they were definitely long minutes. When Draco’s body went limp, Harry cleaned him up with a whispered spell while Blaise ran the scans again. He had barely finished when Draco’s back arched suddenly and he began to shake once more. Blaise cast a time monitoring charm, and when the numbers passed the five minute mark, Harry began to be very worried.
“Fuck,” Blaise muttered as the numbers of the timing charm passed 7 minutes, summoning a phial from Draco’s trunk. He removed the seal and reached forward to pour the tiny amount of liquid directly into Draco’s nose. Harry watched in confusion. “Muggle drug,” Blaise explained. “Versed. It’s supposed to stop the misfire that causes the seizure.”
As if proving the point, Draco’s body relaxed once more, although he continued to twitch intermittently for nearly the next ten minutes. “I’ll stay here until morning,” Blaise told Harry. “If he seizes again, we’ll have to call Pomfrey. I’m only allowed to give him one dose before he has to go to the hospital wing to be watched over.”
Harry held Draco close, whispering reassurances when he woke a short while later. He didn’t seem able to move at all, and his attempts at speech were completely impossible to understand. What was clear was that he was frightened, and Harry held him and wiped the tears that fell, telling him that it was alright, that Harry wasn’t going anywhere. By the time morning came, Draco was sleeping soundly. According to a timing charm Blaise had set, it had been two hours since the third seizure. Blaise told Harry it would be perfectly normal for Draco to sleep through most of the day. He handed Harry a phial before leaving the bed.
“This is his preventative. As soon as he is awake enough to be coherent, get it down him. If he misses too many doses, the clusters are too hard to stop and Pomfrey ends up putting him in stasis,” Blaise explained. Harry nodded, pocketing the phial and looking at Draco, asleep on a pillow and breathing in long, deep breaths that were more reassuring than Harry much wanted to admit. Blaise headed off to class with a promise to let Flitwick know what was going on so that no one would ask questions about where he was. He also warned Harry that Pomfrey would probably be by at some point in the day to check on Draco. Even though he was permitted to use the Versed without her present, she required him to notify her when it was necessary and would need to perform her own scans to ensure that Draco was alright.
It was near noon when Draco woke with a soft moan of pain. He opened his eyes and stared up at Harry, who reached for his hand immediately. “You had a seizure, pretty bad one. Then two more. Blaise gave you the Versed to make them stop. He said you have potions to help with the pain. Tell me what to get for you.”
Draco gripped Harry’s hand with strength that surprised Harry a bit. “Blue box in my trunk,” he whispered, his words a little slurred. Harry summoned the requested box and held up a series of different phials until Draco indicated which ones he needed.
“Do I need to hold you up?” Harry asked. Draco nodded, his body too achy to allow even an attempt at sitting up on his own. Harry gently lifted him, keeping his back pressed against his chest to support him. Draco let his head rest on Harry’s shoulder as he was cradled there. Harry slowly dripped the potions into Draco’s mouth, waiting as he swallowed them drop by drop. When he finished, he gave him the preventative that Blaise had left before carefully lowering Draco back onto his pillow.
“M’sorry,” Draco slurred. Harry lay down beside him and wrapped an arm around him.
“Shh, you’ve nothing to apologize for. You need to rest now. I’ll stay right here with you, alright?”
“Hurts,” Draco whimpered.
“I know. Blaise said the potions would help. Is there anything else I can do?”
“Hold me,” Draco slurred, and Harry brought him close once more. Draco squirmed until he had himself curled up against Harry with his head on his shoulder. Harry could feel his tears dampening his shirt, and rubbed his back in slow circles.
“Don’t cry,” Harry told him softly. “You’ll be fine. I’m not going anywhere.”
Draco nodded against him and eventually he dozed back off to sleep. Harry held him until late afternoon, when Madame Pomfrey arrived to perform several diagnostic scans. She lectured Draco about the importance of his potions, and that he was to notify her immediately in the case of a missed dose to avoid another night like the one prior. She also left an assortment of additional potions to be taken several times daily until the levels of the preventative were back to what she considered acceptable. Once she was gone, Harry had one of the house-elves bring up some food. Draco was still weak and sore, and Harry ended up feeding him after a few minutes of sitting up on his own had him in tears.
Once he had Draco calm and settled back into the bed, Harry stroked his hair with one hand. “Draco? Answer something for me?”
“Depends,” Draco answered. Harry suspected he knew exactly what he was going to ask.
“Why did you stop taking your potion?” Harry asked. Draco took several deep breaths before answering.
“Because if I stop taking it, maybe I’ll get lucky and the seizures will kill me,” Draco answered. His words were soft and edged with absolute agony.
Harry waited a while before speaking again. He needed to get this right and he knew he was only going to get one shot at it. “Do you want to die?”
Draco didn’t answer. He clutched at Harry’s shirt and began to sob. Harry wrapped his arms tightly around him, sitting up and cradling Draco in his lap as he rocked him gently back and forth. This time, he didn’t speak. He just held him, hoping that it would provide enough comfort as Draco fell to pieces. He was grateful to Draco’s exhausted state, because he doubted that he would have been willing to tell the truth any other way.
When Draco quieted, Harry tilted his face up enough that he could look him in the eyes. “Answer me, please,” he said softly. Draco stared at him a long time, before the softest of sounds came from his lips.
“Not at the moment,” he whispered.
“I’ll do everything I can to keep it that way,” Harry told him, and Draco closed his eyes again, resting against Harry’s chest.
“Still tired?” Harry asked. Draco nodded his response. “Go to sleep, then. I’ll be here when you wake,” Harry told him. Draco nodded once more and Harry continued to rock him gently until he was sleeping once more. Then he settled him back onto the bed, tucking the blankets in around him.
Blaise showed up a short while later. He told Harry that the others in their dorm had figured out where he was, and asked what Harry wanted him to do. Harry shrugged. “Let them come to their own conclusions. Seamus and Dean have shared a bed since forth year. If anyone has a problem with Draco and me doing the same, I’ll be happy to point that out. Besides, I’m fairly certain they’re all half afraid of me anyway.”
Blaise shook his head. “You are a wonder, you know that? You have been at each other’s throats from the moment you met.”
“Please spare me any and all amusing quotes about love and hate, would you?” Harry teased, absently resting a hand on Draco’s shoulder when he stirred a bit beside him. “You wouldn’t happen to know how long he’s going to be so tired?”
“A day at the least. He’ll be sore a while more, but by tomorrow he’ll be able to keep his eyes open more than a few minutes at a time provided he doesn’t seize again. The extra potions Pomfrey gives him when he clusters like that are seriously sedating.”
“Anything I can do to help keep that from happening?” Harry asked.
“Just make sure he gets the preventative. More than anything else, he needs the rest. He’ll probably need more of the pain potions before bedtime, but really, there isn’t a solution, at least not one we’ve ever found.”
Harry nodded. Beside him, Draco opened bleary eyes. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his words still a little difficult to understand.
“Shh, go back to sleep. Everything’s fine,” Harry told him, and Draco closed his eyes.
“My back hurts,” he whispered. Blaise rummaged in the trunk for more of the pain potions and muscle relaxers, which he passed up to Harry.
“I’ll hold you up,” Harry told Draco, slipping an arm behind him and carefully pulling him into a sitting position against his own chest. He gave him the potions, and then helped him drink a tumbler of water.
“M’so tired,” Draco complained, and Harry settled him back onto the pillow.
“Rest, then. You had a long night. You need to sleep. Close your eyes now and rest,” Harry told him. Draco did as he was told, and was asleep again in moments. As Harry watched, his hands twitched and tensed over and over. Harry looked at Blaise, who shook his head.
“Just small ones. The big ones you saw are called tonic-clonics. The hand twitches are partial seizures. He has them most of the time, at least lately. Madame Pomfrey thinks it’s because he was under crucio so much the last few years. It screwed up the nerves and with the issue already there, it made everything worse. It makes it hard for him to eat sometimes. They can cause nausea, as well, so that doesn’t help at all. He’s embarrassed, doesn’t want anyone to notice his hands shaking, so he doesn’t bother going to meals half the time.”
Harry reached out and took one of Draco’s hands in his own. The thin fingers continued to jerk against his hand, and he patted and rubbed Draco’s arm and wrist. “I had no idea,” he said softly. Blaise just continued to watch him.
“No one does. He’s a damn good actor, sometimes. Lucius called it a shameful weakness, told him he should be able to just stop. He used to beat the hell out of him if it happened in front of anyone. Kind of ironic since the damn things started after the man fractured his fucking skull with his cane. It’s no wonder he’s worked so hard to keep it hidden,” Blaise continued to explain. “They’ll be worse for a few days. Something about the big ones triggers more of the small ones. I’m not really sure how it works.”
When Draco whimpered in his sleep, Harry lay down beside him, holding him close and telling him everything was alright. Blaise slipped away then, leaving Harry holding a mostly sleeping Draco. Aware now of what he was seeing, Harry noticed all the tiny twitches of Draco’s body, realizing for the first time that Draco’s constant fidgeting was most likely a cover-up for the small seizures.
It was well past supper time when Draco woke again. Harry called a house-elf to bring them a meal, and Draco sat propped against him as he ate. He was able to feed himself properly this time, but lay down with his arms wrapped around his stomach after only half a portion. “Need a nausea draught,” he muttered, and Harry Summoned one from the trunk, unsure of which phial they would be held in. Draco swallowed the purple liquid while curled up on his side, taking shallow breaths and turning more green by the moment. Harry quickly Vanished the remainder of the meal, sitting with Draco and rubbing his back until he was able to breathe normally again.
“Why are you still here?” Draco asked him after a while.
“I don’t scare easily,” Harry answered. Draco smiled at that answer.
“Did Blaise explain it, then? That this is normal? That I do this a few times a month no matter how many disgusting potions I take? That I’ll wake you in the middle of the night, probably puke on you, almost certainly wet myself, that I’ll sound like a drunken idiot for hours afterwards? You know that I’m utterly damaged goods?”
“I know. I don’t care,” Harry told him. Draco stared at him with wide eyes.
“It’s not just the fucking huge seizures, you know,” Draco said, and the bite was gone from his tone. “I get scared, for no reason at all. Just suddenly terrified. Or I’ll be perfectly fine, and end up with a couple of tiny little twitches and find myself puking up everything I’ve eaten in a month. I walk down a corridor I’ve known for eight fucking years and have no idea where I am. It’s getting worse, all the time now. Used to just be a few at night, a few times a month. Now my hands shake more than not. I’m disoriented half the time. I’m not actually taking much Calmia, you know. It’s easier if people think I’m stoned, though. That way no one realizes I’m just losing it, all on my own. I, um, well I use it before I do things, though. It stops the twitches, at least for a little while. Not sure how I’d explain that mid-blowjob, you know?”
Harry stroked a finger across Draco’s face, wiping away the tears that had started to fall. “I’m not going anywhere,” Harry told him quietly. Draco nodded, and Harry picked him up once more, trying to ignore quite how easy it was to lift him, and settled him in his lap. Draco didn’t move, just lay quietly in Harry’s arms, as Harry occasionally felt some part of him twitch. He fell asleep again after a while and Harry put him back on the bed. He gathered his school books and worked his way through the assignments Blaise had left listed on top of the pile. He half wondered just what Blaise had told their professors about his sudden absence, but didn’t really much care.
When the dorm room began to fill once more with the others, Harry looked up to find Blaise opening the curtains and climbing in. “I’ll stay with him for a bit. I’m sure you’d like a shower,” he told Harry.
Harry reached for Draco, tapping his shoulder until he opened his eyes. “I’m going to go get a shower. Blaise is going to sit with you.”
Draco nodded, his eyes not quite focused. He was asleep again before Harry closed the curtains. Harry made it all of three steps before Ron was in his face, demanding an explanation. Harry took a deep breath and reminded himself that Ron was bigger, stronger, and a much better fighter than he was on account of growing up with so many siblings. He knew Ron would never attempt hexing him, since Harry had the advantage there. “What the fuck, Harry?”
“He needs someone,” Harry said quietly.
“So it has to be you? Harry, are you fucking insane? This is Draco Malfoy we’re talking about.”
“Would it be better if it were Charlie?” Harry countered. Ron sputtered for a moment.
“Point,” he mumbled. It had been no secret over the summer that Charlie and Harry had hooked up several times.
“Good. Now, if I recall from this summer, we agreed that you weren’t going to be a great git this year, correct? That you were going to actually use a few of those brain cells of yours to think before you make a fool of yourself?” Harry reminded him, trying to remember how exactly Hermione had phrased it when she had lectured Ron on the topic of his need to be decent in the new mixed house system for their year.
Ron nodded, beginning to look a bit sheepish. “Fine, how about you give that a go now, alright? It’s my life. It’s my decision who I choose to be with. I choose him.”
Ron went red enough that his freckles were barely visible, but he didn’t say a word. He stepped out of Harry’s way as he went to gather his things for a shower. When Harry returned, Ron was sitting on the edge of Harry’s bed, hands clasped in front of him as he leaned on his elbows.
Harry nodded towards him and dressed quickly in fresh clothing. “I’m sorry,” Ron told him. “You’re right. It’s your choice. Just a bit surprised, you know? Been thinking about it now, and I guess it fits, though. You’ve always been a bit obsessed with the prat. Not too far of a stretch to think about the ways you two might have quite a bit to talk about.”
It was Harry’s turn to stare. Ron shook his head and stood up, moving close and muttering a silencing charm around them. “One hears rumors, you know. Andromeda is a healer, right? She used to be round for meals quite a lot, when we were young. I heard her mention a few times that she’d treated the Malfoy kid, broken bones and accidental curse damage from Dark objects in the house. No one really believed the excuses. I’m not half so blind as you must have thought, either. Coming back to school every September looking like you’ve eaten every third day and run a marathon in between meals. Never quite knew what to say to you, though. Like I said, it makes sense, you and Malfoy.”
With that, Ron put a hand on Harry’s shoulder and squeezed lightly. “Just do yourself a favor and don’t play the hero, alright? Malfoy’s anything but a fragile girl to protect. Let him take care of you, too. Merlin knows you need it sometimes.”
Ron walked away then, and Harry was left to ponder just what exactly Ron meant by that. He was fine. His childhood had sucked, that was certainly true. But it was well and truly over. He would never have to see the Dursleys again and more the pleasure for it. No one had crucioed the hell out of him so badly that he was having fucking seizures. Pushing the conversation to the back of his mind, he climbed into Draco’s bed, where Blaise was sitting beside Draco and holding his hand.
“Hey,” Draco said, and Harry was relieved to hear his voice clear and him sitting upright.
“How’re you feeling?” Harry asked him, sitting down on Draco’s other side. Draco scooted a little closer to him, leaning in and putting his head on Harry’s shoulder. Harry automatically wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“Tired and achy, but better than I did this morning,” Draco told him. “You?”
“I’ll live,” Harry replied.
“I’ll take that to mean you’ve sat and stared at me for the last whoever knows how long and you’re dead on your feet,” Draco said, and his voice was calm but firm. “Lie down. Close your eyes, and go to sleep. The worst of it is over now, I’ll be fine for a bit on my own.”
Harry started to argue, but Draco put one finger over his mouth. “Just listen to me, Potter. You need sleep. Lie down.”
Giving it up as a lost cause, Harry stretched out on the bed and found that Draco was immediately wrapped around him, holding him in a mirror image of the way they had slept the night before. Slender fingers brushed through his hair. Harry had only been held in his sleep once in his entire life, over the summer with Charlie, and the sensation was an odd mix between soothing and terrifying. He was used to being in control, choosing to keep everyone at a safe distance. He knew, logically, that he had tossed that ability out sometime overnight with Draco, but it still took a long time before he was able to relax and drift to sleep.