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Life is a mix of waiting and chaos. At least Draco's life is. 

His shifts are made of moments of calm and books, and then, at any given moment… Bam! Running and blood and navigating streets full of people and vehicles at top speed. Adrenaline and wounds. Other people's wounds, mind you. 

Waiting and chaos and traffic related nightmares.

Seriously, Muggles use those blasted cars as if they were harmless brooms, but the truth is Draco has seen more damage caused by those things that by any other source in his time working as an EMT.

And let me tell you, there are plenty of things to cause damage. Merlin, they are vulnerable. They aren’t weak, as one would have expected, but in some sense, they are reckless, they act as if they have Skelegrow at their disposal.

This one, a corpulent man probably around his own age, has been struck by a drunken driver with a car and has severe trauma. He may or may not survive.

"My baby, my poor boy."

At this rate, he is going to have to administer some tranquilizer to the mother.

"Please, miss…"

"Dursley."

"Miss Dursley, I need some space to secure your son on the stretcher so we can get him into the ambulance."

"My boy, my little boy, please, be careful. Be careful!" The woman screeches when they lift the stretcher, piercing Draco's eardrum. The obese father turns his head and hold his phone away from his face to glower at him.

"If you, punk, do something that hurts my son, I'll see you in court." 

Draco inhales slowly, now he knows for a fact that not every Muggle is this irritating, he also understands the straining circumstances, but this man exudes arrogance and he doesn't like him. So Draco ignores him, that seems to offend him further.

With the patient secured at the back, Draco is about to close the doors when Mrs Dursley jumps forward and grabs his wrist.

“Wait, wait, I want to go with him.”

“Miss, I need to attend your son and move around the back of the ambulance...”

“If you were the one injured, wouldn’t you want your mother with you?” she says in a rush with pleading eyes. He wants to tell her that her son is unconscious and it doesn’t make a difference to him right now, but that could be counterproductive. He also wants to tell her that he might have to do CPR, or to take some invasive measure, or that her son could die before arriving to the hospital. Something must have shown in his face because she speaks again, her voice wavering. “If-if you were to die wouldn’t you want your mother to have the chance to hold your hand?”

He bites his lip. That is utterly skillful manipulation right there. He knows she knows she has struck a chord.

“If you hinder me…”

“I will be quiet as a mouse.” Against his better judgment, he helps her hop in and closes the door on a dumbfounded Mr Dursley.

“I’ll follow you to the hospital, dear,” comes the muffled voice.

Draco helps her sit and fasten the belt before knocking on the dividing panel. “Off you go!” As his partner was ready waiting for him, the ambulance jerks forward right away, the loud siren blaring as they ride as fast as possible through London’s streets.

“Ok, since you are here, I need you to tell me about any allergies, any treatments, medical history…” Draco trails off while checking monitors.

The woman startles and stops sniveling, having something to focus on.

“Er, uhm, no, he is healthy, he does exercise. He’s in really good shape, my Diddy. Since he and his cousin…” she trails off, “H-he’s never broken a bone.” She bursts into uncontrollable tears. “Oh my poor boy, my poor Dudleykins, Look at you.”

“Mrs Dursley...”

“Right, right. No, he's just allergic to cats."

Draco hums distractedly. His patient's pulse is weakening. At this rate, he is not going to get to the hospital without help. He pats the man's pockets, picking keys and coins, and almost cheers when he finds a mobile phone in one of them.

"Mrs Dursley, take your son's phone, maybe you want to call someone."

"Oh, yes, yes, I should… I think I should call my nephew, h-he may help." Draco uses the distraction to open the man's shirt and checks to confirm the damages they have assessed at their arrival: besides the broken legs, and the bump on his head, he has broken humerus and radius on both arms; he probably raised them instinctively and that protected his ribs, but with the probable spine damage, he needs to be careful. He takes a look at the woman. "Dudders may have his number." She mutters while rummages into her purse to find her glasses. She puts them on and throws her head back a little to focus her gaze on the device.

While she fumbles with it, Draco gets his wand out and casts a Confundus. Before she gets back to her senses, Draco makes some quick evaluations using magic. 

It’s not that he lacks the knowledge to treat a muggle, he has excelled all his exams, and he is as proud of his A grades as he had been of his Outstandings at Hogwarts; he has worked hard for his grades. He is still baffled by the Muggle world and has struggled with all the misunderstanding and nonsense, because seriously, there's so much nonsense. But he has found help and some unexpected friends.

Anyway, sometimes the comfort of his magic is enough to reassure him that he’s not going to muck it up with one of his patients.

"What was I doing?" Mrs Dursley murmurs when he's just finished to adjust the dropper.

"You were going to call your nephew," Draco answers.

"Ah, yes, yes, Dudders may have his number." She adjusts her reading glasses again and gasps when she finds the correct number. She hits it hard and puts the phone in her right ear while she bites the nail of her thumb. Her hand trembles and her voice wavers when someone picks up. The conversation is short and strained. No pleasantries. They agree to meet at the hospital. No goodbyes.

Shortly after that, they arrive at the emergency door, and Draco settles into the routine of taking the patient out of the ambulance and to the emergency ward, the pattern already ingrained in his subconscious. He almost falters when he sees him, unmistakable with his glasses and his black bad hair and his scar, but he forces himself to walk through, grateful to the doctor that comes to take care of his patient. Of course, that woman had been speaking to a ‘Harry’, but what were the odds? It’s a very common name. It’s just Draco’s luck that he has to attend Potter’s muggle relative. His only relatives, if he recalls correctly.

"Car struck, multiple fractures, head concussion, possible spinal injury. I made a puncture to ease the pressure before moving him. The pulse is weak but the heart hasn’t failed," he recites, aware of Potter's gaze on him. It's been ages, but suddenly he's back to his Hogwarts days, back to that feeling of inadequacy, of being judged. Back to those mixed feelings of embarrassment and gratitude on the day of his trial. But he’s got nothing to be embarrassed about now. He doesn't. He doesn't, but the warming feeling creeps to his face anyway. He lets his hair fall over his face. 

"Got it," the emergency doctor says, taking the scans and results Draco is handing her. 

He watches as they carry the patient away. Before he turns, he's certain that Potter has come closer so he is not surprised when his green eyes are almost level with his own. 

"Potter," Draco says, clenching his jaw and squaring his shoulders. 

"So is really you," Potter says frowning. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here."

The prat has the nerve to scoff. "No, really, what are you doing?"

Draco crosses his arms, he can't avoid sounding defensive. "What? Do you think I've confounded all these muggles?" he says through gritted teeth, his blood rapidly boiling. He waits, expecting some retort from Potter, some venom in his words, it's what they do best; but he doesn't have the chance to listen to Potter's answer because Carl comes jogging. 

"Dray, we got another call."

"I'm ready," he says without looking. He glares at Potter in defiance before heading back to their ambulance. He probably closes the door with too much force. 

"Everything ok?" Carl asks, looking at him sideways, already driving away. 

"Eyes on the road," Draco spits, nerves mixing with his anger. 

"When are you going to get your shit together so we can take turns driving?"

"I'm on it," he lies. Honestly, the last time he entertained the idea of driving, he had a meltdown. 

"Are you ok, then?"

Considering the fact that Potter has appeared in what he thought was a safe place, a place where he didn’t have to hide, didn’t have to expect constant disdain; that some ill intended words from him to the wrong people could ruin Draco's carefully built present life… Well, he is ‘ecstatic’. 

Last he heard about Potter, he was being considered for a promotion in the DMLE. He could have the whole department sniffing his trail, looking for a faux pas… Like him cheating on his driving exam…

But he wouldn't, right? He might not hold him in high regard but he testified in his and his mother’s favour, so there is that. Surely his Gryffindor pride wouldn't let him do something hurtful or stupid… 

Draco snorts. "Yeah, right,” he says aloud and then scrubs his eyes to try to dispel his sour mood. “I’m good." Another lie. He fights a sting of guilt because he really likes Carl, and he already hides enough things as it is. He is the best partner he could get as he’s considerate of Draco’s space and doesn’t mind driving even if he complains now and then. It's not so easy when he's partnered with any of the other EMTs. 

The rest of the shift passes in a blur between attending the emergency calls and fighting his anguish. By the time it's about to end, he has almost managed to forget about Potter. 

Almost, because while he's waiting outside, reading Home Life and Social Habits of British Muggles (seriously, he is considering writing a complaint about the whole thing; it has a couple of inaccuracies at least. Now he knows, with some embarrassing memories to boot), he feels a prickly sensation on his skin, like the energy before a thunderstorm, like magic about to burst; he automatically thinks about Potter.

Soon enough, the idiot stumbles through the sliding doors and Draco's hair raises as the sensation intensifies. He thinks that he can see the tendrils of magic if he squints. Potter's going to get him in trouble because really, any ruckus the Saviour could cause… they would blame Draco just for being there, that's for sure. 

That's why he drops his book and rushes to catch Potter and take him aside, to a more discreet place. 

"Potter, snap out of it!" Draco says, forcing the git to look at him in the eyes. 

"Malfoy?" Potter frowns, looking at him, bewildered. 

Draco is suddenly self-conscious, he is aware he resembles his father, but at the same time, he hopes that Potter is taking in all the ways he doesn't: his long hair is tied in a loose bun, some strands loose after all the hours at work; his ears are pierced, the delicate curves punctured in a manner that his mother had blanched at sight of; his clothes, a uniform, plain and unfitted, so far from the tailored robes he had worn that his father would have a seizure if he could see him right now. 

Green eyes lock with his, huge and gleaming. Draco expects rage, or shouting, or insults… he doesn't expect the way Potter's face crumbles, eyes watering and shoulders trembling. For a moment, Draco is frozen in place, his brain unable to process what is happening. So when Potter raises his hands to cover his face, displacing his ugly glasses, Draco just acts without thinking and picks them up, tucking them in one hand and then… he moves forward to hug the trembling figure in front of him. 

Had his cousin died? He was stable but… you can't know sometimes, the internal damage may be worse than it seems. 

Had his relatives blamed him? That rude fat man seemed able to shift his grief onto Potter. 

Draco wonders if his improvised contact has been a mistake because Potter's distress seems worse than before. He even hears him sobbing. He would have sold his soul to witness this kind of weakness from Potter during their days at Hogwarts, but right now, he only feels an unpleasant knot on his throat. He tries to clear it before murmuring over Potter's head. 

"Is your cousin… ?" he pauses and finds himself unable to continue. Potter shakes his head and dislodges himself from Draco's arms, leaving him unsettled and feeling utterly awkward. Why in Salazar's name had he reached for Potter? 

"Sorry," Potter mumbles, "it's just… I almost forgot how they are."

"Overwhelming?"

"Infuriating."

"I often find that those aren't mutually exclusive."

Potter snorts and tries to tame his wild hair with his fingers. "Can I have my glasses back?"

"Oh, yeah, I… here," Draco says, handing them out. He berates himself, he doesn't stammer. He needs a retort. "Some things don't change, does it?" he means the ugly wired thing but Potter is on another track. 

"It's the nerve! Years of ignoring me on the best of days, making it clear that I’m not part of the family, and now asking…" Potter closes his eyes and stresses his next words, "demanding, actually, I do something." 

Draco stares at him trying to process his words. He takes in Potter’s tense posture, the feeling of foreign magic on his skin intensifying again. He needs to distract him.

"You always do something," Draco blurts. 

Potter opens his eyes and cocks his head, watching him with an honest expression. "Truth is, I would like to do something. Dudley is the only one with enough decency to have apologized, and he’s family after all. But I'm not a healer, and I'm pants at potions."

Draco snorts at that. "No shit."

"I've never denied that, you prick," Potter says, rolling his eyes, but Draco can tell he's fighting a smile. That's a novelty. "Anyway, sorry about this… outburst."

"I thought you were saying sorry for being your obnoxious self but that's no news for me, Potter." Draco sees how his face falls and falters. "I appreciate it, though, it's… comforting to see that some things just got better with time."

Potter stares at him with a raised eyebrow and Draco revisits his words. He winces inwardly. That sounded different in his head, he didn't mean… 

"So, you really work here."

"What gave me away?" Draco says, looking down at his uniform.

“I thought… It’s hard to believe, really.”

“Is it?” Draco watches him sideways before looking away at the darkening sky. “I guess it is.” He concedes.

“Why?”

Draco shrugs. “Why not?” 

Potter snorts. “With you? There’s always a reason.”

“Ah, the Slytherin way… There is, a reason I mean, but it is none of your business.”

Potter snorts again. Seriously, at this rate he is going to hurt himself.

“Are you asking as a Law Enforcement member or as a…” Draco was going to say a friend but stops himself in time. They have never been friends, far from it.

“I’m not a Hitwizard, not anymore, that is.”

Draco spins on the spot, his eyes wide in shock. “How come?”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” he says straight faced.

After a moment of silence Draco burst laughing, “Who is the Slytherin of the two?”

“I almost got sorted into Slytherin,” he says with a mischievous grin.

“Now you are taking the piss.”

“Am I?”

“God Potter, you know how to pique my interest.”

“Fancy a coffee?” Potter says but seems to panic when Draco raises a brow. “I mean, we could have a chat and satisfy both of our curiosities.”

“I can live with the mystery. Besides,” he says, turning in the direction of the doors, picking his book on the way, “I’m knackered, my shift is over and I have an early shift tomorrow so… see you around I guess.” He says waving the hand with his book.

The sight of Potter, alone in the dim lights, would accompany him until sleep would come two hours too late, his mind replaying the conversation over and over again. Damn him and his stupid face and his stupid… whole being. He lied when he said he could live with the mystery.

***

It’s late into his next shift that he finds himself facing Potter again. Draco is sitting in his usual spot, holding and not reading his new book because he's been thinking about this same bespectacled git since they last met. 

"I would invite you to sit but this is a public space so do what you want. Actually," he says closing his book, "please sit down, you are making me nervous, stalking me in silence from above."

"I have a favour to ask," Potter says. 

“From me?”

“But not here.” 

“Is this a convoluted way to ask me for a coffee again?”

“No, it's…” Potter looks around and sits too close to Draco's comfort. He continues speaking in hushed tones. “Do you know about healing potions on muggles?” 

Draco blinks slowly. “You want to use them on your cousin.” Is not a question, more an instant realisation that finds its way to Draco’s traitorous mouth.

“I'm not breaking the statute of secrecy,” he says in a rush. “They know about magic.”

“I guessed that much, you grew with them after all, didn’t you? Why haven't you asked Granger?” 

Potter grimaces. “She's angry with me.” 

“Hmm. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes. What have you done to enrage the most dangerous witch in our generation?” He smirks, picturing anger condensed in a 5'5" witch’s fist and connecting with Potter’s chin.

“She thinks I should let the muggle medicine works.” 

"I surprisingly agree."

“But he's… Doctors says he's still in danger.” 

Draco nodded minutely. "I suppose that may be the case, his condition was severe, and enough time hasn't passed for him to be considered out of danger, even if he's stable. Muggle medicine takes its time, but I assure you, it's effective. And that, coming from me, should be enough reassurance." Potter’s smile is tiny but is there. "Are you so in debt with them that you can't wait to see how it goes?" Draco says, frowning. 

Potter groans. "That's the other reason why Hermione is mad at me. She says I owe them nothing."

Draco frown deepens. There's something there, something he can read between the lines. In Potter's words and gestures, in the conversation with his aunt, in his uncle manners... It is not only a teenage grudge held against their caretakers, a rebel spirit against authority. Not part of the family, Potter has said.

An ugly feeling rises in his chest; for all the banter, and fight, and hurt they have inflicted each other, he feels, he knows, that Potter deserves the world. Draco is shocked nonetheless when a wave of protectiveness threatens to choke him. 

“I can help you,” he blurts.

Potter turns with a sudden move, Draco hates and loves the surprise in his face.

“Would you?”

“No, I’ve said it just for effect. Of course, I would, just… let me check some things before we make a mess of it.” Draco wants to scream, he is going to spend his day off researching for this dork, and he has volunteered. Great. He quickly takes his phone out of his pocket to capture Potter’s goofy expression.

“What was that for?” he protest, blinking.

“Just for blackmail. In case you want to divulge my good actions. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Dray!” Carl bellows from the side of the ambulance. “Let’s move!”

“Gotta go, Potter.”

“Bye,” he says, startled.

***

At around ten o’clock in the morning on his first day off, Draco is standing in front of the table in his potion lab after doing some research. Namely, a four hour research, with a pause for coffee. It is not that he has specifically gotten up early to do this, it is just that his shifts have conditioned him to wake up at the same time, everyday, no matter if he has work or not.

The lab it’s a nice room, nicer than the dungeons at Hogwarts. Snape would have been horrified at the tall window, but Draco has charmed it to avoid air currents and he can drag a curtain to block the light for photosensitive potions.

He works methodically, trying not to get distracted by the reasons why he is doing this. He knows on a conscious level that he wants to be on Potter’s good side, maybe making him owe Draco a favour that he would reclaim on times of need, maybe (and this is what he wants to avoid dwelling on it) he wants to do something nice for him just for the sake of it. There are other things too, but they usually mess with Draco’s mood so he actively avoids thinking about them.

He sets a low fire and puts an alarm to remind him when the potion may be ready to add the final ingredients and goes to the kitchen to prepare a proper breakfast for his visitor. He has considered his possibilities and after discarding Granger, or god forbid, Weasley, the best next option was obvious: inviting Lovegood for a chat over breakfast was never a bother. Sometimes it was a bit disconcerting, but that was to be expected.

"So, tell me, how have you been?" he says, moments later, Lovegood sitting on a green and yellow settee while pouring tea. 

"It's been a while, isn't it?" Draco nods, feeling guilty at having called her after a long time for his own interest, but she continues with a smile. "I've met this guy, he's truly interesting, and we are talking about traveling to catalogue the population of Occamy in India. It would be an interesting article for the Quibbler, don't you think?"

Dangerous animals aside, he guess it is. “And is Longbottom going with you?”

“Why would he?” she asks sipping at her tea. Draco blinks, confused.

“I-I thought you were together?” he frowns, he thinks he remembers her saying so.

“Oh, no, we're just friends.”

“But you lived together,” he utters, he is sure of that. 

“Yes, for a while. He moved to Hogwarts before Ginny stayed with me. He’s going to be a teacher.” She beams.

Draco frowns. “You mean Ginevra, the Weasley girl, stayed with you?” 

“Mhm,” she confirms, picking delicately at a warm scone. 

“Why did she stay with you?”

“That's what friends do, silly.”

“Wait, isn't that Weasley girl the one that is... That were… erm, weren't Potter and her dating?”

“Oh they were, but they broke up after Dean and Seamus’ wedding.”

“Oh.” Draco lowers his head and stares at his tea, frowning, processing the information that Luna has poured over him in the first five minutes of their conversation, greetings aside.

“I thought that maybe Harry had told you?” she asks softly.

“Why would he?” he frowns, raising his eyes to stare at Luna.

“You have been talking to him.”

“Who told you?”

“Harry himself.”

“Has he been talking about me?” he blurts before he can stop his blasted big mouth. He has to control his impulsivity around Potter. Or when talking about him. Or when thinking about him too, as last night. Damn.

“It’s what he does.”

“What?”

“He often talks about you. Well, not so much lately, he doesn’t talk much lately; I told him that he should think positive to dispel any wrackspurt that may have infected him, but I actually think he’s truly gloomy.”

“He’s… that affected by his cousin’s accident?”

“Oh no, he’s worried about him, but it’s just… It’s not a recent thing.” She pauses. “Do you think a person may be hurting so much that they can be unable to remember how they were?” she asks, her gaze unfocused when she continues. “I think they can.”

They stay in silence for a moment while Draco ponders if he should ask what he’s been wanting to ask since he invited Luna to breakfast. “Luna,” he says, waiting until she turns to him to have her full attention, “did Potter’s relatives mistreat him as a child?”

She looks suddenly sad and moves her head in affirmative. He stares, itching to ask for more, but he isn’t sure he wants to know any details. 

He asks the other thing that is nagging him, though. “Then why does he wants to help them?”

“It’s not my place to talk for him, but it is who he is. I mean, he wants to help,” she says, shrugging,  “He always does. He helped me a lot back then in Hogwarts and was my first true friend when no one talked to me. 

“I believe he can’t ignore someone’s suffering.” She pauses for a beat. “He’ll always offer his help because he doesn’t trust anybody will step in to do it. He doesn’t like bullies, but he thinks… he thinks everybody needs a chance to change.”

Draco stares, cup held in mid air, her words resonating in his head as if blared with a Sonorus. He closes his eyes, feeling suddenly teary. He wants to scream for no rational reason, or for a million of reasons, he isn’t sure. Then he feels a hand on his arm.

“Let him see you.”

He glares at her, because, come on, as if Potter would give him a chance. But then, he thinks that they have had a couple of civil conversations and maybe, just maybe,... 

“Do you think that he would forgive me? That we could forgive each other?” he says softly. Because he realises right then that for all his actions, all his attempts at having a new life, a normal life, without the scorn, and the hate, and the guilt… All his efforts at leaving the past behind are wasted if he doesn’t mend the wound in his very core. A wound that Potter and himself put right there.

The alarm pierces the air, breaking the silence that has settled in. Draco startles and mumbles an apology while he stands and all but runs towards the lab. If Luna sees him brushing off some traitorous tears, she doesn't say anything when she sits on a stool next to him and watches while he works on the potion. 

***

The potion needs to settle for some days before he can do the final step. 

Draco fights the sensation of failure when they met again, because really, it is what it is, but the eager look on Potter makes him feel guilty for coming empty handed.

“The potion has to settle,” he blurts as a greeting when Potter falls into step with him, approaching the bright blue building of the hospital, shoulder to shoulder, just before the beginning of Draco’s night shift.

“Ok,” he says with a sigh. “Er, you forgot this the other day,” Potter mumbles handing him the battered copy of ‘Alchemy, Ancient Art and Science’. 

“Shit.” Draco restrains himself from hitting his face with the palm of his hand, or with the nearest solid surface. How can he been so careless? 

The book has another book’s dust cover of course, but he doesn’t know if a Muggle would be interested in reading something with the words ‘The Valley of Fear’ as a title. Though in his short experience with them, he knows that there’s always someone who would contradict his expectations. Even if that someone went so far as to open it and read the chapter about, let’s say, The Greatest Achievements of Alchemy in Recent Centuries, they would probably think that it was a remarkable piece of fiction, even if a boring one.

Draco takes the book with a muttered thanks and puts it in his backpack, together with the copy of ‘Fantastic Beast and where to Find Them’ with the cover of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ that he picked up this morning. Apparently, the guy Luna is going to travel with is the grandchild of this Scamander, so he thought he could do some research on Occamys in his waiting time and be sure that that Scamander wasn’t leading her to mortal danger. That’s what friends do, right? 

He looks at Potter. That’s probably what Granger did all the time.

“I wonder how you haven’t broken the statute of secrecy already,” the git says with a lopsided grin.

“I’ll let you know that I have completed my formation as Emergency Medical Technician with the highest grades and without any…” he wavers, remembering some embarrassing moments in his training, “major incident.” He blushes as Potter raises a thick eyebrow and smiles slowly. “Stop imagining, that probably didn’t happen.”

“Probably?” he says, his smile as broad as infuriating.

Draco huffs. “It’s not my fault that muggle customs are incomprehensible, and the available guides are incomplete and inaccurate.” He gives him a look out the corner of his eye when the idiot laughs.

“Oh, please, tell me, what did you do?”

Draco frowns, internally debating telling him about how he freaked out the first time the professor of anatomy put a video on a screen; or when he learned that muggles put iron contraptions in their mouths to straighten their teeth; or when they asked him about Friends and he answered that he hadn’t talked with them lately, and then they said they meant Chandler and Monica and whatever, and he said he didn’t know them, and then, he was inexplicably kidnapped and forced to sit for hours in front on a smaller screen than the one that time in Anatomy class (thank Merlin), with  something resembling food and beverages, and was utterly confused when he realised that they must have adopted him as the weird friend who should be educated in ‘pop culture’, as they called it.

No, definitely not telling. 

“As if I would tell you,” he says. Then he remembers Luna’s words about Potter being less talkative, and how he has smiled like Draco haven’t seen before, and tries to soften his answer. “You’ll laugh at me. Endlessly.”

Potter’s smile remains. “That bad?”

"Prat."

"Ok, don't tell me, my imagination is probably better anyway. But answer this, how come you decided to work with muggles and endure embarrassing situations on a daily basis?"

Draco stops so abruptly that Potter keeps walking before he realises and turns on the spot, a couple of feet ahead. 

"First," he says indignant, crossing his arms, "I'm not that hopeless, and I'm a fast learner, so apart of some minor missteps, I'm doing fine, thank you. Second," he mutters closing the distance between them, "is not as if there are many options on the wizarding world for a Malfoy. Not anymore.”

“I thought the Malfoys were still wealthy enough to not need to work, even after the trials and that stuff.”

“That stuff,” Draco snorts and resumes walking. “Of course, we are wealthy enough, but the Wizengamot thought fitting that I did some social service in the muggle world as part of my sentence, so here I am.

“But that was only for six months.”

Draco stops again, and Potter collides with him, leaving his glasses askew for a second before the stupid moron can compose himself. He finds satisfactory the fact that, even now that Potter looks way healthier and sturdier than back in the day, Draco is still the taller of the two. Not for much, but still. 

“You read my sentence.” Is not a question, nor an accusation.

“Yeah, well, I followed the whole process. Is not that I… I just… I didn’t trust they wouldn’t treat you unfairly.”

“You testified in our favour.”

“Well, I only told the truth.” He says, looking at him in the eyes as if daring Draco to contradict him.

“Ok,” Draco mutters. “Here’s the thing, and you can’t tell anyone.” At that Potter makes the gesture of zipping his mouth. “I did my six months, here, at the Hospital, and… I thought… I... didn’t want to sit in the Manor, twiddling my thumbs, seeing the days pass with the only company of my mother; and the only perspective of receiving the solicitor monthly, to hear about the state of family assets. Because if the war has left us something, it is total isolation from the world that my father believed was ours to rule. And before you speak,” he says when Potter opens his mouth, “I know there are worse things, my father losing his mind and his freedom is one of them, others losing their relatives for good, their brothers, their parents, their sons…” He feels his body shudder with the horrors their actions and inactions caused. His voice is a whisper when he continues. “I needed to do something, even if I can’t fix the past, at least I…”

"You can do something for everyone who is still here."

Draco looks at Potter, and a sudden sense of mutual understanding startles him. The sunset light might be tricking his mind because he is certain that Potter's eyes weren't so green before. Or his brain might be muddled because he doesn't find the glasses so ghastly. Then, the git speaks and the mirage breaks. 

"And how did you get the job?" he says with something akin to suspicion. 

"I applied for it, of course. I met all the requirements."

“You studied for it.”

“Of course, I did.”

“In a muggle university.”

“Your point?”

Potter smiles, and Draco thinks that maybe it wasn’t a mirage at all, and maybe it wasn’t suspicion what tinged Potter words. It’s definitely not suspicion now. “You studied for, what? Three years in a muggle university? All to get a degree and apply for a work in a muggle hospital?” It’s close to wonder. And admiration. And Draco doesn’t know what to do with that. Not coming from Potter, anyway. So he does what he never does: downplay it.

“Three years and a half, actually. The first semester was a disaster.” he mutters scuffing a broken tile with his foot.

“Wow.” Draco feels the heat creep in his cheeks at that. “That’s..”

“Dray!” They both turn their heads towards the voice. It’s Carl, holding the door of one of the ambulances. A cold sweat runs down Draco’s spine. “I’m going with Karen!”

“Who’s waiting with me, then?” Draco bellows back, nervous.

“Liam! Take care!”

“Ok,” he says so faintly that he’s sure Carl haven’t heard him. He starts to feel the panic as he watches the ambulance drive away. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Potter says putting a hand on his elbow.

Draco looks at him, trying to calm himself.

“You are not with the MLE anymore, you said?”

“No.”

“Can you keep a secret? Well, I suppose you can, given your history but, would you keep a secret? For me? I mean is not a big deal, it’s just… it’s...”

“Malfoy, you’re rambling.”

"Ok, it’s just… I said I met all the requirements.”

"Yes."

“And it’s technically true but… the thing is… I got my driver's license in a… non exactly regulated way.” Draco looks at Potter, waiting for his reaction.

“You cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat. I passed. Until I messed it up at the end and… then, they failed me. Temporarily.” Potter raised his eyebrows and that was almost enough to crumble Draco’s resolution of not telling the whole truth. Almost. Because Potter doesn’t need to know that the sudden appearance of a cyclist made him push the brakes so suddenly that the examiner hit his head with a sickening thud, and he had to obliviate him, not for the quickly growing bump in his head, but for the fact that the cyclist was floating two feet in the air, confused but safe. So, he got his license but he hasn't been able to drive since then. “I panic just thinking of driving.”

Potter’s brow furrows. “Don’t you have to drive for…?"

“It’s usually Carl driving.”

“That was Carl,” Potter says, signaling the way the ambulance drove away.

“That was him.”

“So…”

“If there’s another emergency before he comes back, I have to go with Liam, and he stated last time that it was definitely my turn to drive. If I refuse… I can be in trouble. I don’t really need the job as you put it. I mean, financially, I don’t. But I don’t want to lose my job. I… I like to feel useful. I like to think… I could even become a proper doctor, someday.” He shrugs,  feeling helpless. 

Potter nods, and Draco fears he has resolved to do something stupid. “I’ll help.” There it is. Draco snorts. “No, really. Just, let me get something,” Potter says. 

Draco watches as Potter checks around them and then winks at him before he Disapparates with a soft crack. Draco stands still for a moment, stunned.

“What the hell, Potter?” he mutters.

***

Once inside the resting room, Draco is unable to relax so he resolves to pick his book and distract himself. Liam is already napping, just in case the night, a Friday one, gets busy.

A bit later, the door opens and he thinks, momentarily relieved, that Carl is back. He's wrong, though: the door closes, and nobody enters. He sits back in the cushions and stares at the ceiling. It was bound to happen, he has avoided driving for long enough, and now, he has run out of luck. It shouldn't be a surprise, really. Story of his life. 

"Hey."

Draco jumps out of his skin. Is he hearing voices, now? 

Suddenly Potter's head appears in mid air and he wonders if he's losing his mind when a sense of deja vu fills him. 

"Sorry, I didn't intend to scare you," Potter whispers. 

"You did a remarkable job of it, though. What are you doing?"

"I'm going to help you." He says, taking his invisibility cloak off, and Draco lets his jaw hang in an unflattering manner. He can hear his mother chastising him inside his head but he's sure he has a good reason. 

"Did you transfigure your clothes into an EMT uniform?" Draco asks. 

"Nah, I borrowed it. My transfigurations don't hold for long."

Draco covers his face with his hands and breaths in slowly before releasing the air in a huff. "Ok," he mutters between his fingers, "stop it right there, you're not going to do whatever you are planning, no way."

"But…"

"No 'but', you're going to get me fired." He raises his voice and winces when Liam stirs on the sofa. 

"Don't you fear you'll be fired anyway? Listen, I'll just sit there with you, and in case something happens, I'll be there." 

Draco sputters ungracefully, and that seems enough to wake Liam completely. 

"Could you just be silent? Wait, who are you?" Liam asks pointing at Potter with an accusatory finger as if he's the cause of all his troubles. Draco's mind is blank, so Potter beats him answering. 

"I'm the new trainee. Pleased to meet you." The git smiles and offers his hand. Liam is silently fuming, probably wondering if nobody told him or if his mind is too foggy to remember and doesn't take Potter's hand. 

Draco's satisfaction is short lived as Liam, his accidental partner this shift, turns to him with a snarl. "You drive this time, I don't want to hear your excuses, and you take care of the newbie. If he messes it up, I'll blame you." With that he lies back down on the couch with his back to them, pointedly ending the conversation. 

Draco turns to Potter with a scowl, and the idiot just raises his thumb and goes to sit on Draco's favoured couch. The prick.

When the emergency call comes, Draco is surprised that he hasn’t got to guide Potter’s actions, until he understands that this part is similar to when hitwizards are called to a crime scene, or whatever it is they do on a daily basis.

He tries only once to get Liam to drive, but he is more stubborn than anything, and Draco finds himself on the driver seat with Potter besides him, with a determined expression. Draco looks at him briefly and then at the steering wheel. He exhales, his hands are sweating, he even can feel the adrenaline rush that comes with fear.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Potter says, “I’ve got you covered.” Strangely enough, Draco feels calmer when Potter takes out his wand and keeps it out of sight. “It’s going to be okay.” He says smiling. In a way, it’s exhilarating having Potter trusting him with this blasted machine, and he feels like an idiot for that. He exhales consciously and starts the engine, hoping luck is on his side for once.

“Ok, ok, let’s go.” 

Their destination is a neighbourhood full of old houses, where an apparently faulty gas installation has blown up. The firemen are already on their way, and they expect two injured people: an old man and his neighbour, who has made the call. Besides them, another ambulance has been called just in case.

He expects Potter to shout at him and jump at every potential danger, instead, he’s silent but alert. Draco suspects he casts a wordless cushioning charm once or twice, or at least he thinks he can feel the tingle of Potter’s magic on his skin. The git is more than capable of it, even when Draco wouldn’t admit that much, not aloud anyway. He‘s definitely sure that he levitates a cat who jumps onto the road from Merlin knows where, bouncing it to safety.

Draco snorts, a strange feeling bubbling in his chest. He’s still nervous, but the irrational fear is no longer there.

Once in their destination, Draco parks next to the damaged houses, and Potter gives him a pat on the back, his wide smile contagious, his face showing something that Draco never thought he would see directed to him. He wants to dwell on it, but Liam’s knock on his door takes him back to the task at hand. 

They are the first to arrive. The neighbour is a young girl, mother of one apparently, who is sitting on the curb cradling her baby with one arm while the other hangs strangely limp on her side. Dislocated , Draco’s brain supplies; he can see lacerations, abrasions, but apart from that, it almost seems a miracle, looking at the state of the houses. She is valiantly holding her tears while trying to comfort her child.

When they get to the girl’s side, a fireman approaches them.

“She didn’t let us take a look at the baby,” he says after a greeting. “He seems fine, though.”

“Where’s the man injured?” Liam asks, beating Draco’s thoughts.

“We’re still looking for the old man living in the other house. There’s a lot of debris and the structure could collapse, so we are working slow. The other affected house is empty, so…”

“Good.”

Draco kneels in front of the girl letting his back pack on his side. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Katie.”

“Hello, Katie. Can I take a look while my partner here helps you with that shoulder? I just want to be sure that your kid is alright.” She nods and let him take the small bundle in his arms. “His name is Connor,” she says, her hands lingering, still reluctant to let him go. Draco smiles and gets up to take him to the back of the ambulance, to take a look without going out of her sight but not close enough for her to see any worrying injury.

“Hey, newbie,” Liam says, and Draco tenses. “Help me out here,” he says, signalling the dislocated shoulder. Draco looks at Potter in panic but he passes by Draco close enough for him to hear some muttered words.

“I’ve done this before,” he says with a wink. Draco wants to stop him right there, he fears he’s going to expose himself, to expose their lie, but apparently Liam only wants him close to boss him around and probably mark his territory to a potential new addition to the team. If Potter’s presence goes unnoticed by their superiors, Draco makes a promise to do some donation to some charity cause, in gratitude to some deity up there.

Once in the ambulance, he puts the baby on the stretcher, dislodging the soft blanket when he feels it: a soft tingle of something familiar. His hands still. The baby gurgles.

“Tell me Connor,” he murmurs, checking the little boy’s body for injuries, “are you by any chance a wizard?” the baby gurgles again, and Draco smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes. And have you, little rascal, protected your mummy and yourself?” Connor doesn’t answer this time but gnaws his tiny fist with determination. He’s perfectly sound, no scratch, no injury. Maybe just a nappy change needed. “Let’s go to your mother again.”

When he approaches, her face has a healthier tinge, probably because Liam has given her some painkillers and the pain in her shoulder has diminished. Potter is crouched beside him, handing him an antiseptic and looking interested in all the proceedings. 

"Potter, can you lend me a hand?"

"Is he ok?" Katie asks anxious. 

"He's perfectly healthy," he says handing the boy to Potter and looking intently at his face. Draco expects him to panic but he seems surprisingly at ease. How and when has the clumsy prat acquired the dexterity to hold such a tiny human is beyond him. 

And then Potter's expression changes to one of surprise. "Did you feel something?" Draco asks, eager.

“I… think so. Do you think he…” Potter doesn’t finish, looking around, probably out of fear someone might eavesdrop their conversation.

“I think this little fella has something to do with his mother’s lack of serious injuries.”

“Can they do involuntary magic at this age? He’s so tiny.” Draco shrugs, because who knows, really. “I don’t think Teddy did something before he was 3 years old.”

“Who?”

“My godson.” Potter pauses and raises his head, looking pensive. “Actually, your cousin too, I guess.”

Draco frowns and makes a mental review of his family tree, and there is only one possibility. “Oh.” That explains things. Like his mother’s scandalized face at some rumours she didn’t want to discuss. Or like Potter’s practiced moves. That struck Draco as oddly endearing and put the git… the young man in front of him in another light.

He’s not the irritating prat he antagonized at school anymore. Not even the self-centred famous poster boy that he hated back then. Or envied, most likely. Maybe he never was. The reality of it hits him like a bludger: Harry Potter was an orphan, with a less than ideal childhood that, he only suspects, was the reason why he acted like the rules didn’t apply to him. The reason why he stands in front of a menace to defend anyone, to save them. Like he saved Draco from the Fiendfyre risking his own life, even when Draco… even when he… Draco fights back a sob. And Potter, the big-hearted idiot, reassures him and tells him that he can call him next time Teddy comes to visit, so he can met him without facing her aunt if he wants, when Draco has only realised what an idiot he’d been his whole life.

He wants to think he’s changed too, that he’s not that bratty child anymore. That his parent’s vision of the world is theirs and not his, that he can judge people by their behaviour, not by their background or the advantages of gaining their favour. He hopes for the best to this little muggleborn from the bottom of his heart.

He knows that family is more than blood and that having muggles relatives is not a disgrace per se, even when he thinks that in Potter’s case those muggles relatives are the worst of disgraces. 

Sudden shouting gets him out of his reverie, and soon, he understands that the firemen have found the man under the debris. He takes his backpack and sprints, Potter behind him after letting the kid in his mother’s arms.

“We need the stretcher,” he says at the sight of the man.

“Got it,” Potter says and disappears.

Draco kneels next to the man. He breathes, good, but the pulse is weak. He assesses the severity of the wounds and starts to work on them quickly after immobilising his neck. When Potter kneels next to him, he takes his hand and puts it over a compress on a bleeding wound and keeps taking care of the rest.

“We need to take him to the hospital, asap. Where the hell is Liam?”

“I’m here you drama queen,” he says, positioning the stretcher next to the limp body of the injured man. 

Draco finishes patching up a ghastly wound and checks that the one Potter was pressing on doesn’t bleed anymore. “Ok, on three, one, two, three.” 

They run to the ambulance, Potter on their heels, and when they start to get inside, they hear the other ambulance coming. “Good, they can take care of the kid and his mother, let’s go,” Liam urges them.

Draco sits in the driver seat and isn’t conscious of his lack of nerves until they arrive at the hospital and leave the man in hands of the emergency doctors. He has made it. He has driven throughout London without thinking about what could go wrong, just wanting to bring his patient to safety.

Draco and Harry enter the resting room in silence, brimming with energy. Draco turns and sees Potter beaming at him. 

“You’ve done it,” Potter says.

“I have,” he utters, smiling back.

"I'm going to study for this."

"What?" Draco frowns, confused.

"I want to do what you're doing."

"Why would you… ?" 

He jumps on the spot, his hands outstretched. "Listen, this is brilliant, I can help people, I can…"

"Potter,” he sighs, the adrenaline rush has subsided and leaves him exhausted, he doesn’t have the energy for this, “it's your saviour complex talking, and maybe some hormone induced high thing. People can die, and knowing you, you'll feel responsible."

"No, listen, listen, I can drive them here and you can patch them up, it would be like team work. By the time I’ll finish my studies you'll be a doctor, right?"

"Potter, that was wishful thinking on my part, I won't be able to…"

"Shut up, you're brilliant."

Draco blushes furiously. "I… you think so?"

Potter smiles and closes the gap between them. The kiss is quick, and Draco is so surprised that his brain is trying to catch up when Potter moves away, looking apologetic.

"Sorry, that was… impulsive on my part. I should have asked. Or maybe, not, I mean, surely you don't… uh, sorry, I better be going."

Draco wants him to shut up, to stop him right there, and test if the tingle he's felt would come back with another kiss, but he's at a loss for words. Potter sneaks out of the door with a mumbled goodbye, and when the door closes Draco leans his head on it feeling like an idiot. Potter probably thinks he's angry, which he's not; or maybe upset, in a way he is; or maybe he thinks Draco won't talk to him ever, which is preposterous, really, now that they have talked several times without punching each other. And they have kissed. Merlín, Potter has kissed him . Why would he…? Should he ask if…?

Draco groans. Potter is not going to talk to him again if he has left thinking he has crossed a line Draco didn’t want to cross. And he’s not sure if he wants to but… he doesn’t want to close that door just yet, does he? He… may be interested… What could he lose? He’s not in the magical world anymore so is not like the scandal would follow him here, right? Draco shakes his head, he’s getting ahead of things. A kiss doesn’t mean that Potter would date him. Would Draco want to date Potter? Draco blushes. Ok, maybe.

He could… test the waters when he gives him the potion.

Draco raises his head. He forgot to tell him about the potion. Shit.

He opens the door and walks briskly through the corridors, looking for Potter, but they are deserted. He could be anywhere. He could have Apparated home already.

Draco goes back to the resting room, deflated, and finds Liam and Carl there. He doesn’t want to talk to any of them so he picks up his book and tells them he’s going to wait outside for the next call.

“Where is the newbie?” Liam asks.

“Do we have a newbie?” Carl's frown is deep. 

“It seems there was a mistake,” Draco says, the lie leaving his lips before he can stop it, “his training doesn’t start until next week.” 

Liam snorts. “Seriously, the Management is shit, doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

Draco leaves while they complain to one another. He really should stop with the lies. Maybe if he could talk to someone about the weirdness of his life… Perhaps he should write to Pansy… Well, he should apologize first, for not being in contact. What would she say if he told her about Potter? 

Speaking about the devil. Draco's stomach flips at the sight of him outside, head raised, eyes closed, as if smelling the air. It has rained, and the air seems different indeed. 

"Potter," He murmurs. The city noise at night is not enough to cover his voice and Potter turns. And smiles. Draco's stomach does another uncontrolled movement, the traitor. 

“Monday," he blurts. "The potion will be ready by Monday.” Potter’s face lights up, and Draco tries not to preen. “Two doses. If… if it works properly, I can do more. It will work, of course,” he adds hurriedly just in case Potter thinks ill of him.

“That's brilliant!”

“I can send it to you.” Harry’s face falls at Draco’s words. It’s a wonder how he has survived having his heart on his sleeve. More than that, It’s confusing, really, for Draco being so accustomed to pretending and maintaining a facade as his father insisted to teach him. “Or… maybe not?”

“Can I ask you a favour?” Harry whispers and then bites his lip, looking as if he would like to take back the words.

And Draco tries not to, but he can’t help being a little shit and teases him.  “You mean another one? You better be thinking about a way to compensate me. And I warn you, I have expensive tastes." Well, damn, that sounded more like flirting. Is he flirting? Well, what he certainly is, is panicking, more so when Potter laughs. 

"I wouldn't expect any less." His smile is bright and his eyes are shining, though, so Draco hasn’t done so bad. 

"Well?"

"Would you stay with me when I give Dudley the potion?"

Ah, that's kind of easy. "Uhm, that would cost you at least a medium sized box of chocolates from Prestat."

"Sure."

Draco’s mouth turns upwards without his consent. "Monday, then?"

"Monday."

***

Saturday is Draco’s day off, but he switches schedule with one of the younger EMT, to have Monday free and be able to accompany Potter. Changing a day shift for a night one works against him, but Draco won’t tell Potter, of course. Merlin knows that he doesn’t need to know how much Draco is willing to do to accommodate him.

Saturdays are one of the busiest nights of the week, close after Fridays, so working both nights in a row leaves Draco knackered. He changes slowly and walks at a leisurely pace to the exit, wondering if he should stop to buy some groceries on the way home or go home directly to crash on his bed, when he notices him: an unmistakable, blond, obese man with a big moustache, smoking at the hospital door.

The thin woman at his side is in full rant while fussing nervously with her cardigan.

“Oh Vernon, I’m sick worried about our Dudlikin. What if Harry won’t… you know, do… that thing that they… do,” she says, trying with little success to find appropriate words without being too obvious. Draco could guess what they are talking about, though.

“He and his lot are a bunch of useless stick wavers. I told you, Petunia, I don't trust… that funny business. And if that good for nothing is as good as they say, he would have done something already.” 

Draco has had enough.

“Excuse me, sir, you can’t smoke here,” Draco says startling both of them.

Potter’s uncle snorts. “Mind your own business, boy.”

Draco flicks his fingers, and the cigarette flies from the man’s hand. He knows they’re staring at him with wide eyes as he walks by them and steps on the cigarette. He keeps walking with a satisfying sensation, more so when he realises it’s the first time he has accomplished any wandless magic.

***

Time passes slowly, but nevertheless, Monday arrives too soon. 

Draco can tell Potter is nervous as he approaches the hospital’s doors.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Draco tries to show a reassuring smile, but he suspects he doesn’t really manage. He’s nervous too, but not for the same reasons, probably. He hands him a small package, the manila paper neatly folded over a wooden box with two phials inside. “Here it is, two doses as promised.”

“Aren’t you coming inside with me?”

“Oh, yes, sure, of course!”

Potter smiles, relieved, and leads the way inside. It’s visiting hours, and the corridors are full of relatives and friends. Some of them cry in silence, others are with a recovering patient, healthy enough to sit on one of the rows of chairs placed against the wall and they chat quietly.

They arrive in front of a door, near the end of the corridor, and Potter knocks. His uncle opens the door and narrows his eyes. He opens his mouth to spit out some rash comment, Draco is sure, when he spots him behind his nephew and blanches.

“What are you doing here?” the man stutters. Draco isn’t sure which of them he refers to.

“I came to help,” Potter says. His jaw is tense, and Draco can feel subtle waves of magic emanating from him.

The man snorts, but Potter’s aunt grabs his husband and hauls him out of the room before he can say a word. “We’ll leave you alone, and we’ll keep anyone from coming in.”

Once inside, the door closes with a soft click, and Draco snorts. “As if we couldn’t keep a door closed.”

“They don’t know how magic works,” Potter says, “or what it can accomplish for that matter.”

Draco frowns. “You grew with them.”

“Yes.”

“And they didn’t know a thing about magic?” 

Potter shakes his head. “They didn't talk about it, actually. Not until I got my letter from Hogwarts. How do we do this?" he asks, changing the subject. 

Draco takes the box from Potter's hands; their fingers brush, and he darts a furtive look at his face. He takes in the slight frown on his brow, his wired glasses, and his… freckles. Harry Potter has freckles. 

Green eyes meet with his, and the thick eyebrows rise. There’s a question there. Draco inhales and straightens his posture trying to remember what about the whole conversation was. The box, the potion, right. 

“Uh, I… don’t think this is so difficult Potter: you open the phial and makes him drink it. If the result is as expected, repeat until total recovery.”

“What does it do, exactly?” he asks looking at the phial in his hand.

“It mends what is broken. Bones first, nerves later. And then everything else.” 

Potter laughs, mirthless. “I wish everything was so easy.”

“You’re not broken,” Draco blurts out. Potter looks at him, bewildered, and he rushes his next words. “Still recovering, maybe, like all of us, but that’s to be expected.”

Potter half smiles. His eyes are still sad but something akin determination starts to show on his face. He pulls at the cork and moves towards the bed.

“Wait, you don’t have to do this,” Draco says, a hand pressed on Potter’s elbow. “I mean, you can do it if you want, but you shouldn’t do it because they say so.”

“I told you, I want to help him. He’s family after all, and even when he was mean to me back then, in part it was because of my aunt and my uncle’s influence.” He pauses. “We have even talked about it, he said he realised it was wrong.” He pauses again. Draco suspects telling him about this is not easy. “He’s not good at talking, you know? But he tries. He even said once that I’m not a waste of space. That’s more kind words than his parents have said to me, ever.”

“Six words?”

“Six is more than zero.”

“For fuck’s sake Potter…” 

“It's ok. Well, it's not, but it's starting to be.”

“I'm so sorry.”

Potter shrugs. “It’s not your fault they are… like that.”

“No, I mean, I thought you were so full of your fame, back then, when the thing is... I was a prick.” Potter’s smile could split his face in two. “What?”

“I never thought I would hear you saying that.”

“Sod off.”

“I’m going the cherish this memory.”

“Shut up.”

“I may even share it with Ron.”

“I’ll deny it, I’ll say you have tampered with it.” When Potter keeps staring at him, he can’t help and asks again, “What?”

“I… nothing, just… You’re not that brat anymore.”

“Oh, well Potter, thank you, what a great compliment.”

“I may even like you.”

Draco’s heart does an uncomfortable flip on its place and he disguises his blush fixing his hair. “Of course you do, you’ve even kissed me. I suspected that much, Potter.”

“Prat.”

“Oh, not a prick, then, is that an improvement?” Potter huffs. Draco smiles. “I think we should clarify that, because now that I was starting to like you...”

“Were you?”

“Hmmm, maybe?” Draco says dragging the word.

“You’re a prat, definitely,” he says, but the smile on Potter’s lips says another story. “Ok, let’s do this, and then we’ll talk about that maybe.” He nears his cousin’s bed and tries to be careful and not spill the phial content. 

Draco takes his wand and exhales. “Ok, let me help.” When the phial is empty they both stares at the still body. Slowly, Dudley’s breathing becomes less shallow; the heart rate rises slightly, a signal that the body is responding to the potion and trying to get the restoring fluid to every inch of his body.

“And now what?” Potter asks.

“Now we wait. Healing takes its time, after all.”

“Yeah, it does.”

***

TIME PASSES...

“How do I look?”

“Harry, it is not as if it’s the first time I see you in that uniform.”

“I know, but this time, it is mine.” He says looking down with a big smile. 

It’s impressive how Harry has put all this effort in what seemed a crazy idea at first, a spur of the moment resolution that would dissolve with time. But he was wrong, and Harry is officially an EMT trainee.

Draco has come to the conclusion that Harry is impulsive but also stubborn, and every decision he makes, he goes with until the end. He wishes there is no exception to that.

“Are you… are you sure about this?” he asks, trying to look nonchalant while he’s perched on the kitchen counter and sips his coffee.

“Since that night I saw you save that man’s life.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “No, you dumbass. I mean about this,” he says waving at the pile of boxes with his clothes and his medicine manuals, “about us, about me moving in.”

“Since that night I saw you save that man’s life,” Harry repeats approaching him with a mischievous smile.

“You couldn’t have decided you wanted me to live with you that night,” Draco says, his head tilted, his hands holding his cup under his nose, hiding his smile.

“Mmmm, maybe not, but I wanted you in my life, that’s for sure.” Harry embraces him, trapping him against the counter. The kiss doesn’t come, though, and Draco huffs, frustrated. “Wait, no, that may have happened earlier.” Harry adds.

“When?”

“Remember the day of Dudley’s accident?” Draco nods and puts the coffee aside. “After the discussion with the Dursleys, I was… so lost… It felt as if I was back at the time when I lived on Privet Drive, as if… as if the time at Hogwarts never happened. As if everything, the good and the bad things… as if it all was only a dream. But you were there, solid and… real. You grounded me, and I selfishly wanted you around.”

“All the bad bits and all?”

“Yeah. I soon found out about the good bits.”

Draco hummed. “Of course, you did.”

Harry leans in and kisses him, soft and tender.