Work Text:
Harry had had his fair share of experience with pain. It had hurt like bloody hell when Pettigrew had sliced his arm open to take his blood for the spell to bring Voldemort back. His head felt fair to splitting every time the snake-faced monster had a temper tantrum. And at the end of fifth year, at the Ministry, when the madman had managed to possess him… gods, he’d hoped never to experience anything like that, ever again. So it was something of a surprise to look down at the amount of blood pouring from the wound across his midsection and not feel any pain. He felt hands clutching his arms, and the dizzying sense of vertigo that came with Apparition, but aside from the first shocking burn that had cut from left to right beneath his ribcage, he hadn’t feel a thing.
One moment he was on the smoke-hazed battlefield, and the next he was in one of the caves beneath Hogsmeade that the Order used as a safe haven. The torches burning in the brackets on the walls and the walls themselves shifted dizzily, and Harry felt his knees go with a startling sense of helplessness. His legs wouldn’t hold him; why wouldn’t his legs cooperate?
“We need help, here!”
He heard the hysteria coloring Ron’s voice and he wanted to tell him that everything was okay, but his mouth wouldn’t seem to work, either.
There were more shouts, and more hands as he was laid carefully on a pallet on the floor. He looked up and saw Madam Pomfrey’s face hovering above him, her brow furrowed as she tore his shirt open.
“Bloody hell!”
That was Ron again. He also heard a strangled whimper, and wondered who it was who had uttered such a sound.
“Oh, Harry.” He turned his head sluggishly and saw wide brown eyes filled with tears. Ah, Hermione, then. She was gripping his hand hard; he could see her blood stained fingers curled tight around his, and hoped that the blood was his as well and not hers. He wanted to ask her, but his tongue felt odd and thick. The voices around him rose, mingled together until he couldn’t tell who was speaking.
“What did they hit him with?”
“I can’t treat this alone; it’s too serious.”
“Hang on to me, Harry. That’s right; hang on to me.”
“Fucking McNair! I should have AK’d the bastard!”
“Ronald, that isn’t helping…”
“Get out of the way. For Gods sakes, get the fuck out of my way! Where is he?”
Harry recognized that voice, heard the uncharacteristic panic in it, and his eyes rolled as he tried to find the owner.
“Stay away from him, you fucker!” Ron again. “Your kind have done enough!”
“If you don’t get out of my way, Weasley, so help me God…”
Finally, Harry managed to get enough control over his tongue to speak. “Draco.” The weakness of his voice surprised even him, but he managed to make himself heard, and the other voices stopped immediately.
He saw the pale face swim into his line of vision, saw the devastation in the wide grey eyes. Draco fell to his knees beside him, pushing Madam Pomfrey to one side, and clutched at Harry’s hand.
“Oh, Gods, Potter,” he wheezed, his other hand hovering over Harry’s mid-section. “What have you done?”
“He didn’t do this!” Ron’s angry, reddened face came into view. “This was one of yours, Malfoy! This was Walden McNair!”
“He isn’t one of mine,” Draco said faintly, his eyes lifting to Harry’s face.
“Like hell! I told him,” Ron went on in fury. “I told him that you couldn’t be trusted. This was your fault tonight, you bastard. You told them where he would be…”
Draco didn’t take his eyes from Harry’s face. He reached up and gently moved Harry’s fringe to one side, then placed his palm against Harry’s cheek, and Harry felt it trembling against his skin. Funny he should notice that, when he felt so little else…“It wasn’t me,” Draco said simply, speaking for Harry alone. “It wasn’t. I swear it.”
Harry dampened his lips with his tongue. “I know.”
“Someone sold us out, goddamn it!” Ron roared.
“Mr. Weasley.”
Minerva McGonagall had arrived and came to stand behind Draco. “That will be quite enough. You are not helping. We will determine what happened when we have seen to Mr. Potter’s care.” She looked down, and visibly blanched. “Good Heavens. Poppy, what…”
“I don’t know, Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey said, quickly placing a thick pad over Harry’s stomach. “Press down, Miss Granger.” Hermione’s hand released Harry’s, and she pressed against the bandage with both of hers. Harry didn’t even feel any pressure, and his vision was beginning to dim around the edges.
“It was Sectumsempra,” Draco said flatly, leaning closer to Harry’s face. “Don’t you dare faint, Potter,” his hissed. “Do you hear me? You focus on staying here. Give him Pepper-up and blood replenishing, Madam Pomfrey,” he ordered without turning his head. “We’ve got to keep him conscious. He can fight the effects, but only if he’s awake.”
“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall began.
“I know what I’m talking about!” Draco insisted, turning his head and pinning her with a look. “I know the spell; I know what it does.”
“Do you know how to counter-act it?” Pomfrey asked, taking the potions from a small wooden box near her knees. She handed the first one to Draco. It was a testament to the work that Draco had done for the Order making the potions to begin with that she didn’t hesitate.
Draco took the potion and pulled the cork, frowning as he shook his head. “Only a handful know,” he answered. “It’s… incredibly dark.” He slipped his hand beneath Harry’s head gently. “Open, love,” he murmured. Harry obeyed without question, and felt the Pepper-up sting against his tongue. He grimaced, but swallowed. Draco gave him the second potion with the same care, then handed the vials back to Madam Pomfrey.
Almost instantly, Harry felt his head began to clear, but the return of his senses seemed to also trigger the pain that his body had been masking. He hissed, his teeth clenching as it felt like fire streaked across his stomach.
“Easy,” Draco murmured, rubbing his nape. “Pain potions as soon as those have a few minutes to work.”
Harry nodded raggedly, trying to regulate his breathing.
“How do you know this spell?” McGonagall asked. Draco continued to look into Harry’s eyes, stroking his hair.
“Breathe, Harry,” he murmured instead of answering. “As deeply as you can. That’s it…”
“Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall said more insistently. “How do you know this spell?”
“I… used it on him,” Harry answered through his teeth. “Sixth year. If Snape hadn’t been there…”
“He’s the only one who knows the counter curse,” Draco added.
McGonagall’s face, already nearly colorless, blanched further. “The… only one?”
Draco nodded. McGonagall shook her grey head. “There must be someone else.”
“There isn’t, not that wouldn’t kill him on the spot,” Draco insisted. “Snape is it. He developed the spell, he developed the counter-curse. I need to bring him here.”
“That’s out of the question,” McGonagall said with finality. “Severus Snape cannot be trusted…”
“Neither can I,” Draco sneered.
“You’ve got that right,” Ron snarled.
“And yet, here I am,” Draco countered, eyes flashing. “Here I’ve been for six months, brewing your potions, helping to treat your wounded, fighting your battles…”
“Only because Harry insisted.” Ron’s face was blotchy when he leaned into Harry’s line of vision. “The only thing I can figure is that you must be a world class fuck, Malfoy, to have to so addled his senses.”
“Ronald!” Hermione hissed. “That’s enough!”
“It’s the truth!” Ron shot back. “Harry used to hate this git as much as I do, until he somehow managed to convince him that he was a flaming pouf…”
“This isn’t helping anything, Mr. Weasley,” McGonagall said darkly. She turned her eyes back to Draco. “There must be someone besides Snape.”
“There isn’t,” Draco replied emphatically. “He’s the only one who knows the counter curse.”
“Then, there must be another way to treat this injury.” McGonagall turned her eyes back to Poppy. “Floo St. Mungo’s; talk to the Healer in charge.”
“St. Mungo’s has been infiltrated.”
They all turned their heads as a new voice was added to the mix, and found Kingsley Shacklebolt standing there with his arms crossed over his chest.
“It won’t be safe to try to get information from there. If they’ve an inkling the treatment is for Potter, they can trace the Floo connection…”
“There must be a way to close that wound, Poppy,” McGonagall said, her voice raising. “Some obscure spell you haven’t tried…”
“There isn’t!” Draco was all but yelling now, his usually pale face flushed. “And if you don’t do something, and soon, that spell will just keep cutting away at him until it hits his vital organs and kills him!”
As if in confirmation of that, pain roared through Harry’s body and he arched, crying out. Hermione gasped when a fresh wave of blood soaked the bandage, covering her hands, slipping down his sides.
“Oh, gods!” she gasped. “We’ve got to do something!”
The pain settled into a dull throb, and Harry found Draco’s eyes on his face, his teeth biting his lower lip and his hand squeezing Harry’s hard.
“Go,” he said faintly. “Go, and get him.”
“Harry, no!” Ron roared. “If he brings him here, we’re all in danger.”
“Then take Hermione and go!” Harry managed to sound authoritative even as the pain peaked again. “Take everyone with you who isn’t essential. I’ll wait here alone if need be…”
“No!” Hermione cried out. “I won’t leave you!”
“Neither will I,” Madam Pomfrey said staunchly. “I’m not afraid of Severus Snape.” Her words were stalwart, but her face was pale and her hands were trembling.
“You’re sure?” Draco asked, leaning closer.
“You trust him?” Harry asked, his voice beginning to sound ragged.
“With my life,” Draco assured him.
“Then go and get him.”
Draco nodded, then leaned forward, pressing his cheek against Harry’s. “I love you,” he murmured, both his hands wrapped around Harry’s.
“I love you, too,” he managed in return. Draco pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, and pushed to his feet.
“So help me, Malfoy, if you betray him…” Ron ground out.
“I won’t.”
The two young men stared at one another for a long moment before Ron finally looked away.
“Keep the blood replenishing potions going in,” Draco instructed Pomfrey softly, “and something for pain, every four hours. Keep him awake; if he passes out, the spell will recognize that he isn’t fighting and will begin to work faster. I’ll be back just as quickly as I can.” He looked down at Harry again, held his gaze, and nodded before turning and striding away. Moments later, the soft popping sound of Apparition reached them.
“This is insane,” Ron muttered as it faded. “Utterly and completely insane.”
“We know your opinion, Ronald,” Hermione said tersely, helping Pomfrey exchange one blood soaked bandage for another. “If you aren’t going to help, at least be quiet.”
“He’s going to come back, bringing the Death Eaters with him,” Ron argued heatedly. “They’ll surround us, and we won’t be able to do a bloody thing to protect ourselves.”
“He’s been here for six months,” Harry argued, sounding winded. “He could have done that at any time…”
“He wouldn’t have been able to get away with it before now. You were a hundred percent, and even he isn’t that stupid! But now you’re not, Harry. You’re not, and you’re putting the rest of us in danger.”
“You’re wrong,” Harry wheezed, his hand curled into a fist.
“And you’re going to get us all killed,” Ron countered, his face a mask of fury, “because you’re thinking with your dick.”
Ron turned and stomped away, and all Harry could do was watch him go. He turned his head and looked up into Hermione’s face. “He’s wrong,” he said.
No one around Harry uttered a word, but their silence spoke volumes.
~***~
Harry wasn’t sure how long they waited. The pain potions were only partially effective, and the pain grew more and more difficult to ignore. He tried to be still, and quiet, but it grew harder with each passing hour. And he could see from Hermione’s worried face and Pomfrey’s strained expression that blood replenishing potions were losing their effectiveness as well. He almost wished they would stop giving him the Pepper-up potion; the entire thing would have been easier to bear unconscious. But Pomfrey did as Draco had instructed; kept him alert, fed him the potions, and they waited.
Nerves were stretched to the breaking point by the time McGonagall had heard enough of Ron’s ranting and had relieved him of his wand.
“But… but what happens if…” he’d sputtered, staring at her outstretched hand. “…if I’m right, and they ambush us?”
“Currently, I’m willing to take that chance,” she’d said sternly. “What I’m not willing to risk is you flying off the handle and cursing Mr. Malfoy or Professor Snape in a fit of hysteria. Now give me the wand!”
Ron had hesitated only a moment longer before surrendering his wand, but he’d spent the hour since she’d taken it glaring at her malevolently. Harry wished that Ron had taken his advice in the beginning and just Apparated away.
The first sign that something was happening was a chiming from the wards.
Hermione straightened, her eyes wide, even as McGonagall murmured, “someone’s coming through.”
First there was one soft ‘pop’, followed almost immediately by a series of others, at least four, and Hermione cried out in alarm. Harry turned his head, and standing not ten feet away were several robed figures, all wearing black, all sporting the distinctive Death Eater’s pounded silver masks.
Wands were instantly in hands throughout the cavern, lifted, curses on lips when the Death Eater in the front threw back his cowl and spelled the mask away, his hands lifted. His fair hair spilled over his forehead.
“NO!” Harry cried, struggling ineffectively to sit up. “Don’t! It’s Draco!”
“I told you,” Ron was shouting at the same time. “It’s a trap! Take them out, Kingsley! Take them out!”
But Draco took a step forward, his hands outstretched. “It’s all right!” he was shouting over Ron. “It’s all right! Lower your weapons!”
“Unmask yourselves,” Kingsley bellowed, placing himself between the new arrivals and Harry. He didn’t fire off any spells, which made Ron curse colorfully, but no one could mistake his intension from his stance and his expression. The only thing that had saved the new arrivals thus far was that they appeared to be unarmed. The tension in the cave was palpable.
The first dark figure to unmask after Draco was Severus Snape. He looked exhausted and care worn, but his characteristic scowl was in place. “Charming greeting, Kingsley,” he said wryly. “I’ll remember it the next time your ‘golden boy’ tries to get himself killed.”
“No closer, Snape,” Kingsley said darkly when he took a step closer. “Not until the rest have shown themselves.”
Cowls were slipped back, masks were removed. Another head of white blonde hair appeared, and the removal of the mask revealed Narcissa Malfoy, which sent a shock through those assembled.
“I told you!” Ron shouted. “What are you waiting for?”
“Ron, calm down!” A deep voice ordered, and Ron blanched.
The next face revealed was Arthur Weasley, and the one after that was his wife Molly.
“Mum?” Ron wheezed, staggering. “What… why… the mask…”
“We had to Apparate into Hogsmeade before we could come down here,” she answered, letting the heavy cloak fall from her rounded shoulders. “There are patrols everywhere. Severus thought we’d be safer in disguise.”
“Severus,” Ron wheezed. “Since when is Snape ‘Severus’?”
“Nice to see you again too, Mr. Weasley,” Snape drawled. Ron turned to his father.
“Dad? What’s going on?”
“I’ll explain it to you, son,” Arthur said to Ron, not unkindly. They stared at one another for a moment, and Ron slid down to sit heavily on the ground, his head in his hands. No one had to say aloud what might have happened if Minerva hadn’t relieved Ron of his wand.
The stalemate broken, Draco pushed past Kingsley to kneel at Harry’s side, his face a mask of concern.
“We had to wait until nightfall,” he said hurriedly. “The Death Eaters are watching Severus constantly; they don’t trust him anymore.” Snape approached and knelt as well, his dark hair falling forward as he lifted the dressing and studied the wound across Harry’s stomach. It was bleeding heavily again, the blood dark and thick.
He turned and found Harry’s eyes, his own nearly black. “Are you a believer in the kharmic laws, Mr. Potter?” he asked wryly.
“Today, yes,” Harry answered, and they exchanged a long look before Snape drew his wand and began to move it slowly over the injury, murmuring softly.
Draco shifted until he was behind Harry’s head, lifted it tenderly and placed it on his own knees. Harry lifted his hand weakly, and Draco grasped it tightly in his.
“Are you all right?” Harry murmured, looking up into Draco’s face. Draco’s responding snort sounded faintly incredulous.
“You’re asking me that question?” He shook his fair head.
“I was worried.”
Draco lifted Harry’s hand to his lips and closed his eyes, his brow furrowing. “I’m all right,” he finally answered, his voice strained, as if he were controlling his emotions with a will. “Better now.” He squeezed Harry’s hand hard, and Harry tried to return the pressure.
“Here, Harry love.”
Harry turned his head and saw that Molly had knelt beside him and held a cup in her hand. “Have a sip.” She looked up into Draco’s face, hers settling into lines of compassion and understanding. “It’s just tea. I asked Severus first; he said it was all right.”
Harry had no idea what passed between them above his head, but he was grateful for the sip of tepid tea that Molly carefully spooned into his mouth. He saw someone else move in behind Hermione, who was still changing the dressings every few minutes, even though her hands were trembling with fatigue. He saw long, slender pale fingers touch her shoulder, and looked a bit higher to see Narcissa Malfoy standing behind her. Hermione looked up and stiffened.
“If you’ll allow me,” Narciss said, her cultured voice soft. “You must have been at this for hours. I could spell you, if you’d like, so that you can stretch and have some tea.”
“I’m fine,” Hermione said stiffly.
“Hermione.”
She turned her head, surprised that Harry had spoken to her. She leaned closer anxiously. “Yes, Harry?”
“You’re exhausted,” he said wearily. “You haven’t moved in hours. Go, have some tea.”
“But…”
“It’s all right,” Molly assured her gently. “They’ll not harm him, Hermione. If you cannot trust them, trust me.”
Not at all certain how this turn of events had come about, Harry let Molly handle it. Hermione still hesitated, glancing back at Narcissa warily.
“All I want to do is help,” Narcissa said softly. “And to harm him would be to harm my son.” She shook her fair head slowly. “I’d rather die than cause Draco any more pain.”
Blinking tears of exhaustion from her eyes, Hermione nodded and allowed herself to be helped to her feet. Narcissa took her place, her graceful hands pressing on the thick bandage across Harry’s stomach, her eyes drifting to his face. She did not smile, just nodded once, a gesture he tried to return. But he was fading; now that Draco was back, and Snape was working feverishly over his wounds, he felt the last of his reserves trickling away.
“Draco…” he breathed. Immediately, Draco leaned down close to Harry’s face.
“Yes?”
“I need… Can I…?” Harry’s eyes drifted closed even as he first felt Draco’s breath, then his lips against his ear.
“Yes, you can sleep now.” Harry felt a hand brush his cheek.
“Stay,” he muttered.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
The sounds of restless movement, and Snape’s chanting and soft conversation all faded away, and Harry let himself slip into the darkness with the feeling of Draco’s cool fingers against his skin.
~***~
Coming back to awareness later was a fragmented process. First Harry heard a soft sound, like a sigh, very nearby. Then he felt a weight pressed along his side and on his chest. He moved his hands, and realized that he was holding something. No, he amended a moment later; not something. Someone. Opening his eyes was a process; he could not remember having to put actual thought into doing it before, but this time he did. Immediately, they were drawn downward to the head rested on his bare chest, the white blond hair stark where it lay against his tawny skin. Draco was sleeping, his face pressed over Harry’s heart, one hand curled around his upper arm as if to hold him in place, the other curled against his own cheek. He looked so tired, dark circles marking the skin beneath his blond lashes, and so vulnerable that Harry instinctively tightened his arms around him. Draco made a soft, huffing sound in his sleep and snuggled closer, and Harry sighed and began to close his eyes again when movement at his side drew his attention, instead.
Narcissa Malfoy knelt there, her hands crossed passively in her lap, her eyes on Harry as if she’d been studying him for quite some time.
“Mrs. Mal…” Harry began to speak, but Narcissa shook her head quickly, holding her finger before her lips.
“Don’t wake him,” she murmured, so softly it was really just a breath of sound, and Harry nodded. She continued to stare at him for so long that Harry began to feel uncomfortable with her son draped across him. Finally, she sighed.
“Have you any idea,” she said, her voice very soft, “what he risked today?”
Harry swallowed heavily, not certain what she wanted him to say. In the end, he didn’t have to say anything. Draco did.
“Have you any idea,” he countered, pushing up slowly, sweeping his fringe from his face with his hand and pinning his mother with a direct look, “what he risked?”
“What he risked?” she said, her eyes widening. “He risked nothing. You, on the other hand, might have been captured. And do you know what would have happened to you if you had been?” She reached out and caught his arm, her fingers curling around his elbow. Harry could see how hard the grip was by her whitened knuckles. “The Death Eaters are not kind to traitors, Draco. And that is what they see you as.”
“That’s because it’s what I am, Mother,” he retorted. “Ironically, so are you. We are traitors, to every single mad ideal that the monster preaches. You chose it when you left Father, and I chose it when I joined the Order. But you’re wrong about Harry. He took an enormous risk, trusting me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
Both Malfoy’s seemed startled when he entered the conversation, and turned to look at him.
“I wasn’t at risk.” He stared into Draco’s light eyes, and caught his hand, linking their fingers, holding firmly. “Because I do trust you.” Draco’s eyes grew suspiciously bright as he squeezed Harry’s hand in return.
“What a nauseating and yet typically Gryffindor burst of cloying sentiment.” Snape scowled as he knelt at Harry’s side, lifting the blanket that was draped across his lower body, checking his stomach. Harry glanced down and saw a series of slender angry red lines where the wounds had been, but they were no longer open, and a dull ache had replaced the fiery pain of earlier. Snape cocked an eyebrow at Draco as he dropped the light blanket back into place. “Please tell me that you, at least, will not suddenly wax poetic about ‘love’ and ‘trust’.”
“Of course not,” Draco said primly, but the eyes he turned back to Harry were soft, and full. He lifted their joined hands and rested his chin on them, a slight smile pulling at his lower lip. “Slytherins never wax poetic about anything other than their own best interests.”
“Too right,” Snape sniffed, but Harry didn’t miss the way he patted Draco affectionately on the shoulder, the way his hand lingered when he turned his eyes to Harry’s face. “And you,” he said sternly. “Please do me the courtesy of refraining from life threatening injury for the foreseeable future? Your escapades are wearying.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry responded with a slight smile.
Snape pushed himself to his feet, then held his hand out towards Draco’s mother. “Narcissa,” he said, so gently that at any other time Harry would have been shocked to hear that tone coming from Snape’s mouth. “Walk with me.”
She stared at her son, then at Snape’s hand before allowing herself to be lifted to her feet and escorted away.
Draco looked down into Harry’s face, his hand lifting to push at Harry’s damp fringe. “You frightened me today,” he said finally, his voice very soft. “Please don’t do that again.”
“I’m sorry.”
Draco nodded in acknowledgment, then leaned forward and brushed his lips lightly over Harry’s. He started to pull back, but Harry lifted his free hand and wrapped his fingers around his slender nape, holding him there, deepening the kiss. It lasted for just a few moments, but it spoke volumes. Finally, their lips parted, and Draco pressed his face into the curve of Harry’s throat.
They were silent for a long time, and Harry had about drifted off to sleep again when he felt Draco lift his head slightly, then felt his warm breath against his ear.
“I told you today that I’d trust Severus with my life,” he whispered. Harry nodded. Draco then took Harry’s hand and turned it, placing his palm over the curved musculature of his own chest. “But the only person I trust with this—“ he pressed Harry’s hand more firmly to him, “—is you.”
Harry felt the steady beating of Draco’s heart beneath his palm, and his eyes began to fill. He closed them tight, turning his head and pressing his cheek to Draco’s. “I love you,” he whispered hoarsely.
He felt the answer more than heard it. “Of course you do.”
Even with tears filling his eyes, he smiled.