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It wasn’t unusual for Harry to end up in the hospital; Draco was used to it. But it hadn’t always been this way.
The first time Draco got a call back when they were still dating, he’d felt the floor drop from under him. The healer’s voice on the other end of the line had been composed, steady— a practiced tone. But it didn’t stop the ice-cold wave of fear from flooding Draco’s chest. His mind spun with every worst case scenario as he apparated straight to St. Mungo’s, arriving with a frantic crack, barely upright, stumbling slightly as he pushed through the doors that felt so heavy against his palms.
For a moment, he’d stood in the hospital corridor, unable to catch his breath. The clinical white lights glared down at him, the smell of antiseptic sharp in his nostrils. He remembered hearing a distant voice calling his name, but everything felt muffled, swallowed by the relentless pounding of his heart in his ears. Draco’s hands were shaking as he made his way to the reception desk, where a mediwizard explained in clipped, too calm words that Harry was stable but unconscious.
Draco had rushed to Harry’s bedside, not caring who saw him or if his panic was painfully obvious. When he’d finally seen Harry—pale and still beneath the harsh, sterile lights—his breath had hitched, and he’d felt himself unravel. He’d reached out, his fingers trembling as they hovered just above Harry’s hand, afraid to touch him, afraid he’d somehow make it worse.
“Come on, Potter,” he’d whispered, his voice hoarse and barely audible, though he’d clung to Harry’s hand like a lifeline. “You’re too stubborn to leave like this.” He’d sat there, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles had turned white, the fear consuming him, raw and unyielding, as quiet tears slid down his cheeks.
But after that first time, things changed. Harry had recovered, flashing his usual grin, brushing it off as if he hadn’t just terrified Draco within an inch of his sanity. He’d joked, called Draco overprotective, teased him about being a “worrier.” And while Draco had forced a glare, he hadn’t let go of Harry’s hand for the rest of the night.
Since then, Draco had learned to expect the calls. He’d steeled himself for them, learned the hospital routine as if it were second nature. He knew which healers would give him updates without asking, which mediwizard might soften the news just a little to keep him calm. He’d grown accustomed to the rhythmic beeping of heart monitors and the soft hum of healing spells in the background. So now, after countless missions and too many nights waiting by Harry’s bedside, Draco had learned to wait, his heart quiet though his mind stayed alert, always listening for any sign of change.
Today was no different. He sat there, poised in his chair, a steady presence as he waited for Harry to wake up, fingers lightly brushing Harry’s hand in quiet reassurance. He’d mastered patience, learned to tuck his worry neatly away, though his eyes traced every line of Harry’s face, noting the faint bruises, the cuts healing under softly glowing spells. But he was here. Draco could feel his pulse, steady and warm beneath his fingers, anchoring him to the moment, a tangible reminder that Harry was safe.
Harry began to blink groggily, struggling to shake off the fog of anesthesia. The ceiling lights were oddly bright, casting soft, hazy halos over everything. His body ached—a dull, familiar throb from years of tangling with dangerous spells and wild curses as an Auror, and, well, from his most recent mission that had landed him here. But there was something else, too—a warm, comforting pressure on his chest, grounding him, anchoring him firmly to the present.
Harry’s eyes drifted downward, and he made out the familiar sharp jawline, the silver-blond hair falling just so, and the faintest crease of worry in Draco’s brow as he looked down at him, palm resting over his chest.
It took a moment for Harry’s muddled mind to piece it together. “Hey…” he slurred, the word dragging out slowly. His hand reached up, managing a clumsy pat to Draco’s forearm. “You, er… you probably shouldn’t be touching me like this.”
Draco arched an eyebrow, his lips quirking up in amusement. “Oh? And why’s that, Potter?”
Harry’s brow furrowed as he fought to articulate his next thought. “Because my wife… my wife’ll be upset,” he mumbled, almost sleepily, blinking hard as if to clear up his fuzzy vision. He cast a worried look around, scanning the room as if his wife might appear any second and catch them.
Draco’s lips twitched, fighting back a laugh. Leaning closer, he tightened his hand over Harry’s, fingers warm and steady. “Harry,” he said, voice soft but laced with unmistakable fondness, “I am your wife.”
For a long, bewildered moment, Harry just stared at him, his brain trying to process Draco’s words. Then, like a lightning bolt, the realization hit, sending his heart pounding in a sudden, dizzying rush.
The heart monitor leaped to life, the gentle beeping turning frantic. Draco’s smirk widened, the amusement now barely contained as he watched Harry’s eyes go round, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks.
Draco leaned down, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “Flattered, are we?”
Harry swallowed, the dryness in his mouth making it hard to speak. “That’s… er, that’s not…” he trailed off, cheeks warming even more as he tried to fight down the silly, fluttering feeling rising in his chest. “Just… forgot. For a moment.”
Draco’s hand drifted up to smooth a stray lock of hair off Harry’s forehead. “Well,” he murmured, his voice tinged with something softer, “in case you’re forgetting other things, I’m right here. Not going anywhere, alright?”
Harry swallowed again, the warmth of Draco’s touch calming his racing heartbeat just slightly, though the monitor still betrayed his embarrassment with every beep.
A small, playful glint appeared in Draco’s eyes. “Honestly, Potter,” he teased, “you’d think after three years of marriage, two houses, and a ghastly shared wardrobe, you might remember a few basic facts.”
Harry let out a small laugh, tinged with residual confusion and lingering surprise. “You really do love rubbing it in, don’t you?” he murmured, but his eyes softened, the tension of the moment ebbing away as he finally settled into the comforting familiarity of Draco’s presence.
Draco smirked, hand still gently tracing circles over Harry’s heart. “Only because I know you secretly love it,” he replied, voice softer, more earnest.
Harry’s gaze drifted down to Draco’s hand, a surge of warmth spreading through him, and for a moment, the hospital room seemed to fade into a comfortable blur, leaving just the two of them in their loving moment.