Chapter Text
The warehouse smelled like dust, damp wood, and bad decisions.
Harry Potter had been standing in it for nearly forty minutes.
"Tell me again why we're hiding behind crates?" Ron whispered from beside him.
Harry kept his eyes fixed on the far end of the building.
"Because we're attempting subtlety."
Ron snorted.
"We brought six Aurors."
"Six subtle Aurors."
"That's not a thing."
Harry couldn't really argue with that.
Across the warehouse floor, several figures moved between stacks of crates. Their targets.
For the past three months, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been tracking a small but irritatingly elusive group of dark artefact smugglers. Nothing world-ending. Nothing particularly glamorous.
Just enough illegal cursed objects changing hands to keep Harry buried in paperwork.
He missed the days when dark wizards announced themselves with dramatic speeches.
Nowadays they just committed tax fraud.
A voice crackled through his enchanted communication mirror.
"Positions ready."
Harry straightened.
"Ready."
Ron nodded.
Across the warehouse, another Auror raised a hand.
Everything settled into silence.
Harry took a breath.
Then...
"Move!"
The warehouse exploded into motion.
Aurors emerged from cover.
Shouts echoed through the building.
Crates toppled.
Someone immediately ran for an exit.
Harry wasn't surprised.
Nobody ever stayed politely where they were supposed to.
He sprinted forward.
"Department of Magical Law Enforcement!"
A wizard ahead of him spun around, panic flashing across his face.
Several curses flew at once.
Harry deflected one.
Dodged another.
The third shattered a crate beside him.
Wood splintered everywhere.
"Honestly," Harry muttered. "Rude."
The wizard bolted.
Harry chased him.
The suspect darted through a narrow aisle between stacked shipping containers.
Harry followed.
Fast.
Too fast, probably.
He heard Ron shouting something behind him.
Then the suspect turned.
There was a flash of silver.
A curse Harry didn't recognize.
Harry raised a shield.
Too late.
The spell clipped his forearm.
Not enough to stop him.
Not enough to even hurt.
The impact felt strangely cold.
Like brushing against ice.
Harry barely noticed it.
He fired a Stunning Spell.
The wizard dropped instantly.
Silence settled over the aisle.
Harry looked down.
A thin silver line crossed his skin.
Nothing more.
"Seriously?"
The curse had barely broken the surface.
He'd had worse injuries from Buckbeak.
"Harry!"
Ron appeared seconds later.
"You alright?"
"Fine."
Ron narrowed his eyes.
That alone should have been a warning.
After years of friendship, Harry knew exactly what that look meant.
Ron thought he was being an idiot.
Unfortunately, Ron was usually correct.
"Your arm."
Harry glanced down.
"It's a scratch."
"You got hit by an unidentified curse."
"It's still a scratch."
"That's not the point."
Harry started walking.
Ron followed.
Because of course he did.
"You need to get checked."
"No."
"Harry."
"No."
"Harry."
"No."
"Harry."
Harry sighed.
"I'm thirty years old."
"And yet we're still having this conversation."
The worst part was that Ron sounded exactly like Hermione.
Somehow marriage had made Ron pick up all of Hermione's most annoying habits.
Harry wasn't thrilled about it.
Three hours later, Harry was sitting behind his desk at the Ministry pretending to read reports.
Pretending was the important word.
The words kept blurring together.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to be irritating.
He rubbed his eyes.
Too little sleep.
Nothing unusual.
His office door opened.
Without knocking.
Naturally.
Only one person in the building did that.
"Have you gone yet?"
Harry looked up.
Ron stood in the doorway holding two coffees.
"No."
Ron handed one over.
"You need to go."
Harry accepted the coffee.
"Traitor."
"You know what happened last time."
Harry groaned.
Unfortunately, he did.
Three years ago he'd ignored a cursed cut for nearly a week.
The result had involved temporary blindness, accidental levitation, and one extremely angry Healer.
He preferred not to think about it.
Ron sat down.
"Just go."
Harry stared at the paperwork.
Then at his coffee.
Then at Ron.
"Fine."
"Thank Merlin."
"You're buying dinner."
Ron grinned.
"Worth it."
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries looked exactly the same as it always had.
Which was unfortunate.
Hospitals should at least have the decency to redecorate occasionally.
The waiting room was crowded.
A wizard with bright purple hair was arguing with a reception witch.
Someone nearby appeared to have grown feathers.
A child was accidentally producing bubbles every time he sneezed.
Harry sat down and resigned himself to suffering.
Fifteen minutes later his name was called.
He followed a young Healer through several corridors.
Everything smelled faintly of potion ingredients.
The Healer led him into an examination room.
"The attending Healer will be with you shortly."
Harry nodded.
The door closed.
Finally.
Peace.
He leaned back in his chair.
Maybe this would be quick.
Maybe they'd wave a diagnostic charm over him.
Tell him he was perfectly healthy.
Send him home.
Five minutes later the door opened.
"Look, before anyone tells me I need to take better care of myself-"
Harry looked up.
The rest of the sentence died immediately.
For a second, neither of them moved.
Neither of them spoke.
Draco Malfoy stood in the doorway.
Not in expensive robes.
Not in a suit.
Not in black.
Dark green healer robes.
A hospital identification badge.
A clipboard tucked beneath one arm.
Harry stared.
Draco blinked once.
Then raised an eyebrow.
"Potter."
Harry honestly wasn't sure which part surprised him more.
The fact that Draco Malfoy was standing in front of him.
Or the fact that he looked completely at home doing it.
"...Malfoy."
Draco sighed.
"As delightful as this reunion is, I assume you're here because you've managed to injure yourself."
Harry immediately felt offended.
"That's a ridiculous assumption."
Draco glanced at the file in his hands.
Then back at Harry.
"You were hit by a curse."
"Fair," Harry admitted.
Draco gave a small nod, as though pleased Harry had managed at least one moment of self-awareness today.
Then he crossed the room and set the clipboard down on the desk.
Harry watched him despite himself.
It had been years.
Not that they'd never seen each other.
They had.
Occasionally at Ministry functions. Once at a charity gala Kingsley had practically dragged him to. Twice in Diagon Alley.
Enough to exchange awkward nods.
Never enough to actually talk.
Certainly not enough for Harry to notice things.
Like the fact that Draco's hair was slightly longer than it had been at Hogwarts.
Or that he looked tired.
Not exhausted.
Just... older.
Real.
Human.
The sharp edges Harry remembered had softened.
Not disappeared.
Just settled.
Draco glanced up.
"Are you staring at me?"
Harry looked away immediately.
"No."
"You are."
"I was thinking."
"Terrifying."
Harry snorted.
To his annoyance, Draco's mouth twitched.
Then the moment vanished.
Professional again.
Draco picked up Harry's file.
"Let's see what you've done."
"I already told everyone it's a scratch."
"Your confidence in medical diagnosis remains inspiring."
Harry leaned back in his chair.
"You know, most Healers try not to insult their patients."
"Most patients don't arrive with your track record."
"One incident."
Draco looked at him.
"Three incidents."
"People keep bringing that up."
"Because they were memorable."
Harry groaned.
Traitorous Ron had probably told every healer in the building.
Draco stepped closer.
"Arm."
Harry rolled up his sleeve.
The silver cut was still there.
Thin.
Almost elegant.
It looked more like a line of moonlight than an injury.
Draco's expression changed the moment he saw it.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for Harry to notice.
"That's odd."
Harry immediately sat up straighter.
"What?"
"Nothing yet."
Harry hated those words.
Healers loved those words.
Nothing yet.
Let's run more tests.
Don't panic.
All phrases that usually meant there was absolutely something wrong.
Draco pulled out his wand.
The wood looked unfamiliar.
Not hawthorn anymore.
Harry remembered, vaguely, hearing that Draco had changed wands after the war.
A fresh start, someone had called it.
Draco murmured a diagnostic spell.
Silver light spread across Harry's arm.
The room filled with faint glowing threads.
Harry watched them spiral around the wound.
Normally diagnostic charms produced clear patterns.
Green for healing.
Blue for magical residue.
Red for active curses.
Simple.
Predictable.
Instead...
The silver threads flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then shattered.
The magic vanished entirely.
The room went silent.
Draco stared.
Harry stared.
Neither of them spoke.
Finally Harry broke first.
"...that's bad, isn't it?"
Draco didn't answer immediately.
Which was answer enough.
"Malfoy."
Draco blinked.
"Again."
"What does that mean?"
"It means the diagnostic spell failed."
Harry waited.
Draco waited.
Harry frowned.
"That doesn't sound good."
"No."
"Should I be worried?"
"A little."
"A little?"
Draco sighed.
"A sensible amount."
"Define sensible."
"You remain capable of standing, speaking and being irritating."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Harry rubbed the back of his neck.
Something uncomfortable settled in his stomach.
Not fear exactly.
Just uncertainty.
He'd been cursed before.
A lot.
Usually someone knew what had happened.
Usually there was a clear answer.
This felt different.
Draco was already pulling books from a nearby shelf.
Several thick medical texts floated through the air before landing on the desk.
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"You keep those in every room?"
"I work in a hospital."
"Good point."
Draco opened one book.
Then another.
Harry watched him scan pages with impressive speed.
He looked completely focused.
Completely absorbed.
And unexpectedly...
Comforting.
Harry hated that thought.
He pushed it away immediately.
"How long have you worked here?"
Draco looked up.
The question seemed to surprise him.
"Seven years."
Harry blinked.
"Seven?"
"Nearly eight."
That felt impossible.
The war itself only felt like yesterday most days.
Then again, Harry supposed he was getting older.
A deeply unpleasant realization.
"You like it?"
Draco's expression softened slightly.
Only slightly.
"Yes."
The answer came immediately.
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Just certainty.
Harry found himself strangely fascinated by that.
Because he couldn't remember ever hearing Draco sound like that at Hogwarts.
Back then everything had been about expectations.
Family.
Status.
Pressure.
This was different.
This sounded like someone who had chosen something for himself.
Someone happy with it.
Draco glanced at him again.
"What?"
Harry hadn't realized he was staring.
Again.
"Nothing."
"Liar."
"Fine. I was just surprised."
"By what?"
Harry shrugged.
"You seem happy."
The words escaped before he could stop them.
For a second, Draco froze.
The room became very quiet.
Harry immediately regretted saying it.
Not because it was untrue.
Because it felt personal.
Too personal.
Draco looked down at the open book.
When he spoke, his voice was quieter.
"I am."
Harry wasn't expecting that answer.
No sarcasm.
No joke.
Just honesty.
Something strange tightened in his chest.
Because somehow, despite everything, he was glad.
Glad Draco had found something.
Glad he wasn't still carrying around all the bitterness Hogwarts had left behind.
The realization was unsettling.
Thankfully Draco returned to business.
"The curse."
Harry mentally thanked Merlin.
A safe topic.
"Right."
"I've never seen magical residue behave like this."
Harry's stomach dropped.
"Wonderful."
"It doesn't appear actively hostile."
"Wonderful."
"But it also isn't dissipating."
"...less wonderful."
Draco nodded.
"Exactly."
Harry groaned.
"This is going to involve follow-up appointments, isn't it?"
"It is."
"I hate follow-up appointments."
"I know."
"You know?"
Draco gave him a look.
"Potter."
Harry sighed.
Fair.
Again.
Draco made a note on the clipboard.
Then another.
Then another.
Harry watched him write.
"You always this thorough?"
"Yes."
"You make terrible conversation."
"And yet you're still talking."
Harry smiled despite himself.
The smile slipped away a second later when the lights overhead flickered.
Just once.
A tiny pulse.
Draco noticed too.
Both of them looked up.
The lights steadied.
Silence.
Then Harry felt it.
A strange cold sensation moving through his arm.
The silver line glowed faintly beneath his skin.
Only for a second.
But it was enough.
Draco was already on his feet.
His expression had gone completely serious.
Not professional serious.
Worried serious.
And suddenly Harry had a very bad feeling that his "scratch" was about to become a much bigger problem.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
The silver glow disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.
If Harry hadn't been staring directly at his arm, he might have thought he'd imagined it.
Unfortunately, Draco had seen it too.
And Draco's expression was enough to tell him that he definitely hadn't imagined anything.
"Tell me exactly what you felt."
Harry sighed.
"There it is."
"There what is?"
"The Healer Voice."
Draco looked unimpressed.
"The what?"
"The voice where everything suddenly becomes very serious."
"Potter."
"Right. Sorry."
Draco waited.
Harry shifted in his chair.
"It felt cold."
"Cold."
"Like ice."
"Pain?"
"No."
"Tingling?"
"A little."
Draco scribbled something onto his clipboard.
His handwriting was annoyingly neat.
Harry wasn't sure why that bothered him.
Maybe because everything else about Draco seemed annoyingly put together too.
The neat handwriting.
The pressed robes.
The organized desk.
The fact that he apparently had his entire life sorted out.
Meanwhile Harry was still surviving primarily through caffeine and optimism.
Mostly caffeine.
Draco finished writing.
Then looked directly at him.
"Any headaches?"
"No."
"Dizziness?"
"No."
"Nausea?"
"No."
"Trouble sleeping?"
Harry opened his mouth.
Then paused.
Draco noticed immediately.
"Potter."
"I mean..."
"You hesitated."
"I occasionally don't sleep well."
"You look like you haven't slept properly in weeks."
Harry frowned.
"That's rude."
"It's accurate."
Harry hated that.
Mostly because it was true.
For the past month he'd been averaging maybe four hours a night.
Five if he was lucky.
Too many cases.
Too much paperwork.
Too many thoughts that refused to shut up when the lights went out.
Nothing unusual.
At least not for him.
Draco continued watching him.
Waiting.
Harry finally sighed.
"Fine. I haven't been sleeping much."
Draco made another note.
Of course he did.
"Anything else?"
"No."
"You answered too quickly."
Harry groaned.
"How are you good at this?"
"Years of practice."
"You interrogate all your patients?"
"I ask questions."
"You interrogate them politely."
Draco's mouth twitched.
Harry considered that a victory.
Small.
But still.
The room fell quiet again.
Not uncomfortable quiet.
Just... quiet.
A strange realization hit Harry.
This was the longest conversation he'd had with Draco Malfoy in years.
And somehow nobody had insulted anyone's family.
Progress.
Draco walked toward a cabinet along the wall.
Harry watched him pull several potion vials from inside.
The labels were covered in tiny writing.
Most of which Harry couldn't read from where he sat.
"Please don't tell me I have to drink one of those."
"You do."
Harry immediately looked offended.
"I don't even know what they are."
"One is a diagnostic potion."
"That sounds fake."
"It isn't."
"It absolutely sounds fake."
Draco ignored him.
Harry had the distinct feeling he got ignored often.
Probably because he deserved it.
Draco poured several drops of a clear potion into a small glass.
The liquid immediately turned silver.
Harry pointed.
"See? That's suspicious."
"It's reacting to magical residue."
"Exactly."
Draco handed him the glass.
Harry stared at it.
The potion shimmered.
Not in a reassuring way.
In a definitely-going-to-taste-awful way.
Draco folded his arms.
"Drink it."
"No."
Draco raised an eyebrow.
Harry stared back.
Neither moved.
Several seconds passed.
Then Draco sighed.
"You're thirty."
"Correct."
"Drink the potion."
Harry took the glass.
"This feels like bullying."
"Drink."
Harry drank.
Instant regret.
"Oh, that's horrible."
The potion tasted like peppermint mixed with metal.
And somehow burnt toast.
Why did magical medicine always taste terrible?
Draco looked entirely unsympathetic.
"Sit still."
"I hate this place."
"I know."
Harry muttered something rude under his breath.
Draco pretended not to hear it.
A moment later silver light spread across the surface of Harry's skin.
Starting from his fingertips.
Moving slowly up his arm.
Harry watched.
The light reached the silver cut.
Paused.
Then exploded.
The room flashed white.
Several instruments rattled violently.
A tray crashed onto the floor.
Harry jerked backward.
"What the hell!"
Draco's wand was already out.
The white light vanished instantly.
Silence crashed down.
The two of them stared at each other.
Harry's heart hammered against his ribs.
Draco looked pale.
Not terrified.
But definitely alarmed.
Which was somehow worse.
"Okay."
Harry pointed at the now-empty glass.
"That seems bad."
Draco didn't answer.
"Malfoy."
Still nothing.
Harry stood.
"Draco."
The name slipped out before he could stop it.
For the first time, Draco looked genuinely startled.
Not by the curse.
By Harry using his first name.
Harry wasn't sure why it happened.
Maybe because they were alone.
Maybe because this suddenly felt less like a hospital appointment and more like a problem.
A real problem.
Draco recovered quickly.
Too quickly.
He looked away first.
"I need to run more tests."
Harry stared.
"Of course you do."
"Potter."
"No, seriously. Every time someone says that, my life gets significantly worse."
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose.
Harry noticed then.
The tiredness.
The dark circles beneath his eyes.
The tension in his shoulders.
The signs he'd missed before.
This wasn't just concern.
Draco was worried.
Actually worried.
About him.
The thought landed strangely.
Uncomfortably.
Harry wasn't sure what to do with it.
Thankfully, Draco spoke before he had to.
"I've never seen this reaction."
Harry swallowed.
The joking mood disappeared instantly.
"You really don't know what it is."
It wasn't a question.
Draco was quiet for a moment.
Then:
"No."
The honesty hit harder than Harry expected.
Draco wasn't trying to reassure him.
Wasn't making promises.
Wasn't pretending to have answers.
Just telling the truth.
Harry respected that.
Even if he hated hearing it.
Outside the room, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Someone laughed.
A healer called for assistance in another ward.
Normal sounds.
Normal hospital sounds.
Yet somehow the room felt completely separate from all of it.
As if something had shifted.
As if both of them knew this wasn't going to end with a simple healing charm and a discharge form.
Draco glanced down at the notes in his hand.
Then back at Harry.
His expression had settled into something calm again.
Controlled.
Professional.
But Harry was beginning to realize that calm wasn't the same thing as not being worried.
"You're not going back to work tomorrow."
Harry blinked.
"What?"
"No field assignments."
Harry laughed.
Draco didn't.
The laughter died immediately.
"You're serious."
"Completely."
"You can't order me around."
"I can recommend it."
"And if I ignore that recommendation?"
Draco held his gaze.
"You'll make my job significantly more difficult."
Harry opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then frowned.
Because for some ridiculous reason, that answer actually worked.
And he had the deeply uncomfortable feeling that Draco knew it.
Harry hated being told what to do.
This was a well-documented fact.
Ask Ron.
Ask Hermione.
Ask literally anyone who had known him for more than five minutes.
And yet, somehow, standing in an examination room at St. Mungo's while Draco Malfoy calmly informed him that he wasn't allowed back into the field felt different.
Annoying.
But different.
Before Harry could come up with a suitable argument, a sharp pain shot through his arm.
He sucked in a breath.
The sensation vanished almost immediately.
Draco noticed.
Of course he did.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
"Potter."
"Fine. It hurt."
"Where?"
Harry pointed to the silver line.
Draco stepped forward.
His wand was already in his hand.
The silver cut looked unchanged.
Until it moved.
Harry froze.
Draco froze.
The silver line beneath his skin shifted.
Not much.
Just enough.
As if something underneath it had slithered a fraction of an inch higher up his arm.
Silence.
Neither of them spoke.
Harry's stomach dropped.
"No."
The word came out immediately.
Instinctively.
Because whatever he'd expected...
It wasn't that.
Draco's expression hardened.
"What did you just see?"
Harry laughed nervously.
A terrible sign.
"I was hoping you could tell me."
The silver mark remained still.
But now that he'd seen it move, he couldn't unsee it.
It wasn't a wound anymore.
It looked like a crack in reality itself.
Thin.
Silver.
Wrong.
Draco immediately began casting another diagnostic charm.
Blue light washed over Harry's arm.
Nothing.
Then green.
Nothing.
Then gold.
The mark pulsed.
Once.
The examination room lights flickered.
Every magical instrument in the room shrieked simultaneously.
Glass shattered.
A tray launched itself across the room.
Harry ducked.
"Merlin!"
A cabinet door burst open.
Potion bottles rattled violently.
One exploded.
Purple smoke filled part of the room.
Draco reacted instantly.
A shield charm snapped into place around both of them.
The magical disturbance stopped.
Dead silence followed.
The shield dissolved.
Harry stared at Draco.
Draco stared at Harry.
Neither looked particularly happy.
"Okay."
Harry swallowed.
"Now I'm worried."
"Good."
"Good?"
"Because I'm worried too."
That wasn't reassuring.
Not remotely.
The door burst open.
A witch Harry didn't recognize hurried inside.
She looked from the overturned equipment to Draco.
"What happened?"
Draco's answer was immediate.
"Magical feedback."
Her eyes widened.
Then landed on Harry.
"From him?"
Harry felt vaguely offended.
"That sounds rude."
Neither healer paid attention to him.
Which somehow made it worse.
The witch stepped closer.
"Should I call..."
"No."
Draco cut her off.
The response came so quickly that Harry looked at him.
The other healer did too.
Something passed between them.
A silent conversation.
The witch frowned.
"You think it's..."
"I don't know what I think."
Harry hated when people talked around him.
"What?"
Both healers looked at him.
"What are you not saying?"
The witch immediately looked uncomfortable.
Draco looked thoughtful.
Which was not an improvement.
Finally he sighed.
"There are some curses that interact with magic itself."
Harry frowned.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning most curses attack a person."
Harry nodded.
That made sense.
Draco continued.
"Very few attack magical energy."
The room suddenly felt colder.
Harry wasn't sure if that was real or imagined.
"And?"
Draco looked down at the silver mark.
"And I've only ever read about reactions like this."
Read.
Not seen.
Read.
Harry didn't like that word.
Not one bit.
The witch beside Draco looked increasingly uneasy.
Harry noticed.
That didn't help.
"So what happens now?"
Draco was quiet.
Too quiet.
Then:
"Now we figure out what it is before it gets worse."
Harry laughed.
Again.
That nervous laugh.
He really needed to stop doing that.
"Before?"
Draco didn't answer.
Which was answer enough.
An hour later, Harry was still at St. Mungo's.
Against his will.
Several more tests had produced exactly zero useful answers.
The curse continued existing.
Nobody knew what it was.
Nobody knew how it worked.
Nobody knew what it wanted.
Fantastic.
Harry sat on the edge of an examination bed in a larger diagnostic ward while another healer waved a crystal over his arm.
Nothing happened.
The healer sighed.
"Again."
Harry groaned.
The crystal glowed.
Then cracked clean in half.
The healer stared.
Harry stared.
The healer slowly lowered the broken crystal.
"...I've never seen that before."
Harry looked toward the ceiling.
"Wonderful."
Across the room Draco was reading through several books simultaneously.
Literally simultaneously.
Three books floated around him while pages turned themselves.
Harry couldn't stop watching.
Not because Draco was attractive.
That would be ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
Absolutely absurd.
The point was...
Actually, Harry wasn't entirely sure what the point was.
Only that every time he looked away his eyes somehow drifted back.
Draco finally noticed.
"Potter."
Harry looked up immediately.
Caught.
Again.
"What?"
"Stop staring."
Harry frowned.
"You always know when people are looking at you?"
"Usually."
That sounded annoyingly plausible.
Draco closed one of the books.
Then another.
Then a third.
None of them seemed to contain good news.
Harry could tell.
The set of Draco's jaw had become tighter with every failed test.
That was when it happened.
One second Harry was sitting on the bed.
The next,
Pain exploded through his arm.
White-hot.
Violent.
Harry doubled over.
A strangled sound escaped him.
The room erupted into chaos.
"Potter!"
Someone grabbed his shoulders.
The silver mark blazed beneath his skin.
Bright enough to see through his robes.
Harry couldn't breathe.
The pain spread.
Arm.
Shoulder.
Chest.
Like ice and fire moving together.
Wrong.
Everything felt wrong.
Voices echoed around him.
Distant.
Muffled.
Someone shouted for assistance.
A healer cast a spell.
It bounced harmlessly off the silver glow.
Harry heard Draco swear.
Actually swear.
That alone told him how bad things were.
The room lights exploded.
Glass shattered across the floor.
Several people screamed.
The silver light spread higher.
Up his neck.
Across his collarbone.
Harry felt his magic react.
Wild.
Uncontrolled.
The air around him trembled.
And then...
Everything stopped.
Instantly.
The pain vanished.
The light disappeared.
Silence filled the ward.
Harry found himself kneeling on the floor.
Breathing hard.
Sweat dripping down his forehead.
Around him, half the diagnostic ward looked destroyed.
Broken glass.
Overturned equipment.
Shattered lights.
Stunned healers.
And standing directly in front of him,
Draco.
Wand raised.
Face pale.
Eyes wide.
Harry had never seen him look frightened before.
Not truly frightened.
Until now.
And somehow that scared Harry more than the curse itself.
Because Draco Malfoy looked like he'd just realized exactly what they were dealing with.
And whatever answer he'd found.
It wasn't good.
The silence stretched.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
Harry remained on the floor, one hand pressed against the tiles beneath him as he tried to steady his breathing.
His heart hammered against his ribs.
The pain was gone.
But something felt wrong.
Not the curse.
Him.
Like all the energy had been ripped out of his body and left somewhere else.
The room swayed slightly when he tried to stand.
Immediately a hand caught his arm.
Strong.
Steady.
Harry looked up.
Draco.
"Don't."
Harry frowned.
"I can stand."
"You almost collapsed."
"I did stand."
"With assistance."
Harry opened his mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because annoyingly, Draco was right.
His legs felt strangely weak.
Like he'd just run for miles.
No.
Worse.
Like he hadn't slept in days.
The realization settled heavily in his stomach.
He was tired.
Exhausted, actually.
Not normal tired.
Not late-night paperwork tired.
A deep, bone-weary exhaustion that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.
Draco was still watching him.
Evaluating.
Assessing.
Harry hated being assessed.
Particularly by Draco Malfoy.
"Stop looking at me like that."
Draco ignored him.
"Can you walk?"
Harry stared.
"What kind of question is that?"
"One I'd like answered."
Harry pushed himself upright.
Immediately regretted it.
The room tilted.
His vision blurred.
For a brief second he thought he might actually fall.
Draco's grip tightened.
The moment passed.
But only barely.
Harry swallowed.
"...yes."
Draco looked unconvinced.
"That wasn't convincing."
"It wasn't meant to be."
At least that earned him the faintest hint of a reaction.
Not a smile.
Not quite.
Close enough.
A healer appeared beside them.
"The room is ready."
Harry frowned.
"What room?"
Draco answered before anyone else could.
"You're staying overnight."
Harry laughed.
Nobody joined him.
His laughter slowly faded.
"Oh, come on."
"Potter."
"It was one incident."
Draco looked around the diagnostic ward.
At the shattered lights.
The broken equipment.
The scorch marks on the walls.
Then back at Harry.
"One incident."
Harry considered arguing.
Unfortunately the evidence was literally everywhere.
A tactical retreat seemed wiser.
Half an hour later Harry found himself in a private room.
Which somehow felt worse.
Private rooms always felt serious.
Nobody got a private room because everything was fine.
The room itself wasn't bad.
A bed.
A chair.
A small window overlooking London.
A bookshelf.
Several magical monitors he didn't trust.
Harry sat on the edge of the bed.
Then immediately wished he hadn't.
His body felt heavy.
Everything felt heavy.
Even thinking felt like work.
That wasn't right.
The attack had ended nearly thirty minutes ago.
He should be feeling better.
Not worse.
A knock sounded against the door.
Draco entered carrying a stack of books.
Harry stared.
"Light reading?"
Draco set them down on a nearby table.
"Research."
"That many books?"
"There are more coming."
Harry groaned.
Draco ignored him.
Again.
Harry was beginning to suspect Draco had perfected the art over the years.
The room fell quiet.
Draco opened one of the books.
Harry watched him.
The silence wasn't awkward exactly.
Just strange.
A few years ago neither of them would have survived five minutes in a room together without arguing.
Now they were sitting in silence while Draco researched a potentially fatal curse.
Life was weird.
Very weird.
Harry blinked.
Then blinked again.
For some reason his eyes wanted to close.
That wasn't unusual.
Except it was only six in the evening.
And he'd slept.
Sort of.
Draco looked up suddenly.
"What?"
Harry realized he'd been staring at nothing.
"Nothing."
"You fell asleep."
Harry frowned.
"No I didn't."
"You absolutely did."
"I blinked."
Draco looked unimpressed.
Harry hated that expression.
Mostly because it usually meant Draco was right.
Again.
"You were unconscious for approximately thirty seconds."
Harry stared.
"What?"
Draco nodded.
Harry's stomach dropped.
That wasn't normal.
Not even close.
He rubbed at his eyes.
A headache was beginning to form behind them.
Small.
Persistent.
Annoying.
Like someone pressing against the inside of his skull.
Draco noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
"Headache?"
Harry hesitated.
Draco sighed.
"Potter."
"Maybe."
"How bad?"
"Not bad."
Draco waited.
Harry sighed.
"...medium bad."
"Very precise."
"I'm helping."
Draco made another note.
Harry wasn't sure when he'd started finding that reassuring.
Maybe because every time something happened, Draco wrote it down.
Tracked it.
Analyzed it.
Like he was building a map.
Trying to understand something nobody else could.
A sudden knock interrupted them.
Another healer entered.
A witch with dark curls and tired eyes.
She handed Draco a folder.
"We found the residual readings."
Draco immediately stood.
"Anything useful?"
The witch hesitated.
Never a good sign.
Harry had learned that years ago.
"What?"
The witch glanced toward him.
Then toward Draco.
Draco held out his hand.
She passed him the folder.
Harry watched Draco open it.
Read.
Turn a page.
Then another.
The color drained slightly from his face.
Not much.
Just enough.
Harry's pulse quickened.
"What?"
No answer.
Draco kept reading.
The room seemed suddenly too quiet.
"What is it?"
Draco looked up.
For the first time since they'd met again in the hospital, he looked genuinely unsettled.
Not concerned.
Not worried.
Unsettled.
The distinction mattered.
Harry could feel it.
"What did they find?"
Draco closed the folder.
Slowly.
Carefully.
As if buying himself time.
Which was terrifying.
Because Draco Malfoy was not someone who struggled for words.
And yet now...
Now he looked like he wished he had different ones.
"Draco."
The room went still.
The name slipped out naturally this time.
Neither of them reacted.
Neither corrected it.
Draco met his eyes.
Then finally spoke.
"The curse is spreading."
Harry's stomach dropped.
"What?"
Draco opened the folder again.
Turned it around.
Harry looked down.
And froze.
A magical image of his arm floated above the page.
The silver line was no longer confined to the cut.
Tiny silver branches spread beneath his skin.
Crawling upward.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
Toward his shoulder.
Toward his chest.
Toward his heart.
And according to the timestamp at the bottom of the report...
It had spread nearly three inches in the last hour.
The room suddenly felt much colder.
Neither of them spoke.
Because neither of them needed to.
The image said enough.
The curse wasn't dormant.
It wasn't waiting.
It was moving.
And it was moving fast.
The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Harry sat propped up against a pile of pillows while Draco reviewed the latest reports.
Neither of them had spoken much after discovering how far the curse had spread.
There wasn't much to say.
The silver veins were moving.
Nobody knew how to stop them.
And Harry was trying very hard not to think about the fact that something was currently making its way toward his heart.
Not exactly comforting bedtime material.
Draco closed the folder with a soft thud.
For the first time all evening, he checked the clock on the wall.
Harry followed his gaze.
"Going somewhere?"
Draco looked unimpressed.
"My shift ended thirty minutes ago."
Harry blinked.
"Seriously?"
"Unlike you, some of us understand the concept of a work schedule."
That sounded more normal.
More familiar.
Harry found himself oddly relieved.
The past few hours had been filled with too many frightened looks and tense conversations.
A little sarcasm felt almost comforting.
"Well," Harry said, settling deeper into the pillows, "have fun abandoning your critically ill patient."
Draco sighed.
"You are not critically ill."
Harry pointed toward the report on the bedside table.
"The moving curse disagrees."
For a second, Draco looked like he wanted to argue.
Then he seemed to think better of it.
Which was not encouraging.
A Healer entered a few moments later.
A middle-aged witch with silver-streaked hair and kind eyes.
Draco immediately handed her several pages of notes.
"Nina will be covering the night shift."
The witch smiled at Harry.
"I promise we're very good at keeping people alive."
Harry considered that.
"That's exactly what someone says before things go horribly wrong."
To his surprise, she laughed.
Draco did not.
He spent another few minutes discussing charts, symptoms, monitoring spells, and several terms Harry didn't understand.
Eventually he gathered his things.
The room suddenly felt smaller.
Harry wasn't sure why.
It wasn't as though he and Draco were friends.
It wasn't as though Draco had been particularly pleasant.
It wasn't as though Harry wanted him there.
Still.
The thought of facing the night alone felt uncomfortable.
Harry ignored that thought immediately.
Draco stopped near the door.
"Try to get some sleep."
Harry snorted.
"That's your medical advice?"
"It's my realistic advice."
Harry rolled his eyes.
Draco opened the door.
Then paused.
Just briefly.
"Call a Healer if anything changes."
Harry raised an eyebrow.
"If?"
Draco's jaw tightened.
Then he left.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And Harry was alone.
The first few hours passed quietly.
Harry dozed.
Woke.
Dozed again.
The curse made sleep strange.
Restless.
Fragmented.
Every time he closed his eyes he seemed to drift into dreams that made no sense.
Silver light.
Cold water.
Voices he couldn't quite hear.
When he woke again, the room was dark.
Moonlight spilled through the window.
For several seconds he simply stared at the ceiling.
Disoriented.
Something felt wrong.
More wrong than before.
His chest felt heavy.
As though someone had placed a weight directly on top of it.
Harry shifted carefully.
Even that felt exhausting.
A sharp pulse of pain shot through his arm.
He hissed.
The silver veins beneath his skin glowed faintly.
Then faded again.
Wonderful.
Absolutely wonderful.
He glanced at the clock.
2:17 a.m.
A nurse was checking one of the monitoring charms near the door.
She noticed he was awake.
"How are you feeling?"
Harry opened his mouth.
The answer should have been easy.
Instead he found himself pausing.
Thinking.
Searching.
The question seemed oddly complicated.
The nurse waited patiently.
Harry frowned.
"...tired."
The word eventually emerged.
The nurse's expression changed slightly.
Concern.
Harry didn't understand why.
He'd answered the question.
Hadn't he?
She moved closer.
"Any pain?"
Again.
The answer seemed distant.
Slippery.
Like trying to grab smoke.
Harry rubbed at his forehead.
Why was thinking suddenly so difficult?
"Mr. Potter?"
Harry blinked.
Right.
Question.
Pain.
"Yes."
The nurse became very still.
"Where?"
Harry stared at her.
She stared back.
The silence stretched.
Then realization hit.
Oh.
Right.
She'd asked a second question.
Harry hadn't even noticed.
The nurse's concern deepened.
Harry didn't like that.
Not at all.
At 3:08 a.m., everything went wrong.
Harry woke choking.
His eyes snapped open.
No air.
For one terrifying moment, no air.
Panic surged through him.
He clawed at the blankets.
At his throat.
At his chest.
The silver veins beneath his skin were glowing.
Brighter than before.
Much brighter.
A monitor screamed.
The sound shattered the silence.
The door flew open.
Someone shouted.
Footsteps.
Voices.
Too many voices.
Harry couldn't focus on any of them.
The room blurred.
His chest burned.
The curse felt alive.
Moving.
Spreading.
The silver glow climbed higher across his neck.
One of the Healers swore.
Another called for emergency support.
Harry heard fragments.
Only fragments.
"How long has it been??!"
"His readings are dropping!"
"It's spreading again!"
"Where's Malfoy's report?"
Malfoy.
The name sounded strangely distant.
Harry tried to answer something.
Anything.
No words came out.
A horrible fear settled in his stomach.
The room tilted.
Darkness crowded the edges of his vision.
Then everything disappeared.
The next time Harry woke, sunlight filled the room.
His eyelids felt impossibly heavy.
Even opening them seemed exhausting.
Machines hummed quietly around him.
Something tugged at his arm.
An IV.
There was an IV.
Since when was there an IV?
Harry stared at the ceiling.
His thoughts moved slowly.
Far too slowly.
The door opened.
Someone entered.
Harry didn't immediately turn his head.
It took effort.
Too much effort.
Several footsteps crossed the room.
Then stopped.
Silence.
A long silence.
Finally...
"What happened?"
Draco.
Harry recognized the voice instantly.
Except it sounded different.
Sharp.
Alarmed.
Not at all calm.
Another voice answered.
A nurse.
"He crashed about an hour after you left."
Silence.
"What do you mean crashed?"
Harry managed to turn his head slightly.
Draco stood beside the bed.
And for the first time since meeting him again, Harry looked genuinely shocked.
Not worried.
Not concerned.
Shocked.
His gaze swept across the room.
The monitoring spells.
The additional equipment.
The stack of emergency reports.
Then finally Harry himself.
Harry knew what Draco was seeing.
Pale skin.
Dark circles.
Sunken eyes.
A patient who looked significantly worse than he had twelve hours ago.
Draco stepped closer.
Very slowly.
As though he couldn't quite believe it.
"Potter?"
Harry wanted to answer normally.
Wanted to say something sarcastic.
Something clever.
Something that would make Draco stop looking at him like that.
Instead all he managed was:
"...morning."
The single word came out rough and weak.
Barely louder than a whisper.
The silence that followed was awful.
Because Harry saw it.
The exact moment Draco realized how bad things had become.
And for the first time since this whole mess started, Harry felt something cold settle deep in his chest.
Fear.
Real fear.
Because if Draco Malfoy looked scared.
Then maybe he should be too.