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Bondmate
Draco came awake slowly, squeezing his eyes shut against the piercing yellow light of several flickering candles that sat on a side table, vying for space among several empty and discarded potions vials. He turned his head away from the brightness of the flame and squinted around the dark room, taking in the broad burgundy stripe painted high on the wall near the ceiling that continued around the room, the sharp odour of antiseptics and sickness, and the lone figure out cold in the chair beside his bed.
He was certain he was in a hospital, which didn’t make much sense, after all he was supposed to be dead.
Briefly, he entertained the idea that he was, in fact, dead and simply resting in some supernatural hospital on the other side, waiting to be shipped off to the netherworld. But the slight form of one Harry Potter slouched over in the chair next to his bed, blocking his view of the closed door changed his mind.
Draco wondered if the ritual simply hadn’t worked. If they had miscalculated the day, or the time, or even when the stars would be in alignment. The idea had merit, he and Hermione were only human and therefore prone to make mistakes, including on something as monumental as this.
They wouldn’t have been the first, nor he was sure the last to cock up such a hugely important ritual like the one they’d attempted. Still, he found himself mourning the fact that he had failed yet again.
He became aware, quite suddenly, of an annoyingly persistent beep coming from his right wrist where a thin plastic bracelet was fastened. Draco scowled at the slip of plastic, yet the beep refused to abate. When he attempted to move his arms, aiming to simply rip the bracelet off and throw it across the room, he found it a struggle to even move his fingers.
His entire body ached, from toe tip to the ends of his hair. And tired. Merlin, he was tired. So much so that when the mediwitch finally burst into the room, calling for ‘Healer Granger-Weasley’, he was already halfway to La-La land again.
Before Morpheus latched onto him once more, he glimpsed Harry’s worried bloodshot eyes furrowed in confusion. He must’ve woken up when the mediwitch called for Hermione. Draco rolled his head toward Harry further, desperately fighting the drowsiness, but rapidly failing.
“Draco,” Harry breathed.
Draco’s last thought before he succumbed, was that Harry looked bad, almost as bad as he felt, but that he was glad to see him there.
*
“Honestly, Harry, I can’t tell you.” Hermione said, her voice low so that the other Healers and hospital staff around her couldn’t hear their conversation.
“I just,” she paused a moment to bite her lip in thought. “Look Harry, even I don't know. I have ideas but I'm not sure that those are really anything at all.”
Harry let out an explosive sigh. If Hermione was unsure of what happened and why Draco was still in a semi catatonic state, then what chance did Harry have? Especially with the bond virtually closed off. Harry felt more than frustrated, he felt exhausted.
He had been waiting in this God forsaken hospital for nigh on three days now, and Draco had only just woken up today. He was tired, cranky, and worried for his bondmate. Which, he conceded was probably why he felt like ripping his hair out.
“He’s my bondmate, not my next door neighbor.” He said, his voice equally low.
Harry was desperate, and if using the best friend card would help, well he wasn't above using it. Hell, he wasn't above groveling at her feet if he thought it might help.
She pressed her lips together, a wholly unhappy set to her shoulders.
After several days on duty, with no end in sight, and another patient that even Harry knew had been close to death, she looked far more put together than Harry would ever dream of being. And he had pulled those kinds of shifts with the Aurors on several occasions, more on than off, and desperately tired.
Still, she had large bruises under her eyes and an altogether stiff set to her shoulders. Her hair, while as bushy as ever, was pulled into a tight ponytail high on her head. Several stray curls teased her face and her makeup while minimal was only just now starting to smudge at the end of her shift.
“He’s also an Unspeakable. Well, kind of.” She said, then bit her lip.
Harry knew Draco was rather more than just an Unspeakable. He was technically what Harry was certain would be the Muggle equivalent to a spy. An undercover operative, like James Bond, but with magical gizmos made by Terry Boot, and a Potions Master. Harry wasn’t stupid, he was the Head Auror and best mate to the Ministry’s contractor when they needed outside help to develop new gadgets.
Besides, Harry was Draco’s bondmate, which meant he got special access to Draco’s head. Usually not voluntarily, and here lately, sparingly, but still he wasn’t totally out of the loop.
When he opened his mouth to basically beg, he was stopped by Hermione lifting her hand up in front of his face. She pursed her lips, glanced at her shoes, then down the hall where a gaggle of mediwitches had gathered outside that patient’s room, their blueish purple robes bringing a splash of color to the otherwise white sterility of the hospital. Harry wondered briefly if they were about to code again, before dismissing the thought entirely when the patient, an elderly woman, stepped from her room in the ridiculous hospital gown and fluffy pyjama bottoms, her slippered feet more sliding than walking down the hall. The mediwitches circled her a bit, watching and waiting to see if she'd fall so that they coukd catch her.
The only other spot of color in the otherwise long rectangular room being the broad burgundy stripe high on the wall that matched the one in Draco’s room perfectly, and Hermione’s own bright green Healer’s robes. The mediwitch station, sat squat as it was in the middle of the room, certainly held the many colored robes of mediwitches but other was the same drab almost khaki color of the rest of the room and hospital.
When she finally spoke, it was lower than before, and Harry had to lean even closer to hear her since she barely moved her lips.
“He was dying,” she looked away again, her bushy hair swaying a bit at the abrupt movement.
The words, while expected, still managed to rock him. Harry closed his eyes, fighting the hot sting of tears and pressed his fingers to his eyes. He bowed his head and rocked back on his heels once, twice, then removed his fingers from his eyes, instead covering his face with both hands. He felt Hermione place her hand gently on his shoulder, a comforting weight that was by no means enough, but would have to do. Harry ran his hands up over his face and through his hair, tugging on the ends and rocking his head up until he was staring sightlessly at the ceiling.
He had known, of course. How could he not, he was bonded to the man, could feel his emotions as if they were his own. He lay down every night next to him, pushed his body flush against Draco’s bare back and nuzzled into his hair, burrowing himself in his essence before letting his mind drift into sync with Draco’s, until they were little more than two people sharing one head space. Those few moments before the world drifted away were his bread and butter, his refuge, and his home. They brought him back from his own harrowing day full of politics, paper pushing, and the constant surveillance of his department.
And he knew Draco felt the same. Recuperation was what he’d called it when Harry had brought it up after a rather exhausting talk on where they stood at the beginning of their relationship. Their shared time together grounded him, he had said, brought him home and allowed the tattered parts of him to be sewn back together. Recuperation, he had explained simply.
They were so close that Harry could feel the absolute terror that Draco had felt moments before he'd landed in their home, covered in blood and gasping for help. He could feel the moment Draco slid into unconsciousness and again the moment it felt like he was gone. That had felt like a punch to the sternum, an ache so deep he’d nearly crashed to the floor with Draco in his arms just inside the emergency floo entrance. The feeling of Draco gone from his mind, his body, and his very soul was enough to make him stop breathing for a moment until they restored his heart beat. As it was, Harry was certain that if they couldn't he would've followed Draco within moments.
His breath was shakier than before when he finally felt able to look at her. She was biting her lip, concern furrowing her brow and muddying her brilliant brown eyes.
“He’ll be down awhile and really, I’m not so sure he’ll be able to be awake for more than a few minutes at a time.” She sighed.
Harry remained silent for a moment, taking it in before, “When will I feel him again?”
His voice was quieter than before, and he’d be lying to himself if he said it wasn’t because he was terrified for the man before him.
“You can’t feel him?” She asked, rather surprised.
Harry grimaced, shaking his head.
She frowned, “Can you feel him when you sleep? At all?”
He gave a silent nod, and her brows furrowed even further. “And the bond, can you feel it at all?”
Harry frowned in concentration as he sought to test the bond’s strength. The bond was usually a bright speck in the back of his mind, one that he envisioned much as a bridge made of a solid blinding rainbow of light, like the rainbow bridge to Valhalla, from his mind to Draco’s. Emotions and memories traversed that bridge, many times unintentionally but not wholly unwelcome. They were subconscious thoughts most days, and a steady reminder that Draco was alive and never more than a quick trip across that mental bridge of light. They reminded him that he was not alone in this world, that he continued to work a job both of them knew he had grown tired of to secure Draco’s safety from more greedy politicians.
Now, as Harry searched his mind for that tiny speck way down the rabbit hole that was his mind, he found himself resolving to take that Wizengamot job, if only to further secure Draco’s safety.
When he finally managed to find the light that made up the bond, it was glowing faintly, a far cry from its usual rainbow brilliance. He stared disappointed and maybe a bit defeated at the feeble glow of light and pushed himself as far as he could across the now transparent bridge. Faintly, he felt hands on his shoulders, guiding him down the hallway and through a doorway to blessed silence. He wondered vaguely if those hands were Hermione’s guiding him to a seat in the physical world.
The bond was getting stronger, though minimally so. He ran across the bridge until he met a solid wall of fog so thick it was practically walking through candy floss, light and fluffy but sticky, proving far more resistant than it should be.
Harry knew what the fog represented. He knew not from a book or from some silly tale Mrs. Malfoy or Mrs. Weasley had told them when they decided to bond. No, this he knew from experience, from when they first bonded, several years ago.
They had been two scared young men back then, too terrified to face up to the reality that while they loved each other, their friends weren’t exactly a match made in heaven. Harry had been terrified when Draco had learned to effectively shut him out by obscuring their connection after a rather rough fight when their respective friends decided to conspire between their backs to break them apart. Back then, their bond wasn’t out in the open, both of them terrified of losing their families, their friends, and each other. In the end, Harry had suggested leaving the bond altogether after mentioning that one of Draco’s friends had suggested that Draco would be much better off without Harry, that he would be welcomed back into his family without Harry in the picture. Not that is mattered in the end, Mrs. Malfoy obviously had final say in the Malfoy household nowadays.
Back then, the fog hadn’t been this thick, nor this oppressive. Harry found himself pushing through denser and stickier candy floss like fog that was slowly starting to feel like glue, wishing desperately for the end. He imagined the solution would be much as it was then, now.
Before, he had pressed through until he had felt Draco’s emotions hit him like the Hogwarts Express, fast and hard, and for awhile never ending. What he hadn’t known at the time was that Draco could feel Harry’s emotions, his very soul, just as much. That day was a lesson, one neither of them soon forgot. They shared everything now, emotionally that is, which was really why Harry felt so lost.
The fog turned icy the farther he pushed, turning his entire mind sluggish except for the part of him making it’s way to Draco. He didn’t possess his imaginary body in his mind’s eye per se, but instead his entire mind turned into what he needed most. It was like he was looking through a set of internal eyes, he was a slinking panther one moment, a hopeless rendition of what his mind perceived him as the next, wild tuft of hair, large green eyes, and knobby knees the most prominent of his features.
By the time he reached the end of the fog, he felt all conscious thought beside reaching Draco and the other side locked in an icy, frozen haze, much as he would if he were truly unconscious. Glancing back at the fog, he could see a vaguely Harry shaped hole clawed through to the other side of his own mind, a frosted over barren landscape of abstract thoughts and emotions chugging turtle like along.
Draco’s mind wasn’t much better, in fact a verifiable ice storm seemed to rage, even though Harry had been hoping for something different. As he passed along the bridge, he saw the light here that made up the path was thinner, almost gone entirely in some places, and Harry tread carefully.
Up ahead, just passed the end of the bridge sat the huddled form of Draco, bright shining hair being tossed around by the frigid winds that were quite literally blowing his thoughts in disarray. Harry stopped at the edge of the bridge, he couldn’t go any further, to do so was as much a death sentence as jumping from a cliff.
“Draco!” he yelled, hands cupping his mouth to direct the sound.
Draco jolted from his position, head shooting upward to stare wide eyed at Harry, though his arms remained locked around his knees. He was several meters away, but he looked off, tinier than usual, and with a shock Harry realized it was because he looked quite a bit younger than his normal self.
“Draco!” he tried again, “Are you alright?”
Harry cringed at his question, quite aware that, no, Draco was in fact, not alright. But still, Draco seemed to hear him, but if anything he seemed to be terrified. Which as far as reactions go, was not what Harry had hoped.
Harry reached out a hand, “Can you come here?”
Draco shook his head, his tiny frame visibly trembling, even from a distance. He tucked his face back to his knees, the thin silk pyjamas flapping in the wind doing little to ward off the cold or hide him from Harry’s beseeching gaze.
His emotions, the icy winds that blew all around them, were muddled in pain, fear, and in a way the sense of loss. It was slamming into Harry from all sides, nearly drowning him in Draco’s emotions, his thoughts flitted by on snowflakes, echoed Harry's own from when Draco went down. They whispered in his ear, ‘he's gone’, ‘never coming back’ and a constant stream of ‘whys’ buffeted him. It broke Harry's heart, and for a moment he felt just as Draco did, lost without his bondmate, terrified he was going to be alone.
Harry pulled himself together with some effort. He would be bringing Draco out of this icy blizzard of his own making.
“Please.” Harry begged, hand remaining outstretched.
They remained locked like that for several moments, enough for Harry to become afraid that Draco would never move toward him. When finally Draco stood, he was quite a bit smaller than Harry imagined. He must’ve reverted to a younger age , Harry thought.
Draco’s tiny hands gripped a set of too large pyjamas, his hair was messier than normal, longer than it had been in many years. It was his eyes however, that convinced Harry that he was still Harry’s Draco, still aware of who Harry was and what they meant to each other. They were wary even as he begin to approach, as if he was unsure if Harry was real or just a figment of his mind.
As he walked toward Harry on unsteady feet, he seemed to grow, step by step, inch by inch, until he was normal before his eyes. He took a quick leap onto the bridge, the partial bit keeping Harry from crossing fully mended itself behind Draco.
Harry sighed in relief as Draco took his hand and stepped the final step, Harry quickly pulled him into his arms, ran a hand through his hair and burrowed his face in the juncture between Draco’s neck and shoulder, determined to never let this man go. Draco was shaking still and Harry tightened his arm around Draco, feeling Draco’s arms wrap around him just as tight. They fit together much as two puzzle pieces, fitting together like they were made for each other.
They stayed that way until the storm receded. The ice around them thawed and the bridge under their feet gained in brilliance until it was twice as bright as before. They stayed that way until Draco woke and forced the two of them into the physical world.
*
It was a few days later, when Draco was rather better rested and more awake that they decided to discuss what happened. Ron had finally stopped by, though he claimed it was his wife's pestering that did it, they all knew it was because in some weird way Ron and Draco had kind of, sort of, not really become a bit like friends. In reality, Draco and Ron were chess enemies, because that was a thing, and made silent agreements to keep Harry from dying or worse. Which was the real reason why Ron stopped by, he urged Harry to go home and take care of himself.
Draco would take the entire Weasley family know he was in Mongo’s rather than Harry expire at his bedside, even if the tail told was small bowel obstruction, and complications after surgery rather than attempted risky ritual that almost magically exsanguinates a person via their core. So Harry, went home and Draco slept fitfully in a magically expanded hospital bed until he returned.
In that time, Harry went home to shower and bolt down some food, packing up ‘proper tea’ as Draco called the wicker basket full of their home tea set and supplies. Obviously, what St Mongo’s called tea wasn't exactly up to snuff, as Draco had dubbed it ‘weaker than piss water and worst than the underside of a Vehitian Red Back Worm’. Harry had no idea what a Vehitian Red Back Worm was but the images that floated across were enough for him to decide he was just fine with not knowing. And to be perfectly honest, Harry kind of agreed since he felt like he had lived on it the passed couple of days.
Surprisingly, Draco happened to be the first to open up about what had happened, denying tea despite Harry making a fresh pot a few moments before.
“It wasn’t supposed to go down that way,” were the first words from Draco’s mouth after the mediwitches had left him his daily potions and Healer visit, and it was just the three of them: Harry, Hermione and Draco.
Hermione had initially been opposed to letting Harry stay in the room as Draco discussed the mission since he didn’t have proper clearance. Hermione was allowed to listen in since she was the official Unspeakable’s Healer, and had the proper clearance. Harry had fought her on it, after all he would see it all eventually, one way or another, most likely when they went to bed that night in Draco’s memories or on his desk as a heavily redacted briefing.
Instead of continuing to fight however, she pursed her lips before warning him that it could be all their jobs. Not that Harry was too worried, besides he would have the proper clearance once he took the Minister up on his offer of the Wizengamot position when they got back to the Ministry.
“What do you mean?” Hermione questioned from her position leaning against the window ledge, bright morning light streaming in behind her, casting a long shadow in the floor.
Harry sat on the bed beside Draco’s propped up form, hand clutching Draco’s just as tightly, foregoing comfort for the sake of touch. He was reveling in the feeling of the bond, twice as strong. He could feel a rush of emotions coming through, but he refused to analyze them too deeply, instead picking out the ones most relevant to the conversation at hand. Love, guilt, regret, sadness, happiness, and relief washed over him like a tidal wave.
“The mission went bad from the get go,” he said rubbing his free hand over his forehead, obscuring one eye, as if to dispel a headache.
“It was supposed to be an in-and-out procedure. Get in the house, enjoy some champagne, place the surveillance charms, conceal the magic, then leave just as quickly,” He sighed, dropping his hand.
“I take it that the mission went bad then?” Harry asked, his hand tightening in response to Draco’s sudden tension.
Draco’s face took on a rather pained expression. “Eliza, remember her?”
Hermione made a pained noise near the window, but Harry kept his eyes on Draco. Harry had met Eliza once, after she came over for a dinner party before Blaise and Ginny had started dating. She was looking for someone and Draco thought she would be perfect for Blaise, a bright red head with a fiery attitude much like Ginny’s but whereas Ginny could be laid back, Eliza was constantly on alert, much like Draco, who could never relax unless Harry was in the room with him.
At Harry’s nod, he continued, “She was my eyes and ears that night, charged with getting me in and out, no problem. But something went wrong.” Draco squeezed his eyes shut a moment, pressing his fingers into his eyes, mimicking Harry’s position from earlier unknowingly.
“As soon as I arrived, they knew I wasn’t the foreign ambassador. The Japanese Prime Minister had me followed around -”
“Wait, wait, the Japanese mission? The very dangerous and certain death Japanese mission that wasn’t supposed to happen for another month at least? The Japanese mission that wasn’t supposed to be yours?” Hermione cut in incredulously.
“Yes,” was Draco’s tired answer.
Draco raised an eyebrow, “Johnson was taken out last week, his wife had their baby, which if I recall you helped give birth to?”
She didn’t acknowledge whether or not she knew who Johnson was however, “It wasn’t supposed to happen for at least another month from now.”
“We got intel that they knew we were coming, so Richards decided to move it up.” He explained.
She looked angry, her hair becoming even bushier if that was possible, but waved a hand at him to continue.
Draco scowled at her, but nevertheless continued, “By the time I made it to the loo seven of his men had followed me to the hallway and three more came with me inside. I managed to take the first eight, but the last two were bloody ninjas.”
“Ninjas?” Harry perked up, “With like throwing stars and stuff?”
“Really, that’s what you’re excited about?” Draco scoffed, “And stuff, indeed.”
Harry wasn’t bothered however, if anything he was proud as Draco described exactly what they looked like and how he managed to take them out, despite receiving a throwing star to his shoulder and at least three broken ribs.
“I didn’t realize they had placed a Tracking Charm on me until I was already at the hotel where Eliza was holed up. She hadn’t responded to anything when I entered the ballroom. That was whole reason I went to the loo to begin with.” He said.
He had begun to shake, his free hand clutched the blankets over his lap in a death grip. Harry reached over, grabbing onto Draco’s hand and easing the blankets from his grip before taking his hand in his own.
Draco looked at him, and for a moment, Harry wasn’t truly certain that Draco was actually seeing him. He looked haunted, the bright grey blue of his eyes had turned dull, a fine tremor had started and his skin had taken on a more sickly grey tinge. Harry scooted closer without thought, arranging the two of them until he could press his shoulder against Draco’s, grounding him as best he could while here in Mungo’s.
When Draco continued it was after several deep ragged breaths, “They tortured her. Crucioed her until she passed out, only to use Enervate and start again. They held her down… and they…”
Whatever he was going to say he instead closed his eyes and took another deep breath before continuing.
“She hadn’t told them a single thing. We weren’t even the main mission, the one that would’ve actually garnered them information, we were just the scouting party.”
Harry, swallowed down his own question and concerns, he could feel from the bond, the disgust, sadness and most of all, cold fury. The reason why he had shut himself off from Harry during most of the mission was evident, as the memories assaulted him. Draco had just barely kept from ripping them limb from limb, his pain and anger kept in check by the sound of Richard’s voice screaming into the comm. He was looking for Eliza, her vitals had gone dead.
Instead, he handed them over to the Unspeakables, but only after a few rather borderline dark spells took them out.
Draco looked up at Harry, a silent question on his face. Harry shook his head, and held on tighter, he wouldn’t say a word to Hermione, wouldn’t mention anything to really anyone, he supposed.
Instead, Harry let Draco sit quietly a moment, revelling in simply being home, safe with Harry. It didn't last long as Hermione cleared her throat.
“Draco, there was some, um, rather strong abnormal magical readings when you were brought in,” she said, questions implied.
Draco sighed and ducked his head a moment before raising it to look at Hermione, not daring to look at Harry, knowing the memories were already coming on. The bond seemed especially open after Harry’s rather forceful breakthrough of his mind.
“I may or may or may not have used an untested magical ritual to get home.”
Harry’s rather angry expression had nothing on the tidal force that was his fury that cascaded in waves down the bond. And there was fear, visceral enough that it was almost a punch to the gut. Draco winced, and still refusing to look Harry in the eye, fidgeted with the blanket over his knees.
“Which one?” came Hermione’s controlled voice. She let nothing through, though Draco could tell she was equally upset.
“Um, Apparation via Blood circa 1537. I think.”
There was no sound in the room for a few moments except Harry's panting breaths and the two’s quiet breathing. Draco continued to pick at his blanket, wishing Hermione hadn't asked him, so that he could maybe at some point, take a shower, or eat real food, or even if possible not feel the brunt of Harry’s anger and disappointment stabbing at him relentlessly.
Harry exploded a moment later from his seat to pace the small room. Draco felt the loss of his body heat and calming effect immediately.
“You bloody idiot!” Harry shouted, stopping for a moment to look at Draco before continuing to pace, this time tugging at his hair like pulling it out would help. Hermione, bless her, had activated the silencing charms on the room when she’d entered, otherwise, half the floor would've heard Harry.
Draco, influenced by Harry's emotions and justified by his mission, glared right back, ”It was do that or die alone on the bloody street because my backup was busy. I had lost my want during the fight and the idiots couldn't keep the ninjas or whatever the buggering fuck those guys were, down. I did the logical thing and ran.”
Draco swallowed at the memories, the schwing of a sword cutting cleanly through muscle, skin, and bone to slice a man's arm clean off. The memories of throwing stars singing over his head, his shield charm barely holding up, and the subsequent tackle of a nearby goon as he ran through the building to get outside. He'd lost his wand then, so he did the only logical thing and ran. He could vaguely hear the other Unspeakables behind him, cries of pain and fury echoing out of the house. He wasn't sure whom they came from.
Instead, Draco ran hard and fast, pulling a knife from an inside pocket, he sliced his thumb open, letting the blood flow. His pursuers were only a few moments behind even as Draco ducked into an alley. He began quickly marking the runes and sigils on the dirty wall before him before whispering the spell, the crack of apparation far louder than normal was a welcome relief.
Harry let out an explosive breath, “That's it, I'm done. You're done. We're done. Got it, Draco?”
“Oi, who died and made you king, Potter!? I'm done when I say I am.” Draco scowled at Harry. “I'm not some damsel in distress who needs a savior!”
“No,” came Harry's rather hard voice, “you're just the love of my life, the other literal fucking half of me, whose thoughts and emotions I can feel.”
Draco continued to scowl for a moment before looking away. So what if his own bloody brain gave him away, it was the principle of the matter. They should be discussing this with words, later, not with their emotions and thoughts and certainly not right now when they were charged and high strung.
But Harry was right, he could feel the exasperation of ‘when is the right time’ come down the link, followed by ‘I'm tired, aren't you?’ and ending with ‘I love you’. And really, Draco was a bit of a sap when Harry was around so his own ‘I love yous’ and ‘just because you're right doesn't make this better’ and all his other thoughts and fears were sent back.
“Well, I'm glad that's all settled, especially seeing as how it'll be months and maybe years before we can fully let you go, Draco. Maybe even longer,” Hermione said. She looked a bit uncomfortable and Draco felt a tad bit guilty, he was unsure if it was his or not.
“It's only a few broken ribs and a collapsed lung,” he said scowling. He'd had worse, in fact, Harry had had worse.
“Yes, well, not exactly,” she said, her face the picture of a Healer giving bad news to their patient.
“Hermione, what do you mean?” came Harry's voice. A lot steadier than Draco thought his would be if he decided to ask.
“Well, your magic readings are still a bit off. Your core is a bit, well, wonky,” she said, grimacing at the inexact wording.
“Wonky?” Draco asked.
She nodded, lips pursed and unwilling to repeat the word. “Core magic isn't an exact science.”
“Right.”
“But for now, I encourage you to rest and regain your strength. We'll begin a new round of tests in the morning based on this new information,” her eyes softened a bit, “And do remember, there are people to talk to here, Draco, if you need it.”
He nodded his thanks, but already resolved to never say a word to those ‘people’. That's what Harry was for after all.
“You know we'll be discussing all this later anyhow, right?” Harry asked as he rounded the bed to scoot on up to Draco again, he too was feeling the distance after sitting so close for so long.
Draco nodded, and would've snorted are the idea that it was like they were in the beginning of their bond again with how close they sitting if it wasn't for the reason why they were so close. They hadn't sat or really needed this much physical contact since those first few weeks, and, well, Draco was man enough to admit, at least in his own head, that he missed this. This easy closeness and overall sense of safety and home that Harry always gave him when they were wrapped up in each other.
Despite all of their numerous injuries, neither of them had ever come this close to death before. A broken bone, several days in observation because of a serious concussion, or even a minor case of poisoning, but never the threat of death.
To be honest though, despite all that, Draco was just happy that he was here, away from Merlin be damned politicians and their crazy henchmen, next to his bondmate.
He was happy to be home.