Chapter 5
The next few days settled into something almost comfortable.
Draco kept himself busy, moving between patient care, emergency units, and the dreaded paperwork he complained about daily. Harry, to his own surprise, found himself easing into the routine as well. He learned which nurses had the best gossip, which healers took their coffee black, and which ones would actually let him help when things get hectic.
He even started to enjoy it. But as Thursday rolled around, there was a noticeable tension in the air.
Harry wasn’t the only one who felt it. The staff seemed a bit more on edge, glancing at Draco with wary anticipation. He could only assume it had something to do with the dangerous curse-breaking sessions, but the way everyone seemed to brace themselves for impact made him think there was more to it.
Harry wasn’t looking forward to it.
Just as Harry was preparing himself for whatever insanity awaited them, Draco casually threw out, “Oh, by the way, we’re visiting another hospital tomorrow.”
Harry blinked. “Wait—what?”
Draco finally looked up from his paperwork, smirking at Harry’s confusion. “We’re visiting another hospital. It’s part of a research collaboration. I’ve been working with a few specialists there on cross-departmental techniques.”
Harry frowned. “So… no curse-breaking?”
Draco tilted his head. “Not at our hospital, no.”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean?”
Draco just grinned. “You’ll see.”
Friday came faster than Harry would have liked.
Draco handed him the new Apparition coordinates that morning with a suspiciously smug expression, but Harry didn’t question it. He was just relieved they weren’t diving straight into another day of curse-breaking.
Or so he thought.
The moment they arrived at the new hospital, Draco was immediately swarmed by several eager healers. They wasted no time launching into rapid-fire discussions, their conversations moving so fast that even Draco struggled to keep up.
Harry, feeling distinctly out of place, stuck close to Draco’s side.
The energy here was different. The hospital was just as busy as their own, but the way people moved, the way they looked at Draco, was almost… reverent. It reminded Harry a little too much of the way people used to look at him—like he was something extraordinary.
The head healer, an older witch with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense attitude, eventually arrived and guided them through the halls, leading Draco toward an office. Harry followed, silently observing as Draco navigated the conversation with a mix of confidence and exhaustion.
Once inside, Draco took a seat across from the head healer, and Harry instinctively took the one beside him.
He could tell this was something big.
Harry wasn’t sure what exactly they were here for, but one thing was clear—
This wasn’t just a visit.
Harry felt his stomach drop.
“Surgery?” he repeated, trying to keep his voice even.
Draco nodded, already unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves as if this were just another day for him. “A delicate one,” he confirmed. “The patient has a highly contagious curse that’s deeply embedded in their magical core. If we don’t remove it, they’ll die.”
Harry stared at him. “And you’re just… casually going to scrub in for that?”
Draco arched a brow, clearly amused by Harry’s growing frustration. “That is my job, Potter.”
Harry clenched his jaw. “So, what? You’re just going to walk into an operating room filled with a highly contagious curse, and I’m supposed to what—stand outside twiddling my thumbs?”
Draco huffed a soft laugh. “Well, I wouldn’t put it like that, but yes, more or less.”
Harry felt his patience snap. “Draco, this isn’t funny.”
Draco’s smirk faltered just slightly. “I know it’s not.” His voice was softer now, the amusement gone. “But it’s what I do. People come to me when there’s no one else left who can.”
Harry exhaled sharply, forcing himself to steady his nerves. He had spent the entire week watching Draco throw himself into dangerous work, but this—this—felt even worse.
Draco must have seen the battle going on in Harry’s mind because he stepped closer, placing a hand on Harry’s forearm. “I’ll be fine,” he said, voice quiet but firm. “I’ve done this before.”
Harry searched Draco’s face, looking for any sign of hesitation. He found none.
Finally, with great reluctance, he muttered, “You better be.”
Draco just squeezed his arm lightly before turning toward the head healer. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” Then, with a final glance at Harry, he disappeared down the hall, leaving Harry standing there with his heart pounding louder than he would ever admit.
The hours stretched on, each minute making Harry’s concern grow stronger. He had tried to distract himself—pacing, reading medical journals he barely understood, even chatting briefly with a few of the hospital staff. But nothing could take his mind off the fact that Draco was in that room, risking himself for a stranger.
It wasn’t until the large doors finally swung open that Harry felt like he could breathe again.
Draco stepped out, looking utterly exhausted but—of course—annoyingly stunning. His hair was slightly mussed, his usually pristine robes were now slightly wrinkled. There was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead, but none of it seemed to matter. Because despite his clear exhaustion, he wore a proud grin.
Harry watched as Draco spoke with the nurses and healers, his voice steady as he rattled off instructions for the patient’s aftercare. Even tired, Draco’s presence commanded respect, and the others listened intently, nodding as they took notes.
Harry didn’t interrupt—he just stood there, arms crossed, watching. He was relieved, of course, but also frustrated. Draco acted like this was just another day like he hadn’t spent hours in an operating room with a contagious curse that could have easily killed him.
When Draco finally turned toward him, Harry exhaled, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, not trusting himself to say more.
Draco’s smirk was tired but triumphant. “And yet, I saved a life today.”
Harry rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he handed Draco the water bottle he had been holding onto for the past two hours.
Draco raised an eyebrow but took it, murmuring a quiet, “Thanks.”
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Can we please go home now?”
Draco chuckled, taking a long sip of water before nodding. “Yeah. Let’s go home.”
. . .
Harry had spotted the two figures lounging on Draco's couch and began what he thought was a quiet escape.
“Oh no, Potter, you’re staying,” Blaise said smoothly, stretching an arm over the back of the couch as if he owned the place.
Theo smirked, lounging comfortably next to Draco. “You’ve been stuck to Draco’s side all week. What’s one more evening?”
Draco, sprawled across the couch between them, didn’t even open his eyes as he muttered, “Just accept your fate, Potter.”
Harry sighed but didn’t argue, reluctantly taking a seat in one of the armchairs. “Fine.”
Blaise, satisfied, turned his attention back to Draco. “So? The surgery?”
Draco let out a contented sigh, stretching his arms above his head before dropping them dramatically on the questioning boy. “Successful, obviously. The patient will live.”
Theo nodded, looking unsurprised. “And you? No mysterious new curses? No impending doom?”
Draco smirked, cracking one eye open. “Not today.”
Harry watched the exchange with mild curiosity. He had spent years thinking Draco’s closest friends were just as smug and insufferable as he was, but seeing them now, there was an easy familiarity between them—one that made it clear this wasn’t just idle small talk. They genuinely cared.
Blaise hummed in approval. “Well, you look half-dead, but at least you’re still breathing.”
“Always so poetic,” Draco drawled.
Theo leaned forward, eyeing Draco critically. “You need to rest. Properly. No sneaking off to work on your next ‘big project’—and don’t think we don’t know what you’re planning.”
Harry immediately tensed. He knew exactly what Theo was referring to.
Draco sighed dramatically. “I haven’t even been asked—”
“Yet,” Blaise interrupted.
Draco rolled his eyes, but Harry didn’t miss the way he avoided their gazes.
Harry crossed his arms, deciding to throw his own voice into the mix. “They’re right, you know.”
Draco groaned, rubbing his temples. “Merlin, not you too.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. “What? Thought I wouldn’t notice that you conveniently avoided explaining what the ‘Black Death’ actually is?”
Blaise and Theo exchanged looks but said nothing.
Draco waved a lazy hand. “It’s nothing—”
Theo cut him off. “It’s not nothing.”
Draco exhaled sharply. “Fine. But we are not discussing it tonight.”
Blaise smirked. “So you are planning something.”
Draco shot him a glare before sighing and shifting to sit up properly. “I just performed a very complicated, very exhausting surgery. If you lot are going to gang up on me, at least let me eat first.”
Theo grinned. “Already ordered food.”
Draco blinked, looking genuinely touched. “You two do love me.”
Blaise scoffed. “Debatable.”
Harry just shook his head, watching the exchange with an odd mixture of amusement and concern.
One thing was clear—Draco was far too used to people worrying about him.
And Harry was starting to realize he wasn’t just worried.
He cared.
Dinner passed in comfortable silence, with only the occasional clink of chopsticks against takeout containers breaking the quiet. Draco, despite all his earlier dramatics, barely had the energy to keep himself upright.
Harry watched, vaguely amused, as Draco’s head slowly dipped forward, his eyes fluttering shut until—
“Draco,” Theo said, nudging him with his foot.
Draco startled awake, blinking blearily. “I’m awake,” he mumbled, though the way he nearly face-planted into his chow mein suggested otherwise.
Blaise snorted. “No, you’re not.”
Harry rolled his eyes, pushing his own food aside. “Alright, that’s it. You need to sleep.”
Draco made a vague noise of protest, but even he didn’t sound convinced.
Theo sighed, standing up and stretching. “We should head out anyway. Some of us have work tomorrow.”
Blaise smirked. “Some of us do, yes.”
Harry ignored their bickering, standing as well. “I’ll make sure Sleeping Beauty here actually makes it to bed.”
Draco squinted at him. “That was offensively Muggle of you, Potter.”
Harry smirked. “And yet, you’re too tired to argue properly.”
Draco hummed, apparently too exhausted to find a proper comeback.
Theo and Blaise exchanged knowing glances but didn’t comment, saying their goodbyes instead.
Once they were gone, Harry turned back to Draco, who was now leaning dangerously close to passing out on the couch.
“Alright, come on,” Harry said, grabbing his arm and hauling him up.
Draco grumbled but let himself be guided toward the stairs. “You’re entirely too smug about this.”
Harry chuckled. “Maybe.”
Draco sighed but didn’t resist, letting Harry help him up the stairs and into his room.
Just as Draco collapsed onto the bed, already half-asleep, Harry hesitated in the doorway.
He could leave. His job was technically done for the day.
But instead, he found himself lingering.
Just in case.
. . .
The morning sun barely peeked through the curtains when Draco stumbled down the stairs, half-asleep and entirely focused on the thought of coffee. His body ached from the previous day, and he was still groggy from what was probably the deepest sleep he’d had in weeks.
He shuffled toward the kitchen, yawning, when—
“Bloody hell!”
His foot caught on the edge of the rug, and he nearly went sprawling to the floor, only catching himself at the last second. His heart pounded as he reached for his wand, ready to hex whoever had the audacity to be sitting on his bloody couch at this hour.
Then the lump of blankets and messy black hair shifted, revealing a very much asleep Harry Potter.
Draco scowled, heart still racing. "Potter?"
Harry stirred, mumbling something incoherent before shifting onto his side, completely unaware that he had nearly given Draco a heart attack.
Draco ran a hand down his face, exhaling sharply. Of course.
Potter must’ve fallen asleep on his couch.
Draco groaned, turning toward the kitchen. He was too tired for this. He needed coffee before he even thought about dealing with why Harry bloody Potter was still here.
Behind him, Harry shifted again, groggy and disoriented. "M’fine," he muttered sleepily. "Just five more minutes..."
Draco rolled his eyes. Unbelievable.
Harry sat on the couch, feeling more than a little embarrassed about falling asleep here. He hadn’t meant to stay—had fully intended to Apparate home after making sure Draco didn’t collapse face-first into his bed.
Yet here he was, waking up in Draco’s living room, with Nyx—Draco’s smug, black-furred menace—perched comfortably on his lap, purring like she owned him.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, but didn’t move the cat. No use fighting her when she had clearly decided he was furniture.
Draco reappeared moments later, looking far too put together for someone who had just woken up. He held out a cup of coffee, and Harry took it gratefully.
They sat together in comfortable silence, sipping their drinks.
It felt… nice. Too nice.
Draco broke the quiet first. “I need to do some shopping today.”
Harry hummed into his coffee. “Alright.”
Draco stretched before standing. “I’m going to take a shower first. Try not to fall asleep again, Potter.”
Harry rolled his eyes as Draco disappeared up the stairs, but he couldn’t ignore the way his chest felt too warm at how… domestic the morning had been.
It was unsettling.
Harry was lost in thought when a loud crash from upstairs made him jump. His Auror instincts kicked in instantly, and before he could even think, he was up the stairs in seconds, wand drawn.
He skidded to a stop in the doorway of Draco’s en-suite bathroom, only to freeze at the sight before him.
Draco stood there, completely unharmed—but with only a towel wrapped around his waist, droplets of water trailing down his pale skin.
Harry’s brain short-circuited.
Draco raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Potter. You do know what knocking is, yes?”
Harry opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
Draco smirked, tilting his head. “I dropped a bottle of shampoo. Hardly an assassination attempt.”
Harry, still staring, managed to find his voice. “I—I thought—bloody hell, Malfoy, put some clothes on.”
Draco chuckled, clearly enjoying Harry’s discomfort. “This is my house. If you’re so scandalized, you could always leave.”
Harry forced himself to look away, his face burning. “Right. You’re fine. I’ll just—” He gestured vaguely toward the door and practically fled the room.
Draco laughed softly behind him before closing the door to finish his shower.
Harry leaned against the hallway wall, trying to calm his racing heart.
He had always known Draco was attractive. That was nothing new.
But seeing him like that?
Yeah. He was in trouble.
. . .
They had to go shopping, an innocent activity- domestic, but Harry let that recurring thought drown out into the back of his mind.
Of course Harry's new draco gravitated to danger at this point, but he made the assumption it would stay in the hospital perimeters.
So of course Harry’s stomach dropped at Draco’s words.
“Someone poisoned our food?” he asked, voice sharp, eyes already scanning the restaurant.
Draco, far too calm for Harry’s liking, simply nodded. “Non-lethal, but I’d rather not spend the afternoon vomiting, thanks.”
They had finished Draco's chores for the day, collecting groceries and picking up a new set of robes to act as a backup due to the explosive nature of Draco’s job.
Harry immediately shifted into Auror mode. His grip tightened on his wand as he surveyed the room, searching for anything—or anyone—out of place.
“Alright,” Harry muttered, keeping his voice low. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t argue as Harry grabbed his wrist, pulling him toward the door. The restaurant was bustling with customers, oblivious to what had nearly happened.
Once outside, Harry led Draco a few blocks away, not stopping until they were in a quieter alley. He turned to him, eyes blazing.
“Are you seriously this calm about being poisoned?” Harry demanded.
Draco sighed, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. “It wasn’t lethal, Potter. If they wanted us dead, they would’ve used something far more creative.”
“That’s not comforting,” Harry snapped. “Do you know who did it?”
Draco shook his head. “No. But I have a suspicion it was meant for me, not you.”
Harry frowned, still on edge. “Well, forgive me if I’m not reassured by that.”
Draco smirked, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Relax, Potter, it's my day off.”
Harry exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm down. He wasn’t used to this—the constant threats, the casual way Draco accepted them as just another part of his day.
But if Draco thought Harry was going to let this slide, he had another thing coming.
“Alright,” Harry said, running a hand through his hair. “New plan. We’re going back to your house. You’re not going anywhere until I figure out who the hell did this.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “Potter, I have work—”
“Not anymore,” Harry interrupted. “Not until we sort this out.”
Draco stared at him, as if debating whether to argue. Then, finally, he sighed.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But if I'm paged, we're going in.”
Harry rolled his eyes, grabbing Draco’s arm before Apparating them both home.
This was far from over.
Harry Apparated straight to the Ministry after dropping off Draco back at his house, his mind still reeling from the poisoning attempt. His first stop was Hermione’s office. She deserved an update and Harry was desperate to know if the ministry had gotten any closer to solving this case.
He barely knocked before pushing the door open.
Hermione looked up from her desk, immediately frowning. “Harry?”
He shut the door behind him. “Do we have anything on the explosion at Draco’s office?”
Hermione sighed, setting down her quill. “Not much. The curse was complex, but it didn’t leave a magical signature strong enough to trace. We’ve narrowed it down to someone with access to high-level dark magic, but that doesn’t exactly help—there are plenty of people who fit that category.”
Harry clenched his jaw. “Well, add poisoning to the list of attacks.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Someone poisoned Draco’s food today. Mine too, but I think I was just collateral damage.”
Hermione muttered a curse under her breath, rubbing her temples. “Is he alright?”
“He’s too calm, if anything,” Harry said, pacing. “He caught it before we ate, so we’re fine, but—Hermione, he acts like this is normal. Like this is just another Tuesday for him.”
She sighed, leaning back in her chair. “I was afraid of that. You know how he is—he’s used to people targeting him, and he doesn’t want to seem vulnerable.”
“Well, he is vulnerable,” Harry snapped. “Someone’s trying to take him out, and we have no bloody idea who or why.”
Hermione was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then she nodded firmly. “ I’ll have my team focus all their resources on this. We’ll go through every case Draco’s worked on—see if anyone holds a grudge. And I’ll look into anyone who has had access to your restaurant today.”
Harry exhaled slowly, forcing himself to calm down. “Thanks, Hermione.”
She gave him a small smile. “We will find out who’s behind this, Harry. But in the meantime—stay close to Draco.”
Harry huffed. “That’s not exactly optional, considering I’m his bodyguard.”
Hermione smirked. “Then maybe try to enjoy it a little.”
Harry scowled. “This isn’t funny.”
Her smirk widened. “Didn’t say it was.”
Harry rolled his eyes, turning toward the door. “Just let me know as soon as you find anything.”
“I will,” Hermione promised.
With that, Harry Apparated back to Draco’s house.
Because one way or another, he was going to keep Draco Malfoy alive.
Draco returned to work on Monday as if nothing had happened, much to Harry’s irritation. No amount of reasoning, arguing, or glaring had deterred him. Draco simply waved a hand and said, "I'm a Healer, Potter. I have patients. I can’t just stop because someone has a grudge."
Harry, however, wasn’t the only one displeased by Draco’s return.
As soon as they walked into St. Mungo’s, it was clear that word of the poisoning attempt had spread. The usual attention Draco received had doubled—maybe even tripled.
Healers and nurses flocked to him, asking if he was alright, if he needed anything, if he should really be back at work. Some were genuinely concerned, while others seemed more interested in the drama of it all.
Draco, unsurprisingly, took it all in stride.
“I appreciate the concern,” he said smoothly as they made their way through the halls, “but I assure you, I’m fine.”
Harry, walking half a step behind him, wasn’t convinced. Draco might be acting fine, but Harry had been around him long enough now to catch the signs—tension in his shoulders, the slight sharpness to his usual dry wit.
The worst part was that not all the attention was positive.
As they passed a group of Healers, Harry caught the hushed whispers:
"You think it’s true? That someone actually tried to poison him?"
"Well, it is Malfoy. Hardly shocking, is it?"
"I heard it was meant for Potter, and Malfoy just got caught up in it."
"Honestly, with all the enemies he must have, it’s a miracle it took this long."
Harry stopped in his tracks, his hand itching to reach for his wand. Draco, however, didn’t even flinch. He just kept walking, not even sparing them a glance.
“Did you hear that?” Harry muttered, catching up to him.
Draco hummed. “Unfortunately.”
“And you’re just going to ignore it?”
Draco finally glanced at him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yes, Potter, I am. Because unlike some people, I don’t have time to concern myself with the gossip mill of St. Mungo’s.”
Harry scowled but dropped it.
As the morning went on, Draco threw himself into work as usual, diagnosing patients and giving orders with practiced ease. But Harry never let himself be more than a few steps away.
Because if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that whoever was behind these attacks?
They weren’t done yet.
Like clockwork, Harry sat stiffly on the rooftop of St. Mungo’s, his arms crossed as he watched Draco dig into his lunch with far too much ease for someone who had just spent the last few hours handling dangerous curses.
Theo and Blaise were their usual selves—relaxed, unconcerned, and far too entertained by Harry’s clear distress.
“You look like you’ve aged a decade, Potter,” Blaise said, smirking over the rim of his tea.
Theo hummed in agreement. “If you hate watching Draco curse-break so much, why don’t you just tie him to a chair?”
Harry scowled. “Believe me, I thought about it.”
Draco rolled his eyes, stabbing at his salad with unnecessary force. “You’re both insufferable.”
“I’m insufferable?” Harry scoffed, turning to Draco. “You promised to be more careful, and yet here we are—again—with you throwing yourself into danger like it’s a bloody hobby.”
Draco waved a hand dismissively. “There were no accidents today.”
“That doesn’t mean there won’t be next time,” Harry shot back.
Draco sighed, setting down his fork. “Potter—”
“No,” Harry interrupted, leaning forward. “You act like none of this bothers you, but it should. Someone tried to kill you, Draco. And yet, instead of lying low, you keep doing the one thing that makes you an easy target.”
Silence settled over the group.
Draco’s gaze darkened slightly. “I’m not going to stop doing my job just because someone doesn’t like that I exist.”
Harry groaned, running a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I—” He exhaled sharply. “I know you won’t stop. I just… I don’t want to see you get hurt again.”
Draco blinked, his expression flickering for just a second before it was carefully masked again.
Blaise and Theo, surprisingly, didn’t interrupt.
For a moment, the only sound was the distant murmur of hospital life below them. Then, finally, Draco sighed, softer this time. “I’ll be careful, Potter.”
Harry held his gaze, searching for any hint of dishonesty.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But if you do get yourself killed, I’m bringing you back just to yell at you.”
Draco smirked. “Noted.”
Theo clapped his hands together. “Well, now that that’s settled, let’s talk about something far more interesting—like Blaise’s latest dating disaster.”
Blaise groaned. “I hate you.”
Draco chuckled, and just like that, the tension eased.
But Harry?
Harry still wasn’t convinced that this fight was over.
In the middle of their conversation one of the front desk ladies Harry recognized, she was his main source of gossip, shuffles over to their table.
The tension in her voice was palpable, “A letter, for you Draco.”
Draco thanked the woman before observing the seemingly ordinary manila envelope. Reading the return address printed on the front his hands stop.
He gets out a brief apology to the table before his chair screeches from the abrupt force of his departure, and practically runs out the door. Harry briefly notices Blaise and Theo share a look as he gets up and runs after the runaway healer. The chase was quick as Harry had memorized the path to Draco’s office after the first day on the job.
Slamming the door shut behind him harry couldn't help but let his frustration seep through his words “Draco what the hell was that?”
But Draco wasn't paying attention to the distressed auror towering over his desk. No, his eyes were transfixed on the contents of the envelope, seemingly rereading the same words over and over again.
Only after a few moments did he look up at Harry with those wide gray eyes, filled with an amount of determination that shouldn't be possible for one person.
A soft voice replied, Harry is sure he would have missed it if he wasn't solely focused on Draco at that moment.
“I've been requested to assist with the black death project.”
Harry felt his stomach drop.
“The Black Death?” he repeated, hands clenching, nails digging into soft palms. “As in the thing no one will bloody explain to me?”
Draco pulled his hand free, rubbing his temples. “Yes, that Black Death.”
Harry exhaled sharply. “And I’m supposed to just accept that without knowing what it actually is?”
Draco looked at him, clearly debating something, before he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “It’s a curse,” he admitted. “One of the oldest and most lethal in recorded history.”
Harry frowned. “Like… the actual plague?”
Draco’s lips twitched. “Inspired by it, most likely. But no, it’s worse.”
Harry's jaw clenched. “And you were planning to tell me when exactly?”
Draco crossed his arms. “Potter—”
“No,” Harry snapped, stepping closer. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to keep shutting me out and then expect me to just stand by while you walk into something even worse than what you’re already doing.”
Draco’s expression hardened. “I have to do this.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do,” Draco shot back. “Because no one else can.”
Harry stared at him, his breath coming a little too fast. “Draco…”
Draco’s jaw tightened, but something in his gaze softened. He hesitated for half a second before saying quietly, “I’ll be fine, Potter.”
Harry didn’t believe that for a second.
But before he could argue, before he could beg Draco to reconsider, Draco turned back to his desk, sealed his letter, and called for an owl.
And Harry?
Harry could only watch, dread settling deep in his bones.