Chapter 6
“Assumed? That’s all you have to say?”
Harry has had a few hours by now to let the news settle, but it never disappeared. In fact the words seemed to harbor themselves into Harry's very soul, his bones could feel the ache as fresh as his heart did when that cursed sentence left Draco’s lips. Sitting on the main floor of St.Mugos, Harry was surrounded by those who have been battered and bruised, cursed and crushed, and all he could think was that none of them could even imagine feeling the level of pain he was currently in.
Blaise shrugged as he leaned against the nearest wall, arms crossed. “We knew this was coming eventually.”
Theo nodded in agreement. “He’s been talking about it for months. The Healer’s Association officially requesting his help just sped things up.”
Harry ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “And you’re both fine with this?”
Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Would it matter if we weren’t?”
Harry clenched his jaw. “I don’t know, maybe you could actually do something, like talk him out of it?”
Theo snorted. “You have met Draco, right?”
Harry scowled. “Yeah, unfortunately.”
Blaise smirked but quickly sobered. “Look, we don’t like it anymore than you do, Potter. But Draco… he’s different when it comes to this sort of thing.”
Theo nodded. “He’s determined—obsessive, even. If he thinks he can solve something, he won’t stop until he does.”
Harry exhaled sharply, his gaze flicking back to Draco, who was fully focused on the patient in front of him.
Theo tilted his head, watching Harry closely. “You’re worried about him.”
Harry didn’t answer.
Blaise smirked. “Very worried.”
Theo’s expression turned more serious. “Not that we need to explain it to you, but so are we, if it makes you feel any better.”
Harry huffed. “Not really.”
Blaise sighed. “Draco’s not reckless, Potter. He’s calculating. He wouldn’t have agreed if he didn’t think he had a real chance of succeeding.”
Harry wanted to believe that.
He Really wanted to.
But as he watched Draco work—brilliant, confident, irreplaceable—he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something much, much worse.
Harry shifted in his seat, still keeping an eye on Draco before glancing at Theo and Blaise. He knew the two Slytherins from their shared time at Hogwarts. Although knowing might be a bit of an overstatement. He's seen the boys that seemed to be stuck to Draco's side, a trio of pure enigmatic energy.
“How long have you two been friends with him?”
Theo was the first to respond. “Since before we could walk, really. Our families ran in the same circles, so it was inevitable.”
Blaise nodded. “Draco’s always been undeniably Draco—stubborn, too smart for his own good, and completely incapable of leaving things alone when he should.”
Harry huffs. “Sounds about right.”
Theo seems to find his frustration amusing, “He was an insufferable little brat when we were kids—thought he knew everything.”
“He pretty much did know everything,” Blaise pointed out. “Which made it worse.”
There had been a question weighing on Harry's mind for a while now. “When did he decide to become a Healer?”
Theo and Blaise exchange a look before Blaise answers, “After the war.”
Theo sighs. “We all had to figure out what to do with ourselves. Draco… he was lost for a while. He had a straight path his whole life, a one set mind, that path was pretty much set on fire by the end of the war.”
Harry could only assume that healing was never Draco's first choice of career path. Coming from a wealthy, pure-blood family, the idea of intense labor was likely worlds away. A mere concept, far from anything tangible.
“He had an urge to fix everything he deemed broken, particularly things he broke himself. Wanted to be more than the broken boy everyone saw at his trial.”
Well, that caught Harry off guard.
Watching Draco for a moment, taking in the sharp focus on his face, the way he moved with quiet confidence, Harry knew he was heading straight into the deep end with no intention of turning around.
“He is more,” Harry muttered, almost to himself.
Theo smiled slightly. “Yeah. He is.”
Blaise tilted his head. “You really care about him, don’t you?”
Stiffening, Harry mutters out his reply, hoping to convince himself and the duo, “Sort of in the job description.”
Harry had never been a good liar.
Four eyes fell on him, a certain gleam reflecting from the luminescent hospital lights and a softness to their smirks. While the two shared no resemblance in physical qualities, Harry wouldn't be able to tell you who was who while looking into their focused eyes.
There was no weighing the pros and cons of letting his admiration for the healer slip from his lips while under the gaze of dedicated predators. Damn snakes.
Harry sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I can't help it, especially when he seems to not care about himself.”
It was a done deal now. Words were out in the world, not just ideas floating in his mind anymore. Falling deeper and deeper in.
Harry cares about Draco.
But that's nothing new.
Harry aches for Draco.
That's something Harry understands he has to digest, slowly, to avoid choking on the idea.
Blaise smirked. “Well, that’s interesting.”
Theo nodded. “Very.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t ignore the warmth creeping up his neck—or the quiet understanding in their gazes.
. . .
Draco winds through the rows of hospital beds, making his way to the unusual trio. The three had been lingering nearby, close enough to keep a close eye, but far enough away that Draco could resist the urge to shrink in on himself from the weight of their combined worried gaze.
“Indoctrinating Potter into your schemes, are we?”
The half-hearted chuckles he receives in return tell Draco all he has to know regarding the conversation that must have taken place in his absence.
He makes his way to his office. Quiet. He would like some peace and quiet.
He should have known he wouldn't get far.
The sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Draco didn't bother shutting the door behind him when he reached his office.
Draco knows Blaise and Theo care about him. They've seen the ugliest side of him, the beast that resides deep within, engraved into his very being, and instead of turning and running, they kept their hands reaching out, a constant reassuring presence, not trying to tame but learn. And learn they did. Draco is almost certain the two know him better than he knows himself. The song of their friendship doesn't need lyrics, their conversations don't need words, which is why Draco can tell from one look alone. They are not happy.
Theo leans back against the desk, arms crossed. Blaise just watched, unimpressed, one eyebrow raised as if daring Draco to lie to them.
Draco has always been a good liar.
But he bites, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright. Say what you need to say.”
Theo was the first to speak. “You sure about this?”
Draco met his gaze evenly. “Yes.”
Blaise clicked his tongue. “Even though it might kill you?”
Draco rolled his eyes. “Everything we do could kill us, Blaise.”
“Ah, but not all of us volunteer for it.”
Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Theo cut in, his voice softer. “Just… don’t be stupid about it, yeah?”
Draco’s expression softened slightly. “I won’t.”
Theo nodded, seemingly satisfied, but Blaise still looked unimpressed. He tilted his head toward Harry. “And what about him?”
Draco blinked.
Harry James Potter.
Draco had thought he had seen the last of the savior of the wizarding world when he had spoken out at his trial all those years ago. How he could not have been more wrong. At first, the idea of having Potter follow him everywhere was merely an annoyance; Draco didn't expect him to crawl his way into Draco's mind every second of the day. Harry Potter may be the symbol of hope to almost every witch and wizard, but to Draco, he is a constant reminder of how destructive death can be. Harry glowed with everything he did, his touch revives plants long ago dead, he shines his smile onto his unexpecting victims and they have no other choice but to glow along with him. The boy who lived. Draco's presence alone would rot entire fields, a darkness that can only dream of reaching out to grasp onto the sun. Yet the ache in his bones, craving to reach out to the light, to be free from death's grasp, is never enough to let his destructive touch seep into the sun. Was he ever even alive?
The urge to fix came as close to second nature as possible after the war.
fix what was done wrong. Fix what you did wrong. Maybe it will be enough to fix yourself. It's never been enough to fix himself, for he is too far gone.
But no one had to know that besides Draco himself; no one should be burdened with the weight of his mind. When Harry Potter, the sun himself, was tasked with trying to keep Draco away from the inevitable darkness engraved in Draco's very soul, he knew it would only end badly. But he would never say any of that out loud.
“What about him?”
Harry scoffs. “Glad to know I’m included in this conversation.”
Blaise ignores him. “How’s he supposed to keep you safe if you’re actively trying to kill yourself with whatever nightmare curse this is?”
Draco sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m not trying to kill myself.”
I'm fixing myself for you, for all of you.
Blaise hums like he doesn't quite believe him. Theo gives a knowing look before turning to Harry. “You’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything too reckless, yeah?”
Harry straightens at the acknowledgment. “Obviously.”
Draco knows a losing battle when he sees one. “You’re all insufferable.”
Blaise smirks. “And yet, you love us.”
And if that isn't the understatement of the century. Draco loves his friends, but more than that, Draco lives for his friends. He values them more than any precious stone or metal, for these are the people who kept him floating in the never-ending deep end. No one has been able to drag him to shore, but he doesn't need to feel the sand. It's been so long that he's not sure if he can remember what it feels like. So no, Draco doesn't need to go to shore; he needs his friends who have taught him how to float, and he needs to keep Harry Potter as far away from him as possible before he drags them both down into the deep end.
. . .
Harry watched as Draco sits heavily in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Despite his frustration, there was something almost comforting about the way Theo and Blaise handled him—like they’d done this a thousand times before.
And maybe they had.
Harry exhaled, crossing his arms as he leaned back. Merlin, help me. But he has a feeling this was only the beginning.
. . .
The letter arrives on a Wednesday morning, delivered by an official-looking owl that lands gracefully on Draco’s desk. Harry, who had been casually leaning against the office door, instantly went on high alert.
Draco unties the parchment, reads it over once, then exhales sharply before setting it down.
Harry narrows his eyes. “That's the letter?”
Draco hums in confirmation, rubbing his temple. “They want me in France by Friday.”
Harry’s jaw clenches. “That soon?”
Draco smirks, though it lacks its usual sharpness. “Did you think they were going to give me a month to think about it?”
Harry doesn't respond. He hates this. Hates how easily Draco accepts that he’ll be walking straight into danger. Sure, the man had a habit of diving into things he shouldn’t, but this was different. This wasn’t just an experimental procedure or a difficult curse-breaking case—this was a disease, one so deadly and so unpredictable that even its name sent shivers through the wizarding world. How could Draco be so reckless with his life? Did he not see how it affected the people around him? Did he not see how it affected Harry?
Draco picks up the letter again, scanning over it. “I’ll need to inform the office, they can let my patients know and find temporary healers for them for however long I'll be gone.”
Harry feels the shift of Draco's eyes from the letter to him.
“ You should be a bit more excited, Potter. You're getting a break from babysitter duty for the time being.”
Harry stares; thinking over Draco’s words, confused by what the other man means. How on earth would this be a break? If anything, Harry feels like he's about to be thrown through hell and back during the duration of the time Draco works on this godforsaken curse.
Then it hits him.
Draco thinks he's staying behind.
Draco has never been more wrong about anything.
“You really think I'm letting you go alone?”
Draco’s head snapped up. “Excuse me?”
Harry gives him a pointed look. “Hermione put me in charge of protecting you until we figure out who's out to hurt you. That doesn’t change just because you've decided to take up masochism as a hobby.”
Draco scoffed. “This isn’t some Auror mission, Potter. It’s delicate magical research—”
“And you were nearly blown up in your own office just for being a Healer,” Harry shot back. “You think whoever sent that curse will just let you be once you get involved in this?”
Do you think I'm going to let you run away so easily?
Draco frowned, his fingers tightening around the letter.
Harry softens his tone. “I know you’re going whether I like it or not. So, at least let me do my job.”
Draco studies him for a long moment, then sighs, looking away. “You’re impossible.”
Harry smirks. “So I’ve been told.”
Draco mutters something under his breath before straightening. “Fine. But if you slow me down, I’m sending you right back.”
Harry grins. “Noted.”
The tension in the room didn’t dissipate, but Draco no longer looked quite so ready to argue. Harry watched as he reached for a quill and parchment, already making plans for his patients and tying up loose ends.
Friday was coming fast. And something in Harry’s gut told him that this was going to be far more dangerous than either of them anticipated.
. . .
Draco sighs dramatically as he flopped onto the couch between Theo and Blaise. “Honestly, at this point, you should all start paying rent.”
Pansy, perched elegantly on the armrest, smirks. “Darling, if we paid rent, you’d have much better decor. Oh, and I would never have allowed that atrocious backsplash in the kitchen.”
Theo hummed in agreement, flipping through a book he clearly had no interest in reading. “Our dramatic entrances wouldn't have the same flair if we lived here.”
Blaise smirked. “Besides, this way, you have time to miss us when we aren't here. They do say distance makes the heart grow fonder.”
Draco scoffed. “Hardly.”
Harry leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold. It was strange, seeing Draco like this—at ease, comfortable, surrounded by people who knew him so well they didn’t need to speak in full sentences to understand each other. It made him realize just how much of Draco’s life he hadn’t known. It makes a part of him claw from the inside, trying to force its way out and into the bubble Draco has created for himself and his friends.
And yet, despite the easy banter, the air in the room felt heavy. No one mentioned the next day. No one asked about France, about the research, about how long Draco would be gone or how dangerous this was.
Instead, they talk about meaningless things—an awful patient Theo had dealt with, a ridiculous date Blaise went on, a new trend in fashion that Pansy insisted was revolting.
Draco plays along, throwing in his own comments, laughing at their absurdities. But every now and then, Harry catches it—the flicker of something in his expression, the way his fingers twitch against his knee, the way his gaze lingers a little too long on each of them, as if memorizing the moment.
They all knew this could be the last time they sat in this room together like this.
Harry swallowed hard, feeling like an outsider in a moment he wasn’t sure he had the right to witness.
Eventually, the conversation drifts into silence, and Theo stretches, giving Draco a sidelong glance. “You know, I could still lock you in your bedroom and pretend this isn’t happening.”
Draco snorted. “As if you could take me.”
Theo smirked. “No, but Blaise and I together might have a chance.”
Blaise nods in amusement, but there was something serious in his gaze. “We won’t be there to watch your back.”
Draco’s smile falters for the briefest second before he covers it with a smirk. “I have Potter for that.”
Four sets of eyes turned to Harry, who stiffened slightly.
Pansy tilts her head. “Think you can keep up with him, Potter?”
Harry met her gaze evenly. “I've only been trying since we were twelve.”
And it's true. That first year at Hogwarts Harry had met eyes with a boy too young to have as much hate and determination in them as he did, and he hadn't been able to look away since. If Draco was flying Harry would grow wings. If Draco was drowning Harry would grow gills. If the sun shines, the plants grow.
Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t need—”
“You do,” Pansy interrupted, her voice quieter, softer. “Just… don’t be reckless, Draco.”
He hesitates, looking at her, then at Theo and Blaise, and finally exhales. “I’ll be fine.”
The words felt like a lie, but none of them called him out on it.
Instead, Pansy stood, smoothing out her dress. “Alright, enough sentimentality. We’ll see you off in the morning.”
Theo and Blaise followed suit, lingering only long enough to squeeze Draco’s shoulder before heading toward the door.
Harry watched as Draco stood there, silent, as he listened to them leave, his usual mask slipping just enough to let the exhaustion creep in. When the door finally shut, Draco let out a breath and ran a hand through his hair.
“You didn’t have to lurk in the corner like a ghost, you know.”
If it takes being a ghost to step foot in Draco’s bubble, he would die a hundred times over
“Didn’t want to intrude.”
Draco glances at him, something unreadable in his expression, then sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Tomorrow’s going to be a long day.”
Not knowing what else to do, Harry nods, “Yeah.”
They stand in silence for a moment before Draco turns toward the stairs. “I’m going to bed. Try not to fall asleep on my couch again, Potter.”
Harry chuckles. It feels empty. “No promises.”
He watches as Draco lets out a shallow breath, then retreat upstairs for the night.
Sitting down, staring at the empty living room, something about tonight felt like a quiet goodbye.
Draco tries to ignore the way Harry practically hovers over him, but it is impossible. Every step he takes, Harry is right there—close enough that Draco could feel the warmth of his presence at his back.
Theo, Blaise, and Pansy stand in his office, waiting, their expressions carefully neutral.
“Well,” adjusting the sleeves of his coat, Draco attempts to make his voice even. “I suppose this is where you all cry and beg me not to go.”
Theo scoffs at the notion. “As if we’d give you the satisfaction.”
Blaise smirks. “Though if you do die, I call dibs on your potions collection.”
Pansy rolls her eyes and smacks Blaise’s arm before stepping forward, straightening Draco’s collar. “Just don’t do anything stupid, okay? You're the best at what you do for a reason.”
The best at what I do.
What an odd amount of pressure that adds, but this is what he is meant to do; this is how he can look at himself in the mirror without seeing the cracks and fractures reflecting back at him.
“Have a little faith, Pans.”
“I do,” she said, her voice quieter, “which is why I know you’re going to come back to us in one piece.”
Draco didn’t have a response to that besides a gentle smile.
Theo and Blaise exchange a glance before Theo sighs. “You already promised you’d come back, so just—” He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Don’t break that promise.”
Draco’s smile melts into something a little more vulnerable then he would appreciate at the moment.
Casting a quick glance towards Potter was possibly the worst decision Draco could have made. Because in that moment, he is faced with a knowing look and understanding eyes. A man who understands what it is to risk your life for those you love. But no, Draco is not the same as Harry; he’s cruel and selfish. Draco is not risking his life like Harry Potter has done in order to save the world. Draco is throwing himself at Death's door so he can hopefully fill the shell he was left behind from the war.
“You ready, Potter?”
Harry inhales deeply, nodding. “Yeah.”
There was nothing left to say.
Draco gives one last glance around his office, taking in the faces of those who have helped him float, now ready to try on his own. Harry reaches for his arm, feeling the familiar pull of Apparition as they vanish from St. Mungo’s.