that funny feeling

Draco couldn't recall the exact moment when everything turned black, but the pain remained vivid in his memory. The ringing in his ears, the weight on his chest, and the sharp pain at the back of his head before drifting into unconsciousness.

Normally, he expected to wake up on the floor of their grand living room or hurriedly placed in his room, but not in there.

As he opened his eyes, or at least he believed he did, he caught a glimpse of light before darkness consumed him again.

The next time he saw the it, there were shadows hovering above him, causing him to flinch as he wondered what was happening. Once they reached out towards him, he instinctively recoiled and darkness returned.

This cycle continued as he drifted in and out of consciousness.

On one occasion, he managed to recognize that those shadows were actually people. However, a sudden loud white noise overwhelmed him, drowning out any other sound. He may have been screaming, although he couldn't be sure.

The next time he awakened, a sense of peace washed over him probably for the first time in his life.

The surrounding light was still blinding, but he quickly realized that he was no longer in as much pain as he anticipated to be.

Have they drugged him with something again?

As time passed, he heard muffled shuffling and muttering. He was now sure of the fact that there were people, although he couldn't decipher their words.

Could it be father? He wished it was him.

Suddenly, he felt a grip on his shoulders, causing him to stiffen. And then he went rigid. Despite his father's frequent punishments for it, he kept fighting back every single time, like a cornered animal.

He was bad. He knew it. He needed someone to keep him in check, a firm hand to discipline him. But it hurt.

He tried scratching, screaming, and thrashing, as he always did. However, he should have known better by now. It only made them angrier and caused more harm than good.

The muffled to this moment pain became more intense, his chest heaved, and tears welled up in his eyes. But he refused to let them fall.

He could faintly hear someone calling a name similar to his own. This couldn't be the manor. It wasn't the dingy bar Greyback sometimes took him to, nor Aunt Bellatrix's basement.

The hands gripping him didn't release but it wasn’t a bruising hold, his mouth wasn't gagged, and nobody proceeded to beat him yet.

He was so damn confused and terrified at the same time.

Where the hell was he?

"-raco," someone called out urgently, but the teenager remained fixated on escaping. Intuitively, he knew that persisting would exhaust him quickly, and the thought of what they might do to him in his vulnerable state fueled his fear. Despite this, he couldn't bring himself to stop. He couldn’t.

No, please, no.

As time wore on, his weariness eventually began to consume him, leaving him with nothing more than frustrated groans and feeble resistance against the restraining hands.

"Draco," the voice grew louder, clearer this time, causing his eyes to instinctively snap towards where it was coming from. His vision was blurred and the person's gender remained indiscernible, yet they possessed a distinctly feminine tone. Thankfully though, it couldn't possibly be Aunt Bella.

"Draco, you need to breathe," the voice urgently advised. "In for four seconds, out for seven seconds. You can do it."

He tried his best, he really did, but felt an overwhelming sense of weightlessness, as if he was floating. Simultaneously, though, he experienced an awful pressure on his chest that had nothing to do with the hands restraining him. Each attempt to inhale caused excruciating pain in his ribs- no, directly in his lungs.

Pathetically, Draco whimpered as he finally fully surrendered to the hold, his body growing weak from exhaustion. The possibility of losing consciousness once more seemed all too likely.

"Draco, you must stay awake," the woman insisted, her voice oddly clear yet still slightly muffled to his ears. "Don’t close your eyes." The pressure around him tightened, and he sensed himself being pressed against something soft - a mattress, perhaps?

Why hadn't he realized he was lying on a mattress the whole time?

With that thought lingering, he drifted to sleep once more.

When he woke up, for yet another time, there was an unexpected sense of peace in the air. A gentle shimmer of sunlight caressed his face, prompting him to stir. He was alone. However, his respite was short-lived as a sharp pain in his chest jolted him, forcing him to melt back onto the mattress.

Yet, he felt a weird sense of comfort, which just couldn’t be right. It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the room—white lights blinded him from all angles.

Once his vision cleared, he cautiously surveyed the surroundings, desperately hoping that he hadn't been brought there purposely to get punished again.

He tried to be good, to listen and obey, he really did. He didn't need to be punished, he was doing so, so good- please,

The mattress beneath him was soft, and the steady beeping of some type of a machine above his head filled the room, though he lacked the strength to turn and confirm what it was.

Exhaustion overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing more than to rest.

So, he drifted back into sleep.

The next thing he knew, the woman with that soft voice from before was in front of him, checking him over. She was a doctor.

She proceeded to examine him, shining a bright flashlight in his eyes causing him to squint. With a cold stethoscope, she checked his heartbeat and explored his stomach and ribs with her hands. Despite the pain, he remained silent.

Throughout the examination, she spoke softly, engaging him in conversation (after a good few minutes of reassuring him of the fact that he was safe, their intention to help him, ensuring he wouldn't return to those who had harmed him. It made him feel all fuzzy inside). She inquired about his well-being, any areas of pain, and if he needed anything. He responded with brief nods and shakes of his head. Despite pursing her lips from time to time, she seemed satisfied enough with that.

He was more focused on the fact that he had a cast on his right arm. That was new.

When the doctor suggested he lay back down, a sudden sharp pain resembling thousands of needles stabbing his back caused him to hiss.

Observing his discomfort, the woman’s expression softened even further, and she swiftly handed him a cup containing a couple of pills along with another one filled with water. Without hesitation, he took them and gulped them down.

He was able to hear a soft sigh coming from the doctor, her eyes were so sad as she gazed upon him. He didn’t understand why.

—————————

After Mrs. Sterling left with rather positive results, Harry couldn't help but relax involuntarily. The weight on his own shoulders lifted, but he noticed the exhaustion evident on his caregivers' faces. He didn't want to show how much it stressed him, too, knowing that both Remus and Sirius were dealing with their own challenges.

Taking care of a traumatized teenager was no easy task, and he didn't want to add to their burden by being an additional source of stress. The presence of Malfoy was already enough.

Despite the resolution of the situation and Mrs. Sterling's departure, Harry still felt a lingering sense of anxiety. The thought of the social worker not approving of their home life and potentially taking him away was overwhelming.

Additionally, the idea of Malfoy coming to live with them stirred up conflicting emotions within him. On one hand, he felt empathy, but on the other hand, he couldn't help but harbor some resentment towards the blond for being the cause of his caregivers' stress, unintentional as it may be.

For now, Harry decided to put himself aside, focusing solely on supporting Remus and Sirius only. Not for Malfoy, who was a posh git with a fabulous sense of style, the bestest of manners and brain which could compete with Hermione’s. That didn’t matter.

Though, when Sirius said he needed a drink, Harry couldn’t not agree. Even if he knew that he wouldn’t be getting anything more than a glass of some type of juice.

They all settled comfortably on the ancient couch in the living room, which despite its age still held its charm. The atmosphere in the room began to relax, becoming less rigid.

Remus sat in the middle, patiently waiting for his fiancé to return with their drinks and Harry's juice. Harry, sitting to his left, observed him closely, nervously fidgeting with his hands. Although he often received scoldings for it, he couldn't help but nibble nervously at his nails in that moment.

Remus glanced towards the kitchen island, where Sirius was busy preparing their drinks. With his lips slightly pursed, the black-haired man expertly combined some blackcurrant syrup, orange juice, ice cubes, and cranberry juice with gin. His fiancé looked away from him, reaching for the TV remote, and Harry adjusted his glasses, his attention instinctively shifting to the same item.

Simultaneously, Sirius leaned against the counter, his trembling hands covering his face, momentarily forgetting about their drinks.

“Damnit,” He cursed quietly, trying to control his breathing and keep it steady.

Harry pretended not to hear or see, as Remus shot him a worried glance.

Remus pressed his tongue against his teeth, trying to convey a sense of concern. "Hey, cub," he spoke gently, though a hint of tension laced his words. Harry had only recently learned to recognize that strain in the man’s tone.

The teenager emitted a small, thoughtful noise, indicating that he was listening. However, his eyes remained fixed on the television screen, even though his vision seemed blurred.

Glancing towards the kitchen again, Remus sighed softly upon hearing yet another muttered curse and the clink of glasses. It was clear that Sirius wouldn't be joining them anytime soon.

"There's.. Something we need to discuss concerning Draco," Remus began, pausing to observe his child's reaction. Harry tensed, but otherwise remained silent. "We want to know how you feel about him coming to live with us. What are your thoughts on that?"

Harry leaned back against the couch, emitting a small thud as he did so. His cheeks puffed out in a slight pout, causing Remus to chuckle affectionately. The teenager's glasses slid down his nose once more.

He whined softly, his troubled expression revealing furrowed brows and innocent eyes. Remus couldn't help but be reminded of James in their younger days, whenever they found themselves in trouble.

"It's... Er... I mean, things will change between us, right? You'll be busy with him, and..." Harry shrugged, mumbling something quietly, and Remus felt his heart break a little.

Harry was really nervous about Malfoy moving in with them, knowing how perfect the git was at everything. He excelled in all their classes, teachers loved him, and his manners were impeccable. He was basically the perfect child, and Harry knew it. After living with the Dursleys, he was scared that Malfoy would outshine him in Sirius' and Remus' eyes, just like Dudley in Petunia's and Vernon's...

"Well... He will need a lot of patience at first, but it won't make you any less important. However, there might be things we won't notice, so if something bothers you, just tell us, okay?" Remus asked, and Harry gave him a hesitant glance.

"Okay," the teenager nodded awkwardly, avoiding eye contact and focusing on picking at his nails again. Remus decided to overlook it this time.

He was about to say something else when Sirius entered the room, expertly balancing two drinks in one hand without spilling a drop of the orange juice.

"Hey," Sirius greeted with a grin, placing the % drinks on the coffee table. Then, he sat down next to Remus, wrapping his arm around his fiance's shoulder and handing the juice to Harry.

Harry took it but couldn't help rolling his eyes. "Really?" It was in a ridiculously colorful glass. Harry didn't even know where those items came from.

"Drink up, kiddo," Sirius said, resting his head on Remus’ shoulder with a wide smirk.

—————————

Mrs. Quinn, as Draco later learned that was the doctor's name, kept trying to engage him in conversations. She entered and exited the room, jotting down notes and delivering medication while adjusting his IV drips.

She explained that his arm had been fractured in multiple places, which necessitated the cast. His lungs were consumed by the burning sensation due to several broken ribs and his back was covered in prominent welts, explaining the pain.

Foggy thoughts occupied his mind, and his stomach still felt funny, burdened by heavy lungs. Though he wondered what happened, he didn’t have the strength to voice his concerns. He missed father and hoped that he would arrive soon to retrieve him, taking them both back home.

Draco shifted his gaze towards the sizable window adjacent to his bed, offering a view of the hospital's front and the bustling parking lot beyond. With half-lidded eyes, he idly observed people traversing the area and the hurried movements of ambulances.

The sun loomed high in the sky, indicating that it was likely late afternoon.

He closed his eyes once more, listening to the rhythmic beeping emitting from the various machines encircling him.