All Yours, Mate
Draco looked between the three Aurors while trying his best to hide his annoyance. He had to be babysat by these buffoons?! Berrycloth looked like he would rather be anywhere else, Draco absolutely could not let himself be caught with Weasley, with the history their families had, and Potter…
Potter.
Draco didn’t think words were needed as to why that was a bad idea.
And all of this because, what, they were concerned about his safety? He had just survived a gruesome murder attempt. If anything, that should speak volumes about Draco’s strength.
Because Dracowas strong. He would not break.
He stood with slightly wobbling legs as though somebody had half-heartedly cast a jelly legs jinx on him, and Potter reached out to grab Draco, thinking he would fall. Draco glared at him. He could stand just fine on his own, thank you very much.
He was also pointedly ignoring how much his hands shook. They had been shaking since he first woke.
“Nerve damage,” they said. “A side effect from having had to regrow your fingers.” Draco was furious. As though he needed another constant reminder of…
“There’s physical therapy, but it likely won’t be back to how it used to be.”
Draco knew hospital speak. It was just formality. ‘Likely’ actually meant ‘certainly’.
“So, er…” Draco shook his head, coming back to the present. The three Aurors were still standing there dumbly. Potter was speaking to him.
“Have you decided? If you want us to rotate or if you want just one of us assigned to you?”
Ah, yes. That.
Either be accosted by three people all day, rotating days, three people in his home, three people standing guard, three stupid Gryffindors. Or, just have one of them take the pleasure of breaking into his life.
Perhaps he would get to choose which one Auror he had to tolerate.
“Only one. I don’t need the added stress of having all three of you poking around my flat.” And he would choose Berrycloth, the one who seemed least likely to actually come barreling into Draco’s personal life.
Weasley clapped Potter harshly on the shoulder, letting out a huff of breath.
“He’s all yours, mate.”
What?
“Thanks, Malfoy. I have a pregnant fiancee I don’t fancy leaving.” And with that, Weasley was out the door, and Berrycloth was following close behind. Draco just stood with wide eyes, watching the whole ordeal unfold, utterly speechless.
And now he was alone in a room with Harry Potter. Again.
And he would be alone with Harry Potter. For who knows how long, now. Until these three idiots caught Draco’s assailant, probably.
Oh, Merlin… He’d be stuck with Potter forever.
“Why you?” Draco was sneering because he could not have had worse luck, truly. But even as he spat the question, aiming daggers into Potter’s very soul, something inside was telling him just how lucky he was. Harry Potter defeated the Dark Lord. He was The Saviour. They couldn’t have assigned a safer person even if they tried.
“Er, well-”
“Nevermind,” Draco snapped. “Save it. I imagine you drew the shorter straw, didn’t you. It doesn’t matter.” Draco was looking pointedly away, now, looking at the clothes that were folded neatly on a chair waiting just for him. He looked at the absurd jumper with a hood and a large pocket stitched to its stomach. Ridiculous. What kind of monstrosity do they have me wearing? Draco glanced up sideways to see Potter standing there dumbly, still, shifting on his seat and fiddling with the sleeve of his Auror robes. Draco huffed.
“Leave. I would like to get dressed and go home, now.”
Potter let out a small breath. “Right, I just… Right.” He nodded, stepping out the door.
Draco let out a deep sigh, reaching with thin, trembling hands to the pile of clothes. He had to admit they looked rather comfortable, no matter how uncouth they were. He was just glad to be out of the stingy hospital robes- they were more like a piece of cloth with some string to tie together, leaving his bum and his bits constantly exposed to the hospital’s cold- and, besides, he would be having himself a shower the second he got home and got rid of Potter for the rest of the day. Then he could burn the bloody things he was wearing, the impossibly soft jumper-with-pockets and the even softer stretchy trousers. Then, he would sleep away the rest of his miserable, utterly treacherous life.
They got back to his flat relatively quickly after St. Mungo’s officially discharged him under strict directions to ‘take it easy’. As though Draco were planning on going dragon-riding any time soon, if ever. Draco scoffed at those instructions. At this point, the only daring thing he might ever do was pitch himself off a cliff. That didn’t sound too bad. All he’d have to worry about was making it to the nearest mountainside without being swept up again by…
Potter was stumbling and stuttering like an utter fool as Draco stepped over the threshold of his small, dingy flat. The smell of dust that tickled his nostrils was enough for him to twitch. It’s been too long since I cleaned.
“So, er, I’m sure you’re aware of the Ministry’s offer to move the two of us to a more… remote, location. One with accommodations for the both of us to sleep, where, hopefully, you’re less likely to be found. I’m bringing all of my paperwork with us, so I only really need to leave if I’m with you or if there’s an, er… urgent situation-”
“Do you mean ‘if somebody else turns up dead’?”
“Yeah… That.”
Draco pursed his lips. “Why do you need to sleepwith me, though? Why not just be annoying by showing up every day, instead?”
Potter’s face flushed a bright red, and it was at that moment that Draco realized what his words had sounded like. He kept his expression schooled. If Potter was going to be immature about this, then he could suit himself. Draco wouldn’t be caught in such a position, however.
“Not… I mean, attacks are statistically more likely to occur after nightfall-”
“Then only show up in the evenings and stay sitting at my door-”
“Malfoy, can you shut up?” Potter's voice had raised slightly, and Draco stood back, eyes widening slightly. He didn’t think Potter would finally snap. He’d spent every day visiting Draco so timid and silent that Draco almost thought he didn’t have it in him anymore.
“I’ve been trying to be nice, and patient. You went through something awful. And I know the last thing you want right now is to have to deal with me, but it’s what you’ve got, okay? We’re trying to keep you safe. I’m trying to keep you safe. Don’t you think that deserves at least an ounce of respect?”
Draco felt as though he’d just been stunned, suddenly all too small to snap back and go on the defensive. Potter was panting slightly, looking at Draco like he had all of those years at Hogwarts. At least something is still the same. He clenched his jaw, feeling the slight pressure on his teeth as he clamped down.
“Leave.”
“What?” Potter leaned forward in an attempt to hear what Draco had, admittedly, mumbled so low he didn’t even know if he’d said it right.
“Leave.” He’d said it louder now, refusing to look at Potter.
“I thought you understood by now that I kind of can’t do that-”
“Just bloody stand outside the front door, then, so you can protect me, oh saviour,” he scowled.
To his relief, Potter stomped his way to the front door, huffing the whole way through. Draco took the liberty of slamming the door. He heard the thud of a body that signified Potter was sitting against the door. Good. Despite his aching need to just be alone, right now, he didn’t exactly trust that he was really safe alone in his flat. And he would take that to his grave.
He let his hand slip to the deadbolt lock, turning until he heard a silent click. Just in case, he told himself.
Draco took advantage of being home again to clean. He’d been itching to do it since the moment he got back. So, after a quick flex of his fingers, he grabbed his Muggle cleaning broom and got to sweeping. Then he would prepare to mop the house, dust the furniture, and replace his bedsheets.
While cleaning the house, he concluded that his assailant had to have been following him for enough time to know that he was in love with Astoria and to know where, exactly, he lived. Draco’s eyes kept straying towards the lock on his front door, assuring that it was locked, and, wait, if the knob is facing up and to the left, is it locked, or unlocked? Should I place a locking charm over the lock? Wizards can unlock Muggle locks easily. I know that he was a Wizard. What if he was watching me through the windows? Should I shut those, too? I should. I’ll do it right now so that I can be safe, then I’ll keep mopping… wait, how do I know they’re locked? I mean, actually? What if I think I locked it and I actually didn’t? Then he can come into the house and I won’t know until it’s too late and then I might actually die- I should try to open the doors and windows and see if they actually are locked. I wouldn’t know for sure, otherwise… wait-
Four hours later, Draco was wiping the sweat from his forehead, his flat freshly cleaned and his trembling fingers looking rawer than they already were. He sighed. Now, for a nice, long, hot shower.
But he couldn’t quite bring himself to do so until he checked, double-checked, triple-checked, and checked again that all of the doors and windows were locked-
Then, in the bathroom, after he’d already locked the door, gone nude, and turned on the water, he had to make sure, again, that door was locked, just in case.
And as he showered, he found he still couldn’t relax, because what if Potter was no longer standing at the door? What if he’d already been taken out and just lay there slumped against the wall? What if this time he couldn’t escape-
He watched the door for the most subtle of movements through a gap between the shower curtain and the edge of the shower.