Chapter 6
Harry landed on the 4th floor of St. Mungo’s, in a reception area reserved exclusively for high profile patients and ministry workers injured in the line of duty, namely aurors. Their arrival triggered a spell that sent a ball of light off to find the nearest healer. Malfoy clenched his hands in Harry’s robes to steady himself on landing. He looked up at Harry, and Harry could see Malfoy’s eyes were dilated, showing all black pupil. Malfoy shoved Harry away, before bending over and retching. There wasn’t much in his stomach to vomit, but it wasn’t from lack of effort.
Harry flicked out his wand, swiftly drawing three circles in the air before reciting, “Expecto Patronum!” His stag lept out of the wand tip, galloping circles around Harry and Malfoy. “Find Marge, tell her I’m at St. Mungos,” Harry commanded. The stag was off, Harry’s agitation giving it speed.
Then a healer arrived, with two trainees trailing behind her. The senior healer surveyed the scene. “Just the one injured? Any signs of what he was hit with?” She asked, her wand already out to cast diagnostics on Malfoy.
Harry was shaking his head. “Not a spell, I think it’s potion poisoning.” Harry grimaced. “We need to collect the vomit, for testing. It might tell us how recently the potion was consumed.” The healer nodded and sent a trainee for a jar.
Draco had stopped heaving, but now he just lay on the ground, his over-wide eyes staring blanking in the distance. His body was shaking, occasionally spasming. The healers’ diagnostic spells rolled out bright lights and sigils that Harry couldn’t understand, but he’d found himself at St. Mungo’s enough times that he knew it was bad.
The healer directed the two trainees with precision, the three working seamlessly to cast a stasis spell on Malfoy before levitating him onto a gurney. They took off for floor three, potions and plant poisonings.
When they got to the lift Draco began to spasm. The healers began casting spells to constrain and slow down potion effects. They weren’t trying to heal, only to minimize damage. Malfoy, always pale, looked ashen.
“Do you know what he took?” The mean healer asked. Her brow was sweaty with the effort of holding her spells.
Harry’s throat clenched. He had no proof, but… “Somnum potio.” The dream poison.
The lead healer paled, but her focus never wavered. She was ready when the lift opened, already shouting for a healer to kindly get their arse over and save this auror’s life.
Harry didn’t correct her. If asked, he’d say she moved too fast, the healers came too quickly, they had all whisked Malfoy into a patient room before Harry could tell anyone he wasn’t an auror. If pressed, Harry would say it was for the case.
“That better be your ghost, Harry!” Harry turned to see Marge striding towards him from the lifts. It was clear she had left in a hurry, having pulled her auror robes on over a striped pajama set. “We’re off duty and my bloody partner wouldn’t send a patronus summoning me to St Mungo’s as if he were dying if he wasn’t in actual peril.”
Harry pointed at the room filled with Healers trying to save Malfoy’s life. He licked dry lips, swallowed to clear a dry throat. Everything felt wrong, but he didn’t know how to say it. Instead he snarked, “Calm down, he could very well die and now you’ll feel awful if it happens.”
Marge stomped past him to peer through the window to the patient room. It took a moment, but then the healers stepped out of the way and revealed the profile of Malfoy, lying prone on the bed. “What did you do to Malfoy?” She actually sounded concerned.
“I think I might have saved his life,” Harry realized as he spoke. Then Malfoy began thrashing and the healers once again blocked their view of the patient.
Marge gasped, recognition coming as quickly to her as it had to Harry. “Is that… how did he get it?” the magic question. Where was Somnum potio coming from? It was so rare it had taken a year for healers and aurors to realize that the series of potion poisoning, and seemingly random murders might be connected. Not counting, of course, for when it was taken in such small doses that it didn’t poison the drinker. It just provided a heavy hallucinogenic effect. This took longer to uncover, because it was the children of the rich and powerful who were using the new drug and too many in power attempted to hide their indiscretions. Only when the drug was linked to theft of family heirlooms that no one should have known existed did those with influence begin to line up behind a proper investigation. By now, Marge and Harry were too familiar with the effects of the potion, having arrived too late to help multiple victims.
“I found him at Halford Selwyn’s house,” Harry said.
Marge whipped round. “You did what?”
Harry just stared at her, not justifying what he’d told her.
Marge stomped up to Harry to stand nose to nose with him. “Don’t you ignore me, tell me what mad scheme you came up with that’s going to ruin this case.”
Still, he stared at her with hard, defiant eyes. “You could have died in that fire, just like me.” he growled. “You’re certain it wasn’t Nibill’s magic. Whoever it was, I got a sense of it. All I need is Selwyn to cast one spell at me and I’ll know for sure. Don’t you want to know?”
Marge seethed. “I put up with your hotheaded antics, but you’re going to flush the whole case down the toilet. We are off duty! What if the man could cast that fire spell, what was to stop him from doing it again when you trespassed in his home, without backup?”
“At least we would have known! Then you could use your big brain like you’re so good at and find the evidence to prove it. Anyway, it worked!” Harry pointed at the patient room again. “Right there in that room is direct evidence linking Somnum potio to Selwyn!”
Marge flexed her hands, resisting an urge to do something violent. Instead she turned on her heel and began to pace. “What exactly did you see? Did you see him drink anything that could have been the potion?” Marge saw Harry wince. “So you didn’t see anything?”
Harry rushed to defend himself. “He was in the house when I got there. He walked out of a side room and was stumbling around. He was sweaty, his pupils dilated. He kept looking around the room like he was seeing things. They’ll do a blood test to prove what he took, and when can test the vomit from his reaction to apparating. It’ll show it wasn’t in his system long enough to digest fully.”
Marge stared at him like he grew a third eye. Her voice was too steady as she said, “That’s not enough evidence to do a damn thing.”
Harry growled, stalking off himself. He ran his hands through his hair in frustration. “You don’t understand. Selwyn didn’t want him to leave. He was so angry when Malfoy came out, and I had to physically restrain him when Draco tried to leave.”
“Physically restrain him? Harry, you had no jurisdiction,” Marge was too worried to even sound angry now.
“No, it wasn’t like that. He wasn’t going to let Malfoy leave. We’re allowed to help someone when they’re being kept against their will. Malfoy was trying to leave,” Harry insisted.
Marge frowned deeply. Sharp eyes flickered over Harry’s face, assessing. “That’s what a pensive would show? What you’d say on veritaserum?”
Harry wanted to yell at her for not trusting him. He wanted his word to be enough for her. But he hadn’t chosen to partner with Ron, when the offer came. He hadn’t chosen a newer trainee who’d jump to do anything Harry said. He’d chosen Marge, who was better than him at connecting details and never let him move an inch on a case until she could sell it forward and backwards even to a corrupt wizengamot led by dark wizards, because for half her career that was what she had to do.
“I know you need more to do anything on the case, but for now all I can promise is a clean pensive showing Malfoy sick and trying to leave that house, while Selwyn tried to stop him. That can’t prove the case, but it’s got to be enough to forgive me for keeping Malfoy alive,” Harry said.
Marge glared with a heat that only came out when Harry had truly fucked up. She brought both hands to her hips and stared hard, thinking harder. She lifted a hand to point at him, almost speaking, before throwing both hands up and storming back down the hall before she began to pace again.
It wasn’t really an opening, but Harry didn’t have time to wait for one. “I’m sorry!” he shouted after her. Harry recognized that while he probably, definitely was in the right, he had also likely gone too far playing by his own rules. Marge made a rude gesture at him, but did walk back over, now with shoulders hunched, in addition to hands on hips and a dark glower. Somehow it felt like an opening. “I acted rashly, and I’m lucky I didn’t get killed,” Harry said, believing it enough that it may even have been half convincing. “And I probably could have said you had time to put clothes on before meeting me at the hospital.”
“Damn right you could have,” Marge grouched. She turned her glare to Malfoy’s hospital room door and they both stood in silence. The narrow window gave a slim view of healers still frantically trying to save Malfoy’s life. “We don’t know what he was even doing there, Harry,” Marge cautioned.
Something heavy lurched in Harry’s gut. “I saw him at the ministry yesterday,” he said softly. Marge looked at him but he wasn’t willing to expand. There was no reason for it, but he felt more guilty about having ignored Malfoy’s beseeching gaze than he did about Marge having to smooth out all the ways he might be on the line for breaking auror code.
“What was he doing there?” Marge prodded.
Harry frowned, uncertain. “He was talking to his parole officer.” Not a lie.
Marge swore. She paused to stare at the ceiling a long time. “I honestly think the kid had no where else to go.”
Harry could remember too clearly what it felt like to have Malfoy’s eyes on him as he walked away, pretending he hadn’t even seen him. Malfoy had been waiting for Harry, obviously. It would have been the natural place for him to turn to first for help. Harry glanced again to the healers treating Malfoy. They were good, and Harry had gotten Malfoy here fast. Harry forced himself to believe Malfoy would make it.
A thought occurred to him. “Why would Selwyn give him enough of the potion to OD? There are easier ways to kill a wizard.”
All of Marge’s frustration and anger disapparated, to be replaced by the fierce analysis she brought to a case. “Would he have taken it himself by accident?” Marge asked, all serious.
Harry tried to be objective. “I… don’t think so. He was cautious. Deliberate. It took a lot of encouragement to get him to act impulsively.”
Marge hmmed. “Plus, he was clueless about Chester’s illicit activities. He wouldn’t have just stumbled onto a rare narcotic. Is there anywhere else he might have gone first? Before Selwyn?”
Harry couldn’t meet Marge’s eyes. He had gone somewhere else first, and Harry had ignored him. “I think he only went to Selwyn because he kept hitting on Malfoy,” he posited. The same reason he’d gone to Harry. Harry cleared his throat. “Um, I think it’s in the records. There are plenty of conversations between the two. If Malfoy was desperate, he probably thought he could…” Harry trailed off.
Marge was nodding. “But Selwyn would be suspicious. Malfoy was conveniently out of the apothecary for the raid, then we took him in and released him, then he showed up at Selwyn’s door asking for help. I sure as shit wouldn’t take him at his word. Somnum potio has shared ingredients with veritaserum, and we’ve hypothesized that’s why it was used on some of the victims. A chance to question them without the victims having reliable memories after the fact. Malfoy couldn’t give us a pensive memory of the event if he tried.”
“Selwyn wouldn’t want to kill Malfoy, though,” Harry was certain. He recalled the way Selwyn watched Malfoy, the persistence with which he sought Malfoy’s affections. It just didn’t make sense for Selwyn to risk Malfoy’s life. “There’s an antidote,” Harry said, in sudden realization.
Silence stretched to reflect the certainty they both felt on the topic. An antidote would be game changing.
Finally, Marge broke the silence. She sighed too heavily, then said, “Harry, you can’t be on this case.”
Harry whirled around to her. “What?”
“There’s no way I can sell it. Selwyn would have us wrapped up in red tape if you went anywhere near him or his associates. You broke protocol, likely he could get our whole case thrown out on the basis that you’re biased or unstable. We can’t fall back on the handbook when you ignore it,” Marge said.
“That’s not fair,” Harry snapped. “I carried this case on my back. We wouldn’t have half the evidence we do if it wasn’t for me.”
Marge shrugged, then gestured to the hospital room. “Sure, but that was before our star witness was the guy you fucked, then pretended to be on duty in order to trespass and heroicly rescue on behalf of the auror’s office. Sorry kid, but you’re screwed.”
Harry was seething. “This isn’t your call, Marge.”
“Sure it is,” she said, nonchalant. “You stay the fuck out of this and let me find a way to wrap it up, and I back you up when you make excuses. Or, you fuck up this case, and I tell everyone what a selfish unstable prick you are.” she glanced at Harry. “Don’t look so put out. We’ll give you a special project.” She nodded at Malfoy’s room. “You pulled him back into this, you can take lead on getting him to a safe house before Selwyn recognizes what a liability he is and finishes the job, eh?”
Harry went pale. Marge was absolutely serious. This was her revenge for him being a shit partner. Practical and brutal, just like Marge.
Marge patted his shoulder, a tad too condescendingly. “Good lad,” she said. “I’m going to go home and get started then. Don’t message me unless someone dies.”
Harry stood alone in the hallway, with only the occasional healer passing by. He tried to be angry at Marge, but it was fleeting. Without anger to cling to he felt hollow. The only thing inside him was a twisting sensation he was afraid to name.
He watched the thin hole in the door, barely letting himself blink in case he missed a development. Gradually, the frantic spell casting mellowed. Diagnostic charms came back calm. They’d stabilized him. The healers eventually came out, updating Harry on their efforts to save the “auror”. They asked for details, Harry told them to message Marge. She’d be pissy, but would be better at smoothing out a story. The healers finally left, tracking charms up in their wake to notify staff should any part of Malfoy’s recovery go wrong.
Then Harry was alone, save for an unconscious Malfoy, and all Harry’s own thoughts.
Now that Harry wasn’t moving forward towards the next goal, he didn’t know what to do. It had been the same yesterday, when Marge insisted that he take another day off. Harry didn’t know what to do with down time. He could still hear the ringing of the explosion that rocked the apothecary. He kept twitching from a need in the back of his mind to set another shield. Quick instincts built from a life of people trying to kill him had paid off in the moment, saving his entire team, and despite what everyone said Harry didn’t feel like it was time to turn those instincts off. Marge blithely said he was rattled. Go home, she had said.
He had been leaving, maybe even would have gone home, when he saw Malfoy. Today the healers must have cleaned Malfoy at some point, they had cleaned off the grime that coated Malfoy when Harry last saw him in the ministry. Harry knew Malfoy would appreciate it. He had been prim in school, and did his best to maintain an air of propriety even as a shop clerk. Harry hadn’t liked seeing Malfoy so unkept, knowing that he wouldn’t have wanted it for himself.
The protocol was very clear. Once Harry’s part in the investigation was over, he disconnected from the mark and did not engage further. Yet, there in the ministry atrium, Harry almost had stopped to talk to Malfoy.
The moment he realized what he was doing, Harry turned away and didn’t look back.
Instead of going home he said yes to a drink with his co-worker. He stayed out after she left and drank until everything in him was numb. When he got home he ignored whatever noise or mess his flatmates created this time. He didn’t remember falling asleep.
He had felt miserable. The hangover potion cured him physically but he still felt bad. There was a pit in his stomach too similar to guilt. Harry didn’t feel guilty about his job. Sure, he was an ass, but it was always for a reason. He considered why he might have been feeling guilty and before long he had a whole list of reasons. All his friends who had died, back at Hogwarts. The friends who lived, who he never saw. How he was a shit partner who would have been kicked out of the aurors if Marge wasn’t constantly covering for him. How, despite months of investigation, he let the suspect get away.
He’d decided he could do something about that last one. Even though he’d been told to take the day off, Harry had put on his auror robes and sought a way to do something to make up for everything he’d failed at.
It wasn’t supposed to lead here, to Harry standing vigil over Malfoy.
Harry didn’t even like Malfoy. He’d never liked Malfoy. The guy was a ponce back in school, and was a needy ball of anxiety now. Still, the man could make being passed out half dead in a hospital look good. His lithe limbs and sharp angles were striking. Unconscious, the lack of self confidence didn’t seek to hide any part of him. Harry did feel bad for noticing. It was one thing to use sex to infiltrate an illegal potions ring, and another to be lusting after a bloke who got poisoned because he trusted you and you fucked him over.
And seriously, Harry didn’t like him. Malfoy was a bore. If given the chance he’d prattle on and nothing he said had any substance. Harry thought had thought he was bright back in school, in a slimy sort of way, but how bright could he be if he’d been living with Nibill for years and never realized he was helping to deal narcotics to dark wizards. He never even tried to be witty and hesitated before cracking the lightest of jokes. He always watched Harry closely afterwards, gauging his reaction. It was unnatural.
Plus he was a bit pathetic. It had been too easy to seduce him. Harry might be a charming guy, but what self respecting death eater would buy what Harry was selling. Sure, there had been a few hiccups. Harry is the first to admit Malfoy had caught him by surprise from time to time when Malfoy expressed a desire to end their affair. The fact that it didn’t stick just showed Malfoy lacked conviction.
Malfoy definitely lied. It was so stupid what he chose to lie about. Harry did care that he hadn’t tried Indian food before, who needed to lie about that? Malfoy wasn’t even good at lying. His eyes would go wide or he’d get twitchy. That had changed since school. Malfoy lied confidently in school, with the smugness of someone who knew he’d get away with it. There was no smugness to Malfoy lying about the hours he worked (too many) or the money he earned (practically nothing). There was no aloft pride in how he omitted speaking about the advanced spell work it would have taken him to transform what Harry assumed were storage boxes into a full room’s furniture.
The fact is, Harry knew Malfoy never showed enough of his true self for Harry to actually know him. You can’t like someone you don’t know. The only time the walls ever seemed to come down between them was when it came time for sex. They were very compatible at sex. Harry could put up with going back every time by thinking about how each dull date would eventually end with Harry and Malfoy wrangling each other into bed, aggressively discarding the social barriers each erected and finally being present and so painfully, openly honest, for just that moment of pleasure.
Hardly anything in Harry’s life felt as real as sex with Malfoy did. Harry supposed he liked Malfoy for that.
Gods, even Harry knew how fucked up that was.
Harry tried very hard not to think about it. He didn’t do any of the healthy, meditative exercises or self reflection actions that Hermoine had tried to teach him over the years. He just chose a spot across the room to stare at instead of his unconscious fake ex boyfriend, and aggressively shoved down every feeling that threatened to make itself known. He harnessed his experience as an auror to stay focused and awake, treating the hours of waiting like a stake out. He watched healers come and go, carefully monitoring them in his best attempt to make sure nothing was being done to Malfoy. The night passed slowly, but it did pass.
And in the morning Draco woke up.
It was sudden. One moment, Draco was still and sickly, the next his eyes were open and he was struggling to shift himself on the bed. Harry saw his movements a moment before the monitor charms began to flash and a gentle bell chimed out to summon a healer.
Harry was instantly on his feet, reaching to steady malfoy.
Malfoy looked frantic, his eyes turning every which way as he tried to make sense of his surroundings. He caught sight of Harry, and for a brief moment he looked relieved. Harry saw the exact moment the relief turned guarded. Malfoy had remembered something, too many possibilities to know the exact trigger, and then he was swatting Harry’s hand away while trying to crawl in the opposite direction. Harry had to swoop in and grab him before he fell off the hospital bed.
“Calm down! You’re going to fall over and get hurt. Calm down and I’ll let you go,” he urged to an increasingly frantic Malfoy.
The healer walked in to see Harry trying to untangle himself from Malfoy, without letting Malfoy’s panic topple him onto the floor.
“Whoa!” the healer said, stepping in to steady Malfoy enough that Harry could back off and give them space. “Steady now, can you take a deep breath? I’m just going to cast a quick diagnostic spell. There you go. Can you tell me your name?”
Harry was back at Malfoy’s bedside. “He’s with me. Auror Campbell should be submitting the necessary documentation.”
Harry thought he heard Malfoy whimper a little.
The healer was eyeing him suspiciously. “It’s standard protocol, Auror Potter. I need to examine the patient.”
“Examine away. But let’s keep it focused on the diagnostics, and get it wrapped up quickly,” Harry insisted.
The healer glanced between the stone faced auror and what was quickly turning into a cowering patient. He decided to follow the auror’s lead, and started a quick set of spells. A self-writing quill took notes on a patient chart across the room. As the spells faded, the doctor pulled out two vials and tried to step forward to administer a potion to Malfoy.
Again, Potter intervened. “That won’t be necessary,” Potter said, one hand pushing the vials back.
The healer bristled. “You are not a medical professional. I assure you, these are necessary to this auror’s well being.”
Malfoy nearly squawked. Potter ignored him.
“Go ahead and write out the potions and treatment regimen. I’ll take it from there,” Potter said. Potter didn’t give him space to argue. Instead, he walked around the hospital bed until he could stand next to the healer and gently guide him out of the room, all the while making reassuring noises and promising to follow written directions to a T. Potter spelled the door locked once the healer was back in the hall.
“Right then,” Potter mumbled, turning back to Malfoy. Malfoy said nothing. He stared wide eyed and slack jawed, glancing from Potter to the door the healer had been led out of, then back again. Potter itched to snap his fingers or otherwise bring Malfoy to attention, but he forced himself to calm down and give Malfoy time to gather himself. This was just another job, and Malfoy was still the mark. “I can see this is confusing for you. You doing okay there, Malfoy?”
Malfoy’s eyes were doing their best attempt at bulging out of his head while he gaped at Harry. Not good, then. Harry didn’t push it. Being patient now would save him a headache later. The healer had left the diagnostic spells running overhead, out of Malfoy’s sight. They kept slipping from the warm blue to a hazy yellow, before calming again just as Harry started to really worry. He was awake and in recovery, but not as stable as Harry hoped. Probably the prescribed potions would have helped, if Harry could only trust them.
Malfoy shifted on the bed. His hands clutched until they found either end and he used the edges to unsteadily push himself up and back to sit against the bed rest. He pulled up his legs, hiding his body behind them. His wary gaze stayed focused on Harry. Finally, with a raspy voice, Malfoy said, “Have the healer come back.”
Harry half nodded his head at the words. “I hear you want the healer back. Can you say more about why you want to see the healer?”
“No, I don’t want to talk to you I want to talk to the healer,” Malfoy insisted.
Harry nodded fully this time. “You don’t want to talk to me, that makes sense,” Harry said, focusing on acknowledgement. He took a step further away from Malfoy, which also took him further from the door. He was also now right next to the medical chart. “And you want to talk to a healer,” he said as he picked up the chart. Harry glanced at it, but it was highly technical and he’d never bothered to study that sort of thing. “You’d probably understand this better than me, do you want to see it?” Harry asked, indicating the chart.
He could see Malfoy’s thoughts warring with each other across Malfoy’s face. Harry could be patient and proved it. As Harry had hoped, Malfoy’s curiosity won out and he eventually nodded. He was still wary, though, so Harry approached slowly and stopped as far away as he could. He leaned over to put the chart on Malfoy’s hospital bed, barely within reach, and then just as slowly backed up to where he’d started. When Harry was once again across the room Malfoy reached out and snatched up the chart. He switched to sitting cross legged so he could lay the chart across his lap. His eyes scanned it rapidly. It took a moment, but as he began to comprehend what he was reading the diagnostic charts started to slip back into warning yellow.
“A lot to take in, then?” Harry asked, going for distraction.
Malfoy’s eyes snapped back up to him. He was somewhere between scared and angry. “There’s a strict schedule recommended here to administer a number of antidotes so that they don’t compound reactions and kill me. I sure wish there was a healer to talk to right now instead of… what is it you’re doing here, AurorPotter?”
There was something about how he said it. Beyond an emphasis that Harry didn’t have the medical training needed to sort through the mess of prescriptions. More like… Harry glanced at himself and saw he was still in his auror robes. He looked quite official.
He looked back up at Malfoy and smiled grimly. “I’m trying to make sure you leave this hospital safely,” he said, not lying.
Malfoy’s flat stare would have been more intimidating if he didn’t also look queasy. The yellow warning was shifting towards orange.
Harry’s hands twitched, but he didn’t move further. Harry knew this potion. He’d encountered dozens of its victims as they recovered from bad encounters. If they made it through the initial hazard they were almost certainly in the clear. The additional treatment would prevent the rare complication, but under the best of circumstances it was likely riskier than no action at all. The potion was too complex, and treating individual symptoms could overload a witch or wizard’s system. Harry waited out his nerves, and Malfoy waited out his discomfort. Gradually, the diagnostics faded back to a light blue.
Malfoy regained his composure only to bury his face in his hands. “I don’t want you here. Please go away.”
A tightness squeezed in Harry’s chest. He suspected his attempts at de-escalation were going to reach their limit as soon as Malfoy realized Harry would refuse to leave. He took a chance and shared more.
“Malfoy, this isn’t what you want to hear but there’s a good chance you’re in danger beyond any side effects of recovering from this potion poisoning. You were dosed with an illegal hallucinogenic potion we have been investigating for nearly a year. We believe you’re the closest link to the source of this potion, and I suspect whoever administered it to you will decide to eliminate whatever loose ends they can to stymie the investigation. It’s my job to stay here and make sure you’re safe, and I can’t let any healer I won’t personally vouch for treat you.”
Malfoy blinked slowly, then again rapidly, then he looked away from Potter and stared at nothing for a long moment. His motions remained sluggish as he pushed the chart off his lap and pulled his legs back up against his chest, wrapping his arms around them.
“It’s your job…” Malfoy mused. He glanced at Potter then away, his cheeks red. “That’s really why…” he pursed his lips, then decided not to continue the thought. He was squeezing his legs so tightly it must hurt. Finally he settled on, “You must be mistaken. I didn’t take any potion. I don’t have anything to do with your job, anymore.” His voice was stilted but resolute.
Harry cleared his throat awkwardly. His face felt hot and he worried he was blushing, too. There were times Harry took a lot of shit for how he did his job, even from Marge who knew how effective he was at his work, but Harry didn’t get embarrassed. He was good at his job. It was because he was so very, very good at it that Harry slept soundly at night and didn’t dwell on what it meant to folks like Draco Malfoy, who just now would not meet his eyes.
“This isn’t an interrogation, Malfoy. We have tests that show you had the potion in your system, and I don’t think you knowingly took it,” Harry said.
Draco shook his head. “No, that couldn’t be it. I was just sick. You wouldn’t know, but I was very weak. From the elements and the hunger.”
Harry wanted to be angry at Malfoy for obfuscating, but something in what he said sounded too honest.
“C’mon, Malfoy, I saw you at Selwyn’s house. I know this potion, and you were high on it. I don’t even need you to tell me you know how he gave it to you, I just need you to agree to get out of here and go to a safe house so he can’t find you,” Harry pleaded.
Now Draco did look at him. “You know, Auror Campbell threatened me with Azkaban to get me to comply. Will you do that next?”
This time it felt like rocks in Harry’s stomach.
Draco continued on, conversationally. “You mentioned you did your time in parole. Do you remember what our contracts say about illegal potions usage?”
“I don’t think you took it on purpose!” Harry insisted.
Draco looked away again and shrugged. He rested his head on his knees and stared at the wall. “I didn’t take anything at all. I’ll swear to it. If you put me on veritaserum again then I’ll say under oath I practiced occlumency as a child, and when Umbridge gave me veritaserum to swear I was loyal to her I was able to lie. Nothing I say afterwards will be admissible anyway. Worse still, they’d have to throw out anything useful you have me on record for saying already.”
That was the sort of nonsense, over the top thing a suspect would say when desperate to get out of something, but, more importantly to Harry, it sounded true. “Gods, Malfoy, I don’t know where to start with that.”
Malfoy pointed at the door. “Start by leaving,” he suggested.
Harry gave in and finally groaned in frustration. “Don’t you get it? I’m trying to save your life here!”
“I don’t believe you,” Malfoy responded.
Harry tried to reign in his emotions, he really did. He gripped his hands into fists and held them at his hips while squeezing his mouth shut in a pinched expression long enough to think. He tried to be transparent again. “Malfoy, I’m not allowed to lie to you. It’s literally in the handbook. You’re, well, this is going to sound horrible, but you were my target for the investigation while I was under cover. The ministry has, like, outdated and inadequate guidelines around consent, but basically as long as I didn’t lie to you I could go anywhere you let me and collect evidence, but, like, it doesn’t turn off. Until this case is over. I can’t lie to you once else all the evidence gets thrown out permanently. I’m telling you I think your life is in danger because I think someone is going to try to kill you very, very soon.”
Malfoy sat somehow more rigid. His voice was really soft when he asked, “How do I know that’s not a lie?”
In a way, this one was easy. Harry reached into the inside pocket of his auror robe and pulled out a shrunken version of the auror's handbook, which itself was mandatory to carry around. Sometimes it felt like there were rules for the sake of rules. Harry unshrunk the book and opened it. He got along with the book well enough that it opened to the exact page Harry needed. Harry went for it and walked up to Malfoy’s hospital bed again, book outstretched.
Malfoy took it just because it was offered to him. He held it, his arm still outstretched towards Harry. He didn’t read it. Harry’s offer was enough to convince Malfoy it was real. “You had to be lying,” Malfoy whispered. “You said so many things, you said we were…” he trailed off.
Harry stared at the floor. “I didn’t say it, I just implied,” he explained.
There was a long pause before Malfoy said, “Oh.”
Harry looked up. Merlin’s beard, Malfoy was crying. Fuck, no. This was bad. Harry did not sign up for having to watch his ex fake boyfriend realize just how prominent the “fake” was in that description. Now Malfoy was making silent little choking sobs, one hand covering his face as he tried to hide his breakdown from Harry.
Harry looked up at the ceiling. He could feel his face flaming. He was beet red. His pulse was racing. The rocks lurching in his stomach were boulders now. Gees, he felt like he might even be sick. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go down. It was meant to be a clean break where he could forget the person was real, reducing them just to a file number and closed case report that detailed Harry’s exceptional service.
“I, well I actually do wish I could give you time to, you know, process all of this,” Harry was stumbling, “but us coming in here was suspicious to begin with, and then me kicking the healer out was probably a red flag if anyone was watching. Now that you understand how serious this is, please agree that I can take you somewhere safe.”
Malfoy tried harder to clamp down on the tears. He hiccuped twice, then seemed to get himself under control. “You keep asking,” he said. “Is this one of those, what did you call it, ‘outdated and inadequate guidelines around consent’?”
Harry winced. “You could say that,” he muttered. “If I were arresting you I could just arrest you, but I can’t take you in for your protection without your consent, or, barring that, an order from the wizemagot. Even with a wizemagot order, I’d have to record where I had permission to take you, which can really undermine the whole ‘secret location’ thing, and right now I’m talking too much.”
It was true. If anything, Harry’s words were talking Malfoy out of agreement.
“I’m not going with you,” Malfoy said solidly. “I didn’t take an illegal potion so I don’t need your protection!” he lied. “Just let me talk to the healer and I’m sure I can clear this all up.”
Harry had a suspicion that by “clear this all up,” Malfoy was beginning to mean, “talk them into destroying the medical test results providing he had taken an illegal potion in the hopes Marge hadn’t yet secured copies.”
“What If I agree I won’t tell anyone you took the potion?” Harry threw out as a wild card.
“What?” Malfoy asked, baffled.
“You’re lying about the potion thing because you’re worried about your parole. Cool, I get it. I’ll agree to not tell anyone you took the potion, even though it was totally not your fault and you shouldn’t be blamed for it, and you agree to come with me immediately so you don’t get murdered while trying to stay out of prison.” Harry didn’t need to tell anyone Malfoy took the drug, he would just trust that Marge was too much of a hard ass to let the evidence get away.
Malfoy gawked at him. “I didn’t take a potion!” he still insisted.
Harry rolled his eyes. “I can’t lie to you Malfoy, so I can’t agree with you. But I have no issue going in front of whoever you need me to talk to and insisting you did nothing that broke your probation while refusing to answer any direct question about whether or not you ingested an illegal poison. In fact, I’ll promise to do my best to convince everyone to let all of this go and not even look into whether they may have been a parole violation, as long as you agree to go with me right now to a safe house and stay there until Marge, until Auror Campbell, says we can leave.”
Malfoy didn’t want to agree to this. He wanted to dawdle and fidget and bite his lip and crawl away from Harry, then stand up and start running, and keep running until Harry was a distant memory. Frankly, Harry deserved that. This was too good of an offer though. So what Malfoy said was, “Okay. I’ll go.”
Harry sighed in relief. “Great,” he said. He stepped closer to Malfoy than either probably wanted, but he ignored his discomfort and focused on coaxing Malfoy into standing. Malfoy was recovering, but he wasn’t out of the woods. Nearly as soon as he got to his feet he staggered, leaning hard on Harry for support. Harry shifted so he could balance Malfoy on his left, his arm wrapped around Malfoy’s wrist, and hold his wand out on his right. Harry took a moment to cast a few basic defensive spells. “It’s okay, I’ve got you. We just have to make it to an apparition point.”
Harry unlocked the door and led them to the hallway. Together, they trudged slowly, back towards the elevator they’d come in the day before. It was quiet in the hall, their footfalls the loudest sound while they started walking.
They were nearly to the vestibule in front of the elevator when Harry heard the healer calling. He paused long enough to turn, seeing the same healer who’d visited when Malfoy woke up. He was an older man, now rushing down the hallway with his wand drawn. “Where do you think you’re going?” the healer shouted. Harry kept walking, now trying to guide Malfoy while walking backwards and not facing Malfoy or the elevator. “Stop! You can’t leave yet. He’s gravely ill. Don’t be foolish,” the healer was shouting. Harry tried to move faster. Malfoy was just stepping into the wider open space when something registered with Harry. Harry didn’t have time to think. His spell casting was more natural than breathing, more natural than anything. He had a shield in place and a counter curse sailing through the air before he intellectually recognized the threat that had been waiting, hidden behind the edge of the wall, right at the entrance to the vestibule.
Harry’s body-bind hit the woman, trapping her in motion before she could cast a second spell. The first curse bounced off Harry’s shield without causing damage. Harry glanced at the woman, she looked familiar. A second later he placed her as one of the two assistant healers who had been there when Harry arrived on the fourth floor. He had been planning to return to four to leave the way they came. Not anymore.
A quick glance in every direction showed the path clear. The healer running towards them had stopped in his tracks, still demanding information but no longer insisting Harry let him examine Malfoy.
Harry took one more step towards the elevator. It was probably far enough away from the rooms that he wouldn’t interrupt any healing happening there. There were wards here to prevent apparation, but nothing like Hogwarts. For Harry, breaking through them was easy. In the moment he had pure determination. The threat had been confirmed as real, and he wanted to Draco Malfoy out to safety.