Chapter 1
Harry James Potter had, perhaps naively, believed that he would be living as a regular young adult after he had killed Voldemort. He was quickly realising just how wrong he had been.
“Teddy, please,” Harry begged the infant in his arms, his eyes drooping with the effort to stay standing. His godson had been crying and fussing for no less than three hours with colic, and despite the many books and spells and potions he’d received from Molly Weasley, Harry couldn’t get him to stop.
Sighing, he shifted Teddy so that he was resting against his shoulder and made his way from the nursery to the front sitting room. Shortly after the Battle of Hogwarts, Hermione, Ron, Harry and Teddy had moved in to Grimmauld Place. It wasn’t the homeliest place on earth, but after much work from Kreacher and a few of the elves at Hogwarts, it was at least half-suitable for a baby. Harry had promised himself he’d have found a new place for them to live by now, but he’d simply been so busy with the war clean up and Teddy that he hadn’t had time.
Harry had cast a silencing spell hours ago and Hermione and Ron were asleep, the lucky bastards. To be fair, Harry knew that they were both more than willing to help with Teddy and had looked after him many times during the day while Harry was busy at the Ministry, but he couldn’t bring himself to accept the extra hands at night. Although Hermione would probably roll her eyes at him, Harry couldn’t help but feel that Teddy was his responsibility. Perhaps it was because they were both war orphans, or perhaps it was because promising to protect Teddy had been one of his lasts conversations with Remus, but Harry refused to be another absent godfather – not that it had been Sirius’ fault that Harry hadn’t met him until he was thirteen.
Suddenly, Harry felt the wards of Grimmauld Place shift. Frowning, he drew his wand, holding Teddy protectively. As far as he was aware, it was only the Weasleys, Hermione, Kingsley and himself who could see the house under the fidelius charm, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Making his way to the front door, he peeked through the spy hole.
“Malfoy?” Harry asked with shock, opening the door.
Draco Malfoy was paler than he’d been at the Death Eater trials. Swaying on the spot, he looked at Harry with surprise. “Potter,” he greeted quietly, before promptly collapsing.
Harry surged forward, ending the silencing charm and calling for Hermione and Ron. Malfoy’s shirt was drenched in blood. Quickly, he levitated Malfoy to the couch, calling as he did so for Kreacher.
With a pop, the house-elf appeared. “Master called?” he asked, slightly sardonically, before seeing the body lying on the couch. “Young Master Malfoy,” the elf whispered.
Harry handed off Teddy to him. “Can you pop him in his crib? Be careful,” Harry warned. He hadn’t really trusted Kreacher to hold Teddy yet, although he was fairly confident the elf wouldn’t hurt Teddy. The baby was a Black, after all. “Get some towels, a bowl of hot water and some bandages,” he added, ripping Malfoy’s shirt open without hesitation.
Harry blanched. Malfoy’s torso was in ribbons but he couldn’t see much through the blood. “Tergeo,” he muttered, running his wand over the chest, attempting to siphon off as much blood as possible. “Vulnera Sanentur,” he cast, watching the pale skin start to stitch together.
He heard Hermione’s gasp and didn’t turn around. “I need dittany and blood-replenishing potions,” he called out rather desperately.
Hermione nodded, accio-ing them at once. Ron rushed over grabbing some towels from Kreacher and pressed hard onto Malfoy’s chest. He blanched at the blood but kept the pressure on the wound. Hermione uncorked the dittany and passed it to Harry. Harry was poured the entire bottle onto Malfoy’s chest. “Vulnera Sanentur,” he cast again and again and again, his wand-hand shaking. Hermione started siphoning the blood off while Ron mopped it up.
They worked in silence, with only Harry’s mutterings and the pops of Kreacher apparating in with more towels and water. At some point, the blood stopped flowing, and Hermione started bandaging while Harry continued to stitch the skin together. By the time they were done, Harry’s couch was the colour of wine, Hermione, Harry, Ron and Kreacher were pale and panting, and Malfoy was still unconscious.
When they had caught their breaths, Hermione turned to Harry. “What happened?” she asked quietly.
Harry frowned. “I don’t know. I felt the wards shift, and then he was at the door. He looked surprised to see me though. I don’t think he knew I lived here. Before I could ask, he collapsed.”
Hermione nodded, sighing with exhaustion and leaning against Ron. Ron shifted to move an arm around her, but still looked a bit green. Harry groaned as he stood up. Quietly asking Kreacher to banish the couch, Harry levitated Malfoy to one of the guestrooms, careful to not disturb the bandages. Briefly, he wondered if he should contact the Order, or the Ministry, but frowned when he realised he didn’t know who he could tell. The Ministry would likely take Malfoy for questioning, but considering he was still unconscious, Harry wasn’t particularly keen on letting anyone near his patient. Sighing, he decided to wait until Malfoy woke up.
Placing Malfoy on the bed, he stood back to think. He called for Kreacher. “Keep an eye on him,” Harry told the elf. “If he wakes, come and get me. I’ll be in the nursery.”
Kreacher nodded, still looking a bit shocked. Harry could sympathise. An hour ago, he was begging an infant to go to sleep, complaining that his life was hard. Now, he had an injured death eater in his guest bed and a couch covered in blood.