Chapter Text
Draco had just finished with the last patient of his shift when he got called to an emergency scene at Kings Cross Station. Dozens of people had suddenly fallen to the ground near Platforms 9 and 10, unconscious, while others in the wider vicinity were left weak and disoriented. Usually the mediwizards handle the field work, but when traces of toxic fumes were found in the air and the victims couldn't be revived, Draco was called in to run diagnostics of the area.
Not only was he one of the top Healers at St. Mungo’s, he was also one of the youngest Potions Masters in Wizarding Britain. Blaise liked to remind him on occasion, usually when alcohol was involved, that nobody liked an overachiever. It was also usually after Draco had called him something along the lines of a vapid hedonist.
However, Draco liked to think of himself as simply thorough since potions and medicine do go hand in hand. That night his two areas of expertise had been put to the test as he stabilised multiple victims and coordinated with his lab team to collect as many samples as possible of the substance that was used to wreak the havoc.
When he had apparated and landed near the platform at Kings Cross, he instantly felt the mark on his left arm begin to burn. The Aurors had tried to keep the panic down by initially calling it an accidental gas leak, but Draco was familiar with the feeling of Dark Magic residue thanks to his cursed mark, and the air had been dripping with it. No matter what propaganda the Ministry and The Prophet liked to push, Draco knew the only place the Death Eaters went after the war was into the shadows to regroup. He knew there would always be young impressionable kids and disillusioned adults radicalised with fear and hate; the same formula generation after generation just rebranded and reused. He should know; it had worked so well on him.
After gathering samples and returning to St. Mungo’s he’d confirmed what had been obvious: that it had been an intentional leak. Illegal potions mixed with Dark Magic to disperse it into a gas form. From there he had begun the tedious work of putting together a counter potion, not moving beyond arm's reach of it until the ten hour brewing cycle was complete. It was a success and they began to administer it immediately to the unconscious victims waiting in beds across the emergency wing. Once he saw it begin to take effect he could breathe again and leave it in the very capable hands of the Healers that had actually been scheduled to work.
Standing in his office, closing the last buckle of his stiff leather healers bag ready to leave for the night, his attention was jolted by a loud commotion coming from the hallway. Groaning, he looked at his wrist, his watch showed it was close to midnight. He'd already done well past twelve hours of overtime and he was having trouble remembering when he even arrived at work, or when yesterday turned into today. Weary with fatigue and that particular sick feeling he always got after being around Dark Magic, he wasn’t sure he could handle another crisis without sleep, but the voices and heavy footsteps continued to get closer on the other side of the wall.
He was used to St. Mungo’s being a constant hive of activity, but this corner of the hospital was fairly low key, mainly staff offices used for research and a quiet place to think. He’d been in the lab most of the day and night and had only stopped by his office on his way out to put his research books away. He hadn’t seen a soul coming in, since his colleague’s offices had long been closed up for the night. The light coming from his own was the only one left that showed any sign of life.
He dimmed the light with his wand, hoping whatever was going by moved quickly past so he could slip out quietly and let somebody else deal with it. He’d be damned if he put himself back in the line of duty tonight. The sick and afflicted, or a colleague looking to pass the buck would have no mercy for a man trying to get home to his armchair and Ogden’s finest.
Standing quietly ready to make his move as soon as they passed, he heard a voice yelling in frustration. “Sir! I told you, this is a restricted area. You can't be back here!”
It sounded like Alex, one of the nurse aides from trauma. He chuckled to himself, surprised anyone made it past her. In the years they’d worked together he'd witnessed her use quite a few stunning spells to subdue frantic and unhinged patients without blinking an eye.
Faintly he heard a different voice. It must be the unfortunate soul she was chasing down. He listened closely. It sounded wrecked, like every word was a struggle to get out.
“But I… I need —to see him…” It was a deeper voice. A voice he knew.
He froze, now knowing why Alex didn't use a stunning spell.
The door to his office slammed open and Harry Potter came stumbling through.
***
Green eyes locked onto silver as Draco's entire body braced on instinct for the confrontation he knew must be coming, but everything happened so fast — Harry rushed toward him, red faced and sweating, wild hair a mess, arms reaching out clumsily toward him, but he didn’t look ready to fight. He looked…
Desperate.
His first thought was Harry must have been one of the victims from the attack at Kings Cross, but that couldn’t be right. He would have known if he was, the entire hospital would have known if he was, and the pressure would have been a hundred times worse while he was working on the antidote.
Taken aback by the man stumbling toward him, Draco reached a hand out to steady Harry — what else was he supposed to do? There was a crazed look in Harry's eyes and the hot skin under Draco’s hand was vibrating. He wasn’t sure if it was Harry’s heart or his own pounding so hard he could hear it echoing in the quiet room. This was a turn of events he didn’t see coming. For one thing Harry Potter did not look at him with desperation; anger, yes, apathy, yes, but desperation…
Fuck no.
He might have seen something close to this look once, through smoke and fire with his arm stretched out, screaming for Draco not to be an idiot and take his hand. It's twelve years later though and in the handful of times he’d seen Harry since nothing had left him with the impression he would willingly seek him out for help. No, the Harry he knew would set himself on fire before voluntarily coming to Draco for anything. He specifically remembered the first time he was a healer on duty in the emergency ward on a night Harry was rushed in, bloody and half conscious. He had taken one look at Draco in his fresh healers jacket and found the strength to spit out, “Fuck no, anybody but him.”
It was common knowledge Harry veered from expectations, eventually becoming a Curse Breaker, and the dangers of the job, and what Draco was sure was Harry's own brazen work ethic, had found him at St. Mungo’s on more than one occasion.
After the second attempt to do his job when Harry showed up and threw a fit at seeing him, he had told Potter to grow the fuck up. That was met with a slashed open Harry rushing him and putting a wand to his throat. Draco had just turned in the other direction and left him dripping out on the sterile floor for somebody else to deal with. There were years in between that when Harry had just disappeared, only to reappear back in Wizarding Britain a few years ago. Draco didn’t know why and he didn’t care to seek an answer.
He tried not to think about Harry Potter.
Now, in his dim office, Harry had fallen over his feet to get to him, his hands finding purchase on a stunned Draco's chest and his body going slack against him, head dropping to Draco’s shoulder as he whispered, “Draco,” over and over in what sounded like a mix of relief and distress. He dug his fingers roughly into Draco’s shirt, holding on — and Draco was completely thrown off balance.
It was distressing being this close to him, practically embracing, feeling the warmth of Harry’s breath when he tilted his head up, the stubble scratching against his cheek, and his magic, which seemed to be oozing out of him in waves and straight onto Draco's skin. Then there was his fucking name coming out of Harry’s mouth like that, which was making him feel a bit panicked.
He gently placed his hands on either side of Harry’s head. The way he was acting made him tread delicately like he might come apart if he was too rough. He lightly shook it, trying to get him to focus. “Potter, what's wrong? I need you to tell me what’s wrong.”
Harry didn’t respond, just looked at him, eyes darting across his face but never focusing, mouth parted, hands moving from Draco’s shoulders down his arms, clutching at Draco’s slim wrists that framed his manic face. This close Draco could see his pupils, glassy and dilated, only the slightest ring of emerald remained.
“Damn it Potter, tell me what's wrong. Let me help you,” he said louder, trying to jar him out of whatever had a hold of him, for him to say something besides panting his fucking name. Draco thought maybe he was just hallucinating from lack of sleep; it was the only reasonable explanation.
Through his buzz of adrenaline, he could faintly make out the muffled voice of Alex. He hadn't even registered that she'd been standing in the room. It roused him from the shock and his healer instincts started to kick in. He began to look for any sign of injury, moving Harry’s face side to side, running his hands down his body, feeling for the wetness of blood, trying to locate any abnormality.
Harry passed out.
***
“So, you want to tell me why your friend,” Draco pointed a finger at Harry who was sleeping soundly in a hospital bed, “decided to get fucked up on an illegal lust potion and stumble into my office.” —and focus all of that unhinged energy on me, he added to himself. He was standing, looking at Hermione, with his arms crossed over his chest trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Harry’s diagnostics and vitals were glowing as they hovered above his bed. One of the numbers was bright red showing he had two times the amount of lust potion a normal person could usually handle in their system without ending up in the Janus Thickey Ward, which explained the high fever and passing out. Giving him something to bring the fever down and a strong sedative helped even out his other vitals and had taken the edge off. All signs pointed to him being out of any real danger long term. Now it was just a waiting game to see what they were dealing with.
“You know he didn't do this on purpose.” Hermione stared back, in a jumper and trackpants, curly hair pulled back in a messy bun on top of her head. After Draco had called she’d rushed out of bed to get there to be with her best friend.
He could admit his bedside manner wasn’t the best right now. He ran a hand over his face. “I know he didn't,” he sighed, turning to face Harry who looked peaceful, his breathing shallow and his wild wavy hair fanned out on the pillow. Harry was only twenty nine but he already had grey hair streaked in with the black on his head and in the stubble on his face. Draco supposed it was fitting for someone who had accomplished more in twenty nine years than most in a lifetime.
“There’s a reason that shit is illegal,” he said. “When people end up at the hospital on something like that, nine times out of ten it’s not self induced.” Alcohol was also found in his system so Draco knew the logical conclusion; somebody had seen an opportunity to target Harry and took it.
“I know,” cringed Hermione. “Ron and his Auror partner are at the pub now,” she said. “They will find out who did this, and if they don’t, I will.”
Draco had seen Ron at Kings Cross the night before with the other Aurors. They had acknowledged each other in their usual fashion, a tight nod of the head. As wild as it was to admit, he was actually quite impressed by how good Ron was at his job, methodical and level headed. He would still put his money on Hermione though.
“He’s so careless sometimes,” she said, looking at her friend with concern and like she wanted to shake him awake at the same time. “I’m always on him about casting detection spells on his drinks when he’s out. You know how many people want a piece of him.”
Draco did know. Hero status and fame aside, Harry had grown into his looks with rugged abandon. He was having his own problems trying to forget the way the fit lines of his body had felt under his hands.
He shook his head at the thought.
“Look, he needs to stay here or with you until this stuff clears his system,” he said. “I can guarantee whoever did this to him didn't have good intentions, plus he won't be in his right mind to keep himself out of trouble, and...”
“Keep from humping everyone he comes into contact with,” she finished for him with a grin.
“Yeah, something like that,” he snorted.
It was also wild that he and Hermione were now friends. After one shame-filled apology and finding common ground in higher education, here they are, and he could admit she was not just a friend, but she was one of his favourite people. Even so, that had never softened him to Harry and he was itching to get home. He didn't know what to expect when Harry woke and he didn’t want to be here to find out. He could also still feel Harry's wand pressed against his throat and the power behind it waiting to be released.
Moving to gather his stuff he said, “I'm heading home. Please do try and resist your best friend if he attempts to hump you when he wakes. I’m not sure your husband would recover.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, I'll try. Although, it seems you're the only person he’s tried that with so far, so maybe that boyhood rivalry —obsession,” she coughed, “isn’t so buried in the past.”
Draco stopped with his hand on the door. “I’ve changed my mind, watching the Golden Trio implode in a sex scandal would be very entertaining, so please, by all means, do whatever you must to make that happen.”
Hermione just shook her head and laughed, but before he could open the door wide enough to exit, she stopped him. “I'm not going to assume to know all of Harry’s feelings,” she said, “or why he was so adamant to get to you tonight. From what the nurse said he made quite a scene. I mean it's pretty straightforward what lust potion does to a person, and since he’s moved home he hasn’t talked about you, but he doesn't get up and leave anymore like he used to when your name is mentioned, so maybe there’s a reason it’s you.” She shrugged.
Draco huffed a laugh at how ridiculous that sounded.
“Boyhood hostility,” he corrected, reminding her exactly what that obsession was on Harry’s part, “is a far stretch of a reason. Let's not overthink this. He’s going to be back to hating me soon enough. Obviously he wasn’t in his right mind so let's just leave it at that.”
Draco still wasn’t clear how this was going to affect Harry when he woke and he’d do what he could to help, but from a distance. For now, he was taking himself off the case.
“Okay, you're right,” Hermione said. “I guess what I'm trying to say is maybe deep down he’s changing his mind about you. ”
Draco couldn't help the laugh that came out. He highly doubted that.
“Are you sure you're not the one who’s been drugged?”
“Would explain why I put up with you. Seriously though,” she said, “thank you for helping him.”
“Yes, well, try and get some rest, and Merlin forbid don't tell Healer Ray how to do her job. She is actually trained to do it.”
She shoved him out the door.