Losing Harry Chapter 28
Story: Losing Harry
Chapter: Twenty-Eight
Word Count: 5,660 (chapter only)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild language;; occasional and/or eventual strong language, scenes of a sexual nature, and mild violence
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Genre: Mystery, Drama, Romance
Summary: A wizard has disappeared, and the Ministry is refusing to investigate; Albus Potter is in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and Ginny and Hermione are arguing over Harry's peculiar behavior. All is not as it should be. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Notes: Written in British English. Huge thanks to cymonie for her betaing!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 |
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Things in the house were distinctly uncomfortable.
Harry continued his research during the nights, and spent three days straight tailing Landon. He also started a new daily routine of Apparating to random locations, in the hopes that someone would recognise him, and the Ministry would start new pursuits far from where he was actually located. In the past three days, he had made brief appearances in Diagon Alley, on the Ha’Penny Bridge over the Liffey in Dublin, and even in Paris’s Passage Insaisissable. He hoped it would get the Ministry moving at the very least, which if he knew them at all, he knew they liked to be able to say they were doing something, even if it wasn’t the right something.
While he was out tailing Landon or Apparating and Disapparating, he hadn’t a clue what Malfoy did at the house and when he tried to ask, he never received an answer. Sometimes Malfoy avoided him, and other times he sat at the kitchen table, glaring at Harry when he came through. They ate separately, and rarely spoke unless it was necessary.
Harry didn’t know what to say, if he should apologise, or leave it alone. He felt nervous every time Malfoy came too close, as if he could be so easily jumped and taken by force. He pushed the thought from his mind, and spent more time alone than he ever had before while still sharing a house with another person.
He didn’t like the situation at all. He felt an odd Gryffindorish need to repair the relationship, as it were, and yet he continually told himself that once he could solve the crime, they would each go back to their own lives, and no one ever need know or remember what had happened on the night he’d seen Ginny’s photo in the Daily Prophet.
But he would know.
Harry sighed and pushed the half-eaten bowl of cereal away from himself. It was near midnight and he was restless, struggling with the nagging questions in his mind, trying to focus on the case at hand, rather than running the events of the last few days over and over in his mind.
After the first day of tailing Landon, Harry had come home at around two in the morning, exhausted and in need of coffee so he could read through a few articles in a promising book on Spellwork Isolation Aspects. Malfoy had come into the kitchen while the coffee was brewing. He had been rubbing his head as he walked but upon seeing Harry immediately dropped his hand to his side and stood at the entrance to the room. He didn’t look as though he’d been asleep.
“Where were you?” Malfoy asked in a clipped voice.
“Following Landon,” Harry replied, turning and looking directly at Malfoy. He was wearing a pair of jeans that Harry had loaned him some time ago, and the shirt he had arrived in when he’d escaped from Landon’s.
“And?” Malfoy prompted.
“And…nothing.” Harry shrugged. Malfoy gave a curt nod and began to cross the kitchen slowly. Harry swallowed. “But I’m going again tomorrow. If he thinks he’s lost you, the wizard will surely be trying to find you.”
Malfoy nodded, approaching from around the island in the middle of the kitchen, to where Harry stood against the counter.
“Coffee, at this time of night?” Malfoy asked quietly. Harry took a deep breath and turned to glance at the slow-drip through his peripheral vision. When he turned back, he realised Malfoy stood only a step away from him, carefully poised on his crutches.
“I, er, have some research to do,” Harry said, looking away.
Malfoy nodded. It was quiet save for the coffee-pot’s subtle brewing noises. Then Malfoy took a half-step toward Harry. “What kind of research?” Malfoy said in a low voice.
Harry took another breath and reached up to the back of his neck, rubbing an itch he suddenly felt there. He gazed beyond Malfoy at the kitchen doorway and said, “S-spellwork theory.”
Malfoy said nothing, and after a minute Harry let his gaze fall. He could feel Malfoy, he was standing so close, and Harry reached back to grip the counter as Malfoy leaned even nearer. Harry looked away again, and Malfoy said, “Coffee’s done.”
Harry blinked and Malfoy stepped back, shuffling past the island as Harry turned to the coffee, realising what Malfoy had said, and fumbling to find a coffee mug. Once he finally did, he saw Malfoy passing through the kitchen doorway on the way back to his room. Harry felt himself relax, and he poured himself a cup of coffee.
He shook his head, forcing his eyes to focus on the book in front of him. Now was not the time to turn into a teenager again. He had to resolve the more important criminal issues that needed solving and stop thinking about mind games and mistakes.
Harry thought again over the Messenger Spell he had sent to Spencer Miles the previous day. He had Apparated just outside Miles’s home one evening after dark just to be sure that Miles was there. He then returned to his Muggle ‘home’ in Wales and sent a Patronus to his partner, requesting that he look into old files regarding magical activity or connections related to a particular Muggle, and provided him with Landon’s full name and known background. He also requested that Miles get word to his family that he was safe, he was sorry for his long absence, and he promised to return as soon as he was could. Miles’ reply had been short: “Received.” Harry still had not sent a Patronus to Ron or Hermione. He meant to, and he wanted to, but he hadn’t worked out the wording yet.
Meanwhile, he had followed Landon for three days, and for three days, Landon’s routine had not altered from the one he’d held before, save that Malfoy was absent from his life.
Harry couldn’t help noticing that Landon didn’t seem pleased. He had watched Landon eat a frozen dinner in front of his TV the previous night, staring at the screen in numbness. Harry thought it obvious that Landon was missing Malfoy - or Matthew, rather. He wondered if Malfoy ever missed Landon.
Malfoy seemed to retain all his memories from his time as Matthew, and Harry wondered if somewhere inside, Malfoy longed for the kind of quiet, peaceful life he’d had with his nurse Landon. Sharing the kind of happy, hidden moments Harry often caught his best mates creating together - a stolen kiss, an evening sitting by the fire, telling stories to their children together, sitting in a Muggle park, Hermione reading and Ron fascinated by the Muggle culture. Harry and Ginny had led a different life - busy, fast-paced, jam-packed. Harry always had Ministry assignments, Ginny had always had Quidditch games in different countries, until she finally opted to stay in England with the journalist position. She had said she’d have more time with the kids. But she kept long hours, hated delegating assignments, and was often sent off as a foreign correspondent because everyone knew she was one of their best.
Harry didn’t mind the evenings alone with his kids, teaching the boys Muggle football, or putting on a play with his little Lily. He was always happy in those moments - the way every day life would seem to settle upon him like a warm blanket and remind him that this was life. The small moments, the cheerful gazes, the boys rolling on the floor in laughter, and Lily falling asleep in his lap, his tea cold because he didn’t dare wake her to reach for it…
An evening meal shared over candlelight, the smell of dinner still thick in the air as the plates are pushed back and gentle conversation swirls in the air, the cool night crisp with a white and green garden, and the warmth of sharing a blanket…
Harry’s eyes flew open and he stared at the wall immediately before his desk - papers, articles, books, and notes scattered everywhere. A cure. A remedy. Or a spell to detect the caster of Malfoy’s malady - that was what he was supposed to be thinking on. Harry swallowed, corrected himself, and turned another page in the book in front of him, “Deception Amidst the Dark Arts.”
That morning Harry had come home after watching Landon’s house all night. He had nearly fallen asleep while there, but he’d had enough practice as an Auror to keep himself awake, even if he normally would have had a partner to help with the long shift.
Harry had arrived home that morning, going straight to the kitchen, and found Malfoy already awake, dressed, and having a breakfast he must have cooked himself. Harry was surprised to see a second plate on the counter, as if waiting for him. When he asked, Malfoy confirmed it was his. Harry frowned, but took the plate and joined Malfoy at the kitchen table.
“I’ve been thinking,” Malfoy said, his voice even and controlled.
“Yeah?” Harry said after swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“A few days ago you mentioned setting a trap,” Malfoy began. Harry nodded slowly, eyes flicking between his plate and Malfoy’s gaze. “I think that’s what we should do. Set a trap.”
Harry frowned in consideration. He had thought, at the time, that it was a great idea, but he hadn’t had the time to elaborate on it before he and Malfoy were distracted by the lurker outside their door.
“We set a trap. I can go back to Landon's place, and the Dark wizard you think is after me will then come ‘round again. You can capture him and take us all into the Ministry to sort out this nonsense,” Malfoy finished.
“No,” Harry answered immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“What better plan do you have for finding this wizard?” Malfoy asked pointedly. “You watch from outside, just like you’re already doing by tailing Landon every day. You can lie in wait, and then spring in at the most opportune time.”
“With you as the bait?” Harry returned. “I don't think so.”
“Bait?” Malfoy repeated as though it were absurd. “If he wanted to kill me, he would have done already.”
Harry shook his head. “Maybe he didn't think it was necessary before. Obviously he did you great harm in the first place, and if you’re more trouble than you’re worth now, it would be easiest to put the whole thing to rest and kill you. And me. And Landon.”
It was quiet for a moment, Harry’s food forgotten as Malfoy gazed across the table at him, almost curiously.
“You know,” Malfoy began, “it’s worrisome that you think so much like a Dark wizard.”
“Yeah, well,” Harry mumbled, “it's what won the war against Voldemort, so you could say it was my job at one time.”
Malfoy stared at him from across the table, and Harry shifted in his seat. Finally Malfoy tore his gaze away and glanced down at the table before flicking his eyes back upward again.
“Anyway, you wouldn’t have to baby-sit me. And you can move to a more secure location without having to do it the Muggle way, with me in tow. It sets the trap for the wizard you want to catch, but you also have Landon who will, of course, also try to protect me, as Matthew.”
“This is not a good idea,” Harry insisted.
“Why, because it wasn't your idea?” Malfoy snapped.
“No, that's not why,” Harry replied through his teeth.
Malfoy leaned as far as he could over the table toward Harry, and said in a quiet demand, “Then why?”
“It’s just not, all right?” Harry raised his voice. “Have you forgotten you relapsed into Matthew just a few days ago? And what happens if you do that while you’re with Landon? No, it’s a bad idea. If we’re going to set a trap at all, let’s at least make sure you’re not suddenly going to turn back into a Muggle gardener!”
Malfoy crossed his arms. “And now you think you can heal me all of the sudden? Don’t you get it? I could wake up Matthew one day, and never come back to myself! If we’re going to do this, we need to do it while I still have some wits about me,” Malfoy argued.
“You're not going anywhere with anyone until we solve your memory problem,” Harry repeated.
“And what if it never is solved?” Malfoy asked back, his hand making a fist on the table. “I was perfectly fine at Landon's before you showed up. I'll pretend to be Matthew and Landon will never know.”
“You, pretend to be Matthew?” Harry asked, amused.
“You think I can't?” Malfoy snapped. “Matthew is me, you imbecile.”
Harry started to speak but closed his mouth, thinking better of it. Then, “Okay, look, I've been doing some research, and I think there's a good chance I found something that can help you - with your memory, maybe even your legs, and your magic-tolerance. I just need a bit more time.”
“And I need to not be stuck here with you any more,” Malfoy threw at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry retorted.
“You know very well what it means. Pretend all you want, Potter, but I don’t have to,” Malfoy bit out.
The rest of the morning had passed in silence, Malfoy’s arms crossed and Harry chewing his breakfast with unnecessary force.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly as he urged himself to focus again. He turned back one page from the book before him to scan the previous paragraph, then he continued on. He had only read three sentences when he heard a noise from within the house. His muscles tensed and he immediately extracted his wand from beneath his sleeve, rising in stealth from his chair. He heard another noise and recognised it coming from just down the hallway. As he crossed the house, he saw a light flick on from underneath Malfoy’s bedroom door. Harry marginally relaxed, and continued on his path, pausing in the hallway and listening for more sounds.
He heard movement on the bed, and a sound of two objects clacking together. Malfoy swore quietly and Harry tapped on the door.
“What?” Malfoy asked from inside, sounding displeased.
“Er, are you all right?” Harry asked through the door.
There was a pause that he hadn’t expected.
“Y-yeah,” Malfoy finally said, but it didn’t sound convincing.
Harry stood still listening, as the bed squeaked inside and then abruptly stilled. A low humming kind of sound echoed and then the unmistakable noise of a crutch clattering to the floor.
Harry knocked on the door again and opened it without waiting for an answer.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Harry asked, unable to keep a hint of concern from his voice.
Malfoy didn’t answer. It was obvious that he was not all right. One crutch still lay by his bed, the other was lying sideways on the floor, a foot away. Malfoy was sitting on the edge of his bed, bent over his knees with his head in his hands. Rather than responding or speaking to Harry, instead grunts and murmurings of pain escaped every couple of minutes. His fingers curled into his own hair as his hands fisted by his forehead. Harry moved cautiously toward him.
“Malfoy?” Harry said quietly, afraid that any level of noise might bother him.
Malfoy shook his head and Harry heard him take a deep breath.
“I’ll, er, I’ll get the pain killers,” Harry said. He left the room and went straight for the loo where they kept the Muggle-safe medicines. Malfoy was going through the pills at an alarming rate. Harry had stopped reading the labels for recommended dosages because the recommend dose never had any affect.
He stood at Malfoy’s bed again a few minutes later, hands outstretched with a palm full of pills and a glass of water.
When Malfoy reached up for them, he raised his head just enough for Harry to see wetness on his face before he slung back pills and took a gulp of water, and then curled back in on himself.
“Is it worse than before?” Harry whispered. Malfoy nodded.
“C-can I help?” Harry asked, watching with a heavy sense of helpless.
Malfoy shook his head, still holding it in his hands.
“What if I just,” Harry began, speaking softly as he moved to sit with Malfoy on the bed. Malfoy stretched an arm out then until his hand found Harry’s leg and he shoved hard, in an attempted to physically push Harry away. Harry took the hint and sat on the bed as far away as he could be. He didn’t speak as Malfoy began to rock very slightly. After another minute, he stilled and grunted in agony.
Harry edged closer. He couldn’t help it. He thought being a father had probably changed him in that way. He still often felt useless in such situations, but he’d had enough experiences with his children to know that they didn’t always need Daddy to fix them. Sometimes they had only needed him to hold them.
Not that Harry could hold Malfoy.
Not that he ever would.
Instead he reached out for Malfoy’s shoulder, thinking maybe some kind of contact would help. Again Malfoy’s hand found him and he began to push Harry’s hand away. This time, however, he didn’t let go. His hand tightened over Harry’s wrist where he had relocated it, down onto the bed between them. His grip became so strong that Harry could feel fingernails digging into his skin. Malfoy groaned, lowering his head closer to his knees and letting out a strangled whimper. He was sniffling and Harry tried not to notice.
“What do you need?” Harry asked, slightly panicked.
“I don’t know,” Malfoy confessed in a shaky cry, hand still tight on Harry’s wrist. It hurt, but Harry couldn’t imagine that it hurt as much as Malfoy’s head did.
They sat for several quiet moments, until Harry noticed Malfoy’s muscles tense.
“I…I think I’m gonna be sick,” Malfoy mumbled as he struggled to stand from the bed. Harry stood too, helping Malfoy up and reaching for his crutches. Malfoy waved them away and started to cross the room as if he were able to without aid. Harry tried to help him, but Malfoy’s legs gave out and he began to fall until Harry caught him, lowering him gently to his knees before he dropped the rest of the way. Malfoy again whimpered and they sat like that, on their knees on the floor of Malfoy’s room as his hand clutched Harry’s shirt and he breathed so hard Harry could feel his whole body expanding and contracting.
Malfoy didn’t get sick. He eventually calmed, and Harry got him into bed, though the pain never appeared to go away. Harry sat in his room, in the dark, waiting for sleep to come to Malfoy.
Sleep did not come.
Something else did.
“I’m afraid, Mr Potter, that your patient has passed out,” Healer Grinelda said the following morning.
“Passed out?” Harry repeated. “But it’s been hours!”
“Yes, perhaps it’s the body’s reaction to an unbearable level of pain?” she suggested.
Harry bowed his head, the weight of the news too heavy.
“Other than his unresponsiveness, he seems rather healthy and at rest,” she remarked.
Healer Grinelda offered to stay with Harry through afternoon tea, going over the research she’d been working on since her last visit. Harry unearthed the store of articles he’d collected from the Shifting Library, wanting her opinion on the texts concerning the isolation of spell damage affects. She stayed until nightfall, explaining everything she knew about the theories on spell damage recovery, as well as discussing several options for experimental treatments for Obliviations gone awry, and Dark spell reversals. Much of it, however, was purely theoretical speculation, while another larger part had never before been tried.
Before leaving, Harry tried to find out from Grinelda if she thought something might have triggered Malfoy’s response. When she asked, he insisted that he hadn’t been doing magic in the house, nor had he cast any spells in Malfoy’s presence. After her departure, he remembered that he had increased the security spells on the house recently, but it was the only magical change he could think of and wondered if the number of spells on the house was making the situation worse for Malfoy.
Harry went to sleep that night with Malfoy still unresponsive. Harry’s camp bed was only three feet from Malfoy’s bed, just in case he happened to awake.
..:..
Healer Grinelda had said that Malfoy should come back anytime within the next day or two. Any longer, and Harry should call her again. He was relieved that Malfoy woke just eight hours later.
“Hey,” Harry said softly as he saw Malfoy stirring in his bed. He shifted, eyes still closed, and slowly seemed to come to.
His light eyelashes fluttered as if reluctant to open, but finally they did so and Malfoy surveyed his surroundings through squinting eyes. At last he looked to where Harry was standing at the foot of his bed.
“James,” Malfoy said with slow and groggy excitement. His mouth curved into a smile as he began to raise himself up onto his elbows. Harry watched as cogs seemed to turn in his head and his brow furrowed.
“What happened to me?” Malfoy asked, again looking around the room. “Wait, I thought you were going to restore my memory…?”
Harry frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, then looked back at Malfoy. “How do you feel?”
Malfoy didn’t seem pleased by the avoidance of the question, but answered nonetheless. “I have a dull headache. And I’m a bit hungry.”
Hungry Harry could work with. Neither he nor Malfoy had eaten since the night of the severe headache and Grinelda’s visit the next morning. Harry made them soup while Malfoy insisted on taking a bath. Harry got him set with painkillers for the headache, fresh towel and clothes, and appropriate water temperature before Malfoy shooed him out of the bathroom. It was much more than the real Malfoy would have allowed, but Matthew seemed to appreciate the attention.
Harry stared at the soup he was making, remembering to stir it just often enough so it wouldn’t burn or stick. He had not been prepared for Matthew’s return. And truth be told, he was worried that this flicker between personalities was an indication that more and more of Malfoy’s memories were fading back into Matthew. He frowned at his soup. When Malfoy was finished bathing, Harry helped him back to his bedroom. Malfoy insisted he didn’t need the help, but it was obvious with his faltering steps that he wasn’t feeling quite up to speed.
“James,” Malfoy said as he sat in bed, blankets pulled up to his waist, and one hand reaching for Harry’s arm. Harry sat on the edge of the bed near enough for Malfoy to touch him. His hand curled around Harry’s, and with hesitation Harry let their gazes meet.
“You’ve been so good to me,” Malfoy said softly, in a voice that was entirely Matthew’s. “Let me show my appreciation.” Harry processed the words and their meaning while Malfoy tugged him closer, his free hand reaching for Harry’s face, touching his jaw, and curling to his neck, pulling him nearer and nearer.
Harry protested, pulling back and reaching for Malfoy’s hands to gently pry them away. He swallowed, taking a deep breath as he pushed Malfoy’s hands away.
“I, er, have to go check on the…er, soup. It might burn.” Harry stood abruptly, Malfoy watching him with wide eyes. “I…I’ll be back.”
He was at the door before he glanced back at Malfoy, who was still following him with his gaze, which now had a startling plea to it. “You’ll be okay, right?” Harry asked uncertainly.
Malfoy schooled his gaze so that it became unbothered. He gave a weak smile and nodded before looking down at his feet.
..:..
Harry spent the evening going over the passages on spell damage reversal and the notes he’d taken during his chat with Healer Grinelda. He checked on Malfoy often, and was surprised when Malfoy even came to check on him once.
Only it wasn’t Malfoy. It was Matthew - every part Malfoy but softer, less guarded, less of the boy who’d been his enemy in school, and more the boy who could have been his friend. Harry could have been a Slytherin. He could have taken Malfoy’s hand in first year. They could have been best mates. And Harry began to wonder if the Malfoy he would have known might have been more like Matthew.
It was strange, the passion they had always seemed to provoke in one another. Harry had had plenty of enemies growing up. Some he had never given much thought to, others who had invaded his thoughts. Some he could hate, had even entertained thoughts of murder. Others had tried to annoy him, but had never mattered much.
But then there was Malfoy. He had always mattered, and yet Harry wasn’t sure he had ever really hated him. He had injured him, but had not in that moment meant to. He never could have killed him, but he never could ignore him. He had given him more thought than he had most of his Gryffindor classmates, and yet he had never really known him.
It was…strange.
The next morning, Harry woke early and knocked on Malfoy’s door as he often did, peeking in to make sure there was no new emergency. He watched as Malfoy shifted under his sheets, the sleeve of his night shirt hitched up on his shoulder and his hair mussed up against the pillow. Satisfied that there was no sign of trouble, Harry stepped out to let Malfoy wake on his own. Harry was just getting out of the shower several minutes later when he heard a loud thud from across the hall, the sound of metal clanking and a shouted swear. He darted from the bathroom, drawing his wand as he went and skidded into the bedroom, taking a quick glance.
“Matthew?” Harry asked, looking down to see Malfoy on the floor along with his crutches.
“No, it isn’t Matthew,” Malfoy growled, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Harry lowered his wand, surprise registering at the quick and sudden return of Draco Malfoy.
“What the hell is happening?” Malfoy bit out, rubbing his head and gazing up intently at Harry.
“I, er, I can explain,” Harry said, stowing his wand into his jeans and realizing he’d left his shirt in the bathroom. “Well, I think I can. Just, er, just a second.
Malfoy nodded, waving Harry off after his gaze stuck for a second too long. Harry told himself he hadn’t noticed, and finished in the bathroom. When he went back to Malfoy’s room, his arms were loaded with books from the Shifting Library, and Malfoy was sitting on his bed, waiting for him.
“I’ve been compiling my research,” Harry began. “And while you were, er, Matthew, Healer Grinelda paid us another visit. We worked together all day, and I think I’ve come up with a few things we could try.”
“Try?” Malfoy asked, eyebrow raised.
“Well, it’s all theory. No one’s really tried some of these spells before because, well, the Ministry has strict regulations on human experimentation, and most family members aren’t inclined to allow experimental spells on their damaged loved one.”
“But you’re willing?” Malfoy asked, eyebrow raised.
Harry frowned. “I trust Healer Grinelda’s research and my own.”
Malfoy’s lips thinned to a tight line and he looked away.
“I think the Dark Spell that damaged your legs is interfering with the Oblivation Reversal spell I used. Grinelda said it was because of the way the physical matter within the body was affected by the Dark Spell. But I’ve been doing a lot of reading on Containment and Isolation spells. You can use these kinds of spells-”
“To create a refined target for a given spell,” Malfoy cut in. “Yes, Potter, I have heard of such things before. If I only wanted to Crucio your leg, or a single appendage, and not your whole body, I could do so.”
Harry shifted, uneasy with Malfoy bringing up an Unforgivable Curse as his example. Nor did he like any references to appendages, especially when coupled with the Cruciatus curse. He glanced over at Malfoy, catching the tail end of a long glare. Harry sat up straighter.
“Is there something you want to talk about?” Harry asked like a challenge.
“Are you pretending to be man enough now to face it?” Malfoy threw back.
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to know my theories for fixing this memory problem, or not?”
Malfoy crossed his arms and looked away again. “Proceed.”
“Containment and Isolation Spells can be coupled with other spells, as you know,” Harry went on, scanning his notes. “But they have also used these spells in Healing, and they’ve researched the affects they can have on spell damage. For example, sixty years ago there are medical records pertaining to a Josiah Jornsington who was hit with an Elefantatius Curse by a schoolmate. There was great spell damage, and his parents thought he’d forever look like Elephant boy. However, the Healers were able to use Containment spells together with their Healing spells to confine the spell’s affects to the boy’s left foot.”
“But they weren’t able to remove it completely?” Malfoy asked dryly.
“Unfortunately, no. This is the nature of Dark Curses, which I’m sure you must be familiar with,” Harry said.
Malfoy turned his head slowly to look at him.
“No less familiar than you, I assure you,” Malfoy replied, his right hand moving with purpose toward his flannel shirt, over his chest.
“That was an accident,” Harry said through his teeth.
“It was pure hatred,” Malfoy corrected, voice low and angry.
“I never hated you,” Harry returned, his jaw flinching with the admission. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.
Harry swallowed, glanced at his notes again for realignment, and said, “I was thinking of a Containment or Isolation spell, something that might be able to isolate the effects of the Dark Spell and its spell damage. The problem is, it would require someone to cast a spell on you, and…you’ve no tolerance for magic. Because of that, Grinelda said it is not recommended and she could never do that to a patient of hers.”
“And you? What do you think?” Malfoy asked evenly.
“I think it might be worth the risk. Up to this point, you’ve always been revived with some Muggle-friendly remedies. I think a spell that will contain the damage would give you the best hope for retaining your memories permanently. And who knows, like the boy with the Elefantatius Curse, it could limit the damage in such away where you might be able to get rid of your crutches or have your magic back. It’s a possibility, anyway.”
“And you would conduct the spellcasting?” Malfoy asked, eyes considering Harry.
“Yes,” Harry answered, unyielding in his return gaze.
“I have to think about this,” Malfoy answered.
Harry blinked and slowly nodded. “Of course.” There was a long a heavy pause as he gazed around the room before he continued. “Er, why don’t I put these books back,” he said, beginning to straighten his notes and stack up the few books he had brought. He stood but Malfoy stopped him from departing.
“Potter?”
“Yeah?” Harry looked up, two books in his arms as he reached for another.
“Why did you tell me your name was James?” Malfoy asked. “I mean, when I was Matthew. Why did you say you were James Smith?”
Harry tilted his head, having not expected the question. “Well, I wasn’t sure if I needed an alias. Just in case my name was known by someone involved. I didn’t know the depth of the situation at that point in time.”
Malfoy nodded, his brows lowered as he looked at his bedside table.
“Is there something else?” Harry got the feeling there was.
“Why did you come over for Christmas?” Malfoy asked him, his eyes coming up to meet Harry’s.
Harry sniffed, looked up to the ceiling and tried to think about his answer. “I dunno,” he responded. “I guess because you asked.” Harry shrugged one shoulder and let his gaze fall back to Malfoy, whose eyes were narrowed again.
“I, erm, I need to put these back and run some errands. We need more painkillers, and I wanted to track Landon again today. But you can think about the spells, and tell me later if you want to try them out,” Harry said, loading the last of his books and notes into his arms.
He left Malfoy’s bedroom and did not see him again until that evening. Malfoy had made stew while Harry was out. He took several tablets of painkillers as soon as Harry arrived with fresh supplies, and they shared a meal that was marginally more comfortable than the last several they had shared, or not-shared.
“Thanks for this. You know you don’t have to cook, right?” Harry asked. “I’m pretty good at it.”
“Yes, well, I’m better,” Malfoy answered. “And there is little else I can do. Cooking sometimes reminds me of potions.” A smile seemed to tempt his features, but it did not make a full appearance.
Harry nodded and ate from his bowl of stew.
“Potter?” Malfoy asked. Harry looked up at him. “I’ve thought about the spells, and your reasoning makes sense. I know how the Containment and Isolation Spells work. The theory is sound. As long as you have some Muggle remedies on hand to revive me after your spellwork, then I think you should perform the Healing and Containment spells.”
Harry swallowed his mouthful of stew, taking a drink of water to clear his throat. “Er, are you sure?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said, nodding once. “We can do it this weekend, I think.”
Next: Chapter 29
Chapter: Twenty-Eight
Word Count: 5,660 (chapter only)
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: mild language;; occasional and/or eventual strong language, scenes of a sexual nature, and mild violence
Characters: Harry, Ginny, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Albus, Scorpius, Lorcan, Lysander, James, Lily, etc.
Genre: Mystery, Drama, Romance
Summary: A wizard has disappeared, and the Ministry is refusing to investigate; Albus Potter is in the Hogwarts Infirmary, and Ginny and Hermione are arguing over Harry's peculiar behavior. All is not as it should be. HPDH+Epilogue compliant.
Notes: Written in British English. Huge thanks to cymonie for her betaing!
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 |
--
Things in the house were distinctly uncomfortable.
Harry continued his research during the nights, and spent three days straight tailing Landon. He also started a new daily routine of Apparating to random locations, in the hopes that someone would recognise him, and the Ministry would start new pursuits far from where he was actually located. In the past three days, he had made brief appearances in Diagon Alley, on the Ha’Penny Bridge over the Liffey in Dublin, and even in Paris’s Passage Insaisissable. He hoped it would get the Ministry moving at the very least, which if he knew them at all, he knew they liked to be able to say they were doing something, even if it wasn’t the right something.
While he was out tailing Landon or Apparating and Disapparating, he hadn’t a clue what Malfoy did at the house and when he tried to ask, he never received an answer. Sometimes Malfoy avoided him, and other times he sat at the kitchen table, glaring at Harry when he came through. They ate separately, and rarely spoke unless it was necessary.
Harry didn’t know what to say, if he should apologise, or leave it alone. He felt nervous every time Malfoy came too close, as if he could be so easily jumped and taken by force. He pushed the thought from his mind, and spent more time alone than he ever had before while still sharing a house with another person.
He didn’t like the situation at all. He felt an odd Gryffindorish need to repair the relationship, as it were, and yet he continually told himself that once he could solve the crime, they would each go back to their own lives, and no one ever need know or remember what had happened on the night he’d seen Ginny’s photo in the Daily Prophet.
But he would know.
Harry sighed and pushed the half-eaten bowl of cereal away from himself. It was near midnight and he was restless, struggling with the nagging questions in his mind, trying to focus on the case at hand, rather than running the events of the last few days over and over in his mind.
After the first day of tailing Landon, Harry had come home at around two in the morning, exhausted and in need of coffee so he could read through a few articles in a promising book on Spellwork Isolation Aspects. Malfoy had come into the kitchen while the coffee was brewing. He had been rubbing his head as he walked but upon seeing Harry immediately dropped his hand to his side and stood at the entrance to the room. He didn’t look as though he’d been asleep.
“Where were you?” Malfoy asked in a clipped voice.
“Following Landon,” Harry replied, turning and looking directly at Malfoy. He was wearing a pair of jeans that Harry had loaned him some time ago, and the shirt he had arrived in when he’d escaped from Landon’s.
“And?” Malfoy prompted.
“And…nothing.” Harry shrugged. Malfoy gave a curt nod and began to cross the kitchen slowly. Harry swallowed. “But I’m going again tomorrow. If he thinks he’s lost you, the wizard will surely be trying to find you.”
Malfoy nodded, approaching from around the island in the middle of the kitchen, to where Harry stood against the counter.
“Coffee, at this time of night?” Malfoy asked quietly. Harry took a deep breath and turned to glance at the slow-drip through his peripheral vision. When he turned back, he realised Malfoy stood only a step away from him, carefully poised on his crutches.
“I, er, have some research to do,” Harry said, looking away.
Malfoy nodded. It was quiet save for the coffee-pot’s subtle brewing noises. Then Malfoy took a half-step toward Harry. “What kind of research?” Malfoy said in a low voice.
Harry took another breath and reached up to the back of his neck, rubbing an itch he suddenly felt there. He gazed beyond Malfoy at the kitchen doorway and said, “S-spellwork theory.”
Malfoy said nothing, and after a minute Harry let his gaze fall. He could feel Malfoy, he was standing so close, and Harry reached back to grip the counter as Malfoy leaned even nearer. Harry looked away again, and Malfoy said, “Coffee’s done.”
Harry blinked and Malfoy stepped back, shuffling past the island as Harry turned to the coffee, realising what Malfoy had said, and fumbling to find a coffee mug. Once he finally did, he saw Malfoy passing through the kitchen doorway on the way back to his room. Harry felt himself relax, and he poured himself a cup of coffee.
He shook his head, forcing his eyes to focus on the book in front of him. Now was not the time to turn into a teenager again. He had to resolve the more important criminal issues that needed solving and stop thinking about mind games and mistakes.
Harry thought again over the Messenger Spell he had sent to Spencer Miles the previous day. He had Apparated just outside Miles’s home one evening after dark just to be sure that Miles was there. He then returned to his Muggle ‘home’ in Wales and sent a Patronus to his partner, requesting that he look into old files regarding magical activity or connections related to a particular Muggle, and provided him with Landon’s full name and known background. He also requested that Miles get word to his family that he was safe, he was sorry for his long absence, and he promised to return as soon as he was could. Miles’ reply had been short: “Received.” Harry still had not sent a Patronus to Ron or Hermione. He meant to, and he wanted to, but he hadn’t worked out the wording yet.
Meanwhile, he had followed Landon for three days, and for three days, Landon’s routine had not altered from the one he’d held before, save that Malfoy was absent from his life.
Harry couldn’t help noticing that Landon didn’t seem pleased. He had watched Landon eat a frozen dinner in front of his TV the previous night, staring at the screen in numbness. Harry thought it obvious that Landon was missing Malfoy - or Matthew, rather. He wondered if Malfoy ever missed Landon.
Malfoy seemed to retain all his memories from his time as Matthew, and Harry wondered if somewhere inside, Malfoy longed for the kind of quiet, peaceful life he’d had with his nurse Landon. Sharing the kind of happy, hidden moments Harry often caught his best mates creating together - a stolen kiss, an evening sitting by the fire, telling stories to their children together, sitting in a Muggle park, Hermione reading and Ron fascinated by the Muggle culture. Harry and Ginny had led a different life - busy, fast-paced, jam-packed. Harry always had Ministry assignments, Ginny had always had Quidditch games in different countries, until she finally opted to stay in England with the journalist position. She had said she’d have more time with the kids. But she kept long hours, hated delegating assignments, and was often sent off as a foreign correspondent because everyone knew she was one of their best.
Harry didn’t mind the evenings alone with his kids, teaching the boys Muggle football, or putting on a play with his little Lily. He was always happy in those moments - the way every day life would seem to settle upon him like a warm blanket and remind him that this was life. The small moments, the cheerful gazes, the boys rolling on the floor in laughter, and Lily falling asleep in his lap, his tea cold because he didn’t dare wake her to reach for it…
An evening meal shared over candlelight, the smell of dinner still thick in the air as the plates are pushed back and gentle conversation swirls in the air, the cool night crisp with a white and green garden, and the warmth of sharing a blanket…
Harry’s eyes flew open and he stared at the wall immediately before his desk - papers, articles, books, and notes scattered everywhere. A cure. A remedy. Or a spell to detect the caster of Malfoy’s malady - that was what he was supposed to be thinking on. Harry swallowed, corrected himself, and turned another page in the book in front of him, “Deception Amidst the Dark Arts.”
That morning Harry had come home after watching Landon’s house all night. He had nearly fallen asleep while there, but he’d had enough practice as an Auror to keep himself awake, even if he normally would have had a partner to help with the long shift.
Harry had arrived home that morning, going straight to the kitchen, and found Malfoy already awake, dressed, and having a breakfast he must have cooked himself. Harry was surprised to see a second plate on the counter, as if waiting for him. When he asked, Malfoy confirmed it was his. Harry frowned, but took the plate and joined Malfoy at the kitchen table.
“I’ve been thinking,” Malfoy said, his voice even and controlled.
“Yeah?” Harry said after swallowing a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“A few days ago you mentioned setting a trap,” Malfoy began. Harry nodded slowly, eyes flicking between his plate and Malfoy’s gaze. “I think that’s what we should do. Set a trap.”
Harry frowned in consideration. He had thought, at the time, that it was a great idea, but he hadn’t had the time to elaborate on it before he and Malfoy were distracted by the lurker outside their door.
“We set a trap. I can go back to Landon's place, and the Dark wizard you think is after me will then come ‘round again. You can capture him and take us all into the Ministry to sort out this nonsense,” Malfoy finished.
“No,” Harry answered immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“What better plan do you have for finding this wizard?” Malfoy asked pointedly. “You watch from outside, just like you’re already doing by tailing Landon every day. You can lie in wait, and then spring in at the most opportune time.”
“With you as the bait?” Harry returned. “I don't think so.”
“Bait?” Malfoy repeated as though it were absurd. “If he wanted to kill me, he would have done already.”
Harry shook his head. “Maybe he didn't think it was necessary before. Obviously he did you great harm in the first place, and if you’re more trouble than you’re worth now, it would be easiest to put the whole thing to rest and kill you. And me. And Landon.”
It was quiet for a moment, Harry’s food forgotten as Malfoy gazed across the table at him, almost curiously.
“You know,” Malfoy began, “it’s worrisome that you think so much like a Dark wizard.”
“Yeah, well,” Harry mumbled, “it's what won the war against Voldemort, so you could say it was my job at one time.”
Malfoy stared at him from across the table, and Harry shifted in his seat. Finally Malfoy tore his gaze away and glanced down at the table before flicking his eyes back upward again.
“Anyway, you wouldn’t have to baby-sit me. And you can move to a more secure location without having to do it the Muggle way, with me in tow. It sets the trap for the wizard you want to catch, but you also have Landon who will, of course, also try to protect me, as Matthew.”
“This is not a good idea,” Harry insisted.
“Why, because it wasn't your idea?” Malfoy snapped.
“No, that's not why,” Harry replied through his teeth.
Malfoy leaned as far as he could over the table toward Harry, and said in a quiet demand, “Then why?”
“It’s just not, all right?” Harry raised his voice. “Have you forgotten you relapsed into Matthew just a few days ago? And what happens if you do that while you’re with Landon? No, it’s a bad idea. If we’re going to set a trap at all, let’s at least make sure you’re not suddenly going to turn back into a Muggle gardener!”
Malfoy crossed his arms. “And now you think you can heal me all of the sudden? Don’t you get it? I could wake up Matthew one day, and never come back to myself! If we’re going to do this, we need to do it while I still have some wits about me,” Malfoy argued.
“You're not going anywhere with anyone until we solve your memory problem,” Harry repeated.
“And what if it never is solved?” Malfoy asked back, his hand making a fist on the table. “I was perfectly fine at Landon's before you showed up. I'll pretend to be Matthew and Landon will never know.”
“You, pretend to be Matthew?” Harry asked, amused.
“You think I can't?” Malfoy snapped. “Matthew is me, you imbecile.”
Harry started to speak but closed his mouth, thinking better of it. Then, “Okay, look, I've been doing some research, and I think there's a good chance I found something that can help you - with your memory, maybe even your legs, and your magic-tolerance. I just need a bit more time.”
“And I need to not be stuck here with you any more,” Malfoy threw at him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry retorted.
“You know very well what it means. Pretend all you want, Potter, but I don’t have to,” Malfoy bit out.
The rest of the morning had passed in silence, Malfoy’s arms crossed and Harry chewing his breakfast with unnecessary force.
Harry ran a hand through his hair, tugging slightly as he urged himself to focus again. He turned back one page from the book before him to scan the previous paragraph, then he continued on. He had only read three sentences when he heard a noise from within the house. His muscles tensed and he immediately extracted his wand from beneath his sleeve, rising in stealth from his chair. He heard another noise and recognised it coming from just down the hallway. As he crossed the house, he saw a light flick on from underneath Malfoy’s bedroom door. Harry marginally relaxed, and continued on his path, pausing in the hallway and listening for more sounds.
He heard movement on the bed, and a sound of two objects clacking together. Malfoy swore quietly and Harry tapped on the door.
“What?” Malfoy asked from inside, sounding displeased.
“Er, are you all right?” Harry asked through the door.
There was a pause that he hadn’t expected.
“Y-yeah,” Malfoy finally said, but it didn’t sound convincing.
Harry stood still listening, as the bed squeaked inside and then abruptly stilled. A low humming kind of sound echoed and then the unmistakable noise of a crutch clattering to the floor.
Harry knocked on the door again and opened it without waiting for an answer.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Harry asked, unable to keep a hint of concern from his voice.
Malfoy didn’t answer. It was obvious that he was not all right. One crutch still lay by his bed, the other was lying sideways on the floor, a foot away. Malfoy was sitting on the edge of his bed, bent over his knees with his head in his hands. Rather than responding or speaking to Harry, instead grunts and murmurings of pain escaped every couple of minutes. His fingers curled into his own hair as his hands fisted by his forehead. Harry moved cautiously toward him.
“Malfoy?” Harry said quietly, afraid that any level of noise might bother him.
Malfoy shook his head and Harry heard him take a deep breath.
“I’ll, er, I’ll get the pain killers,” Harry said. He left the room and went straight for the loo where they kept the Muggle-safe medicines. Malfoy was going through the pills at an alarming rate. Harry had stopped reading the labels for recommended dosages because the recommend dose never had any affect.
He stood at Malfoy’s bed again a few minutes later, hands outstretched with a palm full of pills and a glass of water.
When Malfoy reached up for them, he raised his head just enough for Harry to see wetness on his face before he slung back pills and took a gulp of water, and then curled back in on himself.
“Is it worse than before?” Harry whispered. Malfoy nodded.
“C-can I help?” Harry asked, watching with a heavy sense of helpless.
Malfoy shook his head, still holding it in his hands.
“What if I just,” Harry began, speaking softly as he moved to sit with Malfoy on the bed. Malfoy stretched an arm out then until his hand found Harry’s leg and he shoved hard, in an attempted to physically push Harry away. Harry took the hint and sat on the bed as far away as he could be. He didn’t speak as Malfoy began to rock very slightly. After another minute, he stilled and grunted in agony.
Harry edged closer. He couldn’t help it. He thought being a father had probably changed him in that way. He still often felt useless in such situations, but he’d had enough experiences with his children to know that they didn’t always need Daddy to fix them. Sometimes they had only needed him to hold them.
Not that Harry could hold Malfoy.
Not that he ever would.
Instead he reached out for Malfoy’s shoulder, thinking maybe some kind of contact would help. Again Malfoy’s hand found him and he began to push Harry’s hand away. This time, however, he didn’t let go. His hand tightened over Harry’s wrist where he had relocated it, down onto the bed between them. His grip became so strong that Harry could feel fingernails digging into his skin. Malfoy groaned, lowering his head closer to his knees and letting out a strangled whimper. He was sniffling and Harry tried not to notice.
“What do you need?” Harry asked, slightly panicked.
“I don’t know,” Malfoy confessed in a shaky cry, hand still tight on Harry’s wrist. It hurt, but Harry couldn’t imagine that it hurt as much as Malfoy’s head did.
They sat for several quiet moments, until Harry noticed Malfoy’s muscles tense.
“I…I think I’m gonna be sick,” Malfoy mumbled as he struggled to stand from the bed. Harry stood too, helping Malfoy up and reaching for his crutches. Malfoy waved them away and started to cross the room as if he were able to without aid. Harry tried to help him, but Malfoy’s legs gave out and he began to fall until Harry caught him, lowering him gently to his knees before he dropped the rest of the way. Malfoy again whimpered and they sat like that, on their knees on the floor of Malfoy’s room as his hand clutched Harry’s shirt and he breathed so hard Harry could feel his whole body expanding and contracting.
Malfoy didn’t get sick. He eventually calmed, and Harry got him into bed, though the pain never appeared to go away. Harry sat in his room, in the dark, waiting for sleep to come to Malfoy.
Sleep did not come.
Something else did.
“I’m afraid, Mr Potter, that your patient has passed out,” Healer Grinelda said the following morning.
“Passed out?” Harry repeated. “But it’s been hours!”
“Yes, perhaps it’s the body’s reaction to an unbearable level of pain?” she suggested.
Harry bowed his head, the weight of the news too heavy.
“Other than his unresponsiveness, he seems rather healthy and at rest,” she remarked.
Healer Grinelda offered to stay with Harry through afternoon tea, going over the research she’d been working on since her last visit. Harry unearthed the store of articles he’d collected from the Shifting Library, wanting her opinion on the texts concerning the isolation of spell damage affects. She stayed until nightfall, explaining everything she knew about the theories on spell damage recovery, as well as discussing several options for experimental treatments for Obliviations gone awry, and Dark spell reversals. Much of it, however, was purely theoretical speculation, while another larger part had never before been tried.
Before leaving, Harry tried to find out from Grinelda if she thought something might have triggered Malfoy’s response. When she asked, he insisted that he hadn’t been doing magic in the house, nor had he cast any spells in Malfoy’s presence. After her departure, he remembered that he had increased the security spells on the house recently, but it was the only magical change he could think of and wondered if the number of spells on the house was making the situation worse for Malfoy.
Harry went to sleep that night with Malfoy still unresponsive. Harry’s camp bed was only three feet from Malfoy’s bed, just in case he happened to awake.
..:..
Healer Grinelda had said that Malfoy should come back anytime within the next day or two. Any longer, and Harry should call her again. He was relieved that Malfoy woke just eight hours later.
“Hey,” Harry said softly as he saw Malfoy stirring in his bed. He shifted, eyes still closed, and slowly seemed to come to.
His light eyelashes fluttered as if reluctant to open, but finally they did so and Malfoy surveyed his surroundings through squinting eyes. At last he looked to where Harry was standing at the foot of his bed.
“James,” Malfoy said with slow and groggy excitement. His mouth curved into a smile as he began to raise himself up onto his elbows. Harry watched as cogs seemed to turn in his head and his brow furrowed.
“What happened to me?” Malfoy asked, again looking around the room. “Wait, I thought you were going to restore my memory…?”
Harry frowned, stuffing his hands into his pockets, then looked back at Malfoy. “How do you feel?”
Malfoy didn’t seem pleased by the avoidance of the question, but answered nonetheless. “I have a dull headache. And I’m a bit hungry.”
Hungry Harry could work with. Neither he nor Malfoy had eaten since the night of the severe headache and Grinelda’s visit the next morning. Harry made them soup while Malfoy insisted on taking a bath. Harry got him set with painkillers for the headache, fresh towel and clothes, and appropriate water temperature before Malfoy shooed him out of the bathroom. It was much more than the real Malfoy would have allowed, but Matthew seemed to appreciate the attention.
Harry stared at the soup he was making, remembering to stir it just often enough so it wouldn’t burn or stick. He had not been prepared for Matthew’s return. And truth be told, he was worried that this flicker between personalities was an indication that more and more of Malfoy’s memories were fading back into Matthew. He frowned at his soup. When Malfoy was finished bathing, Harry helped him back to his bedroom. Malfoy insisted he didn’t need the help, but it was obvious with his faltering steps that he wasn’t feeling quite up to speed.
“James,” Malfoy said as he sat in bed, blankets pulled up to his waist, and one hand reaching for Harry’s arm. Harry sat on the edge of the bed near enough for Malfoy to touch him. His hand curled around Harry’s, and with hesitation Harry let their gazes meet.
“You’ve been so good to me,” Malfoy said softly, in a voice that was entirely Matthew’s. “Let me show my appreciation.” Harry processed the words and their meaning while Malfoy tugged him closer, his free hand reaching for Harry’s face, touching his jaw, and curling to his neck, pulling him nearer and nearer.
Harry protested, pulling back and reaching for Malfoy’s hands to gently pry them away. He swallowed, taking a deep breath as he pushed Malfoy’s hands away.
“I, er, have to go check on the…er, soup. It might burn.” Harry stood abruptly, Malfoy watching him with wide eyes. “I…I’ll be back.”
He was at the door before he glanced back at Malfoy, who was still following him with his gaze, which now had a startling plea to it. “You’ll be okay, right?” Harry asked uncertainly.
Malfoy schooled his gaze so that it became unbothered. He gave a weak smile and nodded before looking down at his feet.
..:..
Harry spent the evening going over the passages on spell damage reversal and the notes he’d taken during his chat with Healer Grinelda. He checked on Malfoy often, and was surprised when Malfoy even came to check on him once.
Only it wasn’t Malfoy. It was Matthew - every part Malfoy but softer, less guarded, less of the boy who’d been his enemy in school, and more the boy who could have been his friend. Harry could have been a Slytherin. He could have taken Malfoy’s hand in first year. They could have been best mates. And Harry began to wonder if the Malfoy he would have known might have been more like Matthew.
It was strange, the passion they had always seemed to provoke in one another. Harry had had plenty of enemies growing up. Some he had never given much thought to, others who had invaded his thoughts. Some he could hate, had even entertained thoughts of murder. Others had tried to annoy him, but had never mattered much.
But then there was Malfoy. He had always mattered, and yet Harry wasn’t sure he had ever really hated him. He had injured him, but had not in that moment meant to. He never could have killed him, but he never could ignore him. He had given him more thought than he had most of his Gryffindor classmates, and yet he had never really known him.
It was…strange.
The next morning, Harry woke early and knocked on Malfoy’s door as he often did, peeking in to make sure there was no new emergency. He watched as Malfoy shifted under his sheets, the sleeve of his night shirt hitched up on his shoulder and his hair mussed up against the pillow. Satisfied that there was no sign of trouble, Harry stepped out to let Malfoy wake on his own. Harry was just getting out of the shower several minutes later when he heard a loud thud from across the hall, the sound of metal clanking and a shouted swear. He darted from the bathroom, drawing his wand as he went and skidded into the bedroom, taking a quick glance.
“Matthew?” Harry asked, looking down to see Malfoy on the floor along with his crutches.
“No, it isn’t Matthew,” Malfoy growled, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Harry lowered his wand, surprise registering at the quick and sudden return of Draco Malfoy.
“What the hell is happening?” Malfoy bit out, rubbing his head and gazing up intently at Harry.
“I, er, I can explain,” Harry said, stowing his wand into his jeans and realizing he’d left his shirt in the bathroom. “Well, I think I can. Just, er, just a second.
Malfoy nodded, waving Harry off after his gaze stuck for a second too long. Harry told himself he hadn’t noticed, and finished in the bathroom. When he went back to Malfoy’s room, his arms were loaded with books from the Shifting Library, and Malfoy was sitting on his bed, waiting for him.
“I’ve been compiling my research,” Harry began. “And while you were, er, Matthew, Healer Grinelda paid us another visit. We worked together all day, and I think I’ve come up with a few things we could try.”
“Try?” Malfoy asked, eyebrow raised.
“Well, it’s all theory. No one’s really tried some of these spells before because, well, the Ministry has strict regulations on human experimentation, and most family members aren’t inclined to allow experimental spells on their damaged loved one.”
“But you’re willing?” Malfoy asked, eyebrow raised.
Harry frowned. “I trust Healer Grinelda’s research and my own.”
Malfoy’s lips thinned to a tight line and he looked away.
“I think the Dark Spell that damaged your legs is interfering with the Oblivation Reversal spell I used. Grinelda said it was because of the way the physical matter within the body was affected by the Dark Spell. But I’ve been doing a lot of reading on Containment and Isolation spells. You can use these kinds of spells-”
“To create a refined target for a given spell,” Malfoy cut in. “Yes, Potter, I have heard of such things before. If I only wanted to Crucio your leg, or a single appendage, and not your whole body, I could do so.”
Harry shifted, uneasy with Malfoy bringing up an Unforgivable Curse as his example. Nor did he like any references to appendages, especially when coupled with the Cruciatus curse. He glanced over at Malfoy, catching the tail end of a long glare. Harry sat up straighter.
“Is there something you want to talk about?” Harry asked like a challenge.
“Are you pretending to be man enough now to face it?” Malfoy threw back.
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Do you want to know my theories for fixing this memory problem, or not?”
Malfoy crossed his arms and looked away again. “Proceed.”
“Containment and Isolation Spells can be coupled with other spells, as you know,” Harry went on, scanning his notes. “But they have also used these spells in Healing, and they’ve researched the affects they can have on spell damage. For example, sixty years ago there are medical records pertaining to a Josiah Jornsington who was hit with an Elefantatius Curse by a schoolmate. There was great spell damage, and his parents thought he’d forever look like Elephant boy. However, the Healers were able to use Containment spells together with their Healing spells to confine the spell’s affects to the boy’s left foot.”
“But they weren’t able to remove it completely?” Malfoy asked dryly.
“Unfortunately, no. This is the nature of Dark Curses, which I’m sure you must be familiar with,” Harry said.
Malfoy turned his head slowly to look at him.
“No less familiar than you, I assure you,” Malfoy replied, his right hand moving with purpose toward his flannel shirt, over his chest.
“That was an accident,” Harry said through his teeth.
“It was pure hatred,” Malfoy corrected, voice low and angry.
“I never hated you,” Harry returned, his jaw flinching with the admission. Malfoy’s eyes narrowed.
Harry swallowed, glanced at his notes again for realignment, and said, “I was thinking of a Containment or Isolation spell, something that might be able to isolate the effects of the Dark Spell and its spell damage. The problem is, it would require someone to cast a spell on you, and…you’ve no tolerance for magic. Because of that, Grinelda said it is not recommended and she could never do that to a patient of hers.”
“And you? What do you think?” Malfoy asked evenly.
“I think it might be worth the risk. Up to this point, you’ve always been revived with some Muggle-friendly remedies. I think a spell that will contain the damage would give you the best hope for retaining your memories permanently. And who knows, like the boy with the Elefantatius Curse, it could limit the damage in such away where you might be able to get rid of your crutches or have your magic back. It’s a possibility, anyway.”
“And you would conduct the spellcasting?” Malfoy asked, eyes considering Harry.
“Yes,” Harry answered, unyielding in his return gaze.
“I have to think about this,” Malfoy answered.
Harry blinked and slowly nodded. “Of course.” There was a long a heavy pause as he gazed around the room before he continued. “Er, why don’t I put these books back,” he said, beginning to straighten his notes and stack up the few books he had brought. He stood but Malfoy stopped him from departing.
“Potter?”
“Yeah?” Harry looked up, two books in his arms as he reached for another.
“Why did you tell me your name was James?” Malfoy asked. “I mean, when I was Matthew. Why did you say you were James Smith?”
Harry tilted his head, having not expected the question. “Well, I wasn’t sure if I needed an alias. Just in case my name was known by someone involved. I didn’t know the depth of the situation at that point in time.”
Malfoy nodded, his brows lowered as he looked at his bedside table.
“Is there something else?” Harry got the feeling there was.
“Why did you come over for Christmas?” Malfoy asked him, his eyes coming up to meet Harry’s.
Harry sniffed, looked up to the ceiling and tried to think about his answer. “I dunno,” he responded. “I guess because you asked.” Harry shrugged one shoulder and let his gaze fall back to Malfoy, whose eyes were narrowed again.
“I, erm, I need to put these back and run some errands. We need more painkillers, and I wanted to track Landon again today. But you can think about the spells, and tell me later if you want to try them out,” Harry said, loading the last of his books and notes into his arms.
He left Malfoy’s bedroom and did not see him again until that evening. Malfoy had made stew while Harry was out. He took several tablets of painkillers as soon as Harry arrived with fresh supplies, and they shared a meal that was marginally more comfortable than the last several they had shared, or not-shared.
“Thanks for this. You know you don’t have to cook, right?” Harry asked. “I’m pretty good at it.”
“Yes, well, I’m better,” Malfoy answered. “And there is little else I can do. Cooking sometimes reminds me of potions.” A smile seemed to tempt his features, but it did not make a full appearance.
Harry nodded and ate from his bowl of stew.
“Potter?” Malfoy asked. Harry looked up at him. “I’ve thought about the spells, and your reasoning makes sense. I know how the Containment and Isolation Spells work. The theory is sound. As long as you have some Muggle remedies on hand to revive me after your spellwork, then I think you should perform the Healing and Containment spells.”
Harry swallowed his mouthful of stew, taking a drink of water to clear his throat. “Er, are you sure?”
“Yes,” Malfoy said, nodding once. “We can do it this weekend, I think.”
Next: Chapter 29