FIC: Sex On Fire 1/2
Title: Sex On Fire
Author: gypsyflame
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 11,875
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Warnings: EWE; rimming
Summary: A life-threatening injury brings Malfoy back into Harry’s life.
A/N: Written for okydoky as part of hds_beltane. The prompt, as you may have guessed, was “Sex On Fire” by the Kings of Leon - it was so inspiring that this fic practically wrote itself. A thousand thanks to the_flic for her awesome beta skills and to the mod for a wonderful fest!
Posted in two parts due to length.
Fire is the test of gold; adversity, of strong men.
-Seneca
Harry’s shoulder was numb.
Actually, the numbness seemed to have spread out from his shoulder, all the way down his left arm and to part of his chest and back. It was extremely unpleasant.
He opened his eyes.
His vision was blurry, but he could see enough to know he wasn’t at home. Where were his glasses? Where was he?
Oh, God. The fire. Ron - the little girl -
Harry made a panicked noise.
“Relax,” said a voice at his right. “You’re in St. Mungo’s. Here.”
His glasses were placed in his right hand. Harry pushed them onto his face awkwardly. “There was a fire, I…Malfoy?”
They must have given him way too much pain potion, because that could not possibly be Draco Malfoy standing next to his bed in lime green Healer’s robes. Harry struggled to sit up, even though he couldn’t feel half his upper body.
The Malfoy-hallucination pushed him back down gently. “Don’t try to sit up. You’ve been very badly burned.” Then, under his breath, he added, “Idiot.”
Harry decided to play along with the hallucination for the time being; he had bigger concerns. “Did everyone get out okay? The kids?”
“The children and their mother are all fine.”
Thank God. “Ron?”
“He’s the one who brought you in. He was suffering from some smoke inhalation, but a quick Lung-Clearing Potion set him to rights.” Malfoy paused. “You shouldn’t have gone back into that house, Potter.”
“There was a little girl trapped inside.”
“Weasley said it was literally falling down around you.”
“She would have died!”
“And you very nearly did.”
Harry shook his head in frustration. “I really don’t need to be lectured by my own subconscious, thanks.”
Malfoy blinked. Then he leaned over and took Harry’s glasses off with one hand, using the other hand to pull Harry’s eyelid up as he peered into Harry’s eye. Harry jerked away.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Checking for a head injury. Are you experiencing any dizziness or headaches?”
“No.”
“What year is it?”
“2007.”
“Who’s the Minster for Magic?”
“Kingsley Shacklebolt. My head is fine, Malfoy.”
Malfoy handed him back his glasses, looking unconvinced. “Then explain that comment you made about your subconscious.”
“It’s just the pain potions, making me see things,” Harry said.
“What kinds of things?”
“You! You’re obviously not real.” A fatal flaw in Harry’s logic occurred to him. If Malfoy was really a hallucination, than Harry couldn’t trust anything he’d said about the fire. What if the little girl hadn’t survived, after all? Harry glanced down at the simple leather band he wore on his right wrist - a gift from George Weasley upon becoming an Auror. Ron had a matching one; they were charmed to let each partner know when the other was in mortal danger. The band lay quiescent, neither hot nor cold, so Harry was sure that Ron, at least, really was okay.
“Potter, you’re not on nearly enough pain potion to make you hallucinate,” Malfoy said. “Why do you think I can’t be real?”
“You’re wearing Healer’s robes.”
“I’m a Healer.”
“Since when?” Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy since…just after the end of the war, actually. If Malfoy had been working in St. Mungo’s all that time, Harry would certainly have seen him at some point. God knew was here often enough.
Malfoy made a disgusted noise. “I’ve been living in France, Potter. I only moved back here three months ago. You must have heard that my mother is getting remarried.”
Oh, right. It had been in the Prophet - Narcissa Black, who had gone back to her maiden name after the divorce, was engaged to some important wizard in the Wizengamot. Harry had actually been invited to the wedding, although he hadn’t responded yet.
Still…“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“Fine,” Malfoy said. “Let’s try a different tack. Why would you be hallucinating at all? People’s minds don’t make up elaborate and life-like hallucinations for no reason.”
“I told you, it’s the pain potions.” Harry sighed. “And maybe I needed someone to be here when I woke up. To reassure me about the fire.”
Malfoy nodded thoughtfully. “Reassurance. That could be a valid explanation. But if that’s the case, then why would you hallucinate me?”
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything. Malfoy was right, of course. If Harry had really needed to be reassured, he would have hallucinated Hermione, or Molly, or even Neville. Malfoy was just about the last person his subconscious would have provided him with.
“Fuck,” he said.
Malfoy sat on a stool next to Harry’s bed. “Now that we’ve gotten your nervous breakdown out of the way, can we talk about your real injuries?”
“You’re really here. And you’re my Healer.”
“I’m the Healer-in-Charge of the Burn Ward, yes.”
“Lime green’s not really your color.”
“Potter!” Malfoy snapped. “Focus. Part of the house fell on you just as you got the girl out. You received extensive burns over the left side of your body, and your left lung collapsed. Your shoulder, arm, and ribs were all broken, and you narrowly avoided having your heart crushed.”
A horrible thought occurred to Harry. “Is that why I can’t feel my side? Am I paralyzed?”
“No. I induced the temporary paralysis myself to keep you from moving the injured areas. Your heart is working fine, and we were able to repair your lung and broken bones with no problems.”
When Malfoy hesitated, Harry prompted him with an apprehensive, “But…”
“The burns were bad, Potter,” said Malfoy. “I was able to grow back the skin - repair the surface damage. But there’s severe damage to the tissues underneath that’s much harder to heal, and the fact that your muscles were damaged by the blunt trauma as well as the burns just complicates things.”
Harry swallowed. “How long will it take?”
“With a course of several potions and regular physical rehabilitation…about a month.”
“A month? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“You’re lucky to be alive, Potter,” Malfoy said, giving him a stern look. “What you did was incredibly stupid.”
“I saved a little girl from a burning building!”
“At unacceptable risk to your own life.”
“Please, Malfoy. You wouldn’t even be here if I wasn’t the type of bloke to pull someone out of a fire.”
Malfoy’s face went white, and Harry immediately regretted his words.
“I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say -”
“Forget it,” Malfoy said. He stood up, holding himself stiffly. “I’m not going to lie to you, Potter. The rehabilitation process will difficult, and it will be painful. But if you ever want to have full use of your left side again, you’re going to have to trust me to help you.”
“All right,” Harry said quietly.
“I have to inform the MLE you’re awake, and then I have other patients to attend. I’ll be back in the afternoon.”
“Okay.”
Malfoy left the room. Harry stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he really could trust Malfoy and knowing that he had no other choice.
***
Harry dozed on and off for about an hour before Ron and Hermione came to see him. They sat on either side of his bed, both dressed in their work robes. Harry noted idly that lime green didn’t look any better on Hermione than it did on Malfoy, and wondered what had possessed the person who had decided that it was a desirable color for Healers to wear.
“Gave us quite a scare, mate,” Ron said, clapping Harry gently on his uninjured shoulder.
“You need to be more careful,” Hermione scolded.
Ron glared at her. “What was he supposed to do, let that little girl burn to death?”
“She’s really all right, then?” Harry interrupted, not wanting to be caught in the middle of yet another marital spat.
“She’s fine,” Hermione assured him. “So are her mother and the other two children.”
“And Myers?”
Ron’s expression darkened. “He got away.”
Harry had expected that, but it was still disappointing to hear. Aldon Myers was wanted for three homicides. Last night, Harry and Ron had tracked him to his ex-wife’s house, where he’d been holding the woman and their three children hostage. Myers had set the house ablaze before making his escape, knowing that Harry and Ron would prioritize the innocent lives over his capture.
“Well, I’m afraid I won’t be any help tracking the bastard down. Malfoy says I’ll be out of commission for a month.”
“I can’t believe they let that git become a Healer, after everything he did,” Ron said with a scowl.
“He was acquitted by the Wizengamot,” said Hermione.
“He’s still an arsehole!”
“His personality has nothing to do with his skill.” Hermione turned to Harry. “Malfoy happens to be an incredible Healer. The breakthroughs he’s made in burn treatment are revolutionary.”
“He said he’s been here for three months,” Harry said. “You never mentioned him.”
Hermione shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d care.”
That made Harry blink a little. Why did he care?
“I can’t believe you’re going to be out of the field for a month,” Ron said. “You know they’re going to stick me with some idiot rookie.”
“Yes, Ron,” said Hermione, “you’re the one who’s suffering here.”
“I’m just saying.”
Hermione waved him off. “Look at the bright side, Harry. You’ll be better in time for the Beltane Ball.”
The Beltane Ball was a tradition that had fallen by the wayside the first time Voldemort had risen to power, and it had been revived the year after the Battle of Hogwarts in celebration. The Ministry sponsored the Ball, the highlight of which was an enormous bonfire. More often than not, it degenerated into a no-holds-barred bacchanalia.
Harry smiled. “You’re right. There is that.”
Ron and Hermione kept him company for another hour, and for what seemed like the eight thousandth time, Harry thought about how grateful he was to have such good friends.
Even if their bickering did drive him mad sometimes.
***
True to his word, Malfoy returned mid-afternoon to explain the intricacies of the recovery process to Harry. He’d written out the potions schedule on parchment, and it was so complex that Harry’s head hurt just looking at it.
“You’ll be taking four different potions. They all need to be taken in different amounts and at different times, so it’s extremely important that you stick to the schedule. Keep it somewhere you can see it, and make sure that all the potions are clearly labeled. I also suggest that you keep a record of your doses so you know you haven’t missed any.”
“Er…okay,” Harry said, feeling slightly dazed. Malfoy was a fast talker.
“I’m going to show you the exercises you’ll need to do to restore the lost muscle tone and improve your freedom of movement. They have to be done twice a day - morning and night, no matter how much you may not want to do them.”
Harry was starting to get a little irritated with Malfoy’s condescending tone. “I’m not a child, Malfoy. I’ll do the exercises.”
Malfoy just raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see. You’ll need to come back here once a week so that I can check your progress. Do you have any questions?”
“No.”
“Good.” Malfoy set the parchment aside and pulled back Harry’s blanket. “You need to sit up before I remove the bandages and the paralysis spells.”
Harry nodded, a little embarrassed that Malfoy was seeing him this way - in just thin cotton hospital trousers and no shirt. But it was ridiculous to be embarrassed. Malfoy was a Healer, and Harry had never felt self-conscious in front of a Healer before. The human body was their job, after all.
Of course, Malfoy wasn’t just a Healer; he was Malfoy, and this entire situation was all kinds of wrong.
“Put your good arm around my shoulders,” Malfoy said, leaning over Harry’s right side and sliding his arm under Harry’s back. “I know it feels strange, but don’t think about it too much or it’ll upset your balance.”
“I think I can handle having my arm around you without swooning,” Harry said as Malfoy helped him sit up slowly.
Malfoy gave him an odd look. “I meant the fact that you can’t feel your left side.”
“Oh,” Harry said, mortified.
Thankfully, Malfoy didn’t say anything else as he got Harry upright and turned him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He uncorked a vial and handed it to Harry.
“Pain-Away?” Harry asked, reading the label. “Is that really necessary?” Pain-Away was one of the strongest pain potions that was actually legal.
“Believe me, you’ll want it when I remove the spells.” Malfoy’s mouth twitched. “It’s just enough to take the edge off. It won’t make you hallucinate, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Harry rolled his eyes and downed the potion, which tasted faintly of mint. Malfoy started stripping away his bandages.
It was strange, not being able to feel his left side. Harry’s entire center of balance felt off, but the more he concentrated on keeping himself centered, the more he started to list to the left, until Malfoy finally righted him with an annoyed huff.
“I told you not to think about it. Your body knows what to do. Don’t let your brain interfere.” Malfoy peeled off another strip of bandaging and muttered, “I can’t believe I’m telling you, of all people, not to overthink something.”
To distract himself from his physical disorientation, Harry watched Malfoy’s quick, skilled hands. The skin being revealed was a little pink and shiny, but that was the only sign that it had been covered in third-degree burns less than twenty-four hours ago. Harry was reluctantly impressed.
“Aren’t you a little young to be Healer-in-Charge of a whole ward?”
“The youngest in quite some time, yes.”
“You must be good.”
“I’m the best,” Malfoy said matter-of-factly.
Harry couldn’t really argue that; he’d never seen burns heal so quickly. It was hard to believe that there was still damage lurking beneath the skin.
“All right,” said Malfoy as he Banished the last of the bandages. “I’m going to remove the spells now. It’ll hurt, but with the potion, the pain shouldn’t be unmanageable. Are you ready?”
“You don’t have to mollycoddle me, Malfoy. I’m used to pain. Just do it.”
“Finite Incantatem.”
Despite Malfoy’s warning, it hurt more than Harry had expected it to - a dull, throbbing ache that spread through his entire left shoulder and arm, radiating all the way down to his fingers, over the pectoral muscle, and through his left shoulderblade. But Harry had experienced far worse.
Malfoy spelled a quill to take notes. “Rate the pain on a scale of zero to ten, with zero being no pain at all and ten being the Cruciatus curse.”
“About a four, I guess.” It was really more like a five.
“Good. You’re on an appropriate dose of Pain-Away, then. Turn your arm palm-up and flex your hand open as much as you can.”
Harry did so, and was dismayed to find that he could hardly extend his fingers at all. It wasn’t the pain that stopped him - it was more like his muscles were just too weak to move.
“Now make a fist.”
Once again, Harry could barely move his fingers from their natural half-curved position. As Malfoy continued to test his strength and mobility, Harry grew increasingly frustrated. His arm was practically useless; he couldn’t even shrug his shoulder.
“Relax, Potter. You’re doing fine.”
“Fine? My arm might as well still be paralyzed for all I can do with it!”
“It’ll improve with time and treatment.” Malfoy skimmed through the notes the quill had taken, checking them for accuracy. “Maybe instead of whinging about how bad you have it, you should consider how fortunate you are that it was your left side that was affected. At least you can still use your wand.”
Okay, that was a good point.
Harry paid close attention as Malfoy led him through the series of physical rehabilitation exercises he’d have to do, determined not to give Malfoy another reason to accuse him of whinging. It bothered him how calm and businesslike Malfoy was being about all this, when Harry himself felt horribly awkward. If Malfoy could manage to put aside their personal history, then Harry should be able to do the same.
Malfoy had never beaten him at anything before. Harry wasn’t about to let that change.
“Granger said she was going to bring you some clothes.”
“She did.”
“You won’t be able to dress yourself normally for a while. Do you know the spells for dressing and undressing?”
Jesus, did Malfoy treat all his patients like two-year-olds? “Yes,” Harry snapped.
“It was just a question, Potter. No need to get so worked up.” But there was a slight smirk to Malfoy’s lips, a look in his eyes that Harry recognized from their Hogwarts days. Oddly, the knowledge that Malfoy was intentionally trying to push his buttons put Harry much more at ease. Maybe things hadn’t changed that much, after all.
Malfoy stepped away, picking up a simple cotton sling from the counter and handing it to Harry.
“Wear this as often as you can. You can take it off to sleep, shower, and do your exercises, but other than that, you should keep it on. It’ll be easier for your muscles to heal if they’re not being jostled around. Try to sleep on your back, and absolutely no Floo or Portkey travel. Apparition should be fine.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“No. Come back in one week so I can check your progress. You can make an appointment in my suite - it’s just down the hall, at the end of the ward. That’s where we’ll do the checkups, as well.” Malfoy dropped a few pieces of parchment next to Harry, on top of the potions schedule. “You can get your prescriptions filled at any apothecary. I don’t recommend using the hospital’s; they overcharge.”
Harry nodded, wondering if that was an honest tip or if Malfoy was just hoping to make him go out of his way. “Thanks.”
As Malfoy headed for the door, Harry rifled through the prescription parchments. He picked up the third one and frowned. “Malfoy, wait a second.”
Malfoy turned, visibly annoyed. “What?”
“I don’t need a prescription for Pain-Away.”
“Yes, you do. An apothecary won’t sell it to you without one.”
“No, I mean I don’t need Pain-Away at all. I have Pain-Ease at home.”
Malfoy shook his head. “That won’t be strong enough.”
“It’ll be fine,” Harry said. “I’m not going to take Pain-Away for a whole month. That stuff fucks with your head. It’s addictive.”
“You’d be taking a highly regulated, gradually decreasing dose under the direct supervision of a Healer.” Malfoy was even more annoyed now, which gave Harry a perverse kind of pleasure.
“I don’t need it.”
“Oh, spare me your cocky Gryffindor ridiculousness,” Malfoy said, glaring. “Burns are one of the most painful injuries the human body can sustain, and you do need strong pain relief. Without it, you won’t be able to function. You won’t be able to sleep, or exercise, or do anything but think about how much pain you’re in. You’ll get worse instead of better. Don’t be an idiot.”
Harry glared right back. “I’ve had every painful curse and hex in the book thrown at me over the past decade, and I’ve never needed anything stronger than Pain-Ease. I think I can handle a burn.”
Malfoy snorted. “Whatever, Potter. It’s your decision.” He left in what could only be described as a flounce.
Harry scowled. Even though he’d technically won, Malfoy had still gotten the last word, and he hated that. The irritation remained as he dressed, gathered his things - pointedly leaving the Pain-Away prescription on the bed - and made his way down the hall to Malfoy’s suite.
How did Malfoy do it, get under his skin like this? Harry hadn’t seen the man in almost ten years, and he liked to think that he’d matured in that time, but something about Malfoy made him feel like a moody, unstable teenager again.
Malfoy’s secretary was a surprisingly lovely young woman named Angela. How such a sweet girl could stand working for that git was beyond Harry, but as he made his appointment for next week, he could feel his irritation fading almost against his will. It was impossible to stay in a bad mood around her; it would have been like kicking a puppy.
By the time Harry left St. Mungo’s, he had put Malfoy almost completely out of his mind.
***
After stopping by Diagon Alley to get his potions, Harry headed to the Burrow for what was essentially a “we’re-glad-you’re-still-alive” dinner. The whole family was there, and Harry was glad for the opportunity to take his mind off the accident and the difficult month of recovery he had in front of him. There was no better distraction than an energetic crowd of Weasley children.
Ginny brought along her new boyfriend, one of her Falcons teammates, and the poor bloke was so nervous meeting Harry that Harry felt a little sorry for him. It had been years since Harry and Ginny had realized they were more in love with the idea of each other than anything else. They had parted amicably and remained friends, without any of the usual drama that had accompanied the ends of all Harry’s other relationships.
Still, Harry was a little jealous - not because he wanted Ginny, but because he wanted what Ginny had. Since their breakup, Harry had jumped from relationship to relationship, with both women and men. None had lasted more than a few months, and all had ended badly. Harry missed that feeling of being in love, and it didn’t help that pretty much all of his friends had been able to find it.
But as he filled himself with Molly’s excellent cooking and played with the kids he considered his nieces and nephews, surrounded by people who loved him as one of their own, he knew he was luckier than most.
After a few hours, the Pain-Away began to wear off. Harry had grown somewhat accustomed to the dull throbbing and had managed to push it to the back of his mind, but the new sharp pains shooting through his arm couldn’t be ignored. Not wanting to worry anyone, especially the kids, Harry excused himself to the bathroom and took a good strong dose of Pain-Ease.
It didn’t help. Pain-Ease was supposed to take effect within five minutes, but five minutes later, Harry actually felt worse. It became more and more difficult to follow the conversation, as he had to use all of his concentration to keep the pain from showing on his face. It wasn’t long before he gave up and got to his feet.
“I should get going.”
“Are you feeling all right?” Molly asked, immediately concerned. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.” Harry attempted a smile, knowing that it came out as more of a grimace.
Molly didn’t seem convinced, but Harry quickly said his goodbyes and Apparated to Grimmauld Place. The pain was awful now, like he was being stabbed with white-hot knives all over his left side. Harry took a double dose of Pain-Ease and fell into bed. It wasn’t as bad as the Cruciatus, but it was getting damn close.
He lay on his back and took the sling off, gritting his teeth against the pain of unbending his elbow. Then he stared at the ceiling and tried to stay as still as possible, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths.
God, he was supposed to do his physical therapy exercises. But there was no way he could, not like this. He could barely keep himself from whimpering.
He couldn’t live like this. In the morning, he’d have to swallow his pride, go back to St. Mungo’s, and get another prescription from Malfoy. And that was almost as painful as the injuries themselves - the knowledge that Malfoy had been right, after all.
***
Harry barely slept, and what little sleep he did manage was broken and restless. He woke early and Apparated to St. Mungo’s as soon as he thought Malfoy might be in.
He headed for Malfoy’s office suite, grimly anticipating the groveling Malfoy would doubtlessly require and cursing his own stubbornness. What had possessed him to think that he knew better than a Healer? Of course, if his Healer had been anyone else, Harry probably would have accepted the necessity of the Pain-Away. He wouldn’t have liked it, but he would have accepted it. He had let his need to best Malfoy get the better of him.
When Harry stepped into the suite, Angela looked up with a big smile. “Good morning, Auror Potter. Healer Malfoy said you’d be in today.”
Harry stopped short. “He did?”
“Yes, of course.” She held out a piece of paper. “Here’s that prescription you forgot yesterday.”
Harry took it with his good hand, slightly bewildered. “Thanks.”
“You poor thing, you must be in terrible pain,” Angela said, her eyes sympathetic. She picked up a small vial from the desk. “Healer Malfoy left enough Pain-Away for a single dose. Shall I open it for you?”
Thank God. “Yes, please,” Harry said immediately. He folded the prescription awkwardly with one hand and shoved it into his pocket, then took the open vial from Angela and downed the contents.
“I’ll see you next week, then?” Angela asked as she took the empty vial back.
“Yeah. Thank you.” Harry turned towards the door, then hesitated and turned back. “Er… tell Healer Malfoy I said thanks, too.”
“Of course, love.”
What the hell was that about? Harry wondered as he made his way back to the lobby. Malfoy had obviously known that the pain would be bad enough to drive Harry back today - yet he hadn’t stuck around to gloat. That was not the Malfoy Harry knew. Now he felt even worse about his juvenile behaviour yesterday.
Goddamn that pointy blond git.
***
Harry stared glumly down at the papers covering his desk. He hadn’t needed to come to work today; the severity of his injuries could have excused him for the rest of the week. But the thought of lazing about at home with nothing to do hadn’t appealed to him.
He hadn’t taken into account the fact that he was going to be relegated to his desk for the next month.
Ron had been assigned a temporary partner, a fresh-faced Hufflepuff straight out of the training programme. The two of them were back on Myers’ trail, while Harry was stuck here in the office, facing down weeks of tedious paperwork.
Harry sighed. It was going to be a long fucking month.
***
By the time next Wednesday rolled around, Harry was going out of his mind with boredom, and he was ridiculously grateful to be able to use the excuse of his Healer’s appointment to get out of the Ministry. In fact, he was so eager to leave that he ended up taking off too early, and he arrived at St. Mungo’s a good twenty minutes before his scheduled appointment.
“Auror Potter!” Angela greeted him with some surprise. “You do know your appointment isn’t until three?”
“Yeah, sorry. I was a little too keen to get away from work. Is it okay if I wait here?”
“Oh, that’s probably not necessary,” Angela said, waving her hand. “Healer Malfoy isn’t with a patient right now. He’s just in his office - that door over there. You can knock, if you like. I’m sure he won’t mind seeing you a little early.”
“Thanks.” Harry crossed the room and knocked on the door she’d pointed out.
“Come in!” Malfoy said from the other side.
Harry opened the door but remained in the doorway. He’d expected the office to be as neat and well-put-together as Malfoy himself. Instead, the place was an absolute mess. Books, papers, and file folders covered every available inch of surface space, and Malfoy’s Healer’s robes were thrown carelessly over a chair. Malfoy stood behind the desk, dressed only in a button-front shirt and trousers, rummaging through the clutter and muttering to himself. He barely glanced up at Harry.
“Potter. You’re early.”
“Angela said you might be able to see me anyway.”
“Sure, just give me a minute. I’m looking for your file.” Malfoy rifled through a stack of folders. “Damn.”
Harry fidgeted in the doorway, not sure if he should stay where he was or go back to the waiting room. “Why don’t you just Summon it?”
“And risk having the all the papers fall out and scatter across the room? No, thank you.” Malfoy opened the top drawer on the side of the desk, sifted through the contents, and slammed it shut with a noise of frustration. He bent over to open the bottom drawer, and the movement pulled his trousers tight against his rather shapely arse. Harry looked away.
A moment later, Malfoy straightened back up, holding a folder and looking triumphant.
“Found it,” he said. “Just a second.” Malfoy grabbed his robes off the chair and shrugged into them. “I hate these things.”
Harry privately agreed, but at least the robes kept Malfoy’s body hidden. The last thing Harry needed right now was to start lusting after his own Healer. Especially when that Healer happened to be Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy ushered Harry into the small examination room next to his office, gesturing for him to take a seat on the table. “Take off your shirt.”
Harry slipped off the sling and used his wand to remove his shirt. Malfoy tapped Harry’s shoulder with his own wand, casting some sort of spell that created a bright swirl of colors an inch or so above the skin - mostly blue, with a few streaks of red here and there.
“Have you been wearing the sling regularly?”
“Yes.”
“Any problems with the rehabilitation exercises?”
“No.”
Malfoy moved the spell down to Harry’s upper arm, then over his elbow. “How’s the pain?”
Harry tensed. “About the same.”
“Have you been taking your potions?”
“Yes. Why don’t you just say it?”
“Say what?” Malfoy asked, without looking up from the spell cloud hovering over Harry’s hand.
“I was wrong and you were right. I needed the Pain-Away.”
Now Malfoy looked up, his eyebrows lifting in amusement. “I know I was right, Potter. I don’t need you to validate me.”
“That’s a first.”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and cast the spell on Harry’s chest, smacking the injured skin with much more force than was necessary.
“Ouch!” Harry yelped. “Christ, Malfoy, aren’t you supposed to do no harm or something?”
“That’s Muggles, idiot.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to insult your patients, either.”
“I’ll stop insulting you when you stop giving me reasons to.”
Harry blew out a frustrated breath. He just couldn’t seem to win with Malfoy, and it infuriated him.
Malfoy moved around behind him to check his back, and the silence quickly became uncomfortable - for Harry, at least. He cast about desperately for some non-incendiary topic of conversation and came up empty.
“There’s definitely been progress,” Malfoy said, coming back around the table. “Have you noticed any improvement in your mobility while exercising?”
“A little.”
“Good, let’s see. Palm up.”
Harry turned his arm, attempting to flex his palm and then make a fist as he had done last week. He could move his fingers more now, although not nearly all the way.
Malfoy hummed in approval. “Lift your arm straight in front of you, as high as you can.”
The routine was familiar, and Harry found himself concentrating on Malfoy even as Malfoy concentrated on his arm. “So, you’re a burn specialist.”
“You’re really not helping with the whole ‘no-insult’ thing.”
“I just - I was wondering if it had something to do with…what happened that night. You know.”
For a long moment, Malfoy was completely motionless, staring down at his hands on Harry’s arm. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Lift your arm to the side.”
Harry obeyed. He wasn’t sure why he had asked; it wasn’t like Malfoy was going to tell him anything, not about this -
“I was having nightmares,” Malfoy said quietly, not looking at him.
Harry kept his mouth shut. If he interrupted, Malfoy might stop talking, and Harry really did want to know.
“At first they were just about what had happened to Vince,” Malfoy continued. “Then about what would have happened to me and Greg if you hadn’t come back. Before long, I was dreaming about everyone I knew being burned alive. Every night. Lift your arm behind you.”
Harry did the best he could, wincing. Malfoy didn’t seem to notice.
“I would wake up in the middle of the night, thinking I was on fire. I couldn’t eat meat because it smelled too much like burnt flesh. Eventually I couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as a lit candle. Bend your elbow.”
It was creepy how calm Malfoy’s voice was, as if he was describing something that had happened to someone else.
“I ran away. I went to France, thinking that if I could get away from where it happened -”
Malfoy shook his head. “But we’re not Muggles. We can’t run from fire the way they can; it’s too much a part of who we are. Roll your shoulder.”
Apparently satisfied with Harry’s progress, Malfoy stepped away to the counter and ended the spell on his quill, glancing at the notes it had taken.
“I decided that if I couldn’t run from fire, I could at least learn how to beat it.” Malfoy looked up at Harry, making eye contact for the first time since he’d started speaking, and Harry took a quick breath at the intensity of his gaze. “So yes, Potter, what happened that night has something to do with it.” Malfoy picked up the folder and headed for the door. “Keep wearing your sling. See you next week.”
Then he was gone and Harry was alone, feeling like he’d just been gutted.
Part Two
Author: gypsyflame
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 11,875
Disclaimer: Characters are the property of JK Rowling, et al. This was created for fun, not for profit.
Warnings: EWE; rimming
Summary: A life-threatening injury brings Malfoy back into Harry’s life.
A/N: Written for okydoky as part of hds_beltane. The prompt, as you may have guessed, was “Sex On Fire” by the Kings of Leon - it was so inspiring that this fic practically wrote itself. A thousand thanks to the_flic for her awesome beta skills and to the mod for a wonderful fest!
Posted in two parts due to length.
Fire is the test of gold; adversity, of strong men.
-Seneca
Harry’s shoulder was numb.
Actually, the numbness seemed to have spread out from his shoulder, all the way down his left arm and to part of his chest and back. It was extremely unpleasant.
He opened his eyes.
His vision was blurry, but he could see enough to know he wasn’t at home. Where were his glasses? Where was he?
Oh, God. The fire. Ron - the little girl -
Harry made a panicked noise.
“Relax,” said a voice at his right. “You’re in St. Mungo’s. Here.”
His glasses were placed in his right hand. Harry pushed them onto his face awkwardly. “There was a fire, I…Malfoy?”
They must have given him way too much pain potion, because that could not possibly be Draco Malfoy standing next to his bed in lime green Healer’s robes. Harry struggled to sit up, even though he couldn’t feel half his upper body.
The Malfoy-hallucination pushed him back down gently. “Don’t try to sit up. You’ve been very badly burned.” Then, under his breath, he added, “Idiot.”
Harry decided to play along with the hallucination for the time being; he had bigger concerns. “Did everyone get out okay? The kids?”
“The children and their mother are all fine.”
Thank God. “Ron?”
“He’s the one who brought you in. He was suffering from some smoke inhalation, but a quick Lung-Clearing Potion set him to rights.” Malfoy paused. “You shouldn’t have gone back into that house, Potter.”
“There was a little girl trapped inside.”
“Weasley said it was literally falling down around you.”
“She would have died!”
“And you very nearly did.”
Harry shook his head in frustration. “I really don’t need to be lectured by my own subconscious, thanks.”
Malfoy blinked. Then he leaned over and took Harry’s glasses off with one hand, using the other hand to pull Harry’s eyelid up as he peered into Harry’s eye. Harry jerked away.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Checking for a head injury. Are you experiencing any dizziness or headaches?”
“No.”
“What year is it?”
“2007.”
“Who’s the Minster for Magic?”
“Kingsley Shacklebolt. My head is fine, Malfoy.”
Malfoy handed him back his glasses, looking unconvinced. “Then explain that comment you made about your subconscious.”
“It’s just the pain potions, making me see things,” Harry said.
“What kinds of things?”
“You! You’re obviously not real.” A fatal flaw in Harry’s logic occurred to him. If Malfoy was really a hallucination, than Harry couldn’t trust anything he’d said about the fire. What if the little girl hadn’t survived, after all? Harry glanced down at the simple leather band he wore on his right wrist - a gift from George Weasley upon becoming an Auror. Ron had a matching one; they were charmed to let each partner know when the other was in mortal danger. The band lay quiescent, neither hot nor cold, so Harry was sure that Ron, at least, really was okay.
“Potter, you’re not on nearly enough pain potion to make you hallucinate,” Malfoy said. “Why do you think I can’t be real?”
“You’re wearing Healer’s robes.”
“I’m a Healer.”
“Since when?” Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy since…just after the end of the war, actually. If Malfoy had been working in St. Mungo’s all that time, Harry would certainly have seen him at some point. God knew was here often enough.
Malfoy made a disgusted noise. “I’ve been living in France, Potter. I only moved back here three months ago. You must have heard that my mother is getting remarried.”
Oh, right. It had been in the Prophet - Narcissa Black, who had gone back to her maiden name after the divorce, was engaged to some important wizard in the Wizengamot. Harry had actually been invited to the wedding, although he hadn’t responded yet.
Still…“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“Fine,” Malfoy said. “Let’s try a different tack. Why would you be hallucinating at all? People’s minds don’t make up elaborate and life-like hallucinations for no reason.”
“I told you, it’s the pain potions.” Harry sighed. “And maybe I needed someone to be here when I woke up. To reassure me about the fire.”
Malfoy nodded thoughtfully. “Reassurance. That could be a valid explanation. But if that’s the case, then why would you hallucinate me?”
Harry opened his mouth, then closed it without saying anything. Malfoy was right, of course. If Harry had really needed to be reassured, he would have hallucinated Hermione, or Molly, or even Neville. Malfoy was just about the last person his subconscious would have provided him with.
“Fuck,” he said.
Malfoy sat on a stool next to Harry’s bed. “Now that we’ve gotten your nervous breakdown out of the way, can we talk about your real injuries?”
“You’re really here. And you’re my Healer.”
“I’m the Healer-in-Charge of the Burn Ward, yes.”
“Lime green’s not really your color.”
“Potter!” Malfoy snapped. “Focus. Part of the house fell on you just as you got the girl out. You received extensive burns over the left side of your body, and your left lung collapsed. Your shoulder, arm, and ribs were all broken, and you narrowly avoided having your heart crushed.”
A horrible thought occurred to Harry. “Is that why I can’t feel my side? Am I paralyzed?”
“No. I induced the temporary paralysis myself to keep you from moving the injured areas. Your heart is working fine, and we were able to repair your lung and broken bones with no problems.”
When Malfoy hesitated, Harry prompted him with an apprehensive, “But…”
“The burns were bad, Potter,” said Malfoy. “I was able to grow back the skin - repair the surface damage. But there’s severe damage to the tissues underneath that’s much harder to heal, and the fact that your muscles were damaged by the blunt trauma as well as the burns just complicates things.”
Harry swallowed. “How long will it take?”
“With a course of several potions and regular physical rehabilitation…about a month.”
“A month? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“You’re lucky to be alive, Potter,” Malfoy said, giving him a stern look. “What you did was incredibly stupid.”
“I saved a little girl from a burning building!”
“At unacceptable risk to your own life.”
“Please, Malfoy. You wouldn’t even be here if I wasn’t the type of bloke to pull someone out of a fire.”
Malfoy’s face went white, and Harry immediately regretted his words.
“I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say -”
“Forget it,” Malfoy said. He stood up, holding himself stiffly. “I’m not going to lie to you, Potter. The rehabilitation process will difficult, and it will be painful. But if you ever want to have full use of your left side again, you’re going to have to trust me to help you.”
“All right,” Harry said quietly.
“I have to inform the MLE you’re awake, and then I have other patients to attend. I’ll be back in the afternoon.”
“Okay.”
Malfoy left the room. Harry stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he really could trust Malfoy and knowing that he had no other choice.
***
Harry dozed on and off for about an hour before Ron and Hermione came to see him. They sat on either side of his bed, both dressed in their work robes. Harry noted idly that lime green didn’t look any better on Hermione than it did on Malfoy, and wondered what had possessed the person who had decided that it was a desirable color for Healers to wear.
“Gave us quite a scare, mate,” Ron said, clapping Harry gently on his uninjured shoulder.
“You need to be more careful,” Hermione scolded.
Ron glared at her. “What was he supposed to do, let that little girl burn to death?”
“She’s really all right, then?” Harry interrupted, not wanting to be caught in the middle of yet another marital spat.
“She’s fine,” Hermione assured him. “So are her mother and the other two children.”
“And Myers?”
Ron’s expression darkened. “He got away.”
Harry had expected that, but it was still disappointing to hear. Aldon Myers was wanted for three homicides. Last night, Harry and Ron had tracked him to his ex-wife’s house, where he’d been holding the woman and their three children hostage. Myers had set the house ablaze before making his escape, knowing that Harry and Ron would prioritize the innocent lives over his capture.
“Well, I’m afraid I won’t be any help tracking the bastard down. Malfoy says I’ll be out of commission for a month.”
“I can’t believe they let that git become a Healer, after everything he did,” Ron said with a scowl.
“He was acquitted by the Wizengamot,” said Hermione.
“He’s still an arsehole!”
“His personality has nothing to do with his skill.” Hermione turned to Harry. “Malfoy happens to be an incredible Healer. The breakthroughs he’s made in burn treatment are revolutionary.”
“He said he’s been here for three months,” Harry said. “You never mentioned him.”
Hermione shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d care.”
That made Harry blink a little. Why did he care?
“I can’t believe you’re going to be out of the field for a month,” Ron said. “You know they’re going to stick me with some idiot rookie.”
“Yes, Ron,” said Hermione, “you’re the one who’s suffering here.”
“I’m just saying.”
Hermione waved him off. “Look at the bright side, Harry. You’ll be better in time for the Beltane Ball.”
The Beltane Ball was a tradition that had fallen by the wayside the first time Voldemort had risen to power, and it had been revived the year after the Battle of Hogwarts in celebration. The Ministry sponsored the Ball, the highlight of which was an enormous bonfire. More often than not, it degenerated into a no-holds-barred bacchanalia.
Harry smiled. “You’re right. There is that.”
Ron and Hermione kept him company for another hour, and for what seemed like the eight thousandth time, Harry thought about how grateful he was to have such good friends.
Even if their bickering did drive him mad sometimes.
***
True to his word, Malfoy returned mid-afternoon to explain the intricacies of the recovery process to Harry. He’d written out the potions schedule on parchment, and it was so complex that Harry’s head hurt just looking at it.
“You’ll be taking four different potions. They all need to be taken in different amounts and at different times, so it’s extremely important that you stick to the schedule. Keep it somewhere you can see it, and make sure that all the potions are clearly labeled. I also suggest that you keep a record of your doses so you know you haven’t missed any.”
“Er…okay,” Harry said, feeling slightly dazed. Malfoy was a fast talker.
“I’m going to show you the exercises you’ll need to do to restore the lost muscle tone and improve your freedom of movement. They have to be done twice a day - morning and night, no matter how much you may not want to do them.”
Harry was starting to get a little irritated with Malfoy’s condescending tone. “I’m not a child, Malfoy. I’ll do the exercises.”
Malfoy just raised an eyebrow. “We’ll see. You’ll need to come back here once a week so that I can check your progress. Do you have any questions?”
“No.”
“Good.” Malfoy set the parchment aside and pulled back Harry’s blanket. “You need to sit up before I remove the bandages and the paralysis spells.”
Harry nodded, a little embarrassed that Malfoy was seeing him this way - in just thin cotton hospital trousers and no shirt. But it was ridiculous to be embarrassed. Malfoy was a Healer, and Harry had never felt self-conscious in front of a Healer before. The human body was their job, after all.
Of course, Malfoy wasn’t just a Healer; he was Malfoy, and this entire situation was all kinds of wrong.
“Put your good arm around my shoulders,” Malfoy said, leaning over Harry’s right side and sliding his arm under Harry’s back. “I know it feels strange, but don’t think about it too much or it’ll upset your balance.”
“I think I can handle having my arm around you without swooning,” Harry said as Malfoy helped him sit up slowly.
Malfoy gave him an odd look. “I meant the fact that you can’t feel your left side.”
“Oh,” Harry said, mortified.
Thankfully, Malfoy didn’t say anything else as he got Harry upright and turned him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He uncorked a vial and handed it to Harry.
“Pain-Away?” Harry asked, reading the label. “Is that really necessary?” Pain-Away was one of the strongest pain potions that was actually legal.
“Believe me, you’ll want it when I remove the spells.” Malfoy’s mouth twitched. “It’s just enough to take the edge off. It won’t make you hallucinate, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Harry rolled his eyes and downed the potion, which tasted faintly of mint. Malfoy started stripping away his bandages.
It was strange, not being able to feel his left side. Harry’s entire center of balance felt off, but the more he concentrated on keeping himself centered, the more he started to list to the left, until Malfoy finally righted him with an annoyed huff.
“I told you not to think about it. Your body knows what to do. Don’t let your brain interfere.” Malfoy peeled off another strip of bandaging and muttered, “I can’t believe I’m telling you, of all people, not to overthink something.”
To distract himself from his physical disorientation, Harry watched Malfoy’s quick, skilled hands. The skin being revealed was a little pink and shiny, but that was the only sign that it had been covered in third-degree burns less than twenty-four hours ago. Harry was reluctantly impressed.
“Aren’t you a little young to be Healer-in-Charge of a whole ward?”
“The youngest in quite some time, yes.”
“You must be good.”
“I’m the best,” Malfoy said matter-of-factly.
Harry couldn’t really argue that; he’d never seen burns heal so quickly. It was hard to believe that there was still damage lurking beneath the skin.
“All right,” said Malfoy as he Banished the last of the bandages. “I’m going to remove the spells now. It’ll hurt, but with the potion, the pain shouldn’t be unmanageable. Are you ready?”
“You don’t have to mollycoddle me, Malfoy. I’m used to pain. Just do it.”
“Finite Incantatem.”
Despite Malfoy’s warning, it hurt more than Harry had expected it to - a dull, throbbing ache that spread through his entire left shoulder and arm, radiating all the way down to his fingers, over the pectoral muscle, and through his left shoulderblade. But Harry had experienced far worse.
Malfoy spelled a quill to take notes. “Rate the pain on a scale of zero to ten, with zero being no pain at all and ten being the Cruciatus curse.”
“About a four, I guess.” It was really more like a five.
“Good. You’re on an appropriate dose of Pain-Away, then. Turn your arm palm-up and flex your hand open as much as you can.”
Harry did so, and was dismayed to find that he could hardly extend his fingers at all. It wasn’t the pain that stopped him - it was more like his muscles were just too weak to move.
“Now make a fist.”
Once again, Harry could barely move his fingers from their natural half-curved position. As Malfoy continued to test his strength and mobility, Harry grew increasingly frustrated. His arm was practically useless; he couldn’t even shrug his shoulder.
“Relax, Potter. You’re doing fine.”
“Fine? My arm might as well still be paralyzed for all I can do with it!”
“It’ll improve with time and treatment.” Malfoy skimmed through the notes the quill had taken, checking them for accuracy. “Maybe instead of whinging about how bad you have it, you should consider how fortunate you are that it was your left side that was affected. At least you can still use your wand.”
Okay, that was a good point.
Harry paid close attention as Malfoy led him through the series of physical rehabilitation exercises he’d have to do, determined not to give Malfoy another reason to accuse him of whinging. It bothered him how calm and businesslike Malfoy was being about all this, when Harry himself felt horribly awkward. If Malfoy could manage to put aside their personal history, then Harry should be able to do the same.
Malfoy had never beaten him at anything before. Harry wasn’t about to let that change.
“Granger said she was going to bring you some clothes.”
“She did.”
“You won’t be able to dress yourself normally for a while. Do you know the spells for dressing and undressing?”
Jesus, did Malfoy treat all his patients like two-year-olds? “Yes,” Harry snapped.
“It was just a question, Potter. No need to get so worked up.” But there was a slight smirk to Malfoy’s lips, a look in his eyes that Harry recognized from their Hogwarts days. Oddly, the knowledge that Malfoy was intentionally trying to push his buttons put Harry much more at ease. Maybe things hadn’t changed that much, after all.
Malfoy stepped away, picking up a simple cotton sling from the counter and handing it to Harry.
“Wear this as often as you can. You can take it off to sleep, shower, and do your exercises, but other than that, you should keep it on. It’ll be easier for your muscles to heal if they’re not being jostled around. Try to sleep on your back, and absolutely no Floo or Portkey travel. Apparition should be fine.”
“Got it. Anything else?”
“No. Come back in one week so I can check your progress. You can make an appointment in my suite - it’s just down the hall, at the end of the ward. That’s where we’ll do the checkups, as well.” Malfoy dropped a few pieces of parchment next to Harry, on top of the potions schedule. “You can get your prescriptions filled at any apothecary. I don’t recommend using the hospital’s; they overcharge.”
Harry nodded, wondering if that was an honest tip or if Malfoy was just hoping to make him go out of his way. “Thanks.”
As Malfoy headed for the door, Harry rifled through the prescription parchments. He picked up the third one and frowned. “Malfoy, wait a second.”
Malfoy turned, visibly annoyed. “What?”
“I don’t need a prescription for Pain-Away.”
“Yes, you do. An apothecary won’t sell it to you without one.”
“No, I mean I don’t need Pain-Away at all. I have Pain-Ease at home.”
Malfoy shook his head. “That won’t be strong enough.”
“It’ll be fine,” Harry said. “I’m not going to take Pain-Away for a whole month. That stuff fucks with your head. It’s addictive.”
“You’d be taking a highly regulated, gradually decreasing dose under the direct supervision of a Healer.” Malfoy was even more annoyed now, which gave Harry a perverse kind of pleasure.
“I don’t need it.”
“Oh, spare me your cocky Gryffindor ridiculousness,” Malfoy said, glaring. “Burns are one of the most painful injuries the human body can sustain, and you do need strong pain relief. Without it, you won’t be able to function. You won’t be able to sleep, or exercise, or do anything but think about how much pain you’re in. You’ll get worse instead of better. Don’t be an idiot.”
Harry glared right back. “I’ve had every painful curse and hex in the book thrown at me over the past decade, and I’ve never needed anything stronger than Pain-Ease. I think I can handle a burn.”
Malfoy snorted. “Whatever, Potter. It’s your decision.” He left in what could only be described as a flounce.
Harry scowled. Even though he’d technically won, Malfoy had still gotten the last word, and he hated that. The irritation remained as he dressed, gathered his things - pointedly leaving the Pain-Away prescription on the bed - and made his way down the hall to Malfoy’s suite.
How did Malfoy do it, get under his skin like this? Harry hadn’t seen the man in almost ten years, and he liked to think that he’d matured in that time, but something about Malfoy made him feel like a moody, unstable teenager again.
Malfoy’s secretary was a surprisingly lovely young woman named Angela. How such a sweet girl could stand working for that git was beyond Harry, but as he made his appointment for next week, he could feel his irritation fading almost against his will. It was impossible to stay in a bad mood around her; it would have been like kicking a puppy.
By the time Harry left St. Mungo’s, he had put Malfoy almost completely out of his mind.
***
After stopping by Diagon Alley to get his potions, Harry headed to the Burrow for what was essentially a “we’re-glad-you’re-still-alive” dinner. The whole family was there, and Harry was glad for the opportunity to take his mind off the accident and the difficult month of recovery he had in front of him. There was no better distraction than an energetic crowd of Weasley children.
Ginny brought along her new boyfriend, one of her Falcons teammates, and the poor bloke was so nervous meeting Harry that Harry felt a little sorry for him. It had been years since Harry and Ginny had realized they were more in love with the idea of each other than anything else. They had parted amicably and remained friends, without any of the usual drama that had accompanied the ends of all Harry’s other relationships.
Still, Harry was a little jealous - not because he wanted Ginny, but because he wanted what Ginny had. Since their breakup, Harry had jumped from relationship to relationship, with both women and men. None had lasted more than a few months, and all had ended badly. Harry missed that feeling of being in love, and it didn’t help that pretty much all of his friends had been able to find it.
But as he filled himself with Molly’s excellent cooking and played with the kids he considered his nieces and nephews, surrounded by people who loved him as one of their own, he knew he was luckier than most.
After a few hours, the Pain-Away began to wear off. Harry had grown somewhat accustomed to the dull throbbing and had managed to push it to the back of his mind, but the new sharp pains shooting through his arm couldn’t be ignored. Not wanting to worry anyone, especially the kids, Harry excused himself to the bathroom and took a good strong dose of Pain-Ease.
It didn’t help. Pain-Ease was supposed to take effect within five minutes, but five minutes later, Harry actually felt worse. It became more and more difficult to follow the conversation, as he had to use all of his concentration to keep the pain from showing on his face. It wasn’t long before he gave up and got to his feet.
“I should get going.”
“Are you feeling all right?” Molly asked, immediately concerned. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. Just tired.” Harry attempted a smile, knowing that it came out as more of a grimace.
Molly didn’t seem convinced, but Harry quickly said his goodbyes and Apparated to Grimmauld Place. The pain was awful now, like he was being stabbed with white-hot knives all over his left side. Harry took a double dose of Pain-Ease and fell into bed. It wasn’t as bad as the Cruciatus, but it was getting damn close.
He lay on his back and took the sling off, gritting his teeth against the pain of unbending his elbow. Then he stared at the ceiling and tried to stay as still as possible, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths.
God, he was supposed to do his physical therapy exercises. But there was no way he could, not like this. He could barely keep himself from whimpering.
He couldn’t live like this. In the morning, he’d have to swallow his pride, go back to St. Mungo’s, and get another prescription from Malfoy. And that was almost as painful as the injuries themselves - the knowledge that Malfoy had been right, after all.
***
Harry barely slept, and what little sleep he did manage was broken and restless. He woke early and Apparated to St. Mungo’s as soon as he thought Malfoy might be in.
He headed for Malfoy’s office suite, grimly anticipating the groveling Malfoy would doubtlessly require and cursing his own stubbornness. What had possessed him to think that he knew better than a Healer? Of course, if his Healer had been anyone else, Harry probably would have accepted the necessity of the Pain-Away. He wouldn’t have liked it, but he would have accepted it. He had let his need to best Malfoy get the better of him.
When Harry stepped into the suite, Angela looked up with a big smile. “Good morning, Auror Potter. Healer Malfoy said you’d be in today.”
Harry stopped short. “He did?”
“Yes, of course.” She held out a piece of paper. “Here’s that prescription you forgot yesterday.”
Harry took it with his good hand, slightly bewildered. “Thanks.”
“You poor thing, you must be in terrible pain,” Angela said, her eyes sympathetic. She picked up a small vial from the desk. “Healer Malfoy left enough Pain-Away for a single dose. Shall I open it for you?”
Thank God. “Yes, please,” Harry said immediately. He folded the prescription awkwardly with one hand and shoved it into his pocket, then took the open vial from Angela and downed the contents.
“I’ll see you next week, then?” Angela asked as she took the empty vial back.
“Yeah. Thank you.” Harry turned towards the door, then hesitated and turned back. “Er… tell Healer Malfoy I said thanks, too.”
“Of course, love.”
What the hell was that about? Harry wondered as he made his way back to the lobby. Malfoy had obviously known that the pain would be bad enough to drive Harry back today - yet he hadn’t stuck around to gloat. That was not the Malfoy Harry knew. Now he felt even worse about his juvenile behaviour yesterday.
Goddamn that pointy blond git.
***
Harry stared glumly down at the papers covering his desk. He hadn’t needed to come to work today; the severity of his injuries could have excused him for the rest of the week. But the thought of lazing about at home with nothing to do hadn’t appealed to him.
He hadn’t taken into account the fact that he was going to be relegated to his desk for the next month.
Ron had been assigned a temporary partner, a fresh-faced Hufflepuff straight out of the training programme. The two of them were back on Myers’ trail, while Harry was stuck here in the office, facing down weeks of tedious paperwork.
Harry sighed. It was going to be a long fucking month.
***
By the time next Wednesday rolled around, Harry was going out of his mind with boredom, and he was ridiculously grateful to be able to use the excuse of his Healer’s appointment to get out of the Ministry. In fact, he was so eager to leave that he ended up taking off too early, and he arrived at St. Mungo’s a good twenty minutes before his scheduled appointment.
“Auror Potter!” Angela greeted him with some surprise. “You do know your appointment isn’t until three?”
“Yeah, sorry. I was a little too keen to get away from work. Is it okay if I wait here?”
“Oh, that’s probably not necessary,” Angela said, waving her hand. “Healer Malfoy isn’t with a patient right now. He’s just in his office - that door over there. You can knock, if you like. I’m sure he won’t mind seeing you a little early.”
“Thanks.” Harry crossed the room and knocked on the door she’d pointed out.
“Come in!” Malfoy said from the other side.
Harry opened the door but remained in the doorway. He’d expected the office to be as neat and well-put-together as Malfoy himself. Instead, the place was an absolute mess. Books, papers, and file folders covered every available inch of surface space, and Malfoy’s Healer’s robes were thrown carelessly over a chair. Malfoy stood behind the desk, dressed only in a button-front shirt and trousers, rummaging through the clutter and muttering to himself. He barely glanced up at Harry.
“Potter. You’re early.”
“Angela said you might be able to see me anyway.”
“Sure, just give me a minute. I’m looking for your file.” Malfoy rifled through a stack of folders. “Damn.”
Harry fidgeted in the doorway, not sure if he should stay where he was or go back to the waiting room. “Why don’t you just Summon it?”
“And risk having the all the papers fall out and scatter across the room? No, thank you.” Malfoy opened the top drawer on the side of the desk, sifted through the contents, and slammed it shut with a noise of frustration. He bent over to open the bottom drawer, and the movement pulled his trousers tight against his rather shapely arse. Harry looked away.
A moment later, Malfoy straightened back up, holding a folder and looking triumphant.
“Found it,” he said. “Just a second.” Malfoy grabbed his robes off the chair and shrugged into them. “I hate these things.”
Harry privately agreed, but at least the robes kept Malfoy’s body hidden. The last thing Harry needed right now was to start lusting after his own Healer. Especially when that Healer happened to be Draco Malfoy.
Malfoy ushered Harry into the small examination room next to his office, gesturing for him to take a seat on the table. “Take off your shirt.”
Harry slipped off the sling and used his wand to remove his shirt. Malfoy tapped Harry’s shoulder with his own wand, casting some sort of spell that created a bright swirl of colors an inch or so above the skin - mostly blue, with a few streaks of red here and there.
“Have you been wearing the sling regularly?”
“Yes.”
“Any problems with the rehabilitation exercises?”
“No.”
Malfoy moved the spell down to Harry’s upper arm, then over his elbow. “How’s the pain?”
Harry tensed. “About the same.”
“Have you been taking your potions?”
“Yes. Why don’t you just say it?”
“Say what?” Malfoy asked, without looking up from the spell cloud hovering over Harry’s hand.
“I was wrong and you were right. I needed the Pain-Away.”
Now Malfoy looked up, his eyebrows lifting in amusement. “I know I was right, Potter. I don’t need you to validate me.”
“That’s a first.”
Malfoy narrowed his eyes and cast the spell on Harry’s chest, smacking the injured skin with much more force than was necessary.
“Ouch!” Harry yelped. “Christ, Malfoy, aren’t you supposed to do no harm or something?”
“That’s Muggles, idiot.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to insult your patients, either.”
“I’ll stop insulting you when you stop giving me reasons to.”
Harry blew out a frustrated breath. He just couldn’t seem to win with Malfoy, and it infuriated him.
Malfoy moved around behind him to check his back, and the silence quickly became uncomfortable - for Harry, at least. He cast about desperately for some non-incendiary topic of conversation and came up empty.
“There’s definitely been progress,” Malfoy said, coming back around the table. “Have you noticed any improvement in your mobility while exercising?”
“A little.”
“Good, let’s see. Palm up.”
Harry turned his arm, attempting to flex his palm and then make a fist as he had done last week. He could move his fingers more now, although not nearly all the way.
Malfoy hummed in approval. “Lift your arm straight in front of you, as high as you can.”
The routine was familiar, and Harry found himself concentrating on Malfoy even as Malfoy concentrated on his arm. “So, you’re a burn specialist.”
“You’re really not helping with the whole ‘no-insult’ thing.”
“I just - I was wondering if it had something to do with…what happened that night. You know.”
For a long moment, Malfoy was completely motionless, staring down at his hands on Harry’s arm. Then he cleared his throat and said, “Lift your arm to the side.”
Harry obeyed. He wasn’t sure why he had asked; it wasn’t like Malfoy was going to tell him anything, not about this -
“I was having nightmares,” Malfoy said quietly, not looking at him.
Harry kept his mouth shut. If he interrupted, Malfoy might stop talking, and Harry really did want to know.
“At first they were just about what had happened to Vince,” Malfoy continued. “Then about what would have happened to me and Greg if you hadn’t come back. Before long, I was dreaming about everyone I knew being burned alive. Every night. Lift your arm behind you.”
Harry did the best he could, wincing. Malfoy didn’t seem to notice.
“I would wake up in the middle of the night, thinking I was on fire. I couldn’t eat meat because it smelled too much like burnt flesh. Eventually I couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as a lit candle. Bend your elbow.”
It was creepy how calm Malfoy’s voice was, as if he was describing something that had happened to someone else.
“I ran away. I went to France, thinking that if I could get away from where it happened -”
Malfoy shook his head. “But we’re not Muggles. We can’t run from fire the way they can; it’s too much a part of who we are. Roll your shoulder.”
Apparently satisfied with Harry’s progress, Malfoy stepped away to the counter and ended the spell on his quill, glancing at the notes it had taken.
“I decided that if I couldn’t run from fire, I could at least learn how to beat it.” Malfoy looked up at Harry, making eye contact for the first time since he’d started speaking, and Harry took a quick breath at the intensity of his gaze. “So yes, Potter, what happened that night has something to do with it.” Malfoy picked up the folder and headed for the door. “Keep wearing your sling. See you next week.”
Then he was gone and Harry was alone, feeling like he’d just been gutted.
Part Two