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The Name I'll Give to Thee	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 42130 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 6
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Chapter Seventeen--A Malfoy Defense

            Harry moved closer to the bathrooms, his head cocked as he listened. It seemed strange that he hadn't seen any sign of Draco among the party for nearly ten minutes now. Draco had emphasized over and over again the importance of keeping themselves in the public eye, and hiding wouldn't accomplish that.

            Harry let one hand rest on the bathroom door, and heard nothing, felt no tingle of magic that would announce protective wards or a Privacy Charm. He shook his head and pushed it open anyway. He didn't know if there was room for more than one person in there at a time or not, but the door gave easily under his hand.

            He stepped into the room, and immediately stiffened. There was magic he recognized here, a subtle Shadow Charm, one that would dim the light in the room and make it hard for anyone who stepped through the door to immediately see the whole of it. Harry had seen it used mostly in dungeons and potions laboratories and other places where Dark wizards had some secrets they wanted to keep. He fell back so that his spine was pressed to the door and lifted his wand, calling light harsh enough to push through even the magical shadows this particular spell could summon.

            The spell fought back for a moment. It was shielded and cushioned with something else, a different kind of charm that Harry had also seen Dark wizards use. It was meant to make magic difficult to disperse, and Harry knew the best way to fight it.

            It was also a spell that would reveal his presence to anyone hiding in the room, since he didn't have the power to cast it nonverbally, but surely anyone here would have heard the creak of the door and seen him by now. Hiding inside the shadows and looking out wouldn't give anyone the same difficulty as trying to see through it from outside.

            "Finite Incantatem," Harry snapped, pushing all the strength he could muster into his voice.

            For a moment, the combined charms of shadows and maintaining the shadows fought him anyway, lashing back in a confused clash of magic that gave Harry a kind of grudging respect for whoever had cast it. Harry was about to repeat the Finite when the shadows dissolved in a rush, and he could see what lay under the sink.

            Draco, a long, bloody wound in his back, drizzling blood slowly onto the tiles.

            Harry rose onto his toes with the need to rush forwards, and the same instincts that forbade him to do it. Yes, Draco might die without intervention, but this could also be a trap, and Harry could trigger the wards or charms that surrounded Draco by getting close enough to help him. Instead, he forced himself to go through the defensive magic that Aurors would use in such a situation, to detect such trouble spells and disarm them, without taking his gaze from Draco. That long, long look--surely casting the spells had never taken so long?--was enough to convince him Draco still breathed.

            But might not for long.

            Harry at last felt free to dash forwards and fall to his knees beside his demi-husband. He wrapped his arms around Draco and turned him slightly to the side so he could see the extent of the wound. It was longer than he had thought, taking up almost the whole of Draco's back, and Harry had to swallow a few times against the urge to be sick.

            Then he shook his head. What mattered was what he could do now to heal Draco and spare his life, while also remaining secret enough to fool whatever enemy had done this. It seemed strange that that enemy had used a physical weapon instead of a spell, and also hadn't remained at the scene to make sure Draco was dead. The situation called for secrecy until Harry could determine what was going on.

            He was good enough with Clotting Charms to stop the blood from spilling out, and he could have knitted the skin back together again, but that would have blocked the access of Healers to any internal damage. Harry shuddered at the thought of them having to tear Draco's wound open again to find out what was wrong.

            So he did something different instead, and whispered, "Diffindo," above his arm, cutting a shallow groove, similar to the wound in Draco's back, from his elbow down his forearm, keeping away from the delicate veins at the wrist. As the blood flowed out, he stuck his wand in it and murmured another spell that Hermione would be horrified to find out he knew.

            The blood sparked as though a golden star was sinking into it, and Harry nodded. It was ready. He tilted his head so that his blood, supercharged with magic and strength, poured down his arm into Draco's mouth. Then he had to work Draco’s throat and lips to make sure he swallowed instead of wasting it.

            That spell had been developed originally for strengthening vampires when they were at the end of their reserves. It didn't have as dramatic an effect on a human, but Draco gasped as he swallowed, and his eyes fluttered. Harry also saw the way he tried to heave himself up on his elbows, and nodded. The draught of his blood and magic would at least keep Draco conscious for long enough to cooperate with Harry, and he would have a fighting chance of replacing the blood, too.

            "What happened?" Draco whispered. He tried to move, and hissed.

            Harry nodded again. "Someone stabbed you. Knife, from the looks of it. I don't know why they didn't use a spell--"

            Draco laughed a little, brokenly, and Harry paused. "The demi-marriage rituals," Draco whispered. "They're supposed to let one of the spouses know if someone inflicts magical harm on the other. There were times when someone would have murdered a Malfoy spouse to try and get their hands on the inheritance. A--physical weapon—wouldn’t alert you."

            So that means our enemy is a pure-blood, Harry thought, and then grimaced and shook his head. So was everyone at the party. There was no trying to narrow down their suspect pool that way.

            "I don't know when it happened, I don't know who did it, and they might still be nearby," Harry said, in a close murmur near Draco's ear. "So we have to have a different story for leaving and getting you to the Healers instead."

            Draco nodded, to his surprise. "Of course. We can't go exposing weakness." He turned his head enough to face Harry. "What do you suggest?"

            Harry told him the plan he'd come up with, and had the satisfaction of seeing clarity in Draco's eyes.

            "Just do it quickly," Draco muttered, and closed his eyes and seemed as if he was about to try and burrow into the floor.

            "I'm not going to do it without Bracing Charms," Harry pointed out, and began to cast them, so that while Draco's limbs would seem to be jouncing around on his back and shoulders, they would in fact be held in place by invisible, inflexible bonds of air. He paused before casting the same on Draco's back, plus a shield to keep anything from coming in contact with the wound, but Draco did nothing except flinch and hiss a little.

            "You're so brave," Harry murmured into his ear. "We'll get out of here safely and find out who did this, don't worry." He arranged his arms carefully into place, and then stood up with Draco draped over his shoulder, casting strategic Lightening Charms as well so that he wouldn't collapse under the weight. "Come on."

*

            Draco hung there, dangling, as Harry slammed the bathroom door open and staggered back out into the party, and blinked at nothing. It was easy to do that and not show anyone he was still conscious, because his head was dangling and his hair flapped around his eyes.

            If he thought about how undignified he looked, his blush would roast him alive from the inside out. So he let his head dangle, and thought about the compliment Harry had given him instead.

            No one had ever called him brave before.

            It wasn't the kind of virtue that his parents or Professor Snape would have valued, and his Aunt Bellatrix, the one who had praised him the most during that long and horrible year when the Dark Lord lived in the Manor, had done it when he showed ruthlessness in his role as torturer or when he caused himself or her pain trying to learn Occlumency. The others around him, the people who would have been on Harry's side and the Slytherins trying to avoid the Carrows' gaze, thought "bravery" a way of standing out and looking stupider than the rest, or else a virtue that, merely by the House he was Sorted into, he wouldn't possess.

            He thinks I'm brave for lying there and not saying anything about the pain.

            Or he thinks I'm brave for going along with the plan and not making any complaints, even though I might have, because who would trust a Gryffindor with a plan like this?

            Draco had to shake his head as he thought about that. Then he remembered, and kept it still, hanging down, while he listened to the joking banter that Harry exchanged with the people around him.

            "Yep, got drunk on the champagne. No, I don't know, either. Lying in the bathroom in a puddle of vomit. Yeah, it isn't any more pleasant to clean up than it was to hear about. Please take my compliments, and these Galleons. You'll probably have to get house-elves in there to clean up the tiles completely."

            Draco managed a hard smile at nothing. The story of him being a drunk would cover for them with the other people at the party, and make the person who had stabbed him wonder what had happened, if it was possible that Draco could have healed himself before Harry found him or if Harry was so stupid as to mistake blood for vomit. Either way, they would be in a fever of uncertainty, and that was a state Draco always preferred his enemies to be in.

            It wasn't a plan he would have thought Harry able to come up with, admittedly. If Harry admitted he was brave, perhaps Draco would have to return the compliment and call Harry intelligent soon.

            Then Draco's mind turned to the next problem vying for his consideration. The enemies who had attacked them when the Manor was still unwarded had used mercenaries and a dragon. This enemy had stabbed him in the back.

            Harry would probably explain the change in behavior as their enemy getting desperate to see Draco pay for whatever crimes they wanted vengeance for, but Draco didn't think so. Someone who came up close and personal to try and kill him didn't fit the planner who had the money and skill and contacts to hire mercenaries and a dragon trained for this sort of thing, and neither did Draco think someone desperate would have waited more than a week since the last failed attack to strike at them, or bolted before they were sure of their kill.

            Which meant they had more than one enemy.

            Wonderful.

*

            Harry walked with Draco over his shoulder until they were well out of the party, and then touched his back just below the wound. It felt no worse than before, but that still meant it needed the personal attention of Healers, and Harry was unwilling to risk waiting any longer. He touched Draco's heels and asked in a murmur, "Do you think you can go through Apparition?"

            "I'm sure I can't go through the Floo," Draco said, in a restrained, ironic tone that made Harry picture, for a moment, the kind of friendship he and Draco might have had when they were younger, if that had been possible.

            Harry shuddered as he imagined the kinds of wounds that Draco would probably get if he tried to take him through the Floo, inexperienced with it as he was. He still tripped when he came out of it, half the time. He nodded. “All right. Then Apparition it is.”

            Harry kept looking around as he slung Draco’s arm over his shoulder and cast another charm to wrap the wound in warmth and protective bindings. This would be the perfect time for someone to attack him, while he was involved in settling Draco and didn’t have his full attention on all the movements around him.

            But nothing happened before they Apparated. In the end, Harry thought, as he closed his eyes and focused on St. Mungo’s, maybe their enemy had shot his last bolt when he stabbed Draco, and knew that he couldn’t get close now without rousing suspicion.

            But Harry didn’t dare believe so, because they couldn’t be that lucky.

            They came out near the front entrance of St. Mungo’s, and Harry walked briskly, floating Draco beside him when he grunted with pain. Draco opened his mouth. Harry gave him a single intense look. Draco shut his mouth.

            Harry nodded, satisfied with how well that particular tactic worked.

            They arrived in hospital with the first blood just beginning to leak through the bandages Harry had wrapped around the wound. Harry sighed and spoke to the mediwitch who’d started to her feet at the sight of them. “Can we get some attention here, please?”

            “Your names?” The mediwitch sounded faint, which meant she had probably recognized both of them already, but she still bravely took a quill and poised it above the parchment. Harry felt a brief stab of fellow feeling. Hermione would make him do the same kind of official things, in crisis situations.

            “Harry Malfoy, and Draco Malfoy,” Harry said. “Draco Malfoy needs immediate care for a long wound in his back.”

            The mediwitch’s eyes widened, but she wrote down the information and then nodded to a couch against the far wall. “Please put Mr. Malfoy down there, Mr.—Malfoy.” She whisked away to get help before Harry had even turned around.

            “Your voice faltered.”

            Harry frowned down into Draco’s face as he rearranged his limbs. As far as he was concerned, Draco should have fainted by now, or be screaming—anything that would let Harry accurately judge how much blood he had lost and how much pain he was in. “What do you mean?”

            “Your voice faltered.” Draco’s eyes were open and too bright and staring straight at him. “That was the first time you’ve said your new name in front of someone else.”

            Harry sighed and flopped down beside him, although he took care not to jounce the couch itself, which would have jolted Draco’s wound. “You’re the only one who would notice something like that in the state you’re in, you wanker,” he muttered, and closed his eyes. “Yes, it was. So my voice faltered. I’ll get used to saying the new name in time. I’ve only spent the first twenty-five years of my life as Harry Potter. I’ll live longer than that with your name.”

            Draco went very quiet. Harry thought he might have drifted off to sleep, and started when Draco’s hand brushed his knee, and he murmured, “You regret the demi-marriage.”

            “I know it happened,” Harry said. “I don’t dream of a way out of it. I can put up with it. That’s as much enthusiasm as you’ll get from me on the subject.”

            “What about all those private reasons you supposedly married me for?”

            Harry rolled his eyes. “Of course you want to talk about this,” he said, opening his eyes and turning his head. Draco’s eyes shone as though lit from within. Although his were a few shades darker, they reminded Harry far too much of how Narcissa’s looked for comfort. “The wards haven’t really had a chance to protect me from reporters yet, and there hasn’t been time for anything I might have liked the silence and privacy for. It’ll probably be years before there is, with the amount of pure-blood homework I have.”

            Draco said nothing. He seemed to be breathing with difficulty now. Harry shook his head at both of them. If Draco didn’t have the sense not to talk when he had a wound of that magnitude in his back, then Harry should have had the sense for him. He leaned back and shut his eyes, breathing gently, awaiting the moment when the Healers would come.

            It seemed to take a long time, and Harry cast the Clotting and Warming Charms on Draco again. Then the mediwitch who had taken their information down pattered back towards them, her face set in an expression halfway between a wince and a frown.

            “Well?” Harry asked, and looked behind her. There were two Healers in their green robes standing there, but neither of them made a motion to come towards them. Harry smiled with all his teeth, and saw them almost tear up their robes scrambling backwards.

            “The Healers are very sorry,” said the mediwitch, sounding as though she was reciting a message she’d memorized. “But Mr. Malfoy cannot be treated at this time.”

            Draco’s eyes popped open. Harry raised his hand before Draco could speak. He knew exactly where this was coming from, and it was time to make it clear that he wasn’t going to tolerate it.

            “Really?” he asked mildly. He tilted his head at the Healers. They still peeked out, although he could only see their eyes and the tips of their noses now. “Because it looks to me like there are two over there who aren’t busy.”

            “They are,” said the mediwitch, who was wringing her hands. “Very busy. You have no idea how many patients we get on a daily basis.”

            “I don’t know the exact number,” Harry said, and then stood up and looked around the empty room. By the time he turned back, the mediwitch was cringing.

            “You might have heard about some of the things I did when I still had the name Harry Potter,” Harry said conversationally. “The way that I destroyed a Dark Lord and then destroyed the Dementor ghosts to save the world.”

            “Mr. Potter—Malfoy, I mean, no one is saying that you—” The mediwitch shut her mouth and turned away in confusion.

            Harry nodded. “I suspected that,” he said, and made his voice gentle enough that the mediwitch looked as though she didn’t know whether to get close to him or cringe away from him. “But it doesn’t mean that I’m going to put up with it. Think about the ways that I destroyed people and magical creatures.” He put his hand on his wand. “And consider that I haven’t had a chance to acquire a reputation using the Malfoy name yet. Do you want St. Mungo’s to be the site of the first triumph I have?”

*

            He can’t do that. It shouldn’t work this well.

            Draco watched from under his eyelids, reluctant to show he was awake. For one thing, Harry might begin paying attention to him then, instead of the people he needed to punish, and Draco thought that would be a pity.

            For another, the Healers might try to speak to him. And Harry was doing a more than adequate job of defending Malfoy interests.

            He did stand more gracefully, Draco decided, as he watched Harry stalk towards the mediwitch. And those green robes became him. Ossy had made a good decision when it came to Harry’s clothes, although truthfully, Draco hadn’t known the little elf ever to make a bad one, except when it came to keeping cake away from him when Draco was younger.

            Look into a Malfoy’s face, bitch, Draco thought in brittle satisfaction as he watched the mediwitch stare up at Harry. You may not have believed the articles in the papers, but my husband takes our marriage seriously.

            It gave him hope as he wondered what else he might be able to persuade Harry to take seriously, which hadn’t seemed possible so far. Perhaps giving up his Auror career. Perhaps acting more reserved in public.

            Maybe that’s another reason that they didn’t send out the Healers until now, Draco thought idly, as he watched the Healers finally surge into action and hurry across the floor of the waiting room towards Harry. That glamour is covering his face and not showing his anger. His voice ought to tell them, though.

            Draco concentrated, but although his senses were fuzzy from the pain, he didn’t think that he could feel Harry’s magic surging around his body, the way that he could with powerful wizards like the Dark Lord and his Aunt Bellatrix. That made no sense, really. Harry had saved the world twice, as he said, and he had to be a powerful wizard to do that.

            Maybe not.

            It was a disappointing conclusion that Draco was coming to as he thought about it, but it might be right. The first time, Harry had only won because of the coincidence of the Elder Wand’s ownership and with a Disarming Spell. The second time, he had taken strength from his friends to defeat the ghosts, and strength from Draco’s mother and Draco’s wand, by his own admission. Maybe he wasn’t strong in and of himself.

            Draco sighed. That was less than good for his family, yes, if they had a protector who was not strong magically. It meant any heirs Harry might have for the Malfoy family after he divorced Draco and married someone to have children would not be magically strong, even if they would be rich and as determined as Harry.

            For the moment, though, Draco tried to put aside thoughts of the future and listen to the present conversation between Harry and the Healers. He was curious about what they would say.

*

            “Listen to me,” Harry said, cutting through the load of bollocks about regrets and the war and former Death Eaters that the Healers were trying to feed him. “My husband could be dying. You are going to heal him, and now.”

            The Healers stared at each other helplessly. Then one said, “But he killed people.”

            Harry shrugged. “So did a lot of the prisoners in Azkaban, and they get medical care.” Now, they do, he had to admit. That hadn’t always been the case. But Shacklebolt had been good for the Ministry in a number of ways. “You’re going to do it.”

            The nearest Healer, a grey-haired man, shrank away from his tone, but the woman stood upright and met his eyes. “We’re only enacting hospital policy,” she said. “There are certain people of certain last names that we cannot treat here.”

            Harry snarled and lifted his wand. He was angry enough to do it, and there was no one to tell him it was a bad idea. That was all that mattered.

            “Diffindo Semper,” he said, and the cut on his arm where he had fed blood to Draco earlier opened and began to pour. Harry smiled at them. “That cut won’t close except through some fairly complex spells,” he said conversationally. “So you’re going to have someone else named Malfoy bleeding out on your nice clean floors, and you’ll have him die, too, unless you change your mind. And if you change your mind about one person named Malfoy, then you might as well change it about someone else.”

            Things moved fairly quickly, after that.

*

            delia cerrano: With the spell wrapping him, no one except the attacker might have seen it.

            kain: That plan of Draco’s falls into the category of ‘plans that Draco has not thought through.’

            I’m glad that you like the story!

unneeded: Answered your question, I think!

moodysavage: I can do whatever I want. (joking)

polka dot: If Draco is right and this enemy is a different one than before, he might well be a coward.

SP777: Harry probably wouldn’t call that flirting, honestly.

Draco doesn’t really know what to think about Harry’s magic.
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The Name I'll Give to Thee