Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Yellow	By : FalsettoSlumber Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1685 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: The world of Harry Potter, and the characters in this story are not mine, and are owned by JK Rowling & Warner Bros. I am making no profit from this work.

Chapter List
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Harry's POV
The man looks down at his hands, fiddling almost nervously with his nails. Harry can not believe it is Draco that he is staring at; he looks so downtrodden, as if the entire world is against him. As he utters that one word, he feels the contents of his stomach – a pumpkin pasty and a significantly odd tasting cauldron cake – hit the pit of his belly. Starting forwards, he makes to comfort the man, only pausing to remind himself who he is stood next to. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.
On the other hand, he looks so feeble, Harry is not even sure it is Malfoy anymore. The once pristine hair is smattered about his forehead in an array of sticky looking, greasy strands. His mouth is downturned, seemingly permanently as he appears to try to keep up his look of superiority. No, this is not Malfoy; it is a shadow of what he once was.
“What is it?” Harry murmurs, wincing as he hears his voice immediately adopt the talking-to-a-sick-and-dying-person, that whining, pity filled sound of mocking care. Malfoy obviously notices it too, because he visibly bristles, drawing himself up to full height.
As the lift slowly draws to a stop, he steps closer to Harry, the threatening airs that he had once known so well returning momentarily as Malfoy presses his nose close to Harry's.
“Why don't you look it up, Scarhead? Cancer.” As a shiver runs through the back of Harry's spine, the still too-proud Malfoy turns from him, a scoff erupting from his throat in a guttural, almost animalistic sound. Harry's heart aches strangely, and he stares after the blond as the lift doors swung shut, to carry Harry to his own destination, slowly, ruggedly.

Draco's POV
As the lift doors struggled closed behind him, Draco feels his shoulders slump from the exertion the confrontation had caused him, and he slips silently down the corridor, almost like a ghost. People at desks around him look up as he passes, the visible looks of pity infuriating him with every step. How dare they give him sympathy? He, of the most honourable house of Malfoy? He shakes himself visibly, glaring in his old Malfoy fashion at the piteous faces around him.
A group of witches near him looked suitably abashed as he passes, and he smirks. All that, from a look. He still has the gift of the Malfoy charm, he supposes. He finds his destination – another lift - in his eye-line, and starts towards it, when a crack suddenly rips through his spine, blind white pain shooting through his entire body.
As the ground rushes towards him, his eyes widen, fear coming in an unwanted mess of emotion. It happens as if it were in slow motion; his body curving to the side, arms and legs shaking in exertion as they fight to keep him upright; his hand splaying out in a fan to protect himself from a fall; his robes twisting to the side awkwardly. Too big to keep in one place, they fall in a soft pile beneath him, cushioning him slightly as he feels his body land to the floor.
The wooden floor is dull, a thin line of polished shine from where years of boots have pressed against it. He feels ridiculous as a rush of people flood towards him, a mix of accidental magic officers, and medi-witches that look so out of place in the ornately decorated ministry, instead of their habitually sterile St. Mungo's.
He clenches his eyes shut as he feels hands rest against his skin, wands poking in places he should never have been poked. Gritting his teeth as hands place beneath his armpits as if he were a child, Draco allows himself to be pulled upright, and into a nearby waiting chair. A witch with startlingly white hair is sat in front of him, eyes focused as she waves her wand in front of his nose obnoxiously. He coughs, and she looks up at him briefly, before returning to the wordless spell that she is conceiving, as if he is a test subject rather than a human being.
Sighing into the seat, he gives up to their prodding, zoning out as dozens of wordless spells shoot at him, causing odd tingles here, and annoying tickling sensations there. He is about to let himself fall into nothingness, when he hears an almost too recognisable voice.
"Malfoy, what the bloody hell are you doing here?" A freckled nose is pushed into the place of the white haired witch's, and Draco scowls at his luck.
"I could ask you the same thing, Weasley." He grumbles audibly under his breath, and Ron Weasley scoffs almost brightly, pointing his own wand at Draco's face.
"Ah, it's almost like second year. Hope you got it fixed for this time round." Draco drawls at the freckled face, and Weasley laughs, directing a wordless spell at him that causes his pain to dissipate in a second.
"Well, there's a turn for the books. Why are you here, Weaselby?" Adopting the old nickname made Draco feel as if he were almost back at school, and he shudders as a barrage of memories pound at his already aching head. Weasel is shrugging in front of him, pocketing his wand in his back pocket as he looks for something in his robe pocket.
"Being an auror is a dangerous job, Malfoy. Not all of us have the time for Mungo's." The weasel is acting strange, almost kind, and Draco rolls his eyes. Yet another person turned martyr around him thanks to his illness, who before had acted as if he were the dark lord himself.
Weasley nods his head once more towards Draco, before pulling himself to his full height once more and heading down the corridor. Draco sighs, and stands up once more, waving away the protesting hands and wands that try to get him to reseat himself. Glaring at them with a look that tells them to back off, he draws himself up, and heads off down the corridor himself, beelining for the lift that will take him safely upwards, without Potter's presence.

Harry's POV
"Healer Potter? Are you even listening to me?" The minister's voice penetrates his walls, and Harry blinks, looking at Kingsley in mild confusion, as if he has no idea how he has got to the minister's office. The wizard sighs in front of him, his deep purple robes glittering handsomely in the light of the imposing office.
"S- sorry Minister." Harry blinks once more, rubbing his eyes wearingly with his clenched fists. Kingsley looks at him for a moment, the eyes staring seemingly far deeper than Harry is comfortable with. Coughing quietly into his hand, he raises his eyebrows at the elder wizard.
"What exactly was it, sir, that you wanted from me? I should really be back at the hospital… patients to see, you know wha-" Kingsley holds up one slender finger in front of him, motioning to quiet Harry with a look of sheer power. It is clear to see just why Kingsley has been chosen to succeed the former minister for magic, and even clearer why he has remained in the position for so long. The wizard expels an aura of majesty, somewhat frightening and awe inspiring at the same time.
Despite all of this, the twinkle remains in his eyes from the days of the Order, and he smiles kindly as Harry feels his shoulders buckle underneath him.
"Healer Barnes says that you are having trouble at work. Becoming lax, so she said. Normally, this would have gone to someone beneath me, but, being as it's you, and I do care about what has become of you, I am to deal with it." Kingsley raises an arching eyebrow at Harry, and he feels himself squirm under the man's unresisting gaze. Wringing his fingers nervously, his thoughts flicker back for a moment to Malfoy, and his plight.
"I'm having trouble focusing, I suppose…" He drifts off, thinking back to the past week's events. Poor old Mrs Hopkiss being left to stew in a bed of hot sunlight, thanks to his careless attention to the curtains. Sad Miss Prewitt, all alone since Harry forgot to call her partner… He is failing at his job, and he knows it. Closing his eyes slowly, a sad look appears upon his face.
"Well, I have an idea that might be able to help you. I am to assign you to a singular patient so that you can regain your confidence. Obviously, something is wrong in your life, but, Harry, it should not be affecting your performance in and around St. Mungo's." Kingsley looks again at Harry, his unwavering look somehow sympathetic but reprimanding at the same time. Harry nods, knowing that if he refuses, he would simply be jobless.
"There is a patient that needs quite intensive care, currently. He does not reside at St. Mungo's'; what he suffers from is untreatable by magic, unfortunately. One of those innately human things that seems to affect us every once in a while." Harry feels a sudden clench in his stomach, a rise of bile that seems to burn his innards uncomfortably.
"You know each other from school, you should know. Consider this an exercise in… patient relations, maybe." Kingsley raises his eye at a folder lying before him on the desk, motioning for Harry to take it. Reluctantly, he reaches one hand over to the soft brown envelope, and reads the name upon the front, as if is a death sentence.
Draco Malfoy.
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