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
- 2
- 3
Draco’s POV
“I’m sorry, Minister, I appear to have misheard you. You’re doing what?” Draco gapes at the minister, hands clenched in tightly gripped fists. Kingsley Shacklebolt merely raises an eyebrow at Draco’s tone of voice. Sliding the document across the table, he points a finger at the ‘assignment’ that has been given to him.
“You heard me, Mr Malfoy. I have a healer who cannot think straight at work currently, who needs to regain his focus. You have willingly entered into a scheme to help healers recuperate after emotional trauma, and this is your assignment.” Shacklebolt’s stare holds his calmly, and Draco sighs, weariness taking him quickly as he resigns himself to the task.
“I only signed your damn agreement at the start of all this because I thought it’d never come to that.” He makes one last attempt at fighting the minister’s decision, but the steady gaze returned tells him he’s fighting a losing battle.
“Fine. But if this goes tits up, to use the expression, then it’s on your back.” Some of Draco’s composure is slipping; he can feel it. His Malfoy manner always slips around the minister, and he mentally kicks himself as he feels the ridiculous muggle expression fall from his lips.
Kingsley smiles, and laughs as Draco stands slowly from the chair, feeling his back crack at the effort. Glaring at the man, despite his superior position to Draco, he staggers to the door, still feeling the already forming bruises from the medi-wizards attentions earlier.
The corridor outside the minister for magic’s office is, unusually, deserted. The usual flurry of activity is stagnant, and for that, Draco is thankful. Limping slowly across the marble floor, he reaches into his pocket, pulling the document from the depths. Smoothing out in his hands, he skim reads it, bored.
Occasional phrases like “recuperation”, and “depressive nature” leap out of him, and he holds back a derisive laugh. Of course he has a depressive nature, he’s dying! He’s about to fold the letter back up, when he finally notices the healer he’s been assigned.
As he takes in the information, his blood – whatever of it he has left – runs cold.
Harry Potter.

Harry’s POV
“Malfoy?!” Ron’s voice is shrill, making Harry’s smile hitch at the sound. He nods, holding the letter out for Ron to read. His best friend reads it, and almost immediately, his expression sobers up.
“I, er, saw him in the Department for Accidental Magic earlier. I don’t think he was meant to be there, to be honest. Scarpered to the nearest lift as soon as possible. It’s just… well. He fell, Harry. Had all these people around him, poking him, testing him. It was weird, seeing him like that. He’s ill, Harry. Really ill.” Ron lowers his eyes, and Harry sighs.
“Yeah, I saw him too. Do you know what he’s got?” Ron shakes his head, frowning as if trying to remember, as he flips a frying pan of stir-fried vegetables. Hermione has finally reached a size where she can no longer cook, or even make a cup of tea, comfortably without her ankles swelling to the size of tree trunks. She’s curled in the lounge, reading a book, whilst the two of them cook in the kitchen.
“He’s got cancer, Ron. The big C. The be-all-and-end-all of life. It’s muggle.” He adds the last bit on the end, as Ron looks clueless at the name. His mouth forms an ‘O’ shape as his eyes widen.
“Malfoy? The purest of purebloods has a muggle disease? Who would’ve thought it…” Harry smiles wanly, catching a mushroom as it tries to escape the wok.
“Yeah, I was shocked too. I saw him on the way up to see Kingsley today in the lift. Looked terrible.” Ron looks like he’s about to say something, then stops.
“Of course he looks terrible. He was diagnosed only three months ago, and was told only a week ago by a doctor that he’s going to die.” Hermione’s voice sounds behind him, and Harry jumps, nearly sending dinner flying.
“How the hell do you even know these things, ‘Mione?” Ron asks, with a mouthful full of food as he taste tests his creation.
“I read, Ronald. That’s all I ever seem to do lately.” She looks balefully at her giant belly, patting it ruefully before dragging herself into a chair. Thankfully, after today’s revelation, Ginny has offered to look after Rose for the night. Merlin only knows what hell she is being put through having to control both James and Rose. Harry thanks Merlin that Albus is relatively well behaved.
“So, this is a new development?” Harry asks, as he reaches for three plates and wine glasses.
“Yes. There was a small article about it in the Prophet; no doubt they would have loved to write more, were it not for the Malfoys’ agreement that no sensationalised articles were to be written about them anymore. One of the Prophet’s conditions with that Ministry enquiry they were involved in a couple of years ago.” Hermione lays out cutlery as well as she can from her seat, and Harry sits down beside her as Ron dishes up dinner.
“Malfoy’s illness aside, what on earth is this assignment that the minister has given you?” Hermione raised an eyebrow, looking worryingly like Molly, and Harry shrugged.
“Malfoy’s illness definitely not aside, as that’s basically the reason for it.” He hands Hermione the letter, which is now covered in suspicious marks that look worryingly like soy sauce. He hopes inwardly that Kingsley never requests to look at the letter again.
“He thinks having to focus on one patient alone will help me regain confidence at work again. He says he’s given me Malfoy’s case because we know each other, but I think it’s more to do with the fact that if I stuff it up, as I inevitably will, he’s going to die anyway, so it won’t matter.”
Hermione gasps, clapping a hand to her mouth, eyes widening.
“Harry, you can’t say something like that!” She glowers disapprovingly, and he shrugs, stuffing a pile of noodles into his mouth.
“It’s probably true though, when you think about it. What am I supposed to do with a dying man? Least of all Malfoy.” He mutters into his plate, a dark look crossing his face.
“That’s not the point. You should, erm, probably get over the whole school-nemesis thing before you go into this by the way. I don’t think it’s particularly beneficial to a good beside manner.” Hermione is right, Harry knows that, but he sighs all the same.
Truthfully, he thinks that the “school-nemesis thing” ended a long time ago. He hasn’t felt anything for Malfoy for a long time, other than respect for all that he did during the war. When he thinks back to what the Slytherin went through for seven years… well. It can’t have been much of an improvement on his own situation, really.
“Sure, Hermione. Can we eat now?” Hermione rolls her eyes, but smiles, and turns to her plate, demolishing it in a way that makes Harry think she’s picked up more from Ron than she’d like to admit.

Draco’s POV
Draco drags himself up the drive of the manor, preferring the weariness of the walk than the sickness of flooing. The feel of gravel penetrates his shoes, hurting his feet despite the thickness of the leather soles. He seems to feel pain everywhere these days. Sighing, he reaches for his wand as he exits the wards surrounding his home, feeling dizzy at even the thought of apparation. Then again, he’d take a bit of dizziness over the nausea of his floo any day. The cracking sound he hears as he apparates reminds him of the sound his back makes as he creaks, and he grimaces.
The hospital’s apparation point is busy, and Draco instinctively pulls himself into his clothes, shying away from the touch of others. Glancing around wildly, he reads a sign just to his left pointing him in the direction of the “recuperation suite” that he has been ordered to go to. Feeling somewhat ill, he draws whatever of his Malfoy aura that he has left, and swaggers – if he could call it that anymore – through the crowd to the best of his ability.
The walk is long, and arduous. Too many people get in his way, and by the time he draws up outside the inconspicuous door, he’s panting, his back hurting more than ever, and in need of a good sit down.
He pushes the door open reluctantly, taking note with some pleasure that Potter is late, so he can choose the comfiest seat in the room, and make it look accidental.
The room surprises him, for a hospital room; it’s bright and airy, with multiple tall windows set into the curved outer wall. Looking around, he realizes that the room is situated in some sort of tower, and finds himself drifting to one of the windows, looking down at the busy London street below. Muggles bustle across the street, weighed down by multiple purchases, and he rolls his eyes, placing himself slowly and carefully down in a comfortable looking armchair by another window.
Just as he’s settling himself in for what he expects to be a good nap, the door swings open, and he sighs, opening his eyes and glowering at the other man. Potter manages to make being late unfashionable, his hair sticking up wildly, with his muggle clothes shabby and patched.
“Sorry about the clothes, I, erm, overslept and didn’t have chance to nip home for my robes.” He scrubs his hand through his hair, making it even messier, and for some reason, Draco finds himself smiling.
“It’s fine; those garish Healer robes make me wince anyway. Lime green is such a crime against fashion, that even your revolting jeans are a kindness on the eyes.” Draco blushes as he thinks about what’s under the jeans, and gapes at himself, reprimanding his inner self. Now is not the time to be thinking about Harry Potter naked
“Fair enough.” Harry plonks himself down on one of the other chairs heavily, and Draco snorts, thinking of what his father would say if he had done that when he were alive.
“Shall we get started then?”
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