Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Here But For the Grace of Merlin	By : makochan0217 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 21620 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 13
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling. We make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Warnings: Angst, OOC, DH spoilers (minus Epilogue), language, violence, self-harm, drinking, slash, smut, non-con, BDSM

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros and some other stupid companies. I make nothing from this piece of fanfiction, and suing would be pointless, unless you like lint and bad skin!

Author’s Notes: Magical spell battles are… interesting to write. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. I hope you like this as much as I do!

Chapter Four – Silly Disagreements With…

The next two hours seemed to pass by in a blur for Draco, and he couldn’t remember much about it either. One minute, Lucius was sitting in a chair in their drawing room while Draco and Narcissa admonished a team of Aurors for being both rude and incompetent. The next, his mother was nearly hysterical and Draco was Side-Along Apparating his father to St. Mungo’s while the Aurors just stood there looking like idiots.

The Healers appeared out of nowhere, whisking his father behind those ridiculous Muggle saloon doors they added to the Emergency Department the year before. Narcissa was instantly at Draco’s side, gripping his left hand tightly as one of the Healers came out and approached them. “Mr. Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy,” he said calmly, waiting for their terse nods before continuing. “Mr. Malfoy seems to have suffered significant spell damage this evening. Can you tell me what happened?”

“We were attacked by Death Eaters this evening,” Draco answered, waiting for the man’s reaction. All he received was a placid, but curious look. ‘How does one manage to look placid and curious?’ “I was in the other wing of the house. My mother would be able to tell you what spells were used.”

Narcissa scowled before her face went blank again. “There were several Severing curses, Blasting curses, Killing curses….” She turned hard eyes on the Healer. “They are too many. I was fighting for my life and cannot remember them all. Surely the Aurors can tell you once they arrive. They should have the suspects’ wands.”

“Yes, but if there was an unusual spell used that might explain the numbness in his arms,” the Healer, Mindwillow his nametag proclaimed, said. “Can you remember anything?”

“There was an odd orange cloud that I’ve not seen before,” she whispered slowly, making a chill crawl up his spine. “Lucius did not react to it, so I assumed that Travers must have miscast his spell…”

“Do you remember what incantation he used as he cast?”

“No, I was fighting as well.”

“What about you, Mr. Malfoy? Did you see or hear anything?”

Draco shook his head, trying to hold onto his temper with the stupid Healer. “I was in my wing of the Manor when the attack began. I only made it to my parents to help with the cleanup.”

The Healer sighed heavily. “Thank you. I’ll make sure to speak with the Aurors in charge of the case. In the meantime, it will be a while before I can let you see Mr. Malfoy, so you might want to attempt to get comfortable in those horrible waiting room chairs.” He pointed to the garishly bright orange chairs St. Mungo’s provided for visitors and both Malfoys sighed. They headed towards them, both cursing the fact that they couldn’t Transfigure them into something more acceptable since the excess magic interfered with the healing, or so the hospital staff always claimed.

Draco had lost track of the time as he waited in those horrible chairs, sitting next to his mother and dreading what news they’d receive when the Healer finally came back out from his father’s room. It was the voice of Ron Weasley, raised in anger, which caught his attention. “I don’t care what he says; he’s being a bloody arsehole.”

“Ron!” Ah, and there was the Weaselette’s screech. Where one goes, the other is nearby. Of course, this was the new high security floor of the hospital, so Potter had to be somewhere here. “There’s no point in being like that. Harry just woke up.”

“Ginny! You and I both know that he’s been avoiding us for months and doesn’t give a bloody rat’s arse that we were worried about him! He’s being selfish, self-centered and I don’t have to stand for it.”

“No one’s asking you to,” Potter’s voice, rough and dangerous, called coolly. “I told you to leave. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Harry,” the She-Weasel started, but he cut her off before she could say much else.

“You too, Ginny; I’m sorry that you’re upset, but I want to be alone.”

A mediwitch ran to the room the voices were coming from – the one next to Draco’s father’s, unsurprisingly – and tried to calm down the three friends. “I’m sorry, Miss Weasley, Mr. Weasley, but we’ll need you to keep the noise down. Mr. Potter has just woken up from a head trauma, and he isn’t the only patient in the ward. If you can’t be civil, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

“Don’t bother,” the Weasel bit out, stomping passed the plump woman and heading for the lifts without a second thought.

“I’ll see you later, Harry,” the She-Weasel said before following her brother.

Curious to catch a glimpse of the wounded Saviour, Draco got up from his seat and peeked around the corner into Potter’s room. His hair was, predictably, sticking up in every direction, but not anywhere nearly as bad as Draco remembered it. His old, big glasses were gone, replaced by smaller, square, golden framed spectacles – the kind that complimented both his sun-kissed skin tone and square jaw. His trademark green eyes were dull and red, but no less striking. The only thing that was out of place was the heavy bandaging that wrapped around his head and covered his notorious scar. And the fierce scowl.

‘So, the rumours are true then… The Golden Trio is no more?’ Draco thought gleefully before he realized what else was wrong with this situation. ‘Where is the Mudblood? Surely she’d want to be around when Potter and the Weasels fight it out to lend her nagging to the pile of shit that’s going on here…’

“Mr. Potter, really, you need your rest,” the mediwitch begged, dragging Draco from his thoughts and making him look around the edge of the doorjamb again. “The Aurors will be back later to talk to you about the incident that landed you here, and you will require strength to deal with them.”

“Look, I don’t need rest or strength, or even the Aurors,” Potter growled. It was a low, menacing sound that forced Draco to pay extra attention to his former school rival in new ways. “I want to be released. It was nothing but a bump on the head and I don’t see why you all are making such a bloody deal out of it!”

“Draco,” the blond’s mother said quietly from behind, startling him. “What are you looking at so raptly?”

“It’s Potter, Mother.”

“Ah, yes, Mr. Potter was admitted to the hospital yesterday, wasn’t he?” Uncharacteristically, his mother moved into the line of sight of the door and knocked on the open portal. “Mr. Potter, you are looking much healthier than the Daily Prophet has led us to believe.”

“Mrs. Malfoy,” Potter said calmly, almost civilly. “Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated, I’m afraid.”

“Well, that is good to know. If the Dark Lord was unable to kill you, it would be a great tragedy for you to fall victim to a silly accident.” Draco’s jaw dropped. His mother was teasing Potter. Teasing him like they were old friends.

“That’s what I’ve been saying since I woke up, but these morons won’t listen to a word I say.”

“That is unfortunate,” Narcissa said sadly. “Is there something that I or my family can do to assist you?”

Draco could almost hear her implying that he should list something so that they would be free of the many life-debts they’d accrued towards Potter. In retrospect, Narcissa had received her payment for lying to the Dark Lord for Potter when he stood up not only for herself but Draco and Lucius, as it were, at their trial. It was Draco who owed Potter, and he owed him greatly. And he knew and hated that fact.

Although, the look on his mother’s face, which would appear blank to Potter but showed how much she was scheming to her son, had Draco worried. Nothing good ever came out of that look, he knew. The last time he’d seen it, she’d bound Severus to an Unbreakable Vow with Aunt Bella as the binder. He knew that he was going to be paying Potter back the life-debt he owed, and in a very uncomfortable way.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As soon as Narcissa heard Harry Potter’s voice coming from the room next to Lucius’s she had to hide a smile. While the Dark Lord was alive, the boy had been a nuisance to her husband and son, and their master of course, but now was a time to put that all behind them. And what better way to do that than to have Draco assist the Chosen One, as the Prophet had taken to calling him, with whatever was wrong with him.

Not only would it help soften the Malfoy reputation that had been tarnished since Voldemort’s reemergence, but it would also allow Draco to clear the debt he owed. There was nothing so repugnant to both the Blacks and Malfoys than to owe something to one of inferior birth. Although, now that she thought clearly about it, James Potter had been a pureblood, and this Potter was the heir of her cousin Sirius, meaning he held the legacy of two old pureblood families and was intimately tied with her own birth family.

It was times like these that she regretted that Bellatrix had murdered Sirius. Narcissa would have liked to ask the blasted convict just what sentimental, Gryffindor impulse had made him think that Harry Potter, son of James Potter and a Mudblood witch, would be the correct person to continue on the tradition of the proud house of Black. However, that thought made her pause. If the Black estates and monies hadn’t gone to the Potter boy, they would have gone directly to Bellatrix, as the oldest of the Black daughters. Potter was a better choice.

Besides, once Rabastan and Rodolphus were caught, again, and executed this time, the Lestrange monies and legacy would go directly to Draco, since neither of the Lestrange brothers had bothered to procreate. Not that Narcissa was complaining about that particular detail, mind.

“I’m not sure that there is anything you can do, Mrs. Malfoy,” Potter said, running a hand through his unruly hair. It was a near thing that kept Narcissa’s face pleasantly blank as she stood in the door of the boy’s hospital room. “What are you doing here, anyway? No offense, but you’re the last visitor I’d expect to ever have.”

“None taken, Mr. Potter,” she replied calmly. Her respect for the boy was climbing steadily higher as their odd acquaintance continued. “Malfoy Manor was attacked by some of our former associates and my husband was injured. He is next door to your room.”

“Oh, does that mean Draco is here as well?”

Hm, unless she was wrong, and Narcissa Black-Malfoy hardly ever was, Potter was interested in her son. ‘Convenient for both Draco and the family… I’m now completely and utterly ecstatic that I lied to Voldemort for this boy… However, I need to know what his connection to that vile Weasley family is still. That girl of theirs was here, but was turned out coolly… As if he was a pureblood and they the blood traitors they are…. Hm, interesting…’

The blond woman allowed herself a small smile. “Why, yes, Mr. Potter, my son is right here, actually.” She turned to her son and fixed him with a cold stare before he could say or do anything stupid. “Draco, come and say hello to Mr. Potter.”

Her beloved son, heart of her heart, scowled most unattractively before shutting down his face and coming to stand at her side. “Potter,” he drawled.

“Malfoy,” Potter answered, his voice as emotionless as her son’s and belying his earlier obvious interest.

“Draco, I am going to attempt to get some answers from the Healers,” Narcissa said politely, sparing a brief and small smile to the bedridden Saviour. “I shall be back in thirty minutes.” She then leaned close and stood on her tiptoes, willing to look silly for what she had to say, since Potter and her son were the only ones who would see her acting so disgraceful. “Behave, or I shall have the elves refrain from assisting you for a month.”

When he nodded tersely, she passed her lips briefly against his cheek, bade goodbye to Potter and made her way to find a Healer to torture. She also needed time to make the two young men do exactly what she wanted them to do. In order to do that, she had to let them nearly kill each other right then.

TBC

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Here But For the Grace of Merlin