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Marathon	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 52456 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this fanfic.

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Chapter Fifty-Three—Tending the Wounds
            “This is going to sting more than you think it is right now.”
            Harry gritted his teeth and held still under the salve that Draco was gently smearing across the cut. He was right; it did sting more than Harry thought was entirely reasonable. He stared at the far wall instead, where the mirror was that showed the cut on Harry’s jaw and the wound in his shoulder. Draco had had him take his shirt off so that he could make sure there wasn’t some kind of permanent hole in Harry’s bone and skin.
            That was the excuse, anyway. Harry thought it was partially that Draco liked to look at him without a shirt on.
            “You didn’t cry out,” Draco murmured, taking a cloth out and wiping his fingers to get the salve off, staring at Harry all the while.
            “You warned me about the pain,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow. Did Draco think he couldn’t take a little sting? He ought to have known more than that about Harry by now. “What are you going to do about the hole in my shoulder?” Hole, really. It’s nothing more than a scratch. While the weapon that had opened his face had been almost painless, it was so sharp, Harry thought now that he had exaggerated the pain of the spell that hit him in the shoulder. It had just been unexpected, and he had thought at that point that the Spiders weren’t good enough wizards to be able to touch him at all.
            “This,” Draco said, and reached down and picked up a green bottle of some thick liquid that Harry frowned at. For a moment, he was tempted to ask if Draco had sent Kreacher to raid Grimmauld Place’s liquor cabinets or wine cellars. It probably had them, although Harry had never cared enough to find out.
            But a second later he recognized it, and tried to stand up and scramble back from Draco. Draco pressed him back into place against the bathroom counter. Harry shook his head. “I don’t need that thing,” he snapped.
            “You went alone into danger that turned out to be dangerous after all, even though you told me again and again it wasn’t, and that you could trust Weasley,” said Draco. His tone was that of someone who could stand here reciting all night, and his grip on the bloody bottle never wavered. “You didn’t want me to come with you and possibly scare Weasley off, so I didn’t sneak along behind you, even though I could have, and that would have spared you some worry and effort. You wouldn’t have got wounded if I was with you. You wouldn’t be worried about Weasley, because we could have gone right to his house if you weren’t wounded. You wouldn’t have to drink this. But because you did all the things I said, and insisted on acting like an idiot, you have to. Drink this.”
            When Draco put it that way…Harry reluctantly reached for the potion. He knew it was sold under the name of Healer’s Helpmate, but he privately thought of it as the Azkaban Potion. It filled his mouth with the taste of ashes and despair, and prevented him from moving around.
            Someone had decided several years ago that having a Blood-Replenishing Potion and a Dreamless Sleep Potion and a Muscle-Relaxing Draught be separate brews wasn’t a good idea. So they had come up with a potion that not only restored blood, but made the person who took it drop straight into slumber, and relax so much that they couldn’t move around, either. Harry would have to stay in bed for as long as the blasted potion had a fancy to keep him there.
            He didn’t whine about it not being fair, but he did mutter, as he held his nose and prepared to tilt the bottle down his throat, “Where did you get this? I thought they didn’t sell them except to St. Mungo’s.”
            “I went to the Manor after you left and got it,” Draco said. “Along with the ring.”
            Harry opened an accusing eye and looked at him. Draco only shrugged. “I promised not to follow you, not to stay cooped up here forever.”
            Harry had to nod, and accept that it was a good thing Draco hadn’t, since that ring had made the difference between life and death for him in the alley. “What is that ring? A Malfoy artifact?” It made sense, both because the magic had been Dark and because it had been powerful enough that it was probably a bloodline artifact, instead of something that Draco had simply invented for the occasion.
            Draco didn’t answer. He arranged himself behind Harry and ran his wand over the hole in Harry’s shoulder—no, the wound, Harry really had to stop thinking of it as a hole—and murmured an incantation that conjured bandages. They wrapped around and around, and Harry winced as some of the pressure set off pain signals again. He opened his mouth to complain, then shut it again, remembering how much he owed Draco and how he had promised not to whinge as much as possible.
            Then he opened his mouth again, but this time, it was in a totally involuntary yawn.
            Another one followed as quickly, and Harry grimaced, knowing the cause. Bloody Healer’s Helpmate.
            Draco gave him a smile in the mirror, a smile that wasn’t entirely nice. Then he patted Harry’s shoulder blade and announced, “Bed. You’ll sleep, I’ll firecall Weasley and make sure that he’s all right, we’ll all keep the bargains that we made and do what we’re supposed to do.”
            Harry opened his mouth to complain again, and again his jaw sagged, and again he yawned as though he was trying to let an elephant pass down his throat. He honestly didn’t remember the journey from the bathroom to the bedroom later, or even the tenderness with which Draco laid him down in the blankets, although Harry was certain it had been there.
*
            “Yes, Weasley’s all right.”
            There were lots of reasons that Harry loved Draco, but one of them was the way that those were the first words Draco spoke, the moment Harry opened his eyes. He was sitting by the bed with a newspaper, but he put it down and picked up the bowl of soup beside him, extending it invitingly beneath Harry’s nose.
            “You firecalled him?” Harry asked, struggling into a sitting position against the pillows. There was a plate of steaming tea and toast on a table beside him, but he reached for the soup first. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to reach the plate easily from where he was sitting.
            Draco took in the problem at a glance, and used his wand to float the plate into a comfortable position on Harry’s lap. “Yes. He said that he had a thought as to how they could have learned the location of the pub, but he would prefer to tell that thought directly to you. And he said that they could have got his hair anywhere.”
            Harry grimaced and nodded. That last was unfortunately true, as Ron had a tendency to shed. But they had never thought of it as a problem before, because no one had wanted to Polyjuice into Ron. He bet Hermione would come up with a solution that would fix the problem before it ever happened again.
            “What about Lily? Did Al firecall? What about Jamie?”
            Draco’s mouth relaxed into a quirk of a smile. “Your children have been the least troublesome part of this whole business. Lily came in to visit you a few times, but she was satisfied that you were asleep and out of danger. I haven’t heard from either of your sons.” He leaned forwards and lowered his voice. “And don’t think that you’re going to get out of the discussion about Scorpius’s birthday party with all this fainting you were doing.”
            Harry felt himself relax even more. Yes, this was the Draco he loved, and while Harry doubted that Draco would forget about the way he had fallen into the confrontation with the Spiders, he seemed even less likely to go on scolding Harry about it forever.
            Harry ate his breakfast in silence, groaning a little at how good the bread and soup was, and Draco just watched him. Then Harry asked, “Any message from the Ministry?”
            “An owl that wouldn’t let me touch it,” Draco said, and crossed over to open the bedroom door, which Harry hadn’t realized until that point was closed.
            The bird shot in and circled around the room. Harry eyed it closely, but it wasn’t Pig, just an owl that must be related to him, small and fast. It landed on his pillow and hooted disapprovingly at Draco.
            “I wouldn’t have been awake before now to take your ruddy letter anyway,” Harry told it, and got a disapproving hoot of his very own before the owl would let him unbind the letter. It remained sitting on his pillow, shaking out its feathers, in a clear sign that the writer wanted a reply. Harry handed it a crust of bread and broke the seal to start reading.
            There was a paragraph of nonsense about how Aurors were always grateful for the efforts of others in the general public to aid them, but would prefer that the general public not put themselves in danger. Harry snorted and skimmed it. He had written those paragraphs a time or two himself, when he had to send out letters to someone who had made the Aurors look bad with greater skill or competence.
            It didn't usually happen on Harry's own cases, but it had been a favorite punishment for Robards to assign him to write those letters, rather than actually give him a case.
            Harry found what he was looking for in the second paragraph down.
            The Spiders we have interrogated so far, and the ones captured by our people near the pub called the Blacksmith's Arms, all insist on the same thing. They say they have invented weapons that only you can properly appreciate. They said at first that they wanted your recommendation to the Ministry, but it was pointed out to them that the Unspeakables would have been a more legitimate route for them to try if that was true. They then admitted that they wanted to test their weapons on you to see if they would have the same effect on you as on a normal human being.
            Harry discovered that his jaw was drooping open. Draco leaned in beside him and shut it, then tried to take the letter. "I shouldn't have let the owl near you when you need your rest," he murmured.
            Harry laid his hand over the letter and scowled at Draco for a second, then said, "I'm not that helpless. Thank you for helping me when I needed it, but you also need to learn when to back off. I can read a bloody letter."
            Draco matched gazes with him for a single second before he raised his hands and sat back. "Fine. But if the letter drags you into another dangerous situation, then I'm going to insist that you let me come with you this time."
            Harry nodded. He had no problem granting that, when Draco had been not only right but useful last time, and had saved his arse.
            The letter went on, Because you survived the Killing Curse twice, the Spiders seem convinced that you would not die in the way that a normal human being would when subjected to one of their weapons. They will not leave the theory alone. All of them we have questioned repeat it. We formally request that you come to the Ministry and attend these interrogations so that we can learn whether they will change their tune when they see you.
            "For fuck's sake, just dose them with Veritaserum," Harry muttered. The signature on the letter was that of an Auror he didn't recognize, so at least not Robards, and he could understand why they wanted him there, but it was a transparent attempt to make it sound as if he was necessary, when he really wasn't. The political purpose trumped the fancied necessity, once again.
            "You don't have to go," Draco said, and leaned over him to easily pluck the letter from his hands and read through it.
            "I wish I could think of a way to make them leave me alone, though," Harry said, and scowled down at the remains of his breakfast. "The trouble is that I thought I'd do that when I stood up and talked about those Auror secrets in public. But if Robards reacted to that at all, I think it's simply to punish me."
            "You don't owe anything to the Aurors who used you, or the public, either," said Draco, and tossed the letter back into his lap. His cheeks were so bright with anger that Harry blinked at him. Draco ignored that. "Just don't go. Ignore any further letters they send you. You've done enough for them. You can't feel guilty for resigning, when you already did so many things that redounded to their benefit."
            "Guilt isn't rational," said Harry, but shook his head when Draco glared at him. "No, I won't just march into the interrogation unprepared. For one thing, I'll ask you to go with me."

            "Ah," said Draco, and his hand found Harry's wrist and clasped it. "There's a change from asking me to stay behind both times--no, all three times, if we count the original time that you were summoned to Diagon Alley--when you confronted the Spiders."
            "I've learned my lesson," Harry said. "But I don't know what kind of information they're expecting to get out of the Spiders that they wouldn't get by using Veritaserum."
            "I think it's another kind of trap," Draco said. "A political one. But you might fall into it as easily by going as by not going, so I think taking you with me is the wisest thing you can do." He paused. "Why not firecall Weasley and ask him, too?"
            Harry hesitated. "I still don't know how he feels about me betraying Auror secrets, and we have to have a proper talk."
            "For this, I don't think that you need to," Draco said. "Just firecall him, explain the situation, and ask. If it makes you feel better, promise him all the ability to yell at you later that he wants. But you need him now."
            The sober tone in his last words convinced Harry. If Draco could call for Ron's presence at Harry's side like that, then Harry would listen. "All right. I'll get dressed and firecall him." He picked up the letter. Ron might want to see it.
            "Don't give him a lot of time to splutter," Draco advised, standing up and Summoning one of Harry's Auror robes. He curled his lip as it landed on the bed and started to cast the Transfigurations and Charms that would modify it into an ordinary robe. "Just show him the letter and give him a clear explanation, and that should be enough."
            "We have to respond soon anyway," Harry said. "Wait too long, and the Ministry might decide that we're not coming."
            "Exactly," said Draco. "Put it just like that to Weasley, and I don't think he'll give you much trouble." He held up the robe, which he had turned green. "The modifications to the style will tell anyone who has a bit of brain that you're not an Auror any longer," he said, nodding slightly with satisfaction.
            Harry held his tongue, although he wanted to say that the color alone should tell them that, and climbed into the robe.
*
            "Harry?" Ron's eyes were bright and wide, but a little wary. Harry didn't wait to hear what else he would say, although only a few hours ago that had been the most important thing he could imagine listening to.
            "Ron. I got this letter from the Ministry saying that the Spiders wanted to test their inventions on me because they thought I couldn't die like a normal person. The Ministry wants me there when they interrogate the Spiders. But I don't trust them anymore, after the way they had me confront the Spiders last time. Will you come with me and help Draco guard my back?"
            Ron's jaw fell slightly open, but he snapped it closed and studied Harry in a way that usually came right before he made some important suggestion. Harry held his breath, but Ron waited so long that he had to let it out again, or cough. He felt Draco, standing behind him, squeeze his shoulder slightly in support.
            "Yes," Ron said. "Not that I'm not going to demand a full explanation from you later, mind. And a full yelling session," he added darkly. "There are still some things we need to talk about."
            "I agree," Harry said, smiling at him, amazed that their friendship was still so strong after thirty years that they could put aside urgent issues for something even more urgent. "Just come with me now, and you can have anything you want."
            "Not anything he wants," Draco murmured, although luckily, by that time, Ron had already nodded briskly and reached for more Floo powder so he could come into Grimmauld Place. "There are certain privileges I reserve to myself."
            Harry was glad Ron came out of the Floo only a minute later, so that he could miss Harry snickering helplessly, and not demand to know what Draco had said--which Harry would have found impossible to explain, no matter how Ron asked him.
*
delia cerrano: No, but he is scared of battle. That’s the main reason that Harry wanted him to stay behind and out of it. He’s not as scared when he’s fighting for someone he loves and armed with a powerful artifact like the ring, though.
BAFan: He wanted to keep his word, or Harry would have trusted him less. But he was going to be on hand with the potion and the ring.
SP777: The explanation that the Ministry makes in this chapter is essentially true. Though individual Spiders may have a few more things to add…
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Marathon