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Broken Dreams	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 3556 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Raincoast. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter List
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Roger Davies, the Healer in charge of Accidents and Catastrophes, stands in the doorway of Draco's office, a rubber bulb clasped in his hand. "Healer Malfoy. We have a man down in Devon. Auror Robards just activated the emergency portkey. It leaves in two minutes."

Draco swallows the bite of dry coffee cake he has just put in his mouth, and stands up, grabbing his travel bag. He crosses the room and retrieves the bulb. "You've copied the coordinates?" he asks. Davies nods. "All right. Send me some backup and transport as soon as possible. I'll do what I can in the meantime."

Scarcely is the last word rolling off his tongue before he feels the portkey activate, hooking its magic behind his navel and sending him spinning to the scene of the emergency.

When his eyes catch up with his body, Draco takes a few moments to assess the scene. He's in some sort of Muggle warehouse. It's dark and dank; the smell of petrol infuses the air. He lights his wand tip and aims the beam of blue light along the concrete walls, looking for the source of the gasping he hears. It falls on a body propped up in the corner of the room. The absence of other sounds seems to loom over the place, like a bad omen.

He approaches the man, pace quickening when the blood-spattered face and smudged glasses of Harry Potter are revealed.

"Potter!" Draco says, dropping to his knees beside Potter's body. He shines his wand lower and sees that Potter's Auror robes have been slashed open and the maroon fabric is darker with pools of blood.

Draco wastes no time. He grabs the front of Potter's robes, holding his wand in his teeth, and rips the fabric to expose Potter's chest.

The sight is grisly. It looks like Potter has been hit with the Sectumsempra Curse and, by the gurgling sounds rising in his throat, Draco doesn't have long to act.

"Nox." He extinguishes his wand light and begins to trace, by feeling with one hand, the jagged edges of Potter's wound, chanting the counter-curse in a low song-like murmur. His heart is racing as he hopes his backup from St Mungo's will arrive soon, before he's done all he can and ends up being blamed for not properly healing the hero of the wizarding world.

Light floods the room as a door is thrown open. "Harry, I got him!" Weasley's voice echoes off the cold walls, but Draco doesn't halt his spell. He keeps going, tracing over the scars again and again, watching the skin knit back together.

"Malfoy!" Weasley cries, landing on his knees beside Harry. "Is he going to make it? Please, tell me he's going to pull through this."

Draco pauses, where he would normally take a breath and continue, but instead he whispers, "I'll do my best, Weasley. Keep an eye open for —"

Pain shoots through every inch of his body, worse than the Cruciatus Curse, and he stares forwards, horrified as Potter's wounds open again and his blood leaks out in streams.

Draco falls forwards too, pitched ahead by pain; the scars on his own chest have ripped open, and he lands on Potter's limp body, their blood mixing.

Everything goes black.

~***~

The room is cramped and dark. He hears the house settling; dust falls onto his face from the footfalls of his uncle somewhere above him, but he blocks that out. He's touching himself. It's his quiet time: the only chance he has to feel good about anything, when nobody will barge in to yell at him or force him to clean.

His cock feels different tonight. It slips in his hand, sliding easier as his pleasure mounts. The wonderful feeling is close, so close. He bites his lower lip to keep from making noise and it hits him.

But … he must have done something wrong. His hand is covered in slime, and he knows he must have called out because the walls shake as agitated feet thunder down the stairs.

He has no time to hide what he's done; instead, the small door is flung open and screams fill his ears. He stumbles forwards as she pulls him out of the cupboard by the front of his pyjamas.

"You disgusting boy!" Her shrill voice is in his spine, running down the course of his entire body, filling him with dread. "Put yourself to rights at once, and if I ever discover you doing that again, you'll wish you had died with your parents in the car crash!"

He falls back against the wall, his knees trembling, but he knows better than to argue. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," he says, and scurries to the bathroom before she can say anything else, his face burning with shame.

When he opens the bathroom door, tears are streaming down his face. His body has betrayed him. He vows, looking into the mirror above the sink, that he will never let this happen to him ever again.

Reflected back at him in the mirror … he's not Draco Malfoy, he's Harry Potter.

~***~

Draco's eyes shoot open and slam shut again immediately. The light is blinding. He sits up and looks around, squinting, trying to make out where he is and why he was dreaming about being Potter.

"What the fuck happened?"

An answering groan rises from somewhere on his left. He turns and makes out the blurred outline of Potter, slowly coming into focus. Potter is not wearing his Auror robes, but is dressed in a simple set of Muggle jeans and T-shirt. He blinks at Draco, obviously just as confused.

"Malfoy? Where are we?"

Draco climbs to his feet. The last thing he remembers is the weird dream he had, but before that … he racks his brain. Potter was injured and then his own scars had reopened.

"I think they've put us in a Time-Sphere," he says, hoping that that is the case and that he isn't actually at death's door with Potter for company.

Potter shakes his head, his messy black hair bouncing with the movement. Potter climbs to his feet too. He looks around, eyes finding Draco's. "What is a Time-Sphere?"

Draco's mind is back in Healer-mode. "Let me take a look at your chest, Potter."

Potter shrinks back, crossing his chest with his arms protectively. "Why?" he asks. He's screwing up his eyes, his forehead creased. "I feel fine."

Draco has a niggling sense in the back of his mind that Potter is hiding something from him, that he's nervous about being alone with Draco. Draco tries his hardest to relax his face into an expression that is calm and professional.

"You were hit with a curse, Potter," he explains, his voice soft. "A Time-Sphere is a bubble that Healers use to halt the progression of a curse, to buy them time to find a counter-curse. I think I'm in one too. My wounds reopened when I tried to heal you."

Potter's face changes from sceptical to bewildered. "What wounds? What are you talking about?"

Draco takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "What is the last thing you remember?"

To his astonishment, Potter's face flushes with colour and his eyes dart to the side, not meeting Draco's. He seems to realise that he's acting bizarrely and frowns, as if thinking back. "I was on assignment. I'd cornered the perpetrator and grabbed his arm, and then he Disapparated with me in tow. I don't recall what happened after that."

"He must have cursed you as soon as you arrived. He hit you with Sectumsempra. Your partner called St Mungo's after he followed your trace, and I was sent to the scene for emergency intervention. But something went wrong and my scars reopened and then we were here."

Draco deliberately doesn't mention the dream he'd had about being in Potter's body, perhaps even revisiting something that had actually happened. It would only embarrass them both.

Potter takes a minute as the news sinks in.

"So, we're like where? Apart from our bodies? In our heads? I don't understand how this works. How am I talking to you now? How can I see you?"

Draco shrugs. "I think the best way to describe it is like what happens when you dream. You're in your head, but your mind is active in another plane. Let me see if I can show you what I mean. You see how nothing around us looks like anything?"

Potter looks around, as if finally aware that the place they are in is surprisingly blank. They are able to stand because the surface they are on exists so they can stand, but it doesn't have the appearance of anything; it's like a blank canvas. He nods, meeting Draco's eyes again, looking suspicious.

Draco racks his mind for a moment, then recalls the beach off the coast of Italy where his mother liked to take her holidays. A moment later, they are standing on the sand, and the ocean is lapping at the shore. Behind them is a tangle of rocky fields, tall grass swaying in the salty breeze.

Potter's eyes are enormous as he takes in the change around them. "Whoa!" he says, his mouth stretching into a smile. "That's wicked. How did you do it?"

Draco looks out over the horizon, the sun is low in the sky and bright orange against the backdrop. "Like you would in a dream," he says. "Try it. Think of a place that you want to be. Picture it in your mind and it will change."

Potter hums a moment, and then Draco is standing in what has to be the Gryffindor common room. It's definitely Hogwarts. The round tower room is stuffed full of ratty armchairs, mismatched tables and stools for study or games. The walls are covered in ancient tapestries, all depicting heroic scenes in red and gold.

Draco swallows his distaste, and turns to Potter. "How about a place where we will both be comfortable? I'm getting tired and would like to relax."

Potter grins. "All right."

And then they are standing in the Slytherin common room. The dying sun shines in from the windows, covering the room in a faint green glow from the lake water outside. Draco turns to Potter, an eyebrow raised. "How do you know what the Slytherin common room looks like, and why would you feel comfortable being in here?"

Potter shrugs. He yawns, stretching his arms over his head.

Draco makes his way to his favourite chair. It's large and boxy, covered in black leather, and has a wide seat and sturdy rectangular armrests.

Potter's eyes widen as Draco puts his feet up on the coffee table.

"What?" Draco asks. He's getting annoyed by the looks Potter keeps giving him.

Potter clears his throat. "Er — Is there a place to sleep around here? I'm tired."

Draco rests his head against the familiar back of the chair. "The dormitories are through the door behind you. Kip anywhere you like; it's not like there's anybody who will mind."

Potter shifts his weight from one foot to the other, drawing Draco's attention again.

"What is it, Potter?" Draco asks, trying not let his irritation show. He's supposed to have grown up, after all. They haven't been in school for years.

"What happens when we sleep in this Time-Sphere?" Potter asks. "Do the dreams we have have anything to do with … anything?"

Draco frowns, remembering the dream he'd had about being Potter, and the horrible humiliation he'd had to endure during it. He wonders if it was an actual memory, which means that it's possible Potter has had something similar happen, but is just as embarrassed as Draco to talk about it.

"I don't think they mean anything. It's just like a dream within a dream. Just ignore them."

Potter retreats to the dormitories, leaving Draco thinking. He hopes the Healers will figure out the counter-curse and lift the Time-Sphere before long. The last thing he wants is to have Harry Potter rifling through his memories and passing judgement over him any more than he already has.

Draco looks at the cold empty grate in the hearth. A cosy fire fills it a moment later, and Draco smiles, content at the warmth. It feels good to be back at Hogwarts without the pressure of the war weighing him down or the fear of death looming over the edge of every waking thought.

He closes his eyes and rests.

~***~

He's lying in an unfamiliar bed. The room is lit by a low gas lamp and his vision is blurred. His heart aches and he feels like crying, but he has no tears left to shed. All the faces of the dead are in his mind, shimmering before his eyes, even when he has them open. It's too tiring to try to fight them, much easier to just let them be there.

A knock sounds on the door, and Draco realises he's witnessing another one of Potter's memories as if he was Potter.

"Come in," he says, screaming inside his own mind to wake up and not have to do this, but the memory continues to unfold.

The Weasley girl comes in, and closes the door behind her. She's dressed in an old flannel nightgown with an orange floral print on it, and Draco can't help but notice it doesn't suit her. She's much prettier than he cares to admit; even Blaise had thought so, though he'd denied it when asked. The thought of Blaise makes Draco's stomach squirm uncomfortably.

Potter allows the girl to join him in the twin bed, and Draco wants nothing more than to be able to shut his eyes and not participate in this private moment, but he apparently has no choice.

"I can't …" Ginny's voice is low and breaking. "It hurts so much, Harry."

Potter pulls her close to him in an embrace, and Draco is forced to endure their fumbling kisses.

Potter doesn't seem to be very eager to continue as far as Draco can tell, and Draco senses Potter's reluctance has to do with a personal feeling of ... loathing? Draco is in Potter's body, he's experiencing the memory as Potter, but why on Earth does Potter feel like he's not good enough for the Weasley girl?

"Gin, stop," Potter says, as Ginny lifts her nightgown and wraps her naked thighs around Potter's pyjama-clad legs.

She looks at Potter, her large brown eyes brimming with sadness. "Harry, I need this tonight. I just need to forget about it all. Please. Please help me."

Draco thinks it's the stupidest, most obvious attempt at coercion he's ever heard, but Potter seems to buy it. Draco can almost hear Potter's war with his own mind being pushed aside as he gives in to whatever Ginny wants.

"I don't know what to do," Potter says, after she releases his mouth so she can finish peeling off her horrible nightgown.

She lies back down beside him, taking his hand, guiding him. "Just touch me."

And Potter does. He rubs her gently, feeling the small nub beneath the pad of his thumb grow hard and slick. He kisses her when she pulls his face down to meet her lips, and Draco senses the panic rising inside Potter. What if she wants more? What if she asks what I can't give?

Draco rolls his mind's eye. Of all people to have a complex about sex, the wonder boy of the Ministry of Magic would be the first one Draco would love to see it happen to, but being forced to witness the fact is not at all as enjoyable as he thought it would be. He's always wanted to see Potter taken down a peg, but this ... this is just humiliating.

He retreats as far as his mind will allow, praying for the whole thing to be over until he's made aware that Ginny has her hand on his crotch and is looking into his shame-filled face, disappointment reflecting back at him.

"You're not hard."

Screaming to wake up, Draco finally finds himself back in the Slytherin common room, his eyes wide and longing for a wand he can use to Obliviate himself.

He tries to calm himself, thinking of happier things, but the only things coming to mind are the memories of what he and Blaise have done together in the very chair he's sitting in, and it makes his heart ache to dwell on the thought.

He runs his hand absently through his hair and decides to find Potter. Perhaps Potter will fancy a Seeker's game. Draco could certainly use some fresh air to take his mind off Potter's memories.

He stands and shakes himself awake, wondering for the umpteenth time how long the Healers will have the Time-Sphere in place.

He opens the door to the boys' dormitory looking for Potter, and spots him. Of course, he's sleeping in what was once Draco's bed but, as he draws closer, Draco realises Potter is not as passive as he had been in his memory. He's definitely asleep and practically humping the mattress.

He watches Potter's sleeping face, turned towards him on the pillow, his mouth open and gasping while his hips rise and fall beneath the duvet. It's strangely erotic to see Potter so vulnerable. Draco is tempted to sit on Blaise's bed and watch him until he comes, but then Potter opens his fat mouth and ruins everything.

"Draco," Potter groans, his hips moving faster.

And that is just not on. Draco realises that what they need is a change of scenery.

A moment later Draco is standing in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, clutching a Snitch in one hand and his broom in the other. Potter is a few feet away, blinking rapidly and turning in circles, trying to figure out how he got there.

"Right there, Potter?" Draco calls out, holding the Snitch up for Potter to see.

"What the hell, Malfoy?" Potter calls back, when he realises where he is. "You could have woke me up first."

Draco simply shrugs. "I didn't mean to interrupt what appeared to be a rather enjoyable dream," he says, watching Potter's face redden. "I didn't know that my coming out here for a fly would wake you up and bring you along."

It's a blatant lie, and Draco can tell that Potter knows it too, but the mention of his dream is enough to keep his mouth shut.

Draco releases the Snitch and watches Potter's eyes follow its path until it is out of sight. He mounts his broom. "Come on."

Potter's forehead creases. He stoops and picks up his Firebolt, hands caressing the handle fondly.

"It's been ages since I've seen this broom, and even longer since I've played Quidditch." He sounds melancholic. He looks back up at Draco. "I don't think these dreams are just dreams."

Draco's palms itch. He doesn't like the way Potter is looking at him. He grips the handle of his broom, bracing his legs against the ground. "They're only dreams, Potter. Come on! Last one to the Snitch has to be the other's slave for a day!" He kicks off.

Draco tears through the air, the wind whipping his fringe, and he feels like singing. He does a few loop-the-loops to test the capabilities of his broom and pulls up to an upright position afterwards, a wide grin on his face. He turns to see where Potter has got off to, only to find Potter is still on the ground, his eyes fixed on Draco.

"Come on, Potter! You're not going to beat me if you don't get your feet off the ground!"

Potter nods; his face is hard to read. He mounts his broom at last, and kicks off from the ground, soaring into the air like a rocket. Draco smirks as Potter falls to the same sensation he had, of being back in the air after a long break from it, testing his wings and finding his way again.

Draco begins to search for the Snitch. He loops around the Quidditch field, his eyes on high alert, feeling the blood surging through his system, warming him from the inside; then he spots something, a glint of gold reflecting off one of the goal hoops on the other side.

He goes into a dive, waiting for Potter to follow him, which he does rather more quickly than Draco expects. Potter must have had his eyes trained on Draco to react so fast. Draco feints to the left and rockets back the opposite direction, soaring towards the gleam of the Snitch. Potter is too fast for him though. He passes Draco a second later and is closing in on the Snitch, his legs gripping his broom tightly and his body wound upon the broom's shaft as if it were an extension of his body. Draco flings the first words he can think at Potter as he puts on a burst of speed, hand outstretched, determined to win this time.

"Oi, Potter! I like your arse in those trousers!"

It works! Potter slows momentarily, and Draco wills himself to one more burst of speed. His hand closes over the small body of the Snitch half a second before Potter. Potter's hand closes on top of his.

Draco crows loudly. He slips his hand out from beneath Potter's and he tears off, flying a victory spin around the field, finally landing, laughing and smiling despite himself. He doesn't even care that Potter is witnessing him in his joy. He has wanted this for so long, to beat Potter to the Snitch at least once in his life.

And then he's knocked backwards, and finds himself blinking up in surprise as Potter slams him to the ground and holds him down, a grim expression on his face.

"That was a very dirty trick, Malfoy," Potter says, gritting his teeth.

Draco smirks up at Potter. "Come on, now," he drawls. "What are you planning to do, Potter? Going to beat the shit out of me for winning a stupid game?"

Potter doesn't answer with words; the way his eyes are fixed on Draco's in a sort of furious passion has set Draco's heart to racing. And then Potter does the last thing that Draco expects, though far from the last thing he wants. Potter leans in close and closes his lips on top of Draco's, pushing his chest against Draco's, still restraining his arms with his hands, and Draco's breath leaves him.

Slowly, breathing in through his nose, the smell of Potter thick on his clothes, Draco's eyes fall shut and he gives in to insistent pressure of Harry Potter's mouth. He opens his mouth when Potter's tongue swipes his lower lip and then Potter plunges on inside, kissing Draco to within an inch of his life. It's all Draco can do to lie back and meet him with equal measure. Potter never does anything halfway, and snogging is no different.

Draco's heart is in his ears, and he feels like he's turning into a pile of melting butter under Potter's manhandling, moulding into whatever shapes Potter chooses to twist him in, and it's brilliant. His cock is hard and he arches his hips upwards to meet Potter's hips, making Potter still his snog when he feels how Draco is responding to him.

Potter draws back a moment, and releases Draco's arms, sitting up, still straddling Draco's hips.

"Shirts off," Potter says briskly, tearing his own shirt off his head in a second, and then his glasses when they are upset by the shirt knocking them askew.

Draco smirks a moment, eyes lingering on the hard lines of Potter's chest, mouth going dry at the sight of the zigzagging scar there. It matches the one Potter marked Draco with so many years ago, and Draco hasn't checked to see if his own scars look any different since reopening, unsure of how real their bodies are in the Time-Sphere.

Potter doesn't wait for Draco to finish his recollections; he lifts Draco's shirt, and Draco finds himself allowing Harry Potter to undress him. It doesn't even matter, though, because Potter's lips are back on him a moment later, this time travelling down the side of his face, his neck, and onto his chest and then back up. Potter shifts his weight and Draco can feel the bulge in Potter's trousers bump against his own. Then Potter's chest is on his chest and the heat between them sears like fire, working straight up into Draco's brain, making his eyes close on their own as he gives himself over to the burn, kissing Potter back wetly, perfectly. Potter's mouth fits his mouth as if they were made for each other.

Potter begins to buck his hips. Draco finds himself rising up to answer Potter's rutting, his arms circling Potter's waist, travelling up his back and then down his spine, smiling against his will against Potter's lips as Potter shivers at the sensation of Draco's fingers.

Draco doesn't care. He runs his hands back down the planes of Potter's back, finding the edge of his trousers, sneaking his fingertips past the waistband of Potter's underpants.

Potter thrusts back against Draco, pushing a groan out of his throat, and Draco's hands slip further down the back of Potter's pants. He grips the heated arse cheeks with his palms, squeezing them as Potter devours his mouth in another plundering snog.

Draco is so far from thinking, he's nearly convinced he's still flying. How is it that sex can feel this good? It isn't even sex at this point, just frotting and kissing with Potter, and Draco finds himself entirely undone, more than he has ever been by Blaise.

He opens his eyes to chase the memory of Blaise away by overwriting it with the image of Potter's closed eyes, and the look of pure animalistic need in his expression. Draco bucks his hips up against Potter's, pulling Potter's arse down with each desperate grind. Potter's eyes fly open.

Draco sees a flicker of hesitation pass over Potter's face as he begins to pull away, but Draco is having none of that. As Potter begins to protest, he shoves his hand down the front of Potter's trousers and Potter's eyes close again, his mouth dropping open in a gasp, and Draco has him back where he wants him.

Potter's lips descend upon Draco's, crashing their mouths together without finesse, but it's good. Draco's cock is hard and throbbing, and the taste of Potter's tongue on his has got to be the sweetest thing in the entire world.

He has Potter's cock in a loose fist, pulling against the waistband of Potter's trousers with his wrist to make more room, and Potter is fucking his hand with abandon, breathing heavily through his nose as his kisses begin to change, becoming slower, more tender. It's all Draco can do to not come in his pants.

A moment later, Potter has their trousers open and is holding their cocks in a loose grip.

Potter leans his head back, exposing his throat to Draco while he fucks their cocks together through the hole he's made with his fist. Draco's mouth fills with saliva, just thinking of how it would be to suck that neck, and bite it, mark it until it's undeniably clear that Potter belongs to him.

But before he can trip over that thought — like where the hell it had come from — Potter is on top of him again, pressing their chests together, sticky-sliding with perspiration and need. Draco doesn't even give a fuck where his mind has gone, as long as it stays gone until he's got off.

Potter kisses him, and he meets the needy lips again and again, just lost in the perfect way their mouths seal together and then drift and come together again. It's as if Potter's mouth is the match Draco's mouth has been looking for all its life and, now that they have found each other, there's no fucking way they'll be torn apart.

Potter's breathing is hoarse and ragged, and Draco can feel the slide of their cocks in Potter's fist ease as dribbles of pre-come leak from their slits. The idea of Potter coming does it. It drives Draco into a frenzy of fuckyesrightnowthere and Draco latches onto Potter's mouth, taking control of their snog while he drives his hips into a faster pace, groaning his release as his orgasm crashes over him and spills out between their stomachs.

Potter's hand stills. He breaks the kiss, and stares down into Draco's eyes as if he's afraid.

Draco doesn't have time or energy for Potter's sexual dysfunction right now. He takes control of the situation, pulling Potter's face back down to kiss him again with one hand behind his neck, and wraps his other hand around Potter's, holding their come-soaked cocks. Draco continues to thrust, forcing Potter back into rutting, speeding his hand and alternating the tightness of his fist until Potter's hips snap forwards of their own volition and Potter pours all of his need back into Draco's mouth through his kisses.

Potter comes at last, his mouth stilling, eyes shut tight, and then he tucks his face into the side of Draco's neck, groaning almost as if in pain as his teeth sink into the top of Draco's shoulder.

Draco hisses, but the pain is nothing more than an added bonus to to the sweet slickness in his hand. His hand is covered in Potter's come and the thought excites him. He pulls his hand free, bringing it up to his mouth. He licks a stripe clean, tasting it, savouring it. The smell and the taste is bitter and raw and sweet at the same time. It's heavenly, and the weight of Potter's body pressing him into the ground is nothing short of a miracle.

Potter lifts his head at the sight, his eyes falling into focus.

He pushes himself off the ground and fastens his trousers, face flushed and hair standing on end. Draco likes the way he looks post-shag.

But Potter is quiet. He bends to retrieve his shirt and glasses, and Draco watches. The Snitch he had caught is hovering crookedly in the grass by Potter's shoe, one wing bent.

"I'm sorry," Potter stammers, clearing his throat. Draco can see there is a war going on inside his head. "I need to … I need a moment."

Potter turns and walks away, leaving Draco watching him. Draco turns onto his side, resting up on his elbow. Potter is all sorts of fucked up. Draco knows this. He's seen it in Potter's memories.

He rolls onto his back, staring up into the Time-Sphere's mimicry of sky: so realistic, and yet so false. If it were real there would be more sounds, animals, birds chirping, the sound of wind in the stands, the risk of students coming out onto the pitch and catching him with his cock hanging out of of his trousers. But there is none of that here.

He wonders what he was thinking letting himself go like he did with Potter. Especially without talking it out first, and smoothing over the feelings of a Gryffindor's ruffled morals. He wonders if he should go after Potter, confront him and make him talk, but that seems like it would be counterproductive.

Draco closes his eyes. He's just going to rest a moment.

~***~

His head is fuzzy and his eyelids are stiff when he tries to lift them. The sound of his name is slowly coming through to his ears; at first sounding as if he's hearing it from underwater, but growing clearer and easier to understand as his mind returns to wakefulness.

"Healer Malfoy. Can you hear me?"

Draco frowns, the mass of blurry colour looming over him coming into focus.

"What?" Draco says, but his throat is dry and raspy. It feels like he has a chunk of sandpaper lodged in it.

He closes his mouth and swallows. "What's going on?"

Terry Boot is looking down at him, a thick crease across his forehead. "Oh, thank goodness you're awake. I was beginning to worry."

When Draco simply stares at him, not quite focussing yet, he continues. "We cancelled the Time-Sphere about three hours ago. I had expected you to come round after a few minutes, but it's taken this long."

Right. The Time-Sphere. Draco blinks a few times more, still trying to get his eyes to adjust to the light and to moisten them.

"Where's Potter?" Draco asks, voice still croaking.

Boot raises his eyebrows. "Potter came out of the Sphere the moment we lifted it. He's been discharged into the custody of the Aurors after he cleared the health examination. You did well in treating him in the field."

Draco slumps back against his pillows. Of course Potter would bounce right back after the spell lifted while Draco was flat on his arse, feeling as limp as a cooked noodle. He wonders how much of the time they spent together under the spell Potter remembers. Draco thinks back to all that's happened, and doesn't think he's missing any time. Other than the three hours Boot says he took to wake up. He sighs. Well at least he won't have to deal with Potter's memories any longer. They'll probably just go back to how things were and not see each other again for another five years, when Potter needs Draco to tend to him as a Healer.

Draco wonders why he feels so empty at the thought. It was all nonsense anyway. What happens in a Time-Sphere counts as little as a dream in the long run.

"Healer Malfoy?" Boot asks, clearing his throat and Draco turns to look at him again. He's tired and cranky and just wants to go home.

"What?" Draco asks.

"I said your mother is here. She's ready to take you home. You've passed the physical examination and I don't think there's any more you need other than rest for a few days."

"Oh, yes, thank you."

~***~

Back at the Manor, Narcissa calls the house-elves to tend to Draco as soon as they step through the front doors. Draco feels as if he's been transported back in time to the days when he would pretend to be ill to get all of his mother's attention and extra sweets and privileges. He smirks wryly at the thought.

Once he's been tucked into his bed, after a shower and shave, and a bowl of chicken soup for dinner, his mother sits beside him on the edge of his bed, running her hand over his hair in the way he liked to be soothed as a child.

"The Aurors sent an owl over earlier, Draco," she says, her voice soft. "They want to ask you about the spell you used to save Mr Potter."

Draco frowns. "All right. When are they coming?"

"Some time tomorrow afternoon. I told them you needed to rest and that they weren't to disturb you until tea time."

"Thanks, Mum," Draco mumbles, feeling his cheeks grow pink. She still manages to baby him and he's reluctant to admit how much he appreciates it.

She gives him a quick kiss and stands up, her dressing gown shifting gracefully around her slender body. "Have a phial of Dreamless Sleep, darling," she says, and hands him the small glass tube. "I want you to feel fully refreshed when you wake."

Draco finds himself drifting on air as the potion floods his system and pulls him into the blackness of sleep, his pillows comforting his head, and the familiar smells of home enveloping him like a hug.
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Broken Dreams