Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Heal My Wounds	By : FalsettoSlumber Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 1359 -:- 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
- 1-A Familiar Face
- 2-Relating
- 1
- 2
Tendrils of shadows grab at flailing arms, and vertigo seizes him as he feels himself being flipped upside down. The room's corners pull in against him, the claustrophobia gripping him as he feels himself being slowly spun around.
As his drifting body lazily spins to a halt, his nose mere inches from the point of a wand, he blanches, fingers scrabbling at unseen chains.
"No-"
A flash of green startles him awake, and Draco Malfoy sits up, bolt upright in bed, his sheets soaked through with sweat. Scrubbing a hand through his damp hair, he sighs, staring out of the window facing the grounds.
The sun is starting to rise in the east, covering the gardens in a dim sheen of gold, merging with the dark's indigo blanket. The trees just passed the window lean in towards the manor; their tall trunks are thick and silver-grey in the light.
Casting a quick tempus charm, he notes the time - just after dawn - and shrugs, slipping from the bed with notable exhaustion. Placing a light, fluffy dressing gown around his shoulders, he shuffles from the room, shivering in the early morning chill.
The corridor outside is deserted, and Draco breathes a sigh of relief; when it’s time for house keeping, the corridors tend to be busy with the sight of their house elves, rushing to and fro with clean bedding and cleaning polish.
"Poppy?"
He calls for his favourite house elf, who immediately appears next to him with a ‘POP!'. Cleaner than the house elves of his youth, Poppy wears a lightly tied tunic around her torso, the blue cotton embellished with an insignia proclaiming "Freedom4U", a sign that she is a paid, willing house elf. Smiling slightly as he looks at it, he sends the elf off in search for coffee, and perhaps some Danish pasties, and heads off down the hall, to the ground floor.
Pushing a heavy oak side door open, he steps into a light drawing room, a wave of ocean-like scent filling his senses. As the sun begins to rise higher, it sends soft beams of light through the high, large windows. The room is decorated simply, with sage coloured walls, a light wooden floor, and pale, welcoming furniture.
"Good morning, Mother."
Narcissa Malfoy looks up from her seat by the window, placing a bookmark into the heavy leather tome in her hand. Her blonde hair is pulled back from her temples, twisted in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. It falls in cascades down her back, and one tendril is already starting to escape its ornate, silver clasp.
"Draco. Have you broken your fast yet?" She looks at him with steady, pale eyes, and he smiles, gesturing in a roundabout fashion to the kitchen, and she nods.
"I still have not quite gotten used to them being paid. It's always a mild surprise when I see the payment coming from the accounts every month." She remarks offhandedly, as she places the book onto a coffee table, refilling a cup of tea from the self-heating pot beside her.
He goes to sit beside her, curling his long legs under him as he sets himself upon a long sofa, the soft corduroy material comfortable under his weary legs.
"I couldn't sleep again."
"Nor could I, my dear."
"How long has it been for you?" He watches his mother look down, her long, pale eyelashes skimming her cheeks softly as she sighs. Looking up once more at the garden before her, the sun streaking her slightly greying hair softly, she smiles wanly.
Even now, as her life is starting to wane, his mother is still beautiful. No longer strong though, not as before. Now, she is just… soft. Fragile. He smiles along with her, holding her hand in his.
"Too long." She replies softly, glancing out of the window as an albino peacock darts across the lawn, his feathers glimmering in the sun. Bloody creatures. Even after Lucius had died, they still couldn't get rid of them. Though it was not that they had not tried…
The door opens almost soundlessly, and they both turn to look as Poppy appears, nose almost touching the ground in a low bow. In her hands are a tall cafetiere of rich black coffee, and a plate piled high with what look like Draco’s favourite raspberry jam Danishes.
She sets them down on the side, bows low once more, and disappears with a crack as Draco sets himself upon the first pastry.
"When do you start work today, my dear?" His mother looks at him; gone is the look that suggested she thought he was mad for working. Instead, a steady respect shows in her eyes, and he grins, glad for the change in conversation.
"Midday. I have a long shift tonight; won't be home until late. I'll have the elves knock some food up for me when I get in, so don't bother setting a large dinner tonight. I have to return and see Mr Tunbridge today; Merlin knows he'll put me through my ropes again. Bloody man." He mutters the last part of the sentence, thinking of the insufferable wizard's surly manner.
"I should get ready. What will you do today?" He clenches his mother's hand slightly tighter in his own, and she smiled again, somewhat thinly.
"I was considering just sitting here all day again, pondering life… then Miss Ripley suggested that I was letting my demons get the better of me again, so I have decided to spend my day gardening."
It had taken months to persuade his mother to see somebody after the war; she had been getting sadder by the day, even more so when news reached of his father's passing. When he had entered the sitting room one day to see her lying curled in the corner, tears making tracks down her face, he had put his foot down. Alice Ripley was a special Cerebral Healer, focusing on illness of the mind. Since she began working with Narcissa, his mother had slowly started to repair herself, though it wasn't exactly what he would call easy.
"Well, be careful. I don't wish to come home to find you in the pond." He laughs as she rolls her eyes in a most un-Malfoyish way, and he leaves the room, heading back up to his rooms for a much-needed shower.
As the water crashes against his back in the black marbled cubicle, Draco trails his fingers gently against the Dark Mark on his arm. Strangely, in the few years following the war, he had grown oddly fond of the thing. It was a reminder, to him, of what he had been through. It has already started to fade, of course; his had been on his arm far less extensively as other Death Eaters’ had, and he could see the edges of the ink starting to recede slightly.
Toweling himself dry, he wanders back into his bedchambers, amused that, in the time he has showered, the house elves have already cleared his clothes, made his bed, and even washed the glass doors to his balcony. Obviously, he had spent longer in the shower than he had intended to.
Opening the doors to the outside world, he leans into the cool breeze of autumn, watching as an owl flies down to another part of the manor, probably his mother’s chambers. The sun is high now, telling Draco that it is already nearing midday.
Sighing, he dresses in his work robes, the deep green colours making him snort softly.
Not feeling like apparating just yet, he walks down the front drive, pondering his nightmare as his feet beat a steady sound against the gravel.
Of course, he knows what it was about. The Muggle Studies teacher may have never taught Draco, but her death had played over in his dreams often enough. Charity Burbage's imprint on his mind had been strong, and he knew he would never forget.
Most of the time, he is viewing as if from the sidelines, as he had been in life, but sometimes, like this most recent episode, he is in her place, waiting for the inevitable end.
Shaking his head, as if to wipe the memory from his mind, he shakes himself, before glancing around. The gardens are beautiful, even now. A low walled garden sits before the house itself, vibrant flowers growing in military-esque patterns. A small wood stands off to the right, birds rustling in the leaves of the trees, and a large, circular stone pond stands in the center of the garden, perfectly in line with the front portico.
The fountain in the middle depicts a strong, majestic wizard; the first Malfoy. His wand is raised solemnly, water pouring from the tip, and his "hair" is carved to give the impression of it blowing in the wind.
Draco finds the stone image sad; it was the beginning of a legacy to him, and not one that had ended well.
Sighing, he raises his wand, spins on his heel, and disappears from the grounds, apparating out as quickly as he can to escape the memories.
His destination is busy as he appears in the designated apparation point; wizards and witches in deep emerald robes rush past as others stand around desks, white robes starched and bright in the false lighting. Coughing slightly, he shoves his wand in his wrist holster, and takes a breath, before stepping into the throng.
"Healer Malfoy! Bed three has been playing up again, please go and see him before I give him a reason to be in hospital." A woman's voice sees him jerking to the side, and Nurse Abbot glares in the direction of his patient's bed. He grins at her, laughing at her expression.
"Hannah, please don't curse our patients. That would just cause them to stay here even longer. A vicious cycle, don't you see?" He sticks his tongue out at her as she directs a mild but painful hex in his direction, and he trots off to bed three as it hits the wall behind him.
"Now, Mr Tunbridge, how are we today?" He smiles brightly at the wizard before him, who glares up at Draco with a baleful impression on his face.
"Much better before a bloody Death Eater showed up to treat me." The man grimaces, and Draco laughs, brushing the ill educated insult aside.
"Now now, Mr Tunbridge, what have we said about insulting your Healers?" He waves his wand over the man, checking his various obs with the well-known charms that display patterns and pulses in the air above him.
The older wizard glares at him even more, crossing his arms across his chest as Draco prepares a syringe needle for Mr Tunbridge's medication.
"Today should be your last day for medicated treatment; give it two more days of bed rest, and you should be fine for going home, provided you don't upset the staff anymore than necessary." Inserting the sharp needle into the man's arm with a little more force than necessary, Draco smiles at him, and his patient "hmphs" in response.
"There now. All done. I'll return in a few hours to give you your second dose. Rest up." Patting the man's leg through the sheets, he draws the curtains about the bed, and sighs.
Though he can’t let the patients see it, remarks like that do hurt still, despite his lighthearted manner. Not that he had ever been a Death Eater, not really. The mark on his arm was only a formality; he had never reveled in the torture as the others had, had never enjoyed watching people die…
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he directs his attention to the entrance doors of the ward, where a slight scuffle seems to be happening.
Drawing his wand in case he needs it, he joins the throng of healers and nurses by the door, craning his neck to see what was happening.
"I'm fine, really, I don't need to be here - hey, put that down, stop - ow!" Draco's mouth falls open as he recognizes the man being restrained.
Even without the signature glasses, the man is instantly recognizable; long dark hair falls scruffily into his eyes, and his muggle hoodie, which has fallen askew, opens to reveal a Puddlemore United t-shirt and scruffy jeans.
Harry Potter struggles against a fellow healer as he staggers across the hallway, pushing the woman aside.
"Really, I'm fine!" He yells angrily at the team trying to placate him, and Draco winces at the harsh tone of his ex-classmate. Pushing through the crowd, he looks for Hannah, sidling up to her as she looks on, a concerned, slightly sad expression on her face.
"What's happening?" He mutters to her out of the side of his mouth, watching as a somewhat heavy-handed healer knocks Potter to the floor, bringing his arms up behind his back. The Gryffindor's face is pushed against the hard, marble floor, and Draco frowns as the team uses sedative spells to calm the man down.
"It's… I think it's complicated. Oh, poor Harry." Hannah sighs, and abruptly, Draco remembers that she, too, was in their year at Hogwarts. Grabbing her elbow, he pulls her aside as the crowd begins to disperse, a calmed and obedient Potter finally being taken away to a nearby cubicle.
"Tell me everything you know. Now, Hannah!" He searches her face, watching as her eyes take on a somewhat guilty look.
"Look, I know you two have history, it's really not my place -" She stops as Draco raises his eyebrows cynically at her.
"Oh, fine. Since the war, there's word that he went a bit… funny. Holed up in his house on Grimmauld Place, not speaking to anyone but Ron and Hermione. Wouldn't even talk to Ginny, or even Neville!"
She blushes slightly at the mention of her husband, and Draco rolls his eyes, grinning slightly as he remembers their wedding. He'd been elated when he'd been invited, as surprised as he had been. It had pretty much been the cause of his friendship with Hannah, and through her, Longbottom.
Glancing over at the cubicle they've shut Potter into, Draco feels something in the pit of his stomach.
"I think the war sent us all funny, Hannah. Merlin knows, the whole thing sent me funny." She crosses her eyes, and throws him a packet of biscuits from the nurse's station.
"I don't think that was the war, m'dear." He scowls at her, about to throw a hex at her, when his wand starts pulsing at his wrist. The red light emanating from the point shows he is being called for, and he sighs, pushing himself off the nurse's station, and shoving the rest of his biscuit in his mouth.
"Thanks Hannah. Gotta go, I'll talk in a bit. When are you clocking off today?" She glances at the Rota taped to the wall, groaning.
"Not for another eight hours." He smiles empathetically.
"Give my love to Neville when you get home. I'm still here for another twelve."

"Ah, Malfoy, we were wondering when you'd bother to join us." One of the senior healers glares in his direction as Draco enters the briefing area of ward three, and Draco ignores him, leaning against one of the empty beds of the ward.
"I need to assign some jobs to each of you. As young healers, you all need to gain some more experience before you can be let loose on your own, so let's see what you're all capable of…" Draco fiddles with the corner of his sleeve as he listens to Healer Wordsworth babble on. His mind is elsewhere, in Hogwarts corridors and Forbidden Forests…
"…Healer Malfoy, you'll be assigned to cubicle five. Difficult case, came in just now." Draco looks up at his name, blanching slightly as he realizes where he's being sent.
"Could I be assigned a different case, please sir?" He asks hopefully, already knowing the answer, before it's answered.
"No, you certainly cannot. Difficult cases are a challenge for you all, I will not have you weaseling out of this one." Draco scowls, nodding resignedly.
Wordsworth continues to hand out assignments, and Draco glances at the cubicle list to the wall, where cubicle five's occupant is listed in horribly plain text.
Harry Potter.

"Nurse Tally, could you give me some brief information on Mr Potter's status, please?" He orders the nurse beside him to hand him the clipboard at the end of Potter's bed, and the observing senior healer nods approvingly, scratching a note into a file on her knee.
"Came in at 12:43, argumentative state, with a mild to moderate overdose of a new sleeping draft in his system. History of poor cerebral health, magical signature apparently unresponsive for the last fortnight, according to the friend that called for us."
Shit, Draco thinks to himself, as he writes down the information given. At present, Potter is dazed from sedation, unaware of his surroundings. The man's hair is damp from sweat, slicked back from his forehead to reveal the surprisingly fresh looking lightning scar.
Potter's skin is flushed, hot all over, as his temperature soars. Draco is still struggling to take in that Potter has attempted a potion overdose when Nurse Tally leans over, nudging him out of this thoughts.
"Observation spells, Healer Malfoy?" He nods, blinking widely.
The spells above Potter's body glow a vibrant red, showing that whilst the overdose has been quite severe, possibly more severe than expected, he should be fine. Casting a cooling spell over him, he watches, thankfully, as his body temperature slowly goes down, his heart rate regulating.
"Thank you Nurse."
A few more carefully cast spells adjust Potter’s oxygen levels and blood pressure, and the observation spells slowly return to a promising green, glittering slightly in the dim lighting of the cubicle. The charms are tiring work, and Draco is beginning to feel the strain in both his head, and his stomach, which grumbles loudly in protest as another spell is cast to clean the man’s system of the sleeping draught.
As Draco leans over to the side to take a moment to gather his thoughts, a movement from the bed attracts his attention.
“Fucking Hermione, what the fuck, uggh.” The sound of Potter’s voice attracts his attention, and foolishly, Draco spins around, facing away from Potter for fear of being recognized.
“I don’t want to be in here, you know? I didn’t want to die. I just wanted to sleep. Why won’t anyone believe me? Fuck you all.” The vehemence in the Gryffindor’s voice surprised Draco, who winces slightly. Potter continues to rant to himself, as Draco distractedly scribbles some notes down, trying desperately to prolong Potter’s recognition of him.
Sighing, he realizes the attempt is futile, as Potter seems to make an attempt to leave the bed. Turning to the gurney, he raises his wand in what he hopes is an intimidating, but caring way, to try and dissuade the other man from arising.
“If you could please not move, Mr Potter, that would make my job much easier, thank you.” His patient’s eyes open widely, momentarily distracted from his rant as he took in Draco for the first time.
“Malfoy?!” Draco ignores him, waving his wand to reconstruct the tiring observation charms.
“Mr Potter, may I remind you that you are currently under hospital care, and that if you do anything to impede my duties, I am under obligation to sedate you.” He reels off the usual statements as Potter gapes at him, looking uncannily fishlike as his mouth opens and closes in astonishment.
“Might I also suggest shutting your mouth unless you wish to keep impersonating a carp in my hospital.”
Draco inwardly curses himself, remembering that one of his most recent reviews commented on his rather abrupt bedside manner. His supervising healer, sensing something, nods respectfully to Draco, before smiling conspiratorially, and leaving the room.
Potter shuts his mouth briefly, before once more opening it.
“What are you doing here? In a hospital? In healer’s robes?” He sounds more surprised than anything, which leaves Draco feeling strangely thankful.
“Working, yes, in a hospital. Because I’m a healer. Before you say anything, no, it’s not fancy dress, I’ve never really been fond of any fancy dress, let alone garish green robes that pull far too many Slytherin jokes from the mouths of certain Hufflepuff colleagues.” He sighs as he scribbles more of Potter’s notes down, and the man blinks at him.
“You, a healer? Are you serious?” He raises an eyebrow at Draco, the challenge in his voice obvious. Rolling his eyes, Draco waves his wand, and the observation spells cease.
“No, I’m joking, I’ve just been working here for a year as a complete joke. Passed all my training just for this day, so I could jump out and say, ha! Fooled you all!” He sneers at the other man, and Potter has the sense to look guilty.
“Sorry, it’s just not what I expected you to do. Thought you’d be living off your family’s money forever, getting married and carrying on the Malfoy name. Guess I was wrong, huh?” His tone is wrong, as he speaks. He’s not speaking to Draco like he’s inferior to Potter, and it throws him off kilter somewhat. He’s speaking to Draco like… like he’s an equal.
“Yeah, you definitely thought wrong.” He pauses, looking questioningly at his abashed patient, sensing a weak moment where he can probe.
“So, what on earth did you do, Potter?” He looks down at his lap, crossing his arms over his worn t-shirt and hoodie and biting his lip. Draco watches the teeth worrying at the pink skin of his – actually rather nice – lips, and coughs slightly.
“It’s… complicated. I did mean what I said. I didn’t want to die. I just… I wanted to sleep. I was tired of thinking, and I wanted to sleep.” Potter’s awkward, his eyes looking anywhere but at Draco. His hands twitch, and clutch at his arms once more, and Draco feels a strange pang of… pity?
“Though…” Draco’s ears prick up as Potter continues without pressing. He bites his lip again, pushing a hand back through his hair, expression looking faintly disgusted as he feels the greasiness of sweaty hair.
“Never mind.”
“No, tell me. I’m a healer, Potter. I’m here to help.” Draco pushes a slightly softer note into his tone, plastering on his ‘here-to-help’ voice as thickly as possible.
“Though, that’s not to say I haven’t wanted to. Before, I mean. I’ve… tried…” His voice trails off, and Draco feels his heart pound. Potter’s voice is starting to waver, and Draco thinks it best to start sidling out of the door.
The nurse in the corner, who has been silent all of this time, pipes up, rushing over with a mug.
“Come on, Mr Potter. Take this, it’s a calming potion, to help you sleep off the effects of the detoxification process.” As Potter drinks the potion, he looks over the rim of the cup at Draco. His eyes are pleading, and desperate, as Draco walks out of the room, door slamming shut behind him.
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Heal My Wounds