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Conditions of Living	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 2337 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Conditions of Living
- 1
Title: Conditions of Living
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Established relationship, angst, issues of disability (Harry is in a wheelchair), present tense
Wordcount: 3000
Summary: Knowing that Harry finds it easier to maneuver his wheelchair in the Muggle world than the wizarding one isn’t something Draco feels particularly proud of.
Author’s Notes: This was an Advent fic for phonixfeder, whose prompt was for Harry or Draco in a wheelchair after an accident, and for the story not to be too happy or unhappy. I never got to that fic at Advent, so now I’m writing it as part of my July Celebration.

Conditions of Living

            Until Harry got injured, Draco can honestly say that he never thought about how many stairs there are in the wizarding world.

            They are—they were—regular visitors at Hogwarts, where Harry taught extra classes on Defense, sharing the post with a number of other Aurors; the curse on the Defense position has proved stubborn, but having more than one professor sharing the duties seems to help. Swinging staircases, hidden tunnels that involve steps, ladders like the one that leads to the Divination classroom, are all part of life there.

            Draco sometimes assisted Slughorn with his potions, as tactfully as he could. It was an understood thing that he would take over as Potions professor when the old man was finally ready to retire again. Minerva has trouble finding people who are both good at Potions and want to give up an exciting career at the Ministry or St. Mungo’s or owning their own apothecary to teach a bunch of ungrateful brats.

            Draco has so many memories of walking with Harry up some of the staircases, discussing recalcitrant students and how bitter the feud between Slytherin and Gryffindor currently is, that they aren’t individual anymore. Just a compendium of footsteps clanging on stone, and hands slapping walls, and Harry leaning dangerously over bannisters when someone called to him from below.

            Now, Draco can’t believe he never noticed.

*

            It is easier in the Muggle world.

            Even when Draco stood hunched inside Muggle pubs for the first time, or shops, or restaurants, trying to shake off the feeling that his father would turn the corner at any moment and frown at him, he saw the ramps. The places where stairs have been altered or evaded by some kind of patching. The way that some places have lifts that get you around quickly, the way that only big buildings like the Ministry do in Draco’s world.

            My world. That’s the thought in Draco’s mind every time he watches Harry interacting with Muggles. Some of them start when they see the wheelchair, avert their eyes, and hurry past. But Harry never acts like that bothers him.

            He tells Draco once, when Draco brings it up tentatively and tries not to sound like he’s criticizing Muggles in general, “It’s almost the same way my relatives’ neighbors behaved around me. Not like I’m not used to it.”

            Which makes Draco wish he’d asked more questions in the past, before the accident happened—the runaway thestral carriage simply rolling over Harry’s legs and pelvis—and that became the thing they spend most of their time thinking about.

            Other Muggles hover a bit too solicitously over Harry and ask him in loud, kind voices if they can help him find things or if he needs anything. As if he was a child, or a Squib, or a foreigner. But at least they’re better than the hurrying ones.

            And sometimes people might blink or notice, but they treat Harry as if he can think and converse. Those are the Muggles Draco prefers. The ones who move a little bit out of the way on the lift, or wait to see if he can pick something up if he drops it and then ask if he can’t, or give him a little more room walking.

            It is, Draco has to admit, to his shame, better than most wizards act around Harry now.

*

            It’s as if they can’t take him not being a hero anymore.

            That’s the first thought that comes to Draco as he watches Madam Rosmerta hesitate and flinch before she comes up to them, the next time they visit Hogsmeade after his accident. And she keeps her hands and hips back from him instead of standing right by the table the way she always used to, as if Harry has something catching.

            But it’s not as if he’s not a hero anymore, Draco thinks a second later, in confusion, catching himself doing the same thing. Thinking of Harry as if he’s helpless, just because he’s in a wheelchair now, a Muggle wheelchair modified with several enchantments to help it run swiftly and safely. Harry had to wrangle with the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office for several weeks over the necessary permissions.

            He’s still a hero. He does just as much teaching and catching as any other Auror. Even if he has to conduct the investigations from a distance now.

            Harry can’t leave the Ministry unless the Aurors need him at some place that can accommodate the wheelchair. And even though Draco thinks it would be easy for someone skilled in Transfiguration or Charms to make or conjure a temporary ramp, or give Harry Apparition coordinates so he can appear inside a building, everyone acts as if it’s a problem, each time. Their eyes slide away from Harry more often than Muggles’ do.

            It makes Draco want to curse everyone.

            The only ones unaffected split into two categories: the “of course” and the unexpected. Granger and Weasley are by Harry’s side, as always. Even when Weasley has sulking fits over things like Harry’s refusal to stop dating Draco, he always comes back in the end. And Granger is calm and accepting of it like she’s accepting of everything Muggle intruding into their world.

            Even though he will never tell her because Harry’s chosen not to tell her and he won’t go against Harry’s choice, Draco does sometimes entertain fantasies of telling Granger about other wizards’ reactions and unleashing her on them. It would result in hours of calm lectures, probably complete with charts and historical research, until they would promise to treat Harry better just to get away.

            The unexpected ones are his mother and his Aunt Andromeda. Maybe it helps that neither of them had a close relationship with Harry before the war, but have reason to be grateful to him now. Harry doesn’t stop his visits to Andromeda and Teddy at all because of the wheelchair, and Teddy gets used to it so quickly that Draco has to catch Harry’s eye and smile at him sometimes.

            They got owls and even people stopping them in the street or the Ministry right after the accident, to warn Harry earnestly against ever visiting Teddy again. Apparently a wheelchair will scare children senseless.

            Then you teach them not to be afraid of it, Draco always wants to say, and only stops because Harry’s hand is on his arm. But seriously, Draco knows where their anxious concern for a young boy’s baseless fears comes from.

            Their own concerns. Their own fears.

            No, nothing is wrong with Andromeda, who charmed her floors a long time ago so that Harry’s wheelchair will move smoothly on them and installed a lift, and Teddy, who scrambles towards the wheelchair the minute he sees it. And Mother…

            Draco can’t understand that, but he doesn’t need to. The first time he and Harry visited the Manor after the accident, there was his mother, waiting on the front steps. She already had a ramp installed up them.

            “Good morning, Mr. Potter,” she said calmly. She always calls him “Mr. Potter” until they’re actually in the house, as if there are people watching her who would think it bad manners to call Harry by his first name. “How nice to see you.”

            And Harry rolled into the house, and along marble floors with preservation charms already cast on them, and up to a table already lowered to the right height. Draco caught his mother’s eye and smiled. She didn’t smile back, but simply inclined her head.

            Draco has to admit that his mother didn’t always make the right decisions, especially when it came to the war. But when she does make the right ones, then nothing can change her mind.

*

            It’s strange. Draco would think it would work the other way around, but even with the wheelchair, Harry can be “ordinary” in the Muggle world.

            Muggles sometimes gape and stare at Harry—Draco has a small catalogue of rude faces in the back of his mind and he’ll bring them out for Harry if Harry ever shows he’s feeling vengeful—but they don’t do it in the same way, or as often, as wizards. Harry is a bloke going down the street. Or eating. Or fussing over the clothes that he still insists on buying from Muggle shops because he thinks they’re more comfortable than the robes he has the Galleons to order. Draco wants to protest that, but he doesn’t speak as hastily as he did before the war, any more than his mother does.

            He does a lot of watching.

            Muggles are sometimes sickeningly eager to make a sale. They discuss things in loud voices that make Draco start. They think things are food that Draco would hesitate to make a house-elf eat. And they make offhand references to magic as impossible that cause Draco’s stomach to churn.

            But they aren’t as embarrassing as wizards. There’s no doubt of that.

            When Draco thinks of what happened the last time they went to Madam Malkin’s, thinking it would be less formal and therefore more welcoming than Gladrags, he has to wince. Because Madam Malkin isn’t going to wince for herself.

*

            “Harry.”

            She sobs his name like she has a right to it, flinging her arms out and then lowering them again. Because she doesn’t know how to embrace the wheelchair, Draco thinks, hovering at his shoulder, feeling his face burn the way Harry’s must.

            But Harry will only show that in private, later, to Draco. For now, he gives a strained smile and holds out a hand. “Hi, Madam Malkin. How are you?”

            She doesn’t answer, instead just taking his hand, holding it at a distance from the wheelchair arm, and staring at him with big, wet eyes. This time, Harry does have a visible flush. Draco would if he deigned to show such things to anyone but Harry, at any time. He puts his hands on the back of Harry’s wheelchair and tries to compel the robemaker to hurry things along with a stare.

            She doesn’t seem to notice, though she does bite her lip and shift her weight a little when she meets Draco’s eye. But she turns away only when she’s wrung Harry’s hand almost to numbness, and then it’s to dab at her eyes with the corner of her robe. “When we heard,” she whispers, “we could hardly believe it.” Draco wonders if she has a mouse in her pocket, to refer to all the “we.” “Such a brave, dear Mr. Potter. And now you can’t be anymore.”

            Harry’s face is frozen in a rictus of an agonized smile. Draco steps in. This is the problem with the wizarding world, the one they never have among Muggles. Muggles can’t make the comparison to what Harry used to have because they didn’t know. They can only make comparisons to themselves.

            But wizards swoon over the thought of Harry not being the shining hero they made up in their mind.

            “We’re here for my partner’s robes,” Draco says, and his voice, polished and cold, wakes Madam Malkin up. She does try out a resentful scowl, but Draco can freeze her out of that, and finally she nods distractedly and turns back to her counter.

            “I have them here somewhere…”

            She takes longer rummaging for them than she should. Even with the bolts of cloth and mirrors and shelves and racks and finished robes that cast her space into a painstaking confusion, Draco knows she’s taking longer than she should, hoping someone else will walk through the door and she can brag about having Harry Potter in her shop.

            And then someone does.

            Only that person is his mother, and Draco wants to kiss her hand for appearing this way. Even as Madam Malkin turns around with triumphant eyes and starts to open her mouth, Mother cuts her dead with a stare. Then she turns and smiles at Harry.

            “Hello, Mr. Potter. I wanted to ask your opinion on controlling a possible invasion of Acromantulas in the Manor. I understand that you battled an Acromantula on your last case, and perhaps learned how to recognize their eggs…”

            And that’s it. That’s the end. Mother walks away with Harry rolling beside her, and Draco picks up the robes and tries to shoot invisible beams of triumph out of his eyes at Madam Malkin, and then he walks after them.

            Madam Malkin doesn’t get to brag or pity Harry that afternoon.

            Mother never confirms if she actually followed them. Then again, Draco (and Harry) love her enough without having to know.

*

            Harry relaxes when they’re in the Muggle world in a way that he never does around wizards. Draco can see it in the way his shoulders fall from a high, tense position as they roll down Muggle pavements and in and out of buildings that probably aren’t as old as the least of the Malfoy properties.

            Draco doesn’t understand that at first. He’s always more alert in Muggle areas himself, aware that he might perform some magic out of turn from sheer habit. Who can relax when he’s suppressing his magic?

            But then he understands. The Muggles don’t know who Harry is, and don’t want to kill him or shake his hand or ask him intrusive questions. And Harry no longer reaches for his wand automatically. It’s taken them a long time to find charms that work well on wheelchairs without tipping them forwards and dumping Harry out.

            Harry is learning to live like a Muggle, perhaps reflecting his Muggle childhood.

            And the least Draco can do is learn to complement him.

            He learns to move his hand away from his wand instead of letting it hover there when they walk and roll into a Muggle shop. He can crease his lips in a smile at a Muggle with less effort, now. He can stand there courteously when Harry’s taking his sweet time choosing a new jumper and some of the gaping or staring people pass them by.

            If Harry feels more comfortable here, then Draco is going to learn how to help him with that.

*

            “Why haven’t you asked to move into the Muggle world?”

            Draco didn’t mean to ask that, honestly. But the words are out in the air with them now, throbbing continually, and he can’t take them back. He waits for Harry to turn around.

            Harry is still trickling water over his legs where he sits on the edge of the tub. He scrubs by sight, not feel. He continues washing, and Draco blinks. He can’t take the words back, but there’s the (slight) possibility that Harry is going to ignore them.

            Then Harry glances at him, and Draco cringes as he realizes that there’s something fierce and wild in Harry’s eyes.

            “Do you want me to?”

            “No, no!” Draco goes over and kneels by Harry’s side, letting his hand stroke Harry’s shoulder. Harry relaxes from his tight posture, and Draco continues in a murmur, “It’s just that I see how much easier it is for you around Muggles than wizards. That’s why I thought you might want a home there.”

            Harry leans his head on Draco’s shoulder and sighs. His hair is scented with soap and shampoo both, and Draco breathes it in while he waits for the answer. “Why should I ask to go there, when we’re an Apparition away?” Harry whispers. “I can live here with you, and go there and enjoy it any time I want.”

            “But you seem to struggle around wizards…”

            “That’s because some wizards are stupid. But you aren’t, and Ron and Hermione and your mother aren’t.” Harry slides his hand up and down Draco’s arm slowly, like Draco is the one who’s in need of soothing. “And magic isn’t. I’m not going to give up all the things I love about this world because a few people are stupid. I’ll be with Muggles when I want to, and in the wizarding world when I want to.”

            Draco can only lower his chin against Harry’s shoulder as he closes his eyes. He’s content enough that he doesn’t even protest when Harry twists a little and spills him into the bathtub.

            I’m part of what makes him happy.

            Draco does know that. But it’s nice to get some reassurance, sometimes.

*

            And when they’re lying together in their huge bed in the room that used to be Draco’s and is now both of theirs, Draco can close his eyes and think and listen.

            There aren’t that many noises here anyway, out in the middle of the country, but this distant, at the top of the house, he can’t hear the pop of elves in and out, either. He can’t hear water running in the kitchen, or anything except the loud chir of insects outside and the sounds of a huge old house getting ready for the night.

            Those are things he could hear in any Muggle place, probably. Things he could think about and listen to. There would be added traffic noise in most Muggle cities, of course, but a house out in the country would be much the same.

            Lying there with his eyes closed and his arms around Harry, the wheelchair quiet beside the bed, Draco can hear all the similarities between Muggle and wizarding houses, and he knows, if Harry ever does want to move into that world full-time, Draco will go with him.

            Because what matters is making a life with Harry. Not what world they do it in.

            The End.
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Conditions of Living