FIC: Everybody Lies (Harry/Draco)

[bottom_draco_comm]

Title: Everybody Lies
Author: icicle33 
Prompt: OWN PROMPT: Draco as Gregory House—the grumpy, medical genius, who solves obscure medical mysteries and pushes Harry’s buttons. Harry as Lisa Cuddy, Draco’s boss and hospital administrator, who has to put up with all of Draco’s childish antics but is also secretly in love with him.
Adapted from: House MD
Pairing: Harry/Draco, Hermione/Theo Nott
Word Count/Art Medium: ~15k
Rating: NC-17
Contains (Highlight to view):*Post War AU, snarky!Draco, a mixture of magical and Muggle medicine (some of it embellished and played with on my part), disabled Draco (he has a permanent limp), mysterious illnesses, UST, a mostly gen fic*
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. House MD and its characters are the property of David Shore and Fox. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. This fic is an adaptation of House MD seasons 1-3 and particularly episodes, “Need to Know” and “All In”. One specific quote is taken from episode "Now What?".
Notes: A, you are the best beta a girl could want. Thank you for helping me make sense of my crazy mind. appleling, thank you so much for putting up with me. I’m afraid I might have been the cause of a lot of headaches for you. I ♥ you so much. And to the readers, I really enjoyed playing in this universe. A sequel would not be out of the question.
Summary: Harry is the youngest Healer to ever run a hospital. Draco is his best Healer, and along with his world class team of Hermione Granger, Theodore Nott, and Zacharias Smith, they solve cases that no one else can crack. This doesn’t mean that Draco isn’t still the world’s biggest prat, even if he is sexy. Harry has no intention of sleeping with him — again — especially when he continues to obsess over dead patients and put his hospital at risk.






* * *




Harry sat at his desk, leaning back in his worn leather chair and appreciating the magnificent view. Even after ten years, he still couldn't believe that this was his office, his million Galleon view of the London skyline. He was always modest about his accomplishments, but even he had to admit that being the youngest director of a hospital ever was impressive. His hospital, St James, had just celebrated its ten year anniversary. For years now, Harry had been able to accomplish his dream, to bring affordable healthcare to everyone: wizards, magical creatures, and Muggles alike.

St James was the first of its kind, a fusion hospital that used both traditional magical Healing blended with Muggle medicine. All of his Healers were both trained in Magical Healing and attended medical school. His hospital had a dual teaching program with King’s College School of Medicine to allow Healers to take classes in both specialities. At first, sceptics had told him that this experimental hospital would never work, that respectable wizards would never want to be treated alongside Muggles, but Harry had stayed strong. After all, the father of ‘Muggle’ Medicine, Hippocrates, was a wizard. It didn’t take long before Harry was able to convince more witches and wizards to join his cause.

While it was true that the number of pureblood patients that were treated at St James was miniscule, Harry’s hospital had recently passed St Mungo's as the best hospital in England. Even the most traditionalists of Healers accepted that at least in certain situations, Muggle medical techniques were superior to magical ones. His hospital even had the best and first Diagnostic department in the UK. Unfortunately, that same department also had the highest number of lawsuits, but Harry supposed that nothing was perfect. At least, for the first time in his life, he knew that he was doing something that mattered—helping people, saving lives.

He turned his head away from the large glass window and stared at the framed portraits on his wall—one of his parents and the other of the four Marauders. Since he opened this hospital, he always tried to imagine what his parents would say to him if they were here. Would they be proud of him? Harry liked to imagine that they would be, even if his staff did compose of an annoyingly large number of Slytherins.


A loud knock roused Harry from his thoughts.


“Open up! Open up!” a deep female voice shouted through the door.

“You can't go in there. Healer Potter asked not to be disturbed!”

Harry recognised the voice of his troubled assistant Martha and decided to help. She never had been good at dealing with disgruntled patients. He just didn't have the heart to fire such a sweet girl.

With a wave of his hand, Harry unlocked the door and was greeted by his red-faced assistant and an older couple. The wife, who had wild red hair that reminded him of Ginny, stormed into his office and sat in the closest chair to his desk, not waiting for an invitation to sit. Her dark-haired mousy-looking husband trailed behind her and took the remaining empty seat.

“It's fine,” Harry said to Martha. “I have some time.”

Martha eyed him cautiously, hiding behind her pale fringe. “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I tried to—”

Harry attempted to smile reassuringly. “I'll buzz you if I need you. Leave us.”

Martha hung her head and headed for the door, still mumbling apologies underneath her breath.

“Sorry about that.” Harry turned to the couple. “How can I help you...Mrs-?”

Harry assumed this wasn't going to be a pleasant conversation from the way they had stormed into his office, but he had a lot of experience in appeasing people and getting angry never helped.

“Mrs Sartoli,” the red headed woman answered. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and frowned. “I did not sleep with my sparring partner. The idea is preposterous. Where did one of your Healers get the right to accuse me of such—”

Harry closed his eyes and sighed loudly. Here we go again, he thought. Quickly, he held up a hand to stop the woman from speaking and buzzed his assistant with the new magical crystal ball intercom system, Wizardcom, that Hermione had developed for the hospital.

“Martha,” Harry said, trying to keep his voice as even as possible, “get me Healer Malfoy. Immediately.”

There was no doubt in his mind that Malfoy was the Healer responsible. Any time someone came to him with a complaint, it was always about Malfoy. If he weren’t the hospital's best Healer, solving cases and curing patients that no one else could ever figure out, Harry would have fired the idiot a long time ago. Too bad he was also the world's biggest prat. And Harry’s not so secret crush.



* * *



Thirty minutes went by before Malfoy actually showed up. Harry was certain that Martha told Harry to come to his office immediately, but as usual, Malfoy had to be a pain and do things on his own time.

“You rang, Boss?” Draco stood in the doorway of Harry's office, leaning on the frame and looking undeniably gorgeous.

“Yes, Healer Malfoy. Thirty minutes ago,” Harry snapped. “Thank you for fitting us into your busy schedule.”

Malfoy shrugged and pretended to look ashamed, but Harry could see the ghost of a smirk forming on his lips, how those annoyingly grey eyes of his were amused.

“Well, you know, I was busy...saving lives and all.” This time Draco's lips did break into a smirk. He stepped out of the doorway and started limping towards Harry's desk, putting his weight on that familiar black snakehead walking stick, which Harry knew had belonged to Lucius.

“Right.” Harry glanced at the clock, 2 pm. He knew exactly what Draco did every afternoon and it had nothing to do with saving lives. Every afternoon, unless he had some big case, Draco terrorised the new interns or wasted time in the hospital's free Muggle clinic, watching soap operas in the lounge rather than treating patients.

Draco ignored the couple that was the in the room and planted himself on top of Harry's desk. He crossed his long legs and then twirled his walking stick in his fingers.

“Sorry,” he finally said to Mr Sartoli, when he accidentally grazed him with the walking stick. “Cripple here. I have no control over my reflexes sometimes.”

Harry snorted and tried to cover it up with a cough. No control over his reflexes, my arse, Harry thought. He'd bet twenty Galleons that Draco hit the bloke on purpose. Draco was the most coordinated person he knew, bum leg or not.

“Just like you have no control over wearing your lab coat?” Harry asked, not being able to stop himself before he fell into the familiar routine of arguing with Draco.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Sorry, Potter, they're being cleaned. It won't happen again.”

“For the last eight years?” No matter how many times Harry asked Malfoy to wear his lab coat, he always showed up without it. At least he had the decency to stick to the hospital’s policy of Muggle clothing. He wore a faded pair of denims, a white oxford shirt, a grey jacket, and the most atrocious pair of trainers that Harry had ever seen. Neon green.

Malfoy rolled his eyes again and stopped twirling the walking stick. “Stop exaggerating, Healer Potter. You're making me look bad in front of our guests.” He turned towards the couple, who were strangely quiet throughout the entire conversation, and smiled. “He's a big baby,” he said to Mrs Sartoli, “never knows when to shut up.” He tugged on the collar of his grey jacket. “See, I'm wearing a coat. A very fashionable one.”

Harry sighed loudly. Merlin, give me patience, he thought to himself.

“Healer Malfoy,” Harry said, using his 'don't you dare test me' voice, “Mr and Mrs Sartoli have been patiently waiting to meet with you. How about you give them your attention?”

Draco pressed his lips into a thin line and then turned to Mrs Sartoli, looking her over closely. “You're not my patient. I've never treated you.”

Mrs Sartoli let out a piercing laugh. “Really, that's interesting because I may not be your patient, but you have no problem making accusations against me. I am not having an affair.”

Draco's eyes widened, finally understanding why he was there. All Harry could do was bite down on his lip and hope that this exchange wouldn't end in another lawsuit.

“Ahh.” Draco’s eyes were utterly amused. He turned to the woman's husband. “Now, I remember you. Mr Herpes, of course. I informed you that your wife is screwing around with her sparring partner.”

Mr Sartoli gulped and tore his gaze away from Draco, which only made Draco smile wider. For several seconds, he studied both the husband and wife, and then finally spoke. “Perhaps...I was mistaken, Robert, and your wife isn't sleeping around.”

“It's Joseph.”

“Whatever.” Draco uncrossed his legs and then spun around to face Mrs Sartoli. “When you use the loo, Madam, do you ever sit down on the toilet?”

Harry held his breath as he watched this encounter unfold. He had a terrible feeling that something bad was coming, but Draco was 'behaving', at least for his standards, so he decided to keep quiet.

Mrs Sartoli furrowed her brow. “Sometimes,” she said, confusion obvious on her face.

“And do you always use Sanitation Charms?”

“Always.”

“Excellent.” Draco nodded and then turned to Mr Sartoli. “And you?”

Mr Sartoli blinked rapidly and stared at Malfoy as if he were possessed. “You cannot be serious. What does this have to do with Sara's affair?”

“Just answer the question,” Mrs Sartoli snapped.

“I can assure you, Robert, that your answer is of the utmost importance. And completely relevant.”

“It's Joseph.” He frowned. “I think I always use a Sanitation Charm.”

Draco sighed much louder than necessary. “Too bad.”

“Why?” Mr Sartoli asked.

“Because...although the chance is extremely rare, it's possible to contract herpes from a contaminated toilet seat cover. That could have explained why both of you are faithful but—”

Mr Sartoli’s eyes grew wide and his face paled. “Maybe I'm wrong.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe I forgot to use a Sanitation Charm once or twice.” Mr Sartoli’s voice was low and uncertain. “Probably on that bender I went on last weekend.”

“Is that so?” Draco asked, his eyes flashing animatedly. “Fascinating.”

Harry let go of the breath he was holding. What in Merlin's name was Draco talking about? This was the most idiotic train of thought that Harry had ever heard. It was impossible to get any form of the herpes virus from a public toilet. What was Draco playing at?

“Healer Malfoy, I don't think—”

“Is this true, Healer Potter?” Mrs Sartoli asked, her bright blue eyes, shining with hope.

“Erm..” Harry's voice was stuck in his throat. It was his philosophy to always be open and honest with his patients, but at the same time, he didn't want to break this woman's heart. She really did look a lot like Ginny.

Before he could finish responding, Draco started cackling and Mrs Sartoli got her answer. She removed her wedding band from her finger and flung it at Mr Sartoli. “You bastard,” she yelled and then turned around and ran out of Harry's office.

“Get a herpes test,” Draco called after her. He was still chuckling and once again twirling his walking stick. “Well, she was in a hurry.”

Mr Sartoli quickly rose from his chair. “Thanks a lot,” he grumbled, and then ran out of Harry's office as well, chasing after his wife. “Honey? Darling...wait! I'm sorry.”

Harry let out a loud groan of his own. “Well, I hope you're happy.”

Draco smirked. “Exceptionally.”

Harry shook his head. “How did you know it was him who cheated? And don’t give me that ‘everybody lies’ rubbish again.”

“Easy. Anyone gullible enough to believe that story about contracting herpes from a toilet seat was clearly guilty.” He paused and twisted his lips into a haughty smirk. “And...lying.”

Harry bit down on his lower lip. “Uh-huh. How many marriages is it now that you've destroyed?”

Draco tapped his fingers against Harry's desk, pretending to be casual. “74...but who's counting?”

Harry sighed. He'd never understand how Draco's twisted mind worked, how he actually got joy out of causing other people agony. Sometimes, he questioned why he was interested in Draco in the first place.

“Well, at least they didn't sue.”

“Silver lining. Exactly. I like the way you think, Potter.”

“That's great, Malfoy, but why don't you get out of here? I have work to do and you have—” Harry grimaced but then broke out into a fake smile. “I don't know...a million clinic hours that you owe me.”

Draco opened his mouth, clearly about to protest, when the crystal ball on Harry's desk vibrated and flashed bright blue.

“Hold that thought.” Harry pushed down on the crystal ball and a miniature version of Martha's face greeted him. “Yes?”

“Sorry to bother you, Healer Potter, but there's a patient downstairs asking about you. Marvin Chase. He's in the clinic with bloody diarrhoea. He's hemodynamically stable but—”

Draco reached across Harry's desk and picked up the crystal ball, startling Martha and annoying Harry. “Is he having any coordination problems?”

“Erm.. I don't—”

Quickly, Harry snatched back the crystal ball and dismissed Draco's line of questioning. He knew exactly what Draco was thinking, where he was going with this. “Martha, it sounds like dehydration and gastroenteritis to me. Tell, Marvin, I'll be right down.”

Harry ended the call with Martha before Draco had a chance to interrogate her further.

“But what if?”

“But nothing, Malfoy.” Harry used his stern voice again. “This is a six-year-old Muggle boy. The last I checked you had no interest in treating Muggles and working in the clinic. You know that Muggles tend to die if you treat them with magic.”

“People change, Potter.” Draco’s eyes were wide and pupils dilated. “I find six-year-old Muggle boys fascinating. And how kind of you for filling me on that titbit about what happens to Muggles treated with magical remedies. It’s not like I went through Healer Training and Medical School.”

“Uh-huh. Well, this is my patient, Malfoy, and I refuse to let you go near him. He's not Esther now get out of here.”

“Alright then, have a good afternoon, Potter.” Malfoy removed himself from Harry's desk and then limped out the door.

Harry expected more of an argument. He'd seen that far off look in Draco's eyes before, too many other times. Every time a patient came in exhibiting those same symptoms, Draco usually leeched onto the case, tortured the patient with unnecessary and painful tests, until Harry intervened and ruled that the patient was perfectly healthy and didn't have Esther's disease. It was strange that Malfoy had agreed with him so readily. Perhaps he was finally letting Esther go. It was about time. That poor old woman had died 15 years ago.




* * *



Draco limped into his office, happy to see that his team was already there. Granger, Nott, and Smith were seated at a glass table. Granger was reading a book and Nott and Smith were engrossed in a game of Wizard’s chess.

He waved his walking stick over the board game and vanished the chess set.

Nott narrowed his eyes. “Hey, Malfoy, what do you think you're doing?”

Smith groaned. “Yeah, what's your problem? We were in the middle of a game.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Draco drawled. “I'm glad to see my team is spending their afternoon so productively in my absence.”

“Granger!” Draco yelled at Hermione's bushy head, who hadn’t looked up from her book. “I know you enchanted that magazine to look like a textbook. Stop reading about how to give Nott better blowjobs.”

Draco paused, waiting for Hermione’s reaction; she blushed fiercely and then he continued. “Potter needs you in the clinic. We have a patient. A six-year-old boy named Marvin.” He leant over the table and placed his walking stick on the table, covering Hermione’s book. “Make sure you test his coordination and bring me his chart asap.”

Granger attempted to cover her up her embarrassment with a scowl and eyed Draco suspiciously. “Why don't you do it?”

“Potter asked for you.”

“Then, why didn't Harry come to me personally?”

Draco banged his walking stick against the table. “Granger, Granger, how am I supposed to know how Potter thinks? You’re the one that’s supposed to specialise in speaking idiot Gryffindor. Just go do your job.”

Hermione huffed and rose from the table. “You better not be lying to me, Malfoy.” Without another word, she shuffled out the door, the annoying clickity-clack of her kitten heels, echoing behind her.

“Marvellous.” Draco Summoned the whiteboard in the corner and started writing on it, making two columns and labelling them Marvel and Esther.

“Now, what do 60-year-old women and 6-year-old boys have in common?”

Draco twisted his head behind his shoulder and stared at Nott and Smith, giving them his best 'I'm waiting' look.

Smith furrowed his brow and raised one eyebrow. “Er...they’re both annoying.”

Nott sat back in his chair, tilting the front legs off the ground. Draco had an urge to knock Nott flat on his arse. But they were technically mature adults now. There was no reason to continue playing childish pranks.

“They both have weaker immune systems.” 

Draco scoffed and put down the erasable quill he was holding. “Really, Nott? Tell me something a first year doesn’t know. It’s not like this is important or anything.” Quickly, he spun around and knocked Nott’s chair back down on the ground. Nott sputtered and almost face planted into the floor. So much for being an adult, Draco thought, old habits die hard.

Smith let out a loud snort, nearly choking on his laughter.

“Bloody hell Malfoy! What...is Potter limiting your Pain Potions again?” He pulled his lips into a smirk. “Or maybe he’s not putting out.”

Draco huffed, wrapping his fingers more tightly around the snakehead of his walking stick. Normally, he liked arguing with Nott. Theodore was one of the few wizards who could challenge him intellectually, but they didn’t have any time to waste. If this patient did exhibit coordination problems, then he was most likely suffering from the same disease that killed Esther and would be dead within 24 hours. They needed to start treating him and fast.

“For the last time, Potter and I are not shagging. And in case you’ve forgot it’s your job to help me with my cases. I don’t pay you to play chess.”

Nott tilted his long, thin neck back and laughed. “You don’t pay us anything. Potter does.”

“Give us a break, Malfoy. We haven’t had a case in weeks. We’re just a bit—”

“Slow. Yes, I realised. But that’s not an excuse. Give me something I can work with.”

Nott rolled his eyes again. “I was going to say rusty. Stop being such an arse all the time...just because you’re not getting any doesn’t mean you have to take it out on the rest of us.”

“Har-har, aren’t you the comedian? Patients are dying...isn’t that hilarious?” Draco turned his gaze away from Nott and glared at Zacharias. “Anything useful to contribute, Smith?”

Smith bit down on his bottom lip before answering. “Dragon Pox. Spattergoit. Both are diseases, which are more likely to affect the young and the old.”

Draco’s eyes lit up, his pulse quickened. “Good guess...but no.” He wasn’t sure how to explain it but solving medical mysteries, saving patients that no one else could treat, was like a drug to him. Even the process of brainstorming with these idiots was a quick fix for him. Now, if only his team would actually have something sensible to say.

Theodore exhaled a heavy sigh. “Dragon Pox and Spattergoit aren’t interesting.” He locked eyes with Draco. “At least not to you. The symptoms are straightforward and easy to diagnose. Even Potter and any of his idiots down in the clinic could have figured that out. The Great Malfoy wouldn’t take on a dull case like that. No mystery.”

He ran a hand through his long dark hair, which was neatly parted on the side. He also reeked of cologne. It was kind of pathetic how hard he tried to impress Granger. Oh, well, pathetic or not, at least it gave him useful ammunition to mock him and perfect Granger. He loved watching his team squirm.

“Scrofungulus and even Vanishing Sickness are rarer in children but still possible. I vote for those.”

Draco’s eyes widened even further. The brains of his team were finally spinning, waking up. “Excellent.” He waved his walking stick in the air. “Both are extremely rare in children but completely possible. That’s the way to think outside the cauldron.”

Theodore smirked. “See, we aren’t completely useless, Malfoy.”

“I suppose,” Draco admitted grudgingly, “too bad you’re wrong.”

“Wrong? Those are the only illnesses that could affect children—”

A loud cough interrupted Nott. Hermione appeared in the doorway. “Unless,” she said, a smug look on her face, “the patient is a six-year-old Muggle boy.”

Nott’s thick eyebrows practically receded into his hairline. Smith started choking.

“Excuse me?”

“Muggle?”

“Yes, we’re treating a Muggle boy,” Hermione explained, “a six-year-old boy named Marvin. After examining him, he presents with bloody diarrhoea, dehydration, and coordination issues.”

“Excellent.” Draco's voice was high-pitched and enthusiastic. “I knew there would be Ataxia.” He ignored Nott and Smith’s questions and started writing on the board again. Underneath Esther’s name, he wrote seven symptoms:


Esther
1. Bloody Diarrhoea
2. Ataxia
3. Kidney Failure
4. Pituitary Failure
5. Liver Failure
6. Respiratory Distress
7. DEATH


And then underneath Marvel he wrote:


Marvel
1. Bloody Diarrhoea
2. Ataxia
3. Kidney Failure ???



“We have two patients?” Granger asked.

Nott jerked his head away from Granger and faced Draco. “Is this some type of joke? We’re not seriously taking on a Muggle patient?”

Draco was about to open his mouth to respond but then changed his mind. Instead, he Summoned a chair and sat right in front of his whiteboard, waiting for the fireworks to begin.

“What do you mean a joke, Nott?” Granger’s teeth were gritted and her tone venomous. “I hope you’re not implying that treating Muggles is beneath us?”

She took a step closer to Nott and crept her right hand into her lab coat, fingering her wand. Instead of backing down, Nott jumped up from his chair and met her glare for glare. Their faces were barely an inch apart; the tension was palpable.

“And what if I am?”

Draco couldn’t contain his amusement; he would have clapped if he weren’t afraid that it would break up the argument. This was better than his afternoon soaps!

“If you are...then you, Theodore Nott, are the most arrogant, insensitive, and idiotic Healer that I have ever worked with—”

Draco pressed a single finger to his lips and motioned for Smith to join him. Smith obliged and pulled up a chair. “Should we do something about this?” he whispered, as they watched Hermione continue to yell at Nott.

“Nah. There are two possible outcomes. Nott will either admit that Granger owns his bollocks and back down or they’re going to shag right here on the table.” Draco chuckled, not even trying to conceal his childish glee. He wriggled his eyebrows. “Personally, I’m okay with either option.”

At first Smith gave him a strange, almost confused look, not that Smith’s face wasn’t permanently stuck that way, but then he laughed too. “Good one, Boss...especially because you’re bent. Too bad we don’t have any—”

Draco nodded but ignored the rest of Smith’s comment. He was certain that it was another attempt at kissing his arse. For years, Draco used to wonder why the hell Smith was a Hufflepuff? Other than idiocy, he didn’t exhibit any of the nauseating Hufflepuff traits, but Draco soon discovered that the arrogant persona was only for show. Around Nott, Granger, and anyone else that Smith felt the need to impress, he acted like a smarmy git, but whenever he was alone with Draco, he turned back into another sad, doormat Hufflepuff, desperately trying to brown-nose his boss.

It was vexing at times, but mostly came in handy when Draco needed Smith to do something that Granger and Nott refused. He supposed that Smith wasn’t that bad. For a Hufflepuff. But now wasn’t the time to think about Smith—he had pigtail pulling and foreplay between his two other team members to entertain him.

The argument between Nott and Granger had come to a standstill. They were both exasperated and out of breath. The sexual tension between them was so high that Draco was certain in the next minute Granger would either slap Nott or snog him.

Unfortunately, she chose neither option and instead turned away from Nott, giving him her back.

“Healer Malfoy,” she said, in what Draco knew to be her ‘professional’ voice, “will you please tell Theodore why we’re going to treat this patient?” She folded her arms across her chest. “And—why he deserves the same respect and courtesy of any of our wizarding patients.”

“How about...you tell Healer Granger that this is just another one of your mind games to see how we’ll react. You hate Muggles.”

Draco pursed his lips and then batted his eyelashes. “Moi, hate Muggles?” He pretended to be offended. “Why would ever think such a thing? I love Muggles.”

Nott deepened his scowl. “Ahh, that must have been some other Draco Malfoy who held all those Young Pureblood Supremacists meetings in the Slytherin Common Room every Thursday night.” He shrugged. “And if you want to get technical, there was the whole siding with the Dark Lord thing too.”

“Malfoy, tell me that’s not true. The part about the meetings. I already know about Voldemort.” The threat was obvious in Hermione’s eyes.

Draco shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Just because our fathers were supporters of Lord Snake Face doesn’t mean that we have to hate Muggles too. I’m rather disappointed in you, Theodore. You would think a wizard of your level and intellect could look past—”

“Sod off, Malfoy. You were a bloody Death Eater too.”

Draco pushed his hair back from his forehead and sighed. “You make one little, insignificant mistake as a teenager and the whole world holds it against you—”

“I wouldn’t call it insignificant—”

“Silence!”

Three surprised heads turned around to face Smith. “Enough with the arguing.” He pointed at Nott and Granger.“You two...go fuck in a broom closet or something, and Malfoy, are we taking this case or not?”

“How absurd. I am not sleeping with Nott,” Hermione said, offended. “That is completely unprofessional.”

“Yeah, yeah, princess, plead your case to the Wizengamot on your own time.” Draco raised both eyebrows and smiled. “And yes, Smith, we are taking this case. Think of it as a challenge. A game. Who can keep the Muggle from dying?”

He stood from his chair and pointed at the forgotten whiteboard with his walking stick. “Now, let’s get back to the patient and anyone that has a problem treating our patient is fired.”

He gave Nott a smug look and waited for his reaction. Although Nott was still frowning, he nodded. Granger smiled at both of them approvingly. Success.

“So who’s first?” Draco asked.

“I don’t know about Esther,” Smith said, “but the boy looks like he just has gastroenteritis and dehydration.”

“We have two patients?” Hermione asked again, ignoring Smith’s response. “Where’s Esther’s chart?”

“Not exactly.” Draco frowned. “There’s no chart. This is a case from awhile back. An older woman came in with the same symptoms as Martin and died within 24 hours.”

Hermione gasped. Smith stuck by his dehydration diagnosis and Nott was strangely silent.

“Come on, where are the swots I hired? All of those symptoms except for the last one are treatable. We can get ahead of this thing.” Draco tossed the erasable quill to Nott. “Theodore, don’t you have anything to share with the class?”

Nott shook his head and looked at Draco sadly as if he had just figured something out. “I remember that name now. You lost a patient, Draco, 15 years ago. It’s time to let go. This kid has dehydration like Smith said.”

“No gold star for you, Nott. Anyone else?”

“Fifteen years ago. How could that possibly be relevant? The chances that it’s the same case, same illness, are almost impossible,” Granger said.

“The time frame between cases is irrelevant. It’s the same case because I say it is.” Draco snorted. “The three of you are useless today. Good thing I already have an idea. Granger and Smith go run a colonoscopy on the boy.” He paused and waited for the confused faces of his team. God, he loved to mess with them. “Test for Erdheim-Chester.”

“Erdheim-Chester’s disease? That’s incredibly rare. There’s no sense in putting Marvin through such an uncomfortable test. Lymphoma is also possible and all I need is some blood, much safer for a six-year-old.”

“Go run my test, Granger. I know that Potter may be the boss of the hospital, but this is my team. You knew what working under me was going to be like when I hired you. Do we have a problem? I can let you out of your contract at any time.”

Hermione opened her mouth, but then closed it. “No, I'll run the test.” 

Draco clapped his hands and laced his fingers, rubbing them together. “Excellent. If this test is negative, we’ll test for lymphoma. Now, you two scram...and Nott, I need a word.”



* * *



While Granger and Smith ran their tests, Nott lectured Draco for a good thirty minutes. He told Draco that he was insane—that he’d been working with Draco the longest and wasn’t going to stand by while he tortured another patient in his obsessive quest to redeem Esther. He threatened to go to Potter and Goyle. For the most part, he listened and nodded along until Nott attempted to comfort him. That was too much. Draco despised pity.

“You fucked up and failed, Draco. You’re not God. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad Healer because you lost a patient. It only means you’re human. You care.”

Draco gulped. His feelings about Esther were not something he wanted to discuss. Ever. “I’ve lost plenty of sodding patients. If I could’ve done the autopsy, I would’ve known what happened. I missed something, Theo, something big. She’s dead because of me. And this boy might be too.”

“It’s not your fault, Draco. You did your best.” Nott sighed. “Even if this boy does have Esther’s disease, we’re going to solve it this time. He’s not going to die.”

Draco bit down on his bottom lip and gave Nott his most pathetic look. He’d been friends with Theodore since childhood. He was a decent bloke and good friend but way too easy to manipulate for a Slytherin. “Are you really going to tell Potter?”

“I suppose not. But no more crazy tests, Malfoy. This kid’s a Muggle and Esther was a witch.” He gave Malfoy a stern look. “You can’t experiment on him with potions or Potter will kill you. And me.”

“Spoilsport.”



* * *



Draco and Nott were indulging themselves in a box of sweets he had swiped from the Mediwizards’ lounge when Smith showed up.

He helped himself to a chocolate and then smugly told them that the test was negative. “It’s just viral gastroenteritis like I predicted.” He plopped down in the chair closest to Draco and then put his feet up on the table, the soles of his trainers squeaking against the glass. “I win.”

Picking his walking stick up as quietly as possible, Draco leant closer to Smith and then smacked his feet off the table. “Keep your feet off my table,” he grumbled. “And—you did not win.”

Draco scowled; he liked Smith a lot better when he was kissing his arse rather than showing off. That was his job.

“Sorry, Malfoy, you might be Potter’s Golden Boy, but this time you’re wrong. Not everything is a mysterious illness.” He reached over and patted Draco on the back. “Don’t be a sore loser,mate. I’m going to discharge our patient.”

“Get your hands off me, Smith.” Draco wrinkled his nose. “I don't want your Hufflepuff germs. I've heard it's contagious. And, I am your boss not your mate.”

“Oh, real mature, Malfoy. You lose one case to me and have to resort to childish insults.” Smith curled his bottom lip into a sneer. “You might be my boss, but I'm tired of defending my house to you. Just because I was a Hufflepuff doesn't mean—”

“Seriously you two, stop.” Nott put himself in between Draco and Smith. He glared at both of them and berated them as if he were an angry mother. “Malfoy, grow up. Zach, sorry to break it to you, mate, but Hufflepuff sucks.”

“I can't believe your taking his—”

Nott ignored Smith's remark and started walking away from the table and towards the doorway. Draco hoped that he wasn't going to Potter.

“I'm discharging the patient. No more games.”

Draco gave him a scornful look. “Oh, now you care about the patient? I thought he was just a Muggle.” Draco stuck his tongue out at Nott. “Stop trying to impress, Granger, she's not even here.”

Nott cursed under his breath, probably grumbling about how much of an arse Draco was. Draco didn't argue. He was an arse, a miserable bastard even, like all the Mediwitches always said, but he never cared what anyone else thought. As long as he was right. Being right was more important, which is why he needed to find a way to solve this case, and he couldn’t do that if Nott discharged the patient.

After several seconds, he said, “We need a kidney biopsy. That's where the disease is striking next.”

Nott's eyes grew so wide that Draco was afraid they were going to bulge out of his eye sockets. They were glowing with fear. “You really have gone loony. I'm not letting you do a kidney biopsy on a 6-year-old boy just for your twisted amusement. I'm tired of enabling you, Malfoy. I’m not Goyle. I'll go to Potter right now if I have to.”

Bollocks, so much for Nott's cooperation and understanding.

“Fine,” Draco grumbled, “do the kidney biopsy, make Smith run the tests, and then you can discharge the patient.” Draco puckered his lips into a sour expression. “Assuming nothing is wrong with him, of course.”

“I think I rather just go to Potter. You can threaten to fire me again when I get back.”

Nott tried to walk through the door and Draco had to find a way to stop him. He knew that once Nott left the room he'd never be able to chase him. Hexing the idiot was out of the question too because then he'd have to deal with an angry Granger. Instead, he grabbed onto the back of his lab coat, trying to force him to stay.

“Unhand me, you brute. Just because you’re my boss doesn't mean I won't hit you.”

Nott started shrugging off the coat and flailing his arms, so Draco knew that he needed another plan. Screw it, he could deal with Granger later. Cursing Nott with a few well placed boils, should be enough to stop him from leaving. Theodore would never admit it, but he was a vain git.

Lifting his walking stick, Draco was about to hex Nott when Hermione ran in through the door, red faced and out of breath.

“Marvin's not going anywhere.” She bent over, still huffing. “His urine is brown.”

Draco slammed his walking stick on the floor. “Bloody fucking hell. We're too late.” He turned around and glared at Nott. “Well, you got your wish. No biopsy. His kidneys are already failing.”

Eventually, Hermione caught her breath. Her cheeks were still red from exertion, but it was obvious that she was worried. She always played with the hem of her lab coat when she was anxious.

“Should I?”

Draco nodded and then shifted his weight to his good leg. “Yes, go test for lymphoma.” A deep pang throbbed in his left leg as he put any pressure on it at all. Damn, his Pain Potions were wearing off even faster than usual. Today was not a good pain day. He needed another dose and some air.

“I'm taking a break.” He started limping towards the doorway. “Smith go help Granger.”

When he was out the door, he added, “Nott, you can go tattle to Potter now if you want. He's probably taking a nap. Give him my regards.”




* * *



Harry let out a relieved sigh as he finished his final fire-call of the day. It had been a nightmare of an afternoon and he was finally able to relax. Before walking over to the bookshelf behind his desk, he informed his assistant that he was not to be disturbed for the next hour.

As nervous as Martha was Harry actually loved working with her because she never asked any questions. She always answered all of his requests with, “Yes, Healer Potter or right away, Healer Potter.”

Running a hospital was tiring work, so it was essential for his mental health to have at least a few people on his staff that were cooperative, especially since he dealt with the collateral damage of Draco and his team on a daily basis.

He wasn't sure what Martha thought he did every time he asked for his hour break. Perhaps she thought he answered letters or took personal fire-calls. Perhaps she even thought that he snuck out for a quick bite to eat or some tea. The truth was actually so much more embarrassing that it didn't matter. Unless he was under Veritaserum, he would never admit to it.

Every afternoon or evening, depending on how long it took him to finish his work for the day, Harry closed all the blinds in his office and then poured himself a drink. He always kept a bottle of good Firewhiskey or scotch in a secret compartment behind his bookcase.

If drinking at work weren’t bad enough, that wasn't his biggest his secret. Yes, drinking while working was on the unethical side, but it was only a temporary solution to his problems. Running a hospital on his own would have been enough to drive the average wizard to the bottle, but for Harry his job wasn't the problem. Although it was hard work, he truly loved it. No, his real problem was Draco fucking Malfoy.

Working with Malfoy was going to drive Harry into an early grave. His hair was already going grey at the temples just from dealing with the git's outrageous demands and purposely ignoring every rule in the St James employee contract.

He wasn't exaggerating. On days where Malfoy didn't have an interesting case to work on and wanted to push Harry's buttons, he'd walk around with a copy of the contract and check off every rule he broke that day. The contract was 835 pages long and Malfoy had checked off about 90 percent of the rules.

Testing Harry's nerves wasn't his major problem though. For years, Harry dealt with Malfoy trying to annoy him, push him over the edge. The real problem was how attractive the arrogant prat was and how Harry couldn't stop thinking about that one night they slept together back in Healer Training. It was years ago, but no matter how many other relationships Harry had been in, how many blokes he'd shagged, he could never get Malfoy out of his head.

Pining after Malfoy was stupid. Harry knew this. As his boss, he needed to keep the upper hand with Malfoy. Not that it ever worked. And Malfoy— well— Malfoy had issues. Major issues. Although he might be a medical genius, he was also a complete arse, an overgrown child, and incapable of forming meaningful relationships. Every person that got too close to Malfoy got burned, so Harry had tried his best to keep his distance. Their relationship was flirtatious but strictly platonic. But that didn't mean that he couldn't fantasize about Malfoy in his spare time. There was no harm in that.

After finishing his drink, he sprawled himself out on the leather couch in his office. God, I'm pathetic, he thought. Hermione was right. I really do need to get a life outside of this job. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about Draco's messy blond hair and those piercing grey eyes.


* * *



Harry watched Draco wrap himself in the bed sheets. He leant up against the headboard of the bed and smirked. “Potter...I'm waiting.”

He couldn't believe that this was actually happening—that after all this time, he was finally going to shag Draco Malfoy. They were both a bit pissed, but since Draco wasn't slurring his words yet, Harry figured it was okay. Even if Draco regretted sleeping with him in the morning, at least Harry would have had one night with him.

With a goofy grin on his face, Harry joined Malfoy on the bed and started snogging him. He ran his fingers through Draco's long, messy hair, wrapping the curled ends of his fine locks around his fingers. Who knew that Malfoy actually had wavy hair? Perhaps that was why he always used to wear his hair slicked back at Hogwarts. Harry had assumed it was just to be a prat.

As Harry continued to kiss Malfoy, he leant into Harry's touch and moaned appreciatively. “Mmm, Potter, you taste good.”

“You too...Draco.”

Harry waited. Even though they were friends now, Malfoy still insisted that they call each other by their surnames. Harry always went along with it, but if they were actually going to get intimate and fuck, then Harry was going to call Malfoy by his first name and Malfoy was going to do the same. Whether he wanted him to or not.

Draco twisted his face into a frown. “Problem?”

“No, but I want you to call me, Harry. Just for tonight.”

Draco sighed loudly, pretending to be annoyed, but then he agreed. “Fine, Harry, are you going to fuck me or what?”

Harry's eyes grew wide. “Me...fuck you?” His voice was squeaky.

Usually, Harry was versatile in bed. With most of his partners, they switched even if Harry did prefer topping. But the last thing that he ever imagined was that Malfoy, the most controlling, manipulative person he'd ever met, would ask Harry to top. Merlin, he'd been dreaming about Malfoy for so long that Draco could have asked him to be tied up and upside down when they fucked and Harry still would have agreed. But this, this was better than a fantasy.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. “Unless you're not up to it, Har-ry?” He lifted his chin defiantly and glared.

Draco's gaze was smouldering; Harry's throat went instantly dry and all he could do was nod.

“Excellent. Now why don't you—”

Harry didn't let him finish. “Shut up.” He ripped the sheets off Malfoy and started ravishing him. Tonight he received a gift, a chance of the lifetime, so he was going to make the best of it. Perhaps if Harry gave Malfoy a night to remember there might even be a repeat performance.

He trailed kisses all the way down Draco's chest and abdomen, savouring the musky odour and salty taste of his skin. God, he tasted good. He licked circles around Draco's belly button — slowly, eagerly, passionately — making note of exactly how it affected him, how loud it made Draco moan. Oh, he could get used to this.

As Draco continued to squirm beneath him, Harry started to massage his thighs, kneading the strong muscles and trying to relieve some of the tension that Harry knew Draco carried there from his injury. Draco's left thigh was heavily scarred, the muscle half the size of the right leg. As soon as Harry placed his hands on it, Draco pushed him off. Apparently, he was sensitive about it. Harry didn’t know why since he thought everything about Malfoy was beautiful.

“Stop it, Harry. Just fuck me already.” His voice was deep and raspy. “I want you to take me dry. Make it hurt.” He bit down on his bottom lip and furrowed his brow. After several seconds, he added, “Don't hold anything back.”

Harry gasped. Hearing Draco speak in that sexy, fucking voice, begging Harry to take him dry, almost made him come on the spot.

“Alright, I won't hold anything back.”

Carefully, Harry spread Draco's legs open, taking care not to put too much pressure on his left leg. He picked Draco's right leg up and wrapped it around his waist, leaving the left leg on the bed where it wouldn't get banged up. The position was a bit awkward but Harry would adjust.

Without warning, he lined up his cock against Draco's hole and pushed in. Oh, fuck, he was so tight. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and bit down on his tongue to control himself. If Draco wanted hard, he would get fucking hard.

Once he was ready, Harry thrust into Draco. He quickly picked up the pace and dug his nails into Draco's back. At first, Harry was concerned that he might be going too fast too soon; he usually liked to build up to this fast of a pace, but Draco had said not to hold back and Harry didn't want to disappoint.

When Draco moaned for “more” and “harder”, Harry knew that he wasn't hurting him, so he obliged. He started fucking Draco, harder, deeper. Harry didn't think that he had ever fucked anyone like this before; his entire body felt like it was humming; his heart raced against his ribs.

“Draco, Draco,” he cried, “I—”



“Potter, Potter, wake up.”


A strong pair of hands shook Harry on the shoulder, rousing him from sleep. “Go away,” he mumbled. “Sleeping.” Harry didn't bother opening his eyes. The last thing he wanted was to be woken up from that dream.

A familiar voice snorted and shook him again. “Yes, I can see that, Potter, but I need to talk to you.”

Harry recognised the voice as Theodore Nott and opened his eyes.

“The sooner we talk,” Nott added, “the sooner you can get back to wanking over Malfoy.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Nott had heard him. He must have been talking in his sleep again. This was exactly why Harry had told Martha not to let anyone bother him. “I don't know what you're talking about.” Harry tried to ignore the heat that was creeping over his cheeks.

Nott rolled his eyes. “Whatever. The point is that the patient you assigned to Malfoy, his—”

Harry blinked stupidly. “What patient? I didn't assign Malfoy a patient.”

Nott gestured with his hands, waving them around dismissively. “Marvel, Marvin, something like that, I was about to discharge him but—”

Harry panicked; he couldn't believe that this was happening again. He thought that Malfoy had actually listened to him. For the first time ever. He was such a gullible twat. Everybody Lies. That was Malfoy’s mantra.

“Marvin was just dehydrated. He's fine.”

Nott shook his head and looked at Harry solemnly. “I'm sorry. That's what I thought too, but his kidney's are failing. Granger thinks its lymphoma but...”

“But—Malfoy doesn't agree and is probably going to run all sorts of crazy and dangerous tests on the patient.”

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Merlin, grant me patience, he thought, for what was probably the hundredth time that day.

“Go keep an eye on him,” Harry instructed, “maybe tell Goyle. I'll be there in a few minutes.”

Nott nodded again, that serious, pained look still in his eyes, and then walked out of Harry's office, shutting the door quietly behind him.

As soon as Nott was gone, Harry threw the empty glass on his desk against the wall and yelled. “Merlin's saggy tits!”

Of all his patients, why did it have to be Marvin, the one little boy that reminded Harry of himself. Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes, so he tried to take deep breaths again. Panicking didn't solve anything.

Some fucking day he was having. One of his favourite patients was dying, he was blue balled, and had a charity dinner he had to get to in two hours. How was he going to survive this? And as usual he couldn’t get Draco Malfoy off his mind.



* * *



Draco sat on the floor in the hallway outside his office. He bounced a large red ball against the wall over and over again. Playing with his ball usually helped him think, but today it was useless. Marvin was still dying and Draco had no idea what was killing him. If anything, his symptoms were progressing faster than Esther's ever did. At this rate, he'd be dead before the end of the night.

Foolishly, he decided to take his anger for being wrong about Erdheim-Chester out on the wall. He chucked the ball as hard as he could, forgetting that it was impossible to beat the wall. The ball bounced and skidded out of Draco's reach, rolling down the long hallway.

“Fuck.” Draco wanted to go after the ball, but the pain in his leg was too intense. Lately, it had been getting worse. That was the problem with curse wounds. Even though the initial wound had been cleansed and healed, the damage to his nerves and muscle tissue was irreversible.

Body parts damaged by Dark magic could not be salvaged, only treated. Thanks to the bloody Dark Lord and Draco's stupidity, he'd have a permanent reminder of his failure. The muscle in his leg would continue to deteriorate until one day he would no longer be able to walk. That should have happened five years ago. He thought that all the treatments he went under and potions he took had at least halted the muscle deterioration. Apparently, he was wrong.

For now, all he could do was mask the symptoms—until he had time to run more tests on himself. With the ball out of his reach, he decided to focus on his pain instead. He pulled a small phial out of his pocket that held a blue potion. He held up the phial to the light and read the label — the new hospital policy that Potter had insisted on — so that the incompetent Healers that worked at this hospital wouldn't poison the patients.


Take 1/4 of the phial with food every 4-8 hours as needed.


He unscrewed the stopper and then raised the phial higher in the air, level with his head.

“Cheers,” he said, toasting to himself as he downed the entire bottle in one gulp. “Mmm, citrusy.”

He continued to think and started twirling the phial in between his fingers. It wasn't as much fun as his ball, but it at least it gave him something to help him focus. Hopefully the pain would lessen soon.

Lost in his thoughts, Draco didn't notice that Granger had sat down next to him.

She had a bitter look on her face. “Don't show off your illegal drug use in front of me.”

“Illegal? Pain Potions are perfectly legal, Granger. Goyle wrote me a script.”

She didn't look convinced. “Uh-huh. And did he quadruple the dosage too? You're supposed to take 1/4 of the phial for your leg.”

“Not if you're in a shit load of pain.” Draco discreetly put the empty phial back into his pocket and then gestured with his hands. “Now, I'm not your patient, Granger, tell me about, Marcus.”

“Marvin.”

“Whatever.”

Granger scowled and started to get up from the floor. “I don't have time for this.”

Draco sighed. “Fine, tell me about, Marvin, pretty please?”

Granger thinned her lips and regarded him closely. “The tests were inconclusive. We found a mass in his pituitary gland.”

“So it is lymphoma. Congratulations, Granger. I always knew you were my favourite team member. Go start the treatment.”

Hermione tilted her head to the side and chuckled. “Don't flatter me just yet. The blood tests were negative. Not consistent with lymphoma.”

“They could be wrong.”

Hermione shook her head, her eyes pained. “I checked them three times.”

“Oh, bugger.” Draco looked up at ceiling. He'd hadn't been sold on the lymphoma diagnosis, but it was the best idea they had. They were back to square one. No fucking clue.

After several seconds, he spoke. “So...we still have no idea what this is, but it's something that acts like lymphoma but isn’t.'“

“But, Draco, there isn't anything—”

“Don't you think I bloody know that, Granger?”.

Hermione glared at him disapprovingly and reached into her pocket.

Draco gulped. “Sorry, I'm just—”

“Worried about the patient.” Hermione's expression softened.

Draco coughed. “I said no such thing. I would never—”

Hermione shook her head and laughed. “Stop that. Why do you always pretend to be such a miserable bastard? You're a Healer, Malfoy. You save people's lives. Face it, you're no longer the villain.” She widened her smile, her brown eyes shining with amusement. “In fact, I'd say you're one of the good guys.”

Draco's eyes widened in horror. “Take that back, Granger. I will never be one of the good guys. I'm evil.”

Granger rolled her eyes. “Yes, so very evil. Now, why don't you use those powers of evil of yours to save another patient.” After a moment, the anger disappeared from Granger’s face, worry replacing it. “What do we do now?”

Draco closed his eyes and lifted his chin up towards the ceiling. Usually, a million ideas were zooming through his mind. He always had a plan and backup plans A, B, and C, ready to go at moment's notice. But this case — Esther's case — was not an ordinary case. He'd been obsessing about it for the last 15 years. And was out of ideas. For so many years, he was certain it was Erdheim-Chester, practically dying for another patient to exhibit those same symptoms, so he could redeem himself. Nothing else fit. Nothing else made sense. He was actually...wrong.

“Draco,” Hermione said kindly, “I don't mean to rush you, but we don't have a lot time. We have to do something.”

Draco opened his eyes. “We don't know what this thing is, but at least we know the path it's going take. Liver failure is next so—”

Hermione's eyes lit up and she jumped off the floor. “We have to protect the liver!”

“Exactly. Get him started on as many treatments as possible to protect his liver. Keep his monitored at all times. It isn't a cure but..”

“It should buy us some time.” Hermione smiled and then she bent over to press a soft kiss on Draco's cheek. “You never cease to amaze me, Draco Malfoy. And thank you, for taking this case. For giving Marvin some hope.” Her eyes started shining all earnestly again as only Gryffindors could and Draco started to panic.

“He's an orphan and Harry is really attach—”

Wiping his cheek, Draco pretended to be disgusted. “Spare me the sentimental drivel. I'm sure the boy and Potter can compare wretched orphan tales later. Just go save his liver and tell Goyle about the mass you found.”

Hermione smiled again, delighted like a school girl on a shopping spree, and then ran down the hallway.

When that witch was on a mission, no one could stop her. That was exactly why Draco had hired her.



* * *



The pain in Draco's leg had numbed a bit as he made his way to Goyle's office. It was still bothering him though and he itched to take at least half the other phial of Pain Potion that he had stashed in his other pocket. The problem was that he never knew when Gregory was going to be a goody goody and stop writing him scripts. It was best to save a few extra bottles for a rain day. Or even a Friday night.

“Whatever you're doing, stop. I need a counsel,” Draco demanded, even before he was halfway through Goyle's door.

As soon as he closed the door behind him, Draco frowned. Potter was sitting on Goyle's couch.

“Nice to see you too, Malfoy,” Goyle said. “I was just—”

Draco scoffed. “Betraying our friendship?”

Potter put his head in his hands and groaned, amusing Draco. Getting a rise out of Potter was too easy. It wasn't that he was particularly upset to see Potter. He actually enjoyed spending time with Potter. But annoying Potter was one of his favourite hobbies. Really, it should be a sport.

Besides, this might actually work out in his favour. He could pretend to care about Potter's opinion, giving him more time to think and scoring points with his boss.

"Budge up, Potter." Draco plopped himself down on the couch, taking up more room than necessary. He purposely rubbed his knee up against Potter.

“I heard you went behind my back again and stole my patient.”

Draco shrugged. “You're welcome. He's actually sick.”

Potter opened his mouth wide. Draco thought he looked like a fish. An owl fish. How very bizarre. “I didn't actually thank you—”

“You can argue later,” Goyle said, voice firm. “Let's keep our priorities straight and focus on the patient. The one who is actually dying...”

Draco shrugged again and Potter looked ashamed. “I have to change for the charity ball later.” Potter rose from the couch and headed towards the door. “You two talk and I'll check up on you in a few.” He paused in the doorway and then looked over his shoulder. “Don't do anything daft, Malfoy.”

Draco pouted. “As if I would?”

Potter muttered under his breath and then left. Draco tried not to look too self-satisfied, instead he turned to Goyle with what he hoped was a blank expression. Goyle didn’t like convinced.

Even after all these years, it was still strange seeing Goyle act as the voice of reason. Sometimes, it was hard for Draco to remember that Goyle still wasn't his same yes-man best friend like he was at Hogwarts. Goyle was a respected Healer now, specializing in children and oncology. Perhaps he still had a tendency to enable Draco and give into his every bad habit within reason, but he was no longer that same bloke who had tortured students in 8th year or refused to stand up to his best friend in the Room of Requirement.

He would never admit this to Goyle, but losing Crabbe was probably the best thing that ever happened to him. It forced him to change his life. He started taking school seriously and decided to focus his life on saving people rather than hurting people and just following orders. In his own way, Draco was proud of him.

“Thank you for that, Gregory. What do you think the mass is? A Muggle cancer?”

Goyle shook his head and motioned at the magical scan in front of them, which showed a three-dimensional image of Marvin's pituitary gland. Even though they couldn't use magic on Muggle patients, Granger had found a way to easily convert Muggle scans into magical ones. It made Draco's life so much easier, especially when he had to work in Potter’s stupid clinic.

“I think it might be Kawasaki disease. And how many times have I told you, Malfoy, cancers are not Muggle.” He continued pointing at the scan. “Wizards can get cancers too. They are usually just too stubborn to come see—”

Draco waved his hand dismissively. “Yes, yes, I know. You're the first pureblood wizard to ever become a Healer and Oncologist. You're practically a saint.” Goyle frowned but Draco ignored him. “But it can't be Kawasaki. my...I mean, Esther didn't—”

“Draco.” Goyle's voice and expression were serious. “It's time to let Esther go. This boy isn't Esther.” He sat down on the couch next to Draco and put a hand on his shoulder. “She would want you to let her go. To be happy.”

“What do you know?” Draco grumbled as he pushed off the couch.



* * *



After speaking with Goyle, Draco needed some air. He made his way to the roof, which was his favourite thinking spot when his leg wasn't in too much pain to walk up two flights of stairs. Just to be a pain in Draco's arse, Potter had blocked Apparition in and out of the hospital. He claimed that it was for security purposes, but Draco knew that it was only to make him miserable.

Stupid Potter, who would never leave him alone. He flirted with Draco incessantly and then never put out. He was getting tired of these Cat and Mouse games they continued to play.

Oh, well. Psychoanalyzing Potter and his mixed signals would have to wait. First, he had a patient to save. He leant against the guard rail that blocked off the roof, elbows propped underneath his chin, and stared out at the surrounding buildings.

No matter what Goyle said, Draco was certain that Kawasaki disease didn't fit. It wasn't that Draco didn't trust Goyle. His best friend was immensely bright, regardless of what people thought in Hogwarts, and an excellent Healer. Yes, some of the symptoms could be explained by Kawasaki disease, especially the boy's swollen lymph nodes, but if that were really true, if Draco accepted that diagnosis, it would mean that he failed. Again.

Although treatable, Kawasaki disease only affected children and didn't affect wizards. It would not have killed an older witch. He had half-heartedly ordered his team to start the treatment, but secretly he hoped that Hermione would run through that door at any moment and tell him that the treatment wasn't working.

Merlin, how fucked up was he? He actually wished a young lad's health would continue deteriorating with some mysterious illness just so he could solve his puzzle, get his fix of the day. Maybe Goyle was right, maybe it was time to let go and drop this case. Fifteen years was a long time. It should be enough to heal all wounds, but somehow Draco's heart still felt as tortured as it did when he first lost her.

“I'm sorry, Mother,” he whispered. “I failed you again.”

The squeaky door that led to the rooftop creaked. Draco felt his heart flutter. Perhaps it wasn't too late. When he spun around and saw Potter walking towards him, he tried not to be too disappointed that it wasn’t about his patient. A solitary visit from Potter was never unwelcomed though.

Potter smiled at him. “Hi.”

He wore fitted blue dress robes and actually attempted to tame him hair. Draco felt his cock twitch against the waistband of his pants. God, Potter looked fit. Just because Draco knew that he was incredibly self-destructive and better off alone didn't mean that he didn't appreciate a good looking bloke, especially one that was as good in bed as Potter.

It may have been years since they slept together, but Potter was still the best bloody shag he'd ever had. Everyone else always tried to take it easy because of his leg. They couldn't hurt the cripple. But not Potter. He fucked Draco hard and dry like he was any other bloke. He made Draco see stars for Merlin's sake.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Draco said, when Potter joined him against the railing. “Where are you going looking so smart?” Draco wriggled both eyebrows. “Hanging with suitable company for once?”

Potter dropped his head and looked down at the floor, clearly embarrassed. “Stop mocking me.” Eventually, he raised his head and locked eyes with Draco, looking at him expectantly. “Is it really that bad?”

Draco sighed. It was no fun to pick on Potter when he looked so pitiful. Potter was the Saviour of the wizarding world and the youngest Healer ever to run his own hospital. He brought celebrity to a whole new level. Draco never understood how he could be so insecure. Still, there was something incredibly appealing about someone as impressive as Potter being so modest. Perhaps just this once Draco would play nice.

“I'm serious, Harry.” He stepped closer to Potter and gave him his most earnest look. “You look great,” he said, as he reached out and touched Potter’s neck.

Potter’s eyes widened and Draco tried to ignore the tightness that was forming in his chest. He did not have a thing for Harry Potter. The bloke was just attractive. That was all. Yeah, right.

“Your collar is crooked.” Draco straightened out Potter’s collar, brushing his fingers against the warm skin of Potter’s neck for as long as possible.

“Thank you,” Potter choked out, never releasing Draco’s gaze.

Fuck, his eyes were green. Don’t do this to yourself. You’re no good for him. He deserves better.

It was the truth. Even if Draco considered some type of relationship with Potter, it would never last. Potter wanted marriage and demon sprog. That wasn’t something that Draco could give him. He might be a miserable old bastard, but Harry stirred up a feeling in his gut that he never thought he’d feel again. The chances of being hurt were much too high.

The tension between them was looming. They continued to stare at each other until Draco could no longer take it.

“Why are you here?” He tried not to cringe at how out of control and desperate his voice sounded.

Potter blinked at him repeatedly. He took a deep breath. “I know you had a hard day. I was wondering if you’d go to the charity ball with me?”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “As your date?”

Potter shrugged. “Only if you want to be.”

For a moment, Draco hesitated. Potter asking him to the charity ball last minute did not make sense. This ball had been planned for ages if he really wanted to take him, Potter would have asked him months ago.

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not!” Potter replied a little too enthusiastically. “I like spending time with you.”

Draco snorted and wrinkled his nose. “Right...because I’m such fine company.”

“You can be...when you’re not torturing the interns, berating the other Healers, or hiding my things.”

Draco laughed. “Admit it...you love those things. They keep your job interesting.”

Potter scowled and pretended to disagree, but soon he was laughing too. He reached out and clasped Draco’s wrist.

“You’ve never bored me, Draco. You never will.”

Potter’s hand felt hot against his skin, almost as if it were burning him. His pulse raced again and he knew this was a bad idea, knew that at one point Potter would realise that he deserved someone better than a crippled ex-Death Eater. But he was starting to run out of will power. And excuses.

Potter licked his lips, deliberately trying to tease Draco. Fuck it, he decided. If Potter was stupid enough to get involved with a cranky, old codger like him, then maybe it wouldn’t hurt if Draco stole at least one kiss. A kiss never killed anyone. It had been so long since he’d been with anyone at all.

He shifted his weight from against the railing and leant closer to Potter, placing a hand behind his neck. He was about to press his lips to Potter’s when he heard a door slamming behind them.

A dishevelled looking Smith stood at the door. “Sorry to interrupt...but I thought you’d like to know that our patient is in cardiac arrest. Granger and Nott are with him, but he doesn’t seem to be responding—”

“Shit!” Potter yelled. “Marvin needs me!”

“I don’t think it’s Kawasaki’s and—”

Before Smith finished his sentence, Potter detached himself from Draco and Apparated away from the roof.

“Damn you, Potter!” Draco called after him. But it was no use. Potter was the only wizard powerful enough to break through anti-Apparition words.

“Forget him.” Smith grabbed Draco's shoulder. “We have to get down there. Who knows what he’ll do?”




* * *




By the time Draco and Smith made it into Marvin’s room, things had spiralled out of control. Potter was hurled over Marvin’s body, his eyes wide and crazed, as he continuously zapped Marvin’s small chest with defibrillator paddles.

“He’s just a boy! He’s just a boy!” he kept shouting.

Granger and Nott stood in the corner of the room with Granger leaning her head on Nott’s chest. Her eyes were red and glassy from crying and Nott was comforting her by rubbing her back and kissing the top of her head.

“He’s been coding. V-tach."

Draco nodded and felt a lump form in the back of his throat. They might be too late. “How long?” he choked out. This wasn’t happening. He wasn’t going to lose two patients to the same disease.

Nott shook his head. “Too long. Potter won’t stop.”

Draco reached into the large front pocket of his coat. He discreetly fingered the emergency syringe he kept there.

“Alright, Nott and Smith, I need you two to pull Potter off the kid. Sedate him if you have to.”

Smith gave him a dubious look.

“I have this under control.”

Smith shrugged. “Fine. You’re the boss.”

They pulled a screaming and hysterical Potter off the boy and then attempted to restrain him. Hermione quickly Summoned his wand before Potter started hexing anyone.

Once all three of his team members were occupied with Potter, Draco decided to deal with Marvin. The defibrillation wasn’t working and if they waited any longer to start his heart, he was sure to have brain damage. He needed to do something. And now.

Of all the ludicrous ideas he’d had over the years, this had to be the most insane. Everyone assumed that you if treated Muggles with magical remedies, particularly Healing spells, then they would die. It made sense as Muggles didn’t have a magical core, so the magic would over stimulate their delicate systems and have no release. Death or insanity were the two most probable outcomes.

However, no one had studied the effects of Healing Potions on Muggles. Yes, potions were brewed with magic, but for the most part, they were made with non-magical ingredients. In theory, that little bit of magic might not be fatal. Besides, Draco had invented several new tonics and Healing Potions that were mixtures of Muggle medications and magical herbs. They had been completely successful in treating wizards, but he wasn’t sure what would happen if he injected a Muggle with it.

Either way, this boy was going to die, so this might at least give him a chance. He pulled the syringe out of his pocket and removed the needle cap. This was an adrenaline stimulation potion that he had developed to treat cardiac arrest in wizards. He hoped it would have the same effect on Marvin.

With shaky hands, he lined up the needle with Marvin’s heart and gently inserted the syringe. Before he changed his mind, he injected the potion.

This better work or Potter really is going to fire me this time. Don’t give up on me now, Marvin.

Within seconds, Marvin’s pulse stabilized and he let out a sharp gasp.

Hearing Marvin’s cry seemed to snap Potter out of his daze. Four pairs of shocked eyes stared at him.

“What did you do to him?” Potter removed himself from Smith and Nott’s hold. He rushed over to Marvin’s bedside and whimpered when he realised that Draco was still holding the empty syringe.

Stupid. Stupid. He should have disposed of the evidence immediately, but Draco had been too awestruck that his experiment had actually worked.

“Is that-Is that-?” Potter’s eyes grew frantic as he wandlessly Summoned the syringe out of Draco’s hands. “You gave him a Healing Potion. You gave him a magical remedy?” Potter gave Draco the most scathing look he’d given him in years. “How could you? You could’ve killed him.”

Draco felt crushed. He couldn’t stand watching Potter look at him that way, especially when only moments earlier they were about to snog.

“It worked. I saved his life.”

“You could’ve killed him!” Potter repeated, raising his voice.

“He was already dying!” Draco shouted back.

Potter stepped closer to him and glowered. “He could have brain damage.”

“That’s better than being dead.”

Potter’s face turned red and the flower vase on the patient’s bedside table started shaking. “Get out! Get out! Before I do something I regret. You’re off the case, Malfoy. Banned from this room.”

“Don’t you think you’re overreacting? Look, Hermione is checking him over. He seems fine.” Draco shrugged. “Well, except from whatever was killing him before since it’s still killing him now. And—you still need me.”

“You’re off the case,” Potter repeated. “Get out of here before I fire you.”

“Oh yeah, because the other 12 times you’ve sacked me have gone so well. You need me. This hospital needs me.”

Potter ignored his remark and cocked his head towards Nott. “Healer Nott you are now in charge of this case. Escort Malfoy out if you have to.”

Nott gave Draco an apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” he mouthed.

“Forget it. I’m perfectly capable of escorting myself out. But don’t come crying to me when this patient is dying again.”

“Malfoy-”

“Draco-”

“Harry, don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

Draco ignored whatever else his colleagues were discussing and limped as quickly as he could out of the room. He knew when he wasn’t wanted. Besides, just because he was technically off the case didn’t mean, he couldn’t secretly feed Nott and his team instructions.



* * *



Within twenty minutes, Nott was on the roof, looking for Draco.

“How’s the patient?” Draco asked, who had just finished downing his last phial of Pain Potion. He figured that after bringing a Muggle kid back from the dead, Goyle would either reward him with new scripts for a job well done or write him scripts to help him drown his pain of making the boy a vegetable.

Either way was a win for him.

“He’s fine.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “No brain damage?”

“Doesn’t look that way...although there is minimal swelling to the brain.”

Draco thinned his lips. “That’s to be expected.”

“Yeah.” Nott lowered his eyes to the ground, dragging his feet across the cement floor. “How did you know it would work?”

“I didn’t. But—I had to try something.”

Nott shook his head and chuckled. “You’re insane, Draco, like certifiably insane.”

Draco shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“But you’re also a bloody genius.”

Draco grinned at Nott smugly. “I know.”

Nott chuckled again but then grew serious. “What are we going to do now though? He’s still going downhill. Quickly. And we’ve already tested for everything we could think of.”

“Give me a minute.” Draco closed his eyes and rubbed the temples of his forehead. He had not brought this kid back from the brink of the death to let him die. They were out of options though. Whatever this disease was, it had deviated from its original path. The next symptom could as easily be respiratory distress, liver failure, or something new entirely. None of it made sense since they had tested for everything.

Unless...

Draco snapped his eyes open. Unless...they already knew what it was. The disease must have been hiding. It was as if he could feel the neurons pulsating in his brain. He finally understood.

“Nott,” Draco said, trying to keep the giddiness out of his voice, “start treating him for Erdheim-Chester. He’s going to be fine.”

Nott held a hand up to Draco’s forehead. “How many of those Pain Potions did you take, Malfoy? Because I’m quite sure we already ruled out Erdheim-Chester.”

“It was hiding.”

“The test was negative.”

Draco groaned. “Did you not hear me? It was hiding. When Smith performed the tests, it still hadn’t progressed to his intestines yet. And—we never did biopsy his kidneys.”

Nott looked like he was about to protest but then changed his mind. “Let’s say...I were to believe you. But what about the cardiac arrest? That doesn’t fit.”

“We caused that accidentally. By dosing him with every drug possible to protect his liver, his body had to work harder to pump blood. We inadvertently speed up his heart rate to a dangerous level, pushing him into v-tach.” Draco nodded and gave Nott his most serious expression. “He could go into respiratory distress at any minute. You need to start the treatment.”

Nott locked eyes with him and studied him closely. Draco knew that he was trying to figure out if Draco was bullshitting him or not. Although he was typically a nice bloke, Nott was a Slytherin for a reason. He was good at reading people.

“How certain are you? You do realise this treatment will kill him if he doesn’t have it.”

“If we do nothing, he dies too. And I’m a hundred percent certain.”

Nott gave him a disapproving look.

Draco clicked his tongue. “Alright, 99% percent. Don’t look at me like that.”

“If this boy dies, I’m not covering your arse.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.”

Nott tugged at his hair and gave one final groan. “Fine, I’ll go start treatment, but Potter’s not going to like it.”

Draco huffed dismissively. “Let Granger and Smith take care of Potter. I’d do it myself but—”

“Potter banned you from the room.” Nott shook his head. “Now, I’m starting to think that you got yourself thrown off the case on purpose.”

Draco smirked. “I would never do such a thing. I love working with patients.”

“Uh-huh.” Nott started walking towards the doorway and Draco couldn’t help but feel elated, like a huge burden had been lifted from his shoulders.

“Oh, and Theodore,” Draco called as Nott walked out the door, “you have some lipstick on your chin. Curiously, it’s the shame plum shade that Granger was wearing today.” He laughed. “You know what they say...office romances never work—”

“Shut up, I love her.”

“I know.”


* * *



Draco was sprawled out on the couch in Goyle’s office. As usual, he’d been right. Why did he ever doubt himself? Marvin had Erdheim-Chester’s disease and was going to be fine. He’d be kicking and screaming and whatever else six-year-old boys did in no time. Draco was celebrating with a bag of crisps from Goyle’s secret stash and a glass of his expensive firewhiskey. Goyle wouldn’t mind, and if he did, he’d try to blame it on someone else.

Overall, it had turned out to be a good day. He had solved another case and could finally put the original case to rest. His mother’s memory could rest in peace. Yes, he would still miss her every day of his life; his mother was the only person to love him unconditionally. She risked her life and lied to the Dark Lord to save him. Draco would never forget that, but at least he would be able to sleep, knowing he really did everything he could. Even if he had got her help sooner, no Healer at St Mungo’s would have been able to cure her. At least he could prevent others dying from the same disease. His mother hadn’t died in vain. An amazing woman like his mother deserved to be remembered for more than being the wife of a Death Eater.

He sighed. If only things had not gone so terribly wrong with Potter, then he would be in a much better mood. It was difficult to enjoy his triumph when Potter was still angry with him. But he supposed that he still had his job and Potter would get over it eventually. He always did.

As Draco poured himself a second glass of firewhiskey, he heard a voice behind him.

“Can I join you or is this a private party?”

Draco looked up to see Potter standing in the doorway, smirking at him.

“I suppose not...but how did you find me?”

“Easy,” Potter said, as he moved Draco’s feet to make room on the couch. “You’re always in Goyle’s office or my office. Never your own.”

Draco frowned. “That’s hardly true.”

Harry looked sheepish. “And...I might have an enchanted blueprint map of the entire hospital.”

“Now that makes a lot of sense, explains why I can’t ever get away from you.”

Potter’s eyes grew round and pained as if Draco had just told him that he skinned Pygmy Puffs in his spare time. “You want to get away from me?”

Rolling his eyes, Draco said, “You’re the one who banned from Marvin’s case and threatened to sack me. Besides, I thought you had a ball to attend.”

Potter looked sheepish again, this time two red patches forming on his cheeks. “Sorry about that.” His blush deepened. “I think I overreacted. And I’m not going to the charity ball. I wanted to see you.”

“You think you overreacted?”

“Alright, I completely overreacted.” Potter sighed. “It’s just Marvin is such a sweet little boy. He’s had such a tough life so far. Three different sets of foster parents have screwed with him, and I thought you were doing the same. Just using him for your puzzle. Your game.”

“That doesn’t sound like me.”

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest and glared.

“Maybe it does a little...but I wasn’t playing a game with him.” Draco bit down on his bottom lip as he tried to find the right words. How could he explain this without digging himself into a deeper hole? “I just—”

“I know.” Harry scooted closer to him on the couch. “Goyle told me about your mother.”

Draco groaned. “Figures.”

Fucking Goyle, he would never learn to keep his mouth shut. Some best friend.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry asked, voice soft. “I thought we were friends.”

Draco groaned again. Oh, Goyle was really going to make it up to him now. “Of course, we are, Potter,” Draco replied. “It’s complicated. Mother died so many years ago. It was before we were close.”

Harry gave him a weak smile. “I understand. Can you tell me about it now?”

Draco wanted to scream “No!”. He wanted to tell Potter to mind his own fucking business, but as Potter sat there, looking at him so eagerly with those shockingly green eyes of his, Draco couldn’t refuse.

He took a deep breath and then finally felt ready to tell his story.

“I’ll tell you if you promise not to interrupt.”

Harry nodded.

“Esther doesn’t exist,” he explained. “The patient that died 15 years ago was my mother. I was only a couple of years out of Healing School at time, but regardless of my age, St Mungo’s already saw me as one of their best Healers.”

Draco smiled wistfully as he remembered the past times with his mother. “Mother, she was so proud of me. Couldn’t stop gushing to all her friends about my ‘gift’.” Draco made air quotes with his fingers.

“You do have a gift.” Potter smiled but then quickly looked guilty. “Sorry continue.”

“The problem was that I worked long hours and didn’t get to spend a lot of time with her. I never noticed how run down she was getting until the day she complained of bloody diarrhoea.” He paused. “At first I didn’t think it was a big deal, but once her kidneys started failing I knew I was in over my head.”

“Didn’t you have any idea at all?”

“You really don’t understand the concept of not interrupting me, do you, Potter?”

Potter just shrugged.

“As I was saying, once I realised the disease was quickly spreading and shutting down her systems, I started treating for every possible disease and curse I could. I had half the St Mungo’s staff helping me.” Draco felt his throat tighten. Even though this had happened fifteen years ago, the pain of losing his mother still weighed heavily on his heart. “She was dead within 24 hours and I never knew what killed her.”

After several seconds of silence, Potter must have assumed that Draco’s story was finished. “Why didn’t you perform an autopsy?”

“Trust me, I wanted to but Lucius and Aunt Andromeda insisted that Mother’s body couldn’t be defiled. It’s another antiquated and ridiculous pureblood tradition.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.”

Draco let the silence wash over him. It felt good to finally share his story and get it off his chest. Nott and Goyle were the only two other people that knew the truth behind the Esther case, besides the Healers that had helped him at St Mungo’s, but they were protected by Healer/Patient Confidentiality Codes.

Apparently, Potter wasn’t as comfortable in silence. After a few minutes, he asked, “You thought about this a lot, haven’t you? How did you decide it was a Muggle disease that killed her?”

Draco snorted. “Thought about it a lot is an understatement, Potter. I obsessed. Day and Night. Kept trying to figure out where I had gone wrong, what I had missed.” He pursed his lips. “Eventually, I realised that I had covered every possible angle. Twice. I hadn’t missed anything. The only possible explanation was that she died of a Muggle disease.”

Potter’s eyes lit up and he smiled—that dazzling, heart-bursting smile of his he always did when he finally understood something. “And that was when you decided to study Muggle medicine as well. Because if you had been educated in Muggle medicine—”

“Then maybe Mother wouldn’t have died.” Draco scowled. “Trust me, Potter. I tortured myself with that information for years.”

Draco hung his head; he couldn’t bear to look at Potter anymore. This conversation was over. They had talked enough about his feelings and mother for the next century. His Mind Healer would be happy.

“Oh, Draco.” Potter wrapped him in a tight hug. “It wasn’t your fault. The way you were raised and we didn’t even know that Muggle diseases could kill wizards until about...”

“Ten years ago. I know. I published that study under a pseudonym, thinking no one would take a pureblood seriously.”

“You’re just—” Harry closed his eyes and then released Draco from their embrace. “The most amazing wizard and Healer I’ve ever met.”

He cupped Draco’s face in his hands. “I’m tired of playing games with you.” Harry smiled. “I’ve been mad for you for years. I know you have your problems and your commitment issues, but I’m not asking you for forever. Just to try.”

Draco gulped; he couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of Harry’s mouth. Potter fancied him, wanted him, had so for years. He opened his mouth to speak but was speechless. His feelings were so torn. On the one hand, he was still miserable about his mother, but on the other hand, Potter had confessed to having actual feelings for him. He didn’t know what to do.

“You don’t have to say anything, Draco. But I’m going to kiss you.” Harry paused, waiting for Draco’s reaction. “If you have any objections, you better share them now.”

“Potter, this isn’t a good idea. I’m no good for you.”

Potter released Draco’s face and frowned. He put his hands down on his lap. “Why not? I already told you that you’re the most incredible man I’ve ever met. If you don’t want me, that’s one thing but...”

Draco sighed. Potter’s eyes were comically wide, his lower lip quivered. Holy hell, I’m going to make the Saviour of the wizarding world cry,Draco thought.

“Harry, you know that’s not true. You only want me right now because I’m upset over my mother. You think I’m all Hufflepuffish and sensitive.” He lowered his eyes. Looking at Potter and rejecting him was too difficult. Those green eyes always broke him. He couldn’t let Potter see the truth—that this was killing him.

“But I’m not. I have issues, serious issues, and always will. I’m not going to change.” He bit down on his bottom lip. “You’re trying to make me feel better, which is noble but misled. Everybody—”

“Lies? Only when they have something to hide. I’m a terrible liar.” Harry reached out and grabbed Draco’s arm. He pushed up the left sleeve of Draco’s shirt and started stroking the faded remnants of the Dark Mark. “Don’t you see, Draco? I know and accept everything about you. I don’t want you to change.” He shook his head and then locked eyes with Draco. “I know you’re screwed up. I know you’re always going to be screwed up. But you’re always going to be the most incredible man I’ve ever known. No matter what you do. So shut up and let me kiss you.”

Without another word, Harry leant forwards and kissed him. It was a chaste kiss, soft and tentative against his lips. So completely different than the fervent snogging and fucking they had engaged in so many years ago.

But that didn’t matter. The wild, kinky sex would come in time. Perhaps even later tonight. Right now, all Draco wanted was to enjoy this kiss, which almost felt like a first kiss. He parted his lips and softly moaned into Potter’s mouth, savouring the promise of this kiss and the endless possibilities of tomorrow. Perhaps Draco wasn’t as against honesty and integrity as he had always believed.

Draco tugged on Potter’s hair, pulling them out of their kiss. “Harry, why don’t we get out of here?”

Potter looked a bit annoyed but then nodded and held out his arm. Before taking Potter’s arm, Draco studied the mess he had made. He assumed that Goyle would be angry that Draco trashed his office. But he knew that Goyle would actually kill him if he found out that Potter shagged him on his leather couch. It was another win-win situation.

Besides, shagging Potter on Goyle’s couch could wait until their second date.





~Fin





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