Healing Draco Malfoy

Chapter 19

Published: January 30, 2021

Harry had to drink two glasses of firewhiskey, or he'd never get to sleep. He had been a little relieved to tell them that, but he didn't enjoy talking about it, nor thinking how the rest of his family would respond. When he thought about Mrs. Weasley breaking down crying about it, he jugged a third glass. Fuck, this anxiety was getting out of hand, he thought drunkenly, as he passed out on the couch.

He woke up with a slight headache that he didn't need to ask what it was from. He took a Hangover Potion and headed into the hospital, a few minutes little later than usual, but well before his appointments. He came to Draco's door and heard someone talking. Alarmed, he quickly entered and realized who it was sitting next to Draco and holding the remote for the telly.

"Joel!" Harry said, smiling. Draco gave him a look as he came in, but didn't seem upset with his guest.

"Hey, Harry! I thought I'd stop by before my shift starts. I was telling Draco some of the shows that he should watch."

"Really? Found anything you like, Draco?"

He rolled his eyes, but didn't seem to be avoiding Joel, like he used to, but Joel said, as he muted the volume, "We've been watching Monty Python."

Harry laughed. "Oh, Merlin. So, Joel... where you at now?"

"I'm on the Potions lab rotation. They love having trainees do all the grunt work. Slicing, dismembering, de-skinning and all sorts of vile things. I didn't miss potions class, at all."

Harry smirked. "Yeah... I blew up a Blood-Replenishing Potion in my rotation... which they said that they couldn't figure out how I managed that with those ingredients. Nevermind that I don't need my wand to make shit happen. It was fun to fuck with those tightwads."

Draco glared.

"Sorry, Draco. I never did like Potions, you know."

"Remedial Potions?" Draco drawled and Harry blushed.

"That was fake, Draco! Snape was trying to teach me Occlumency... and I failed that, too."

"Occlumency?" Joel muttered.

Draco and Harry looked at each other, before looking at Joel. "I never really learned it, though I should have."

"Really?"

"Yeah... if I had learned it, my godfather might not have died," Harry said, and his eyes dropped to the floor.

Joel stood up and walked to Harry. "Don't, Harry. Don't feel guilty. You couldn't have known... and you didn't cast the spell."

"I led my friends into a trap, almost got myself and them killed, and Sirius died when he came to rescue me. I can't see how that isn't my fault."

"It's not, Harry. It was a trap. You're not psychic."

"I saw a fake vision and believed it was true, if I learned Occlumency that wouldn't have happened."

Joel gave him a look. "Harry... we know what you did... in the battle."

Harry winced a little at the mention of it.

"Sorry, but Harry, you sacrificed yourself for everyone. You always put everyone before you and we all know it. And if that... vision... didn't work, Voldemort would have tried another way to draw you in. And it would have been real people at his mercy."

Harry gave him a look and couldn't think of a retort for that. He pulled out Draco's chart and pretended to be writing something down as Joel stared at him.

"You were drinking last night," Joel commented, and Draco stared at him, too.

Harry's forehead furrowed, looking at him. "How do you that?"

"You should brush after taking a Hangover Potion. It smells almost as distinct as the alcohol."

Harry frowned. "I had a rough night... but I drink every night... it just varies in amount."

Joel's eyes widened and he frowned. "Oh, Harry."

Harry couldn't look at him or Draco. He sat down and stared at the floor. "I need to sleep sometime, Joel. I was going insane and just needed to take the edge off. I still get the dreams, but I don't panic... I'm just numb to it."

"No wonder you're getting worse. It's not helping you, Harry."

"Nothing can help me, Joel," he whispered.

"I don't believe that," he said, and Harry noticed he shared a look with Draco. "If there's anyone that can overcome this, it's you and Draco."

Harry blushed at Joel lumping Draco in with him. He still couldn't look at Draco. He hated how weak he was, when he knew Draco went through so much more. Over five years of torture for him... and, for Harry, it was just five years of sleepless nights and panic attacks. It was only getting worse. He started shaking as the anxiety and shame built up. He drew a few tense breaths, and the cylinder hit him in the arm, again.

"Oww," he muttered and looked at Draco, who held out his hand, again.

Harry placed his hand into his, and Joel came over and offered his out, too. Harry took it. "Breathe, Harry. Don't think you're alone. You have people who support you."

Harry took a few deep breaths and nodded. He looked into Draco's eyes and calmed down. He shimmied out of their grips and mumbled an embarrassed, "Thanks."

"Don't worry about it, Harry. I'm sorry... I have to go. But I'll be here tomorrow... for Elsa's appointment."

Harry nodded. "That's good."

"I'm not sure I'll see you tomorrow, but I'll stop by when I can, Draco," Joel said with a smile.

"Okay," Draco said, and Harry smiled as Joel left. 

Draco had never really spoken in front of anyone else before. Harry wished he knew when it was alright to ask Draco things. He wanted to know why he did certain things. The obvious answer was torture, but he wanted to know what they made him do to act the way he does.

"What are you thinking about?"

"That you talked to Joel."

"You trust him," Draco said.

"I'm not the best judge of character, now am I?"

"Yes, you are."

Harry gave him an incredulous look.

"One incident is hardly an indictment against your instincts, Harry."

"I trusted Moody, got Cedric killed. I trusted Dumbledore and he lied to me. I didn't trust Snape, and he was on my side. Yeah, great judge of character."

"You trust me," Draco said, quietly and Harry stared into his soft, grey eyes. "No one else did... or would have. Weasley and Granger are close enough to be your brother and sister. Don't let that bastard mar your great instincts."

"I still let my guard down so much to... that bastard."

"We're you drinking?"

"That's not an excuse."

"It's an explanation. You saw someone with lust in their eyes, and it's what you wanted. He didn't hate you. He was a predator, a skilled one, who obviously lured countless muggles to his torture house. Did you consider that he might have used pheromones? Did he smell good?"

Harry paled. He did. "You... you think?"

"It's possible, but even if he didn't, you are not responsible for what happened."

He looked down. "If I hadn't had that shot...."

"Maybe he would have done something else, or maybe you would have overpowered him. Who would have figured out what he had been doing, if you escaped? It'd be someone else trapped in that place, or he'd probably still be doing it right now. You stopped him from hurting anyone else."

Harry looked down and tears fell. "By pure accident."

"By ability. That was your magic... unless you've been treating me by accident?"

"I understand it, now. It's still unheard of."

"Maybe. But it's still your magic, and I'd be bed-ridden for the rest of my short life."

Harry looked at him, and a shiver of fear ran through him. "I'm glad you're... getting better."

"I am, too. I never thought I'd trust anyone, again," Draco whispered. "But I trust you and even Joel. He's just an innocent kid. Never seen anyone die, never been abused or tortured. He's doesn't have a mean bone in his body, that's for sure."

Harry grimaced and considered that. "He's a great kid, but I don't think he's as innocent as you think. I mean... he knows about panic attacks and how to help me through them. He's not financially stable, and he was so afraid at first."

"Hmm... interesting theory. Why don't you ask him?"

Harry shook his head. "Asking those kinds of personal questions opens the door to him asking me questions back."

"He's got your scan, Harry. Doesn't he know some things?"

"It's not that cut and dry. Just barely visible five-year-old injuries," he responded, subconsciously rubbing his wrist.

Draco held out his hand, and Harry took it, feeling stabler. He breathed in and out, trying to relax, but it was so hard. Everyone knew his secret. Someone would tell. He tightened up, but so did Draco. The panic was building, again.

"Harry, look at me," he commanded, and Harry did. "It's going to be alright, calm down."

Harry shook his head. "No, it's not. I-I told Ron and Hermione."

"Oh, Harry. I'm proud of you."

"You are?" he whispered, plateauing out of his spiraling anxiety.

"Yes. I know how difficult it was for you. Did they handle it okay?"

He nodded. "As expected... for the most part. Hermione caught on immediately, like she suspected something, and Ron figured it out, eventually. I didn't... give the details."

"You still told them, that's a great step, Harry."

"Yeah... I guess. Ron was easier than I thought to talk to. Hermione was the one who was building up my anxiety... wanting me to get help."

"I can see that. Weasley doesn't think you should?"

"He didn't push. He said that he was glad that I found a job that I enjoy. He saved me from Hermione's lecture about mind healers."

"Really? Well, I guess he's good for something then," he drawled and, as Harry gave him a look, added, "He's not here to be offended."

"Funny... he said the same thing last night," Harry retorted. "Called you a ferret."

Draco laughed. "Some things never change."

Harry lowered his head. "I t-told them about you. They guessed about... the other stuff. Sorry."

"I can live with it... as long as he doesn't call me a ferret to my face. I might chuck the cylinder at him."

Harry met his eyes. "That's all you're worried about?"

"That's all, Harry. Really... the only thing that I... w-worry about..." Draco began, stammering. "...is g-going b-back."

"Oh, Draco. I'll never let that happen."

"I know. It doesn't mean that it doesn't scare me."

Harry took his hand. "I know."

After a few minutes, Harry offered a massage, and Draco agreed eagerly. He gave him a full rub down, head to toe, before he went to his other appointments. He ate lunch with Draco and, after his appointments, he adjusted Draco's back and shoulders. It was almost time for the last round of healing, but he would talk to him tomorrow about it. Harry was thinking of Ron's investigation and the mystery of Draco's fall.

"Draco?"

"Mmmm..." he mumbled half-awake as his hands massaged him.

"Can I go to your house?"

Draco's eyes shot open and he looked at him. "Why?"

"Hermione said I couldn't go without your permission."

Draco analyzed him for a second and said, "Yes. The wards will let you enter." He closed his eyes, as though he needed no other answer.

Harry finished healing him for the day and bid him goodbye. He went home first and located his dusty wand, just in case, and his Auror kit. He wanted more protection going back to Malfoy Manor. It looked different in the light as he Apparated just outside of the gates. They opened for him without a spell. Strange as he could feel the wards were there to keep people out. He cautiously made his way through the courtyard to the terrace. He stared at the bloodstain on the ground for a few minutes before he went into the Manor.

A Homenum Revelio assured him that he was alone. The house was dust-covered and neglected for several years. He spelled the lights on and briefly searched the main floor was nothing but social areas, ballroom, several sitting rooms and dining rooms, a library nearly larger than the one in Hogwarts, and an industrial-size kitchen that was recently used, Draco or the unknown house elf must have used it when he got out of Azkaban.

Harry looked at the floor and found something intriguing. The dust remained on the floor in some areas. Harry found two-wheel tracks that looked like a wheelchair and small footprints that looked like a house elf, who might be a witness to what happened. He followed the tracks all over the house and Draco, or at least the wheelchair, went to a dining room, a bathroom and the back porch that overlooks the gardens. He was about to follow the tracks into the rest of the floor, but stopped in the atrium.

Harry frowned when he saw that the wheelchair tracks did go to the main grand staircase, but there were no house elf prints. He walked up the steps to the next floor. The footprints in the dust were much more noticeable. He could see Hermione's dress shoes coming and going and another large set of boots. The standard-issue kind from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His prints went down the halls in several rooms and back. He suspected that McGrath was looking for things to steal. But no wheelchair tracks.

It was the same on the next floor and then to the attic. But the two-tracks reappeared. Someone magicked him to the top floor. Again, he found no house elf prints. Hermione and McGarth's were there. No others. Harry examined the window. It was cleaned off: no dust or evidence. He remembered his Auror spells to detect blood and found some on the top lip of the frame, like Draco had hit his head. He cast Fingerprint Detection Spells. The door and handle were clean of all prints, but Harry stuck his head out the window to see the terrace below.

He searched the outside sill and did his spells. He found several, including a bloody one. Luckily the window had an awning that protected it from rain. Harry pulled out his evidence kit and took a magical copy. He found no evidence of Draco attempting to walk or grab anything, not that he could. There was no way Draco could even stand, much less climb out a window. But the fact that the window was cleaned was interesting. But it was still circumstantial.

Where was the wheelchair? he wondered. If Draco did it himself with a wand or the house elf did it, it should still be there. But if McGrath did it, he'd want to hide the fact that Draco wasn't able to walk. Harry looked around. Vanishing a large object with separate parts would be difficult, maybe he just switched it or something. Harry carefully examined the boxes nearby and found something in the open one. He pulled out a shrunken, miniature, working wheelchair.

He put it in an evidence bag and then followed McGrath's footsteps through the bedrooms. He did find many items missing from their dusty spots. Drawers and wardrobes opened. Fool, he should have cleaned the whole house.

On the second floor, he found Draco's room. He knew it immediately. Toy dragons were on the walls, his clothes were thrown about the room (apparently he was very messy), and there was a picture of him on the wall with various sharp objects thrown at it. Draco's school chest was against the wall, and he decided to snoop and open it. Inside was his Nimbus 2001, his school books and clothes, mostly shrunk to fit. He didn't find anything interesting.

But then he went over to his bed as there was a letter on the bed table. It said, "My dearest Draco" on the front. Harry knew it was a letter from his mother. Oh fuck. He didn't dare touch it. It was for Draco. He'd have to find some way to tell Draco it. He sat on the bed and rubbed his mouth. He had a partial letter from his mother to Remus, and it made him feel a lot of painful things. The report said that she had killed herself. He needed to leave the room.

When he got up, he heard something. Harry lifted the mattress and found a leather-bound notebook. Draco Lucius Malfoy was itched into the front. A journal. Draco's journal. He turned it sideways and could see that the pages with ink on them went almost to the bottom. He had written a lot. Harry had never been so tempted. He wanted to know what Draco wrote, but this was a break of trust that he wouldn't do. He almost put it back, but decided to bring it with him.

He went back downstairs and back out to investigate the scene below. He went past it to look up at the window above. He imagined the photo image in Draco's file that he saw. Draco's barely moving body, the way he was angled. He must have gone headfirst and then rotated enough to land on his hip, which was badly cracked. What an uncertain way to die. He thought of Draco's declaration on the first day: I'll make sure to do it right. Draco wouldn't do this. It'd be a long, painful death.

Harry looked at the spot, again. He froze. There was something missing—his shadow. In the photo, McGrath's long shadow was on the ground. Harry looked up. The sun was behind the manor, setting in the west, and the house faced the east and rising sun. Holy fucking Merlin. McGrath took that photo in the morning! And Hermione had come at high noon that one day! But Harry came at the time McGrath claimed he came. He fucking did it! He tried to kill Draco or minimally let him suffer in agonizing pain for hours or days. And he was going to pay for it, he promised himself.