Work Header

Only If For A Night

Work Text:

It was all Ron’s fault, really. Honestly, what else was going to happen on his best mate’s stag night?


You couldn’t expect anything else.


Ron’s original stag party was supposed to be a trip to Benidorm, the traditional thing to do for any soon-to-be groom, and then Neville only had to go and break his bloody leg and was rendered unable to fly by aeroplane, so the plan had to be changed. They stayed in London and went out on the town to all of the pubs and clubs they could find until they had to be thrown out and denied access to all of the rest.


“Ron,” Seamus had slurred, holding out a finger at him as they took refuge from the rain at the base of a large tree they’d found. “Herm- Hermona- Hermione is fit, you’re right there, but… You’ve only ever had her! You don’t know any different… She’s all you know, you know..?”


“Fuck off,” Ron had replied, dribbling down his shirt. “She’s the love of my life! You wouldn’t understand, okay? You don’t have someone that… Special.”


He and Seamus had argued for a while after that, and Harry had just sat there, watching them in amusement. He was getting wet from the rain since George had taken the best and driest spot under the tree, but he didn’t really mind. He couldn’t really see, since the rain had gotten onto his glasses lenses and mucked up his vision, but he didn’t mind that either. He felt like he was having the time of his life.


“I think it’s okay,” Harry spoke up. “That Seamus hasn’t found anybody special yet.” He completely missed the way Dean laughed quietly behind him.


“Oh. Oh, yes! Of course,” Ron assured him. “I mean, yes. Yeah. It’s okay to be twenty-four and single.” He pat Harry softly on the back a couple times.


Harry and Ginny had broken up not at all long after the war. Hermione had gotten with Ron, and Neville had gotten with Luna, and Harry had… left Ginny. That definitely wasn’t something that the Weasley family was particularly ecstatic about, but they accepted it soon enough. It had happened simply enough, he had sat her down and told her that it wasn’t working out for them both, and that he needed some time for himself, and she had told him that it was all okay because in honesty, she was much more attracted to Padma Patil than him. Harry really hadn’t been expecting that at all. He supposed he’d always been a tiny bit oblivious.


“It’s not like you need anybody anyway.” George grinned at him. “The Boy Who Lived doesn’t really need a companion to go along with him.”


“Yeah.” Dean chuckled. “Doubt just anybody could be good enough to match with Harry.”


“That’s why I thought he’d be so good with Gin…” Ron whined. “Who would have thought she was gay?


“Nothing wrong with that,” Seamus said. “Right Ron?”


“No… Nothing wrong, it’s just… Where will I ever get nieces and nephews now?”


George smacked him over the side of the head. “Yeah, not like you have six nieces and nephews already, right?”


“You know what I mean.” Ron sighed, and they all looked at each other in confusion because no, nobody knew what he meant.


“You’ll find someone, Harry,” Dean comforted him, and Harry briefly wondered whether or not he asked. He didn’t want to be rude, though, and smiled back at him.


“Thanks,” he said. “You will too, Dean.”


Dean and Seamus looked at each other and then away, clearly biting their tongues, but Harry was none the wiser to it. Harry snagged the bottle of whiskey off of Ron and took a long swig of it, the liquid going right down his throat. He didn’t have a chance to taste it.


This was about the time that night then started to spin rapidly out of control.


“You know what would be fun?” George said, gasping at his new probably tremendously idea. “Does anyone have a broom on them?”


“We’re in muggle London!” Dean whispered at him. “Not a good idea! We’ll attract too much attention.”


“We’re already all dressed as different fucking foods,” Seamus said. “You’re a giant hotdog!”


“Shhhh!” Ron now had a giant grin on his face. “That- Now that is a fantastic idea!”


Hermione would have all of their hides for this.


With a few Accio ’s and all of them struggling to get on to the brooms in the first place, they checked over Neville, who was completely unconscious a couple of branches up, before leaving him there with a kick. It was dark out, Harry reasoned, nobody would see them.


He didn’t really count on the fact that it was a Saturday night, and everybody and their mum was also out on the town, apparently. The others seemed to notice first, and stopped over in a small alley a while back. Harry, however, didn’t really get the memo. He continued flying because God, it had been way too fucking long since he’d been out like this. He missed flying so much, it was a wonder that he didn’t do it as much anymore. He’d gotten so far that he could see the Eye by now, something that the Dursley’s always told him he wasn’t allowed to see when he was younger. This was the first time he took a proper look at it, he realised, and gazed at it in awe. As well as he could’ve done, anyway, since his glasses were still a mess from the ongoing rain, the pizza costume was kind of coming down over his eyes anyway, and it was still dark out, and–


He swerved quickly. He’d apparently gotten too low down in the traffic and almost flown right into a double-decker. He gasped, trying to regain his breath, and completely missed the fact that a giant orange lorry was charging his way. He was sat still, oblivious to the fact that the booming horn coming from the lorry was directed at him, and didn’t look until it was a fair bit too late. Harry squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact, and got thrown off of his broom. The lorry had hit him a fair bit less hard than Harry had expected, but he’d been smashed to the ground regardless. Muggles were rushing out of their cars now, trying to help, and trying to make sense of what the fuck had just happened and where the fuck this messy haired, bladdered kid dressed as a giant pizza slice had just come from. Harry recalled hearing a lot of voices, dials on new, up to date muggle devices and the words blood, worried, please.


“I’m okay,” Harry told them, much to all of their surprise. He held a hand out to his side and attempted to push himself up to his feet.


“Whoa, whoa,” a lady said, placing her hands on his arms gently. “Stay where you are, the ambulance will arrive soon.”


“Ambulance?” Harry furrowed his brows and shook his head. “I don’t need an ambulance, but thank you.”


“You just got hit by a bleeding lorry, mate. I’m pretty sure that you need to see a doctor,” another man told him.


He pushed himself up against their wishes anyway, standing up and feeling a blistering hot pain shoot through the left side of his body, both of his hands and his entire head. He supposed that the head thing was just because of the whiskey, though.


“Sir, please…” The woman frowned, pleading with him. “Let us get you some help.” She was speaking to him as if he was some invalid, and Harry concluded that he just wasn’t having that.


“Listen,” he said, grinning and then stopping immediately. That hurt his face. “I’m fine. I’ve literally like… died before. I think I can handle… That. ” He waved his hand dismissively at the lorry, as if it were just a small child’s toy that had hit him, instead of a… Harry squinted his eyes. A Sainsbury’s delivery lorry. Huh. He was kind of glad that he’d incapacitated that driver. He’d always preferred Tesco’s growing up.


“You’ve… You’ve what?” The woman’s eyes were wide, and she let go of him now.


“Yeah.” Harry nodded at her, stepping back from the crowd that now seemed to be shrinking. “So.. Just so you know… I’m kind of invincible.”


She watched him step back even more. And even more. And even more, before she tried to run towards him, screaming ‘ wait!’  Harry realised why a tiny bit too late.


Huh, he thought, feeling the air rush against his body. I think I may be falling over the Westminster bridge. He felt the harsh and painful smack of the water over his body and his last thought before passing out completely was, awesome.




Harry woke up very slowly, unsure of where he was. Everything was white, and bright, and smelled frankly disgusting.


“Kings Cross,” he whispered. His throat felt dry and hoarse.


“Not quite,” replied a familiar voice. “Where do you think you’re travelling to?”


Harry took a second to blink, his eyes stinging. Every part of his body ached like fuck, he didn’t think that he could move a single limb. He felt a cool hand on his arm and groaned quietly.


“Heaven,” Harry croaked.


“I would say not just yet, but with your track record, Mr. Potter, I should say not ever.”


Harry moved his gaze over to see who was tending him and almost jumped out of his goddamn skin.


“Malfoy,” Harry said. He was staring at him hard, and the machine noticed his heart rate increase a considerable amount.


“Correct, Mr. Potter. I’m Healer Malfoy, and I will be treating you for the time in which you’ll be staying with us in St. Mungo’s hospital.”


“Am I in Janus Thickey?” Harry shook his head. “There’s no way you became a Healer.”


“I would like to avoid any personal issues that you may have with me, Mr. Potter. I was the only Healer available when you came in, and so I’m the one who has your case now. Don’t worry, I’m not going to poison you, or whatever it is you may think I’m going to get up to.”


Malfoy looked… good, in a way, Harry thought to himself. He’d obviously gotten his act together, over the years after Hogwarts and the War. He seemed a little tired, though, but Harry supposed that was expected from Healers nowadays. The man’s angered appearance and overall professional demeanour probably didn’t help how he looked, and it made Harry feel a little pissed off that he still didn’t look ugly despite all of that. He seemed just about as happy to be treating Harry as Harry was to be treated by him. He paused his train of thought, his eyes widening.


“Fuck, fuck, fuck! What happened? Where are the others, is everyone okay?” Harry rambled, sitting up quickly. He groaned in pain as soon as he did, his face twisting. Malfoy placed his palms on Harry’s shoulders, pressing him gently down in the bed, and Harry hissed at the awful sensation again.


“I would advise not moving around too much for now, Mr. Potter. Do you remember what happened?” Malfoy asked, fetching him a glass of water. Harry gingerly sipped at it, though his arm ached as he held it up.


“I remember… There was a lorry, and then there was a lot of people around me. And then…”




“I fell off of the fucking bridge, didn’t I?” Harry sighed. “I’m such an idiot. I didn’t want last night to turn out like that, I didn’t even—”


“Sorry?” Malfoy interrupted him. “Last night?”


Harry blinked slowly at him. “Yes?”


“Mr. Potter, you’ve been here for about a week now,” Malfoy told him slowly. “Don’t worry, you didn’t miss the wedding. They postponed it for you.”


“A week? ” Harry gaped, staring at him as if he thought that Malfoy was going to tell him that he was for some reason lying.


“Yes, but that’s honestly a rather short amount of time for something that you’ve been through. Anybody else, they’d probably have died.” Malfoy took the glass of water off of him. “Aren’t we lucky that you’re Harry Potter?”


Harry didn’t respond to him, taking long breaths. “Where are my friends?”


“Oh, they’ve been in and out every day, don’t worry. They’ve not forgotten you yet. And neither have the general wizarding public, apparently. You’re all over the Prophet. We’ve had to move you into a separate room because people kept injuring themselves, hoping to get in to be in a bed next to you.”


Harry looked down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry for that trouble.”


Malfoy looked at him for a second, like he didn’t know exactly what to say. “Yes, well. Can’t blame you for your little fan club, really.”


“When can my friends come back?” Harry asked.


“Well, visiting hours start at six in the morning. It’s currently three.”


“Three?” Harry frowned. “That’s why you look so tired.”


Malfoy’s jaw dropped slightly, and he turned to him, one eyebrow raised. “Not all of us have the luxury of sleeping for a week straight.”


“The luxury ? Malfoy, I—”


He scoffed. “What you did was get so drunk that you couldn’t remember your own name, fly over muggle London with absolutely no charms to protect yourself from their view, and stay stationary for long enough that a lorry fucking hit you because you were daydreaming! And then you only fell because you walked over!”


Harry shut his mouth, pursing his lips and looking down. He didn’t want to admit that Malfoy was right, because really, he was right, but he didn’t want to say that he wasn’t right. Malfoy would just go and prove him wrong again. He cleared his throat. “You sound like a disappointed wife.”


Malfoy tensed his jaw, and he began to sort through some potions. “You sound like you’d be experienced in that area. Here.” He held out a small brown bottle that Harry didn’t trust. “Drink.


“The whole bottle?” Harry asked.


“I wouldn’t give you a bottle you weren’t supposed to drink and trust you not to overdose.” Malfoy stepped towards the bed. “Do you need help?”


“I don’t—” Harry sighed. “I don’t. I’m okay.”


“Okay,” Malfoy said, but he seemed unconvinced. He placed the bottle into Harry’s palm, as if it were a method of helping him, then continued to speak. “I suppose you’ve not heard of Longbottom, then?”


“Neville?” Harry asked, worried now. He hesitated to bring the bottle to his lips, trying to ignore what felt like lightning running up his arm. “What happened?”


“He only came home yesterday. Had been missing since this infamous stag, apparently. Couldn’t find his way anywhere in the muggle neighbourhood, didn’t know where to go or who to ask. I suppose that suspicious looking cast on his leg didn’t help his case,” Malfoy explained. “Drink.”


“Why didn’t he just apparate back?”


“He said he didn’t know whether that was possible to do between the muggle world and the wizarding world,” he said. “ Drink.”


“Fine!” Potter exclaimed, raising his aching arm upwards to tip the bottle into his mouth.


“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” Malfoy said. “Now, you should have more rest, so I’ll leave you alone. I suspect you’ll need some for when all of your lot comes to visit you in…” He checked his watch. “About two hours and twenty-two minutes.”


“Thanks.” Harry nodded at him, taking his glasses off and placing them on the table next to his bed. He watched as a blurry Malfoy walked out of the room and turned off the main lamp, leaving him in darkness. It was then that he was left wondering why he’d had his glasses on if he’d been unconscious for a bloody week.




Harry didn’t like dreaming. He never really had. He can’t remember the last time he’d had a dream that didn’t end up with someone getting hurt, after all, and that kind of puts a damper on the whole aspect. He knew that he didn’t have a lot of time to sleep before the cavalry arrived (i.e, the Weasleys,) and so tried to get in as much as he could, which was probably a terrible idea, to be honest.


Harry was stood in the centre of a dark and dusty corridor. He wasn’t sure where exactly he was, he didn’t recognise anything particular about the corridor, but he felt uneasy about it. It was breezy, yet there were no windows anywhere he could see, and no doors either. He was trapped, he realised slowly.


He turned around, looking for help, when he saw two feminine figures standing at the end of the hall. They both had on robes and Hogwarts uniforms, but they were bald and their faces were disfigured. Harry stepped towards the two figures, seeing that they were both Slytherins, and tried to speak to them, though found that no noise was coming out of his mouth. The girls’ eyes opened and their eyeballs tumbled out of the sockets, only to float up towards the ceiling. They didn’t stop floating upwards and Harry realised they were underwater, immediately starting to panic. He thrashed his limbs about to try and rise to the surface but it wasn’t working, he wasn’t moving an inch. His eyes still on the girls, their faces split open achingly slow, and snakes swam out of their skulls, and one out of their mouths. They weren’t aquatic snakes, yet they were perfectly fine in the water and Harry wondered why he couldn’t be fine in the water as well. The snakes swam towards him, circling him, and just as Harry thought that he was going to finally drown and have the pressure on his chest relieved, the snakes all aimed with teeth bared to take bites out of his head.


Harry screamed but he couldn’t move to fight back, he couldn’t do anything. They were biting away slowly at his scalp, and he could feel venom spreading through his skin, could feel every tiny piece of pain as if it were all real.


“Potter!” Harry heard inside the dream, and looked up because that seemed like a reasonable thing to do. “Potter!”


Harry frowned, because why wasn’t this person helping him get away from the snakes instead of just yelling his name? “Hello?”


“Open your eyes, Potter, can you do that for me?” Harry thought his eyes were open already. He felt a sharp pain across his cheek and gasped, seeing white again.


“Ow!” Harry brought his palm up to his cheek and looked around the room slowly, trying to recollect himself. “Malfoy?” he asked. “Did you just slap me?”


“You wouldn’t wake up,” Malfoy said to him dismissively. He looked nonchalant, his face unbothered and straight, but he was sweating, Harry noticed, and breathing almost as heavily as Harry was himself. “Are you alright?”


“Bad dream,” Harry said as if it explained everything.


“I understand. Have you considered taking dreamless sleep?”


“Yeah.” He nodded. “I have done, before, but I gave up on it. They’re not that bad…”


Malfoy squinted at him. “Potter, your heart rate increased at such a rate that I thought you went into cardiac arrest.”


“Well… I’m alright, so. Don’t worry.”


“When I’m your Healer, it’s my job to worry.” Malfoy handed him his glass of water. “Your friends will be here in a while. You were only out for two hours… If you’d like, you could go back to sleep and I—”


“No,” Harry told him. “I need to see my friends.”


Malfoy nodded, though he didn’t look very happy about Harry’s decision. “Drink your water,” he told him. “You sound like you’ve eaten sandpaper.”




“You’re welcome.” Malfoy stared at him. Harry looked around and pulled the glass from his lips.






“You’re staring at me,” Harry said.


Malfoy scoffed. “I’m not.”


“You are.”


“I’m observing. It’s important for your health.”


“Okay, but can you do that a little less… Creepily?” Harry laughed weakly, and apparently, it wasn’t all that funny to Malfoy.


“Call if you need anything,” he said, before stomping out of the room.




“Harry bleeding Potter!” Harry heard a screech from down the corridor as soon as the clock struck six AM. Uh oh.


Hermione charged into the room with her footsteps as heavy as her anger. Ron dwindled in behind her, looking as if he’d already had his telling off. Harry wasn’t sure if he was ready for his own quite yet.


“Hey…” said Harry warily. He was far too weary to even attempt to say anything else to Hermione when she was in a mood like this.


Hey? Harry, you almost died ! You were in a bleeding coma, for crying out loud!”


“To be honest, I think in comparison to the other choices I’ve had, falling over Westminster bridge seems like a pretty cool way to go.”


“Do not get me started!” She pointed a stern finger at him. Harry had thought she already had gotten started. “Broomsticks! Flying over muggle London on broomsticks! You thought that this would be a good idea? A normal idea?”


“It wasn’t my idea, to be fair.”


“And then staying still- getting hit by a lorry! Refusing help from those poor people who saw you! They all had to be Obliviated, you know? That’s not a very fun thing to experience! Though I suppose in the end, that was a good thing. Now they don’t have to remember seeing you almost killing yourself!”


“I think that’s a bit dramatic…” Harry gulped. “I’m fine. Aren’t I?”


“Yes, but…” She stopped talking and wailed a little bit, running over to his side and enveloping him in a tight hug that hurt Harry’s arms. He didn’t mind. “Oh, Harry! We were all so worried!”


“I’m fine.” Harry chuckled and rubbed her back gently. He smiled at her guiltily when she pulled back from him. “I’m sorry you had to postpone the wedding.”


“Oh, don’t be daft!” She shook her head and sat down on the edge of the bed.


“We obviously couldn’t have the wedding without my best man there, right?” Ron grinned at him, walking over and sitting in the chair that was positioned next to his bed.


“I should bloody well hope not.” Harry laughed. “Where are the others?”


“Charlie’s back home, so mum and dad, and George and Gin are there with him. We didn’t tell them that you’ve woken up, though. They’d all come over and take the moment away from Charlie,” Ron explained.


“That’d be pretty difficult to do,” Harry said. “How long is he staying for?”


“A week,” Ron answered happily. “He arrived two days ago. A complete surprise.”


“I’ll bet,” said Harry enthusiastically. He had met Charlie before, but he’d found himself getting more and more interested in him as time went on. After all, the stories about him were unbeatable.


He’d been at Fred’s funeral. Harry hadn’t dared speak to him there. Nobody really spoke much at all. Just cried.


“Luna is looking after Neville,” Hermione added. “So they couldn’t come.”


“And we haven’t heard from Dean and Seamus in a couple of nights.” Ron looked down and Harry frowned.


“Are they alright?” Harry asked urgently. “We should go and see—”


“They’re fine, Harry,” Hermione interrupted him, giving an awkward look towards Ron. “They… Need their privacy for a while, I think.”


“You think. Come on, Hermione, we need to go and see if they’re okay! Has something happened?”


“No! I- Ugh, fine! Ron walked in on them!”


Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “Huh?”


“He walked in on them , Harry. As in… In bed.”


Harry’s eyes widened considerably. “Oh. Oh, wow. With who?”


Hermione shut her eyes and shook her head as if she couldn’t possibly fathom anymore of Harry’s stupidity. Ron snorted. “With each other , mate.”


His jaw dropped and he gawked at them, catching flies and dust and fuck-all in his mouth. “No way,” he said.


“Yep,” Ron told him affirmatively. “The whole gay sex debacle. In the butt—”


“Mr. Weasley.” Malfoy was in the room again now, holding a clipboard to his chest and looking all professional, as he did. “Whatever you’re talking about, I have to ask you to stop. My patient’s heart rate just went through the roof.”


“Malfoy,” Ron greeted him rudely.


“Mr. Weasley. Mrs. Weasley-Granger to be.” Malfoy nodded his head down at them politely. “Mr. Potter seems to be on track. His stats are all looking like they’re on their way to perfect condition again. He must consider himself very lucky. The driver of the Sainsbury’s lorry was not as fortunate.”


Harry immediately sat up in the bed. “What?” he asked. “Is he okay? What happened? Is he hurt?”


“She, unfortunately, sustained heavy damage to her brain when your broom went through the windshield and smacked her right in the forehead. She will live. She’s being treated here, as a victim of a UMI on a muggle.”


“UMI?” Harry queried.


“Unfortunate Magical Incident,” Malfoy explained swiftly. “The treatment we have for her will surely be better than what they could offer at a muggle hospital anyway, so we can be assured that her recovery will be fast and sufficient.”


“What, because at a muggle hospital it would be so much worse?” Ron challenged him and Malfoy furrowed his brows, his mouth stuttering open in what looked to be an attempt to continue speaking but couldn’t find the words to bring to his mouth.


“No, I– That isn’t–”


“Ron,” Hermione took hold of the man’s hand and squeezed it,  making him recoil. “I’m sure Healer Malfoy didn’t mean anything hurtful by those words.”


Harry frowned at her, wondering what the fuck had possessed her to suddenly run to Malfoy’s aid. This was the same Malfoy that they all remembered from school, wasn’t it? You know, Death Eater, asshole, bully extraordinaire?


“My condolences, regardless.” Malfoy kept his head held high. He walked closer to Harry’s bed and gave him a thorough once over his body, and Harry found it difficult to not pull the sheets back up over his bare chest in response. “Are you experiencing any nausea?”


“No,” Harry said. But I think I’m going loopy with the way that Hermione is acting.


“Any other pain?”


“No more than when I woke up.” He shrugged. “When can I leave?”


“I want to keep you in just for a couple more nights. We need to see how well your motor skills are performing, among other things. And if the potion continues to show difficulties, I’m afraid you’re going to have to have casts on both arms. With a lot of difficulties around the hospital with Brackium Emendo , we’ve been advised to put a stop on using that spell for the time being.”


“I’m sorry, Harry,” said Hermione pitifully.


“Taught us a lesson, though, hasn’t it?” Ron joked.


“I should hope so,” Malfoy commented, fiddling about with a drip that went directly into Harry’s arm, underneath his skin. It made him feel a bit woozy, looking at it. “I’ll come and fetch you later, once Mr. and Mrs. Weasley-Granger has left.”


“Why can’t they be here?” Harry asked with a grumble.


“You’ll need your absolute focus, Mr. Potter. I have a feeling that you won’t want your friends here with this discussion. Please let me know when you’re ready.” He gave off a little smirk, a smirk that made Harry instantly uneasy, and not to mention suspicious. Harry didn’t let his eyes wander away from his Healer’s back as he watched him walk away from the bed and out of the room. What did that mean ?


“I don’t like the sound of that. Can you just not leave, so I don’t have to go through whatever the hell he’s on about?” Harry requested, and Ron and Hermione both laughed as if he’d said some kind of joke. He definitely hadn’t.


“I’m sure whatever he has in mind for you won’t kill you, Harry,” Hermione reassured him with a dying chuckle.


“Since when have you been his number one fan?” Harry asked.


She scowled at him. “What do you mean?”


“You keep defending him. Not as if he really deserves it, is it?”


“I know what he’s getting at.” Ron nodded, shrugging his shoulders at her.


She rolled her eyes. “Malfoy has become a Healer, Harry. You must understand the lengths that people must go to in order to become Healers, it doesn’t just happen overnight, and definitely not with people like Malfoy.”


“What, he went through a bit of training, so we’re just supposed to trust him again?”


Harry gestured at Ron in agreement. “Getting qualified doesn’t mean that he’s suddenly all good.”


“You’re both being stupid. I mean, do you both think that Healers don’t have background checks? These are the people that the public trust with their lives! Malfoy must have gone through Hell, trying to get the superiors to allow him to get training, let alone work at St. Mungos!” She finished speaking with an exasperated tone, jutting out her jaw at them both and pursing her lips with anger. Her legs were now crossed over and she angled her body away from Ron.


“Alright, calm down.” Ron held his hands up in surrender. “It’s not that big of a deal.”


“I just think that we should stop treating him like a criminal and appreciate how hard he’s worked to get into this position,” she told them bitterly, adding even more to Harry’s confusion because, well, he did used to be a criminal.


“Sorry.” Harry shook his head at Hermione. “I don’t think that it’s that easy to forgive everything that he’s done. He may have been a child, but helping Voldemort caused so many deaths—”


“We all felt that loss, Harry, but he was forced to help. I would have thought that you of all people would understand what it’s like to be influenced by authoritative figures without understanding what it was all for.”


Harry gave a grimace, looked away from her. “That’s different.”


“Is it? Because your actions led to good and his led to bad? You were both naive, regardless. It’s been years, Harry, and I—”


“I think you should leave,” Harry interrupted her, and her eyes went wider than he’d ever seen him before - as if her upper eyelids had just completely vanished. “I’m going to get some rest.”




“Hermione.” Ron put a hand on her arm to stop her from speaking anymore. “Lets go.”


Harry turned his head so that he didn’t have to see them leave. He grit his teeth as he listened to the door close and tried not to clench his fists - he’d found that it hurt his arms incredibly when he did that.


He didn’t call for Malfoy to tell him that Ron and Hermione had left - he didn’t want to see him again.




“Mr. Potter,” Harry heard a couple of hours later, lying in exactly the same position that he had put himself in when his friends had gone off after Harry got himself into a bit of a strop. He rolled his eyes at the ugly familiarity of Malfoy’s voice, cutting through his cozy private room and making it anything but cozy and private. “You didn’t call for me.”


“I didn’t.”


“Did you not hear me before, when I asked you to—”


Harry huffed, refusing to turn over and look at the man he was supposed to be trusting his recovery with. “I heard you.”


“I see.” Malfoy tutted, and Harry heard him close the door. “Well, luckily for you, I decided to check on you.”


Lucky for me , Harry repeated sarcastically in his mind. He rolled his eyes. “What were you going to do?”


“An overall physical check. We’re going to see to those arms, and whether or not you’re able to walk,” Malfoy told him again. “And I’m going to need to ask you some routine questions.”


“Like what?” Harry grumbled, still not looking at him.


“About you. I assure you, they’re quite simple and easy to answer,” Malfoy affirmed him while snapping on some blue rubber gloves. He withdrew his wand from the left pocket of his nicely fitting trousers and he waved it, and suddenly his clipboard and a quill were floating in the air. He smiled down at Harry slyly. “May I?”


With an angry grumble, Harry turned himself over and held out one of his arms, the arm closest to Malfoy. “Make it quick,” he said.


“Of course.” Malfoy placed one palm on his shoulder and the other at his elbow, and Harry hissed at the sudden harsh coldness of the gloves. “Do you smoke, Mr. Potter?”


“No,” Harry told him firmly, gazing down at the fingers that were pressing into his skin and making him hurt. His eyes flickered up briefly and he realised that the quill Malfoy had summoned was a Quick Quotes Quill, and he struggled not to get annoyed.


“Do you drink?” He applied more pressure onto Harry’s shoulder blade. Harry outwardly grunted out of displeasure and pain.


“Yes,” Harry groaned out.


Malfoy seemed unconcerned at the reactions he was getting and Harry wondered about whether or not he was hurting him on purpose. “How often do you drink?”


“... Every couple of days,” Harry admitted with a little bit of shame.


Malfoy’s hand slid up to Harry’s bicep and Harry heard a little intake of breath from the Healer, but he didn’t mention it. “Do you take any drugs?”


“No,” Harry answered as the quill scratched away at the paper, irritating his ears.


“Are you sure?” Malfoy asked. He spread out his hand then, fingers wide over his upper arm. “No steroids?”


Harry frowned, confused at first before he looked up at Malfoy and saw his eyes glint with interest and admiration at Harry’s bold muscles, unmistakable without shame. A dust of a blush littered over his pale face and he licked his lips before catching himself, blinking hard. He pretended then like nothing had happened, and as if Harry had seen nothing.


“No steroids,” Harry flaunted, now feeling a little less angry and slightly more confident than he had done beforehand, his throat getting slightly and ambiguously dry at Malfoy’s impressed reaction.


“How is your diet?” Malfoy asked, leaning over Harry slightly so that he could get to his other arm. Harry didn’t ask why he didn’t just walk around to the other side of the bed. Instead, with his eyes on Malfoy’s face instead of his hands this time, he answered the question a bit more boldly than he thought, surprising even himself.


“I think you can tell that I keep myself in shape, Malfoy.”


Malfoy didn’t give any kind of bashful reaction like Harry might have been hoping for, instead, he just raised one eyebrow, taking his eyes off of Harry’s arm and looking back at him, making deep eye contact and causing Harry to realise just how close their faces were. “I’ve seen fitter,” he told him nonchalantly.


Harry licked his lips at that - unsure of what was becoming of him, why he was having this kind of reaction. “Fuck you, Malfoy,” he said harshly.


“That reminds me,” Malfoy began. He paused though, his hand smoothing over Harry’s skin as it travelled from his shoulder to his collarbone and the base of his neck, rubbing it there before finally stroking down the centre of Harry’s chest achingly slowly, and it didn’t stop moving down. Harry looked down at the hand in a flash, gulping and feeling his heart start to beat at a hundred miles a minute. “Are you sexually active?”


“Fuck,” Harry whispered, and Malfoy regrettably removed his hand - both hands - from his torso.


“Oh.” Draco turned his head to look at Harry’s monitor, which was beeping off of the charts. “Your heart rate seems incredibly high.”


“Shut up.” Harry tensed his jaw. “I could have you done for harassment, you know.”


“Could you?” Malfoy asked. “I’m sorry if you think that I overstepped my bounds, Mr. Potter, but I was just checking—”


“Supposed to just be checking my arms.”


“A physical check requires checking most places, Mr. Potter. I apologise for making you think anything else.” At the words, Harry scowled. He hadn’t imagined anything - Malfoy was definitely coming onto him. Wasn’t he? “You’ll definitely need casts.”


“I knew it. Couldn’t you have done this while I was asleep?”


“No. There was no way of knowing whether or not the potion was working until after a week, and that’s when you woke.”


“Hm.” Harry grunted in defeat. “Okay. How long will that take?”


“Casts won't take long at all. But I’m afraid until we can fix up your arms, we can’t know whether or not you can walk. It’s too risky to allow you to attempt to walk without support.”


“That’s stupid,” Harry said in annoyance.


“I really can’t advise that you try to walk, Mr. Potter. I’ve told you why.”


“I’ll be fine.” Harry sat up.


“Mr. Potter.”


Harry grunted and threw his legs over the side of the hospital bed. Malfoy sighed and rushed to his side. He put a hand against his chest and stood right in front of him. “Leave me alone, Malfoy.”


“I advise you strongly that you don’t proceed.”


“I heard you the first time.” Harry placed his bare feet onto the ground and tried to push himself up. He grunted, not at all used to using the lower part of his body. Slowly, he managed to stand up, and harsh pain struck through his lower right leg.


“Mr. Potter!” Malfoy shouted sternly, placing his palms against Harry in an attempt to push him back down onto the bed, but Harry misstepped, slipping as he tried to hop off of the leg that was in pain. Harry gripped onto the robes that Malfoy was wearing, white and pristine, (just like him,) and fell backwards onto the bed, dragging Malfoy down with him.


They toppled backwards, Malfoy laying uncomfortably on top of Harry, in between his legs. Harry panted, hanging his head back in defeat as he tried to distract himself mentally because holy shit, his entire body was hurting so much more than he thought was ever possible. Malfoy grunted as he picked his face up from lying on Harry’s chest and pushed himself up with his arms. Harry knew the expression that he was wearing all too well.


“Potter,” he spat, and Harry felt like he was back in school again. “You idiot. I specifically told you not to do that, and what did you go and do? Exactly that! You deserve whatever pain that you’re in right now, I hope that you realise that.”


“Fuck,” Harry groaned loudly, his jaw tensed and eyes screwed shut from the pain.


“I’ll get you some more painkilling potions but I am going to need you to not move a single bleeding muscle of yours.” Malfoy looked down at him with concern, reaching into his pocket and grabbing his wand. “Gryffindors never change. Merlin, you are all so stubborn! I’m a qualified Healer and yet for some reason you fail to follow my medical advice, and—”


“Malfoy,” Harry said, voice strained as he spoke through a tightly closed jaw and pressed teeth. “Get the fucking potions.”


Malfoy sighed as he waved his wand and summoned them into his free hand, still leaning above Harry and kneeling between his thighs. “Here, you’re going to have to help me on this part. Can you sit up?” Malfoy asked, placing his wand to the side. He leaned down slightly, placing a hand on the back of Harry’s neck and pulling. Harry snapped to alarm, and Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to kiss you, Potter. Can you just try and work with me here?”


“Fine.” Harry managed to make use of all of the abdominal training that he’d been through and, with Malfoy’s help, sat himself upright despite the jabs of pain he was feeling everywhere. Malfoy nodded at him in encouragement, Harry making a point to himself to not let himself think about their proximity as he watched Malfoy’s hand raise to his Harry’s lips.


“Drink,” Malfoy ordered, the rim of the bottle between his lips already, so he couldn’t exactly tell him no if he wanted to. But, ouch, he really didn’t want to, because anything would be better than this. He gulped the liquid down quickly.


“How long will it take to take effect?” Harry asked desperately.


“Not long at all. It’ll be better once you sleep with it,” he answered for him. “Do you mind if I Leviosa you, Mr. Potter?” Malfoy asked, back to using formalities. “You really need to get back into bed.”


“I don’t care,” Harry said, taking slow and deep breaths to try and help with the pain. “Do whatever you want.”


“Dangerous words,” Malfoy commented before Harry couldn’t remember anything else that happened.




The next time Harry woke up, his arms and his right leg felt heavier than they had ever done in his life. It was as if somebody had placed several dumbbells on each of the three limbs, and hurt to even think about attempting to move them. Harry groaned, wishing that he could reach up and rub his eyes to help himself get out of the slumbered trance that he was still experiencing.


“You’re awake,” Malfoy said from across the room. “How are you feeling?”


“Weighed down.” Harry huffed as he tried to move his arms and Malfoy shot him an angry look.


“Mr. Potter, if you’re going to be stupid again then this time I’m going to just let you. It’s your own health that you’re putting at risk.”


“Right,” Harry replied with little care. “When did you put these on?”


“Last night,” Malfoy answered, tinkering about with something at the desk. “You can take them off in about two weeks.”


“ Two weeks?” Harry repeated, exasperated. “That’s bullshit.”


“I apologise, but if you want them to heal properly then I’m afraid you must put up with it. Perhaps you can get all of your fans to sign them.”


“Shut up. When can I go home?”


“I still need to conduct some tests on your lower body and you should be good to go, though you must have lots of rest. You have bruised ribs as well, you know, and those don’t hold up well under pressure.”


“Just do the tests.” Harry sighed deeply. It wasn’t just the cast that made Harry pretty sure that he’d done something to his one of his legs, judging by the pain he’d felt in his right one, just before they’d… So they weren’t going to talk about all that? Harry definitely wasn’t going to bring it up. And he was not going to think about whether or not he’d actually liked the feeling of Malfoy between his legs because what the fuck.


He heard Malfoy snap on those damned rubber gloves again and looked away as he walked over, too tired and embarrassed to want to look at the man’s face. He hissed as the cold air hit him once Malfoy pulled his sheets down, exposing his body to the world without restrictions once again. He felt exposed and naked and he supposed that he actually was - only wearing underwear now that he supposed had been riddled with cleaning charms everyday. Malfoy pressed his hands onto Harry’s legs and Harry silently prayed for the moment that this would be over and done with, when he could go home, because right now that was all he could think about to keep his mind from wandering to thoughts about Malfoy between his—




“Your left leg seems to be perfectly fine. You’re incredibly lucky,” Malfoy told Harry as he looked down at the man wearing three casts and bandages around his chest. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Do you have any reason to believe that your groin would have been affected by the impact?”


Harry paused, and couldn’t help but stare up at him quickly at that. “What?”


“You broke bones all over your body, and the groin is one of the most sensitive spots. I believe it’s appropriate to check for damage, since you fell on your front, but it’s unethical to check without the patient’s consent.”


“I should bloody well hope so.” Harry brought up his left leg so that it was bent at the knee, in an attempt to try and shield himself.


“Wouldn’t you prefer to know now, in a hospital, as supposed to finding out later on that it may be painful - or impossible - to get erections?”


Harry’s eyes went wide. “What?”


“It’s not uncommon after trauma to the entirety of the body for that to have injured or affected the penis as well.”


Harry gulped. “What would you need to do?” he asked.


“I’ll check the testicles and the actual penis - and then we need to see whether or not you can gain an erection. Don't worry, I’ll leave the room for that part,” Malfoy explained professionally, though Harry could tell that he was smug about all of this.


“Fine.” Harry gave in. “Just do it.”


“Do I have permission to remove your undergarments, Mr. Potter?”


“Yes!” Harry stressed, wishing he could get on with it without talking.


Malfoy pulled down Harry’s underwear down to his knees, and Harry felt a physical need to shut his eyes to hide himself from the embarrassment.


“I’m going to move your legs, Mr. Potter,” Malfoy explained, and Harry nodded. He never wanted to be in this position again in his life. It felt as if he was going to give birth or something. He’d never felt so goddamn exposed.


And then Harry felt the Healer’s gloved fingers on his balls, and that feeling got ten times worse. Harry shuddered and his jaw dropped - fully dropped as if it had become unhinged. “Merlin,” Harry whispered to himself. When was the last time he’d even gotten touched down there by somebody that wasn’t himself?


“Everything alright?” Malfoy asked quietly. His hand was frozen in motion, as if apprehensive to attempt to move it again.


“Yes.” Harry nodded, though he felt far from alright. He was scared of this situation.


“Can I continue the examination?”


“Yes,” Harry repeated. He gulped as Malfoy started to fondle him - obviously checking for something that could be considered a red flag but holy shit, did it feel good. He’d been longing for somebody to touch him intimately for so long ever since he’d split with Ginny, never once gaining the confidence to have anything like a one night stand since. The public would recognise him - at least if they were a wizard, and it would be hard to tell if he hooked up in a mixed club. He’d been recognised in muggle-based places by wizards and muggles had began to think that he was famous by the reactions, people screaming Harry Potter! It’s Harry Potter! and expecting the muggle public not to be curious.


So now, he squeezed his eyes tight and tried to think of anything but the feeling of Malfoy’s hand on his bollocks, making him feel uncomfortable and yet sort of at the same time feel good. The man’s hand was so close to his cock and he wasn’t even hard, it shouldn’t even be a problem, but damnit, if he kept thinking like this then it would become a problem, because —


Harry gasped audibly when Malfoy’s fingers traced slowly from his balls up to the base of his slowly growing cock. The man could’ve given him some kind of warning!


“Sorry,” both of them said at the same time, their voices small and shy. Harry’s eyes were open now, staring at the ceiling and letting his eyes water instead of blinking, because he knew that if he let his eyes close again then all he would see in the darkness was some kind of fucked up fantasy that his mind would come up with, that he wouldn’t even want to have.


Harry didn’t dare look down at the hand that was around him either because he knew that if he did then there was absolutely no coming back from it. He would probably lose it, and Draco wouldn’t want to stay any longer, and—


Did Harry want Draco to stay?


Did Harry just fucking call him Draco?


Draco’s fingers slid achingly slowly to the tip of Harry’s dick, and Harry knew that the man was just examining him but it felt as if he was teasing him of a sort. He wouldn’t put it past Draco to do so, after all. After years of tormenting Harry, why should he stop now?


“You feel good,” Draco said breathily. “I mean, healthy.”


“Mm,” Harry grunted, subconsciously shifting his hips into Draco’s grip. He couldn’t think of a thing to say to Draco telling him he felt good while holding onto his cock.


“We need to see whether or not you can become erect with no pain.” Harry finally looked at Draco’s face, flushed red. He continued, “I’ll leave you alone, so—”


“Malfoy,” Harry interrupted him. “I, er… Can’t.”


Malfoy frowned. “Sorry?”


“I can’t get hard.”


“You mean, you have erectile dysfunction already?” There was concern in his voice with an underlying hint of disappointment. “Or perhaps—”


“I mean,” Harry intruded again. “I can’t exactly touch—” He sighed. “Touch myself with two broken arms.”


“Oh,” Draco said, and suddenly looked as if he wanted to punch himself for his own stupidity. Harry could almost see the man yelling why didn’t I realise that first!?


Harry cleared his throat awkwardly, still lying there naked, with Draco staring down at him with puzzled and frustrated eyes. “Er, yeah.”


“Well.” Draco shook his head. “Then I’m afraid that you’ll have to wait and see whether or not it’s at all painful at a later date.”


“Or?” Harry pressed on.


“There is no or.


Harry thought his options over for a couple of seconds. Probably a couple of seconds too short. “Or…” he said again. “What if you… stayed and helped?”


Draco gulped nervously, as if Harry had said what he’d been dreading to hear all along. “That…” Draco’s voice cracked. “That is not… not even a possibility.”


“Why not?” Harry frowned. “It’s purely professional.”


“It is not, ” Draco said, scorned. “I would lose my job over something like that, Potter.”


“Then don’t let anybody find out.”


“Don’t tempt me.”


“Don’t make me.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “It’s for the sake of my health, isn’t it?”


“It would be abusing my power and my status.” Draco glared down at him. “I’d never get another job as a Healer again.”


Harry flicked one of his fingers just barely, as he couldn’t do it much with the confines of the cast going up to the centre of all of his fingers. Draco turned quickly as he heard the door lock, staring at the door as if a ghost had done it.


“There,” Harry said quietly, and Draco’s head whipped back around. He gazed at Harry in amazement. “I just… want to know that I won’t be impotent for the rest of my life.”


“Obviously.” Draco licked his lips without thinking. His gaze travelled over Harry’s body, down to his groin, and Harry shifted his hips again. He could feel himself getting more aroused underneath the heat of the Healer’s eyes and he hoped that Draco got his hands on him before he realised he could get hard without any help anyway. “I want you to know that if it gets out that this happened—”


“It won’t,” Harry assured him. “Please.”


With a sigh, though his face looked eager, Draco placed one hand on Harry’s thigh and slid it down over the toned and bruised skin. His lips were parted in admiration and he nervously took a few steps closer to the bed, so his knees were flush against the mattress. His free hand reached into his pocket and again he withdrew his wand, casting a quiet spell under his breath that Harry couldn’t quite hear. He didn’t have to hear it though, as a second later, the wand in Draco’s hand was replaced by a large container of what looked to be like lubricant.


“Why do you have that in a hospital?” Harry asked with a small laugh.


“Prostate exams.” Draco shrugged. Harry liked the way that his cheeks turned pink. He squeezed out some of the lubricant onto the glove and rubbed his fingers together to warm it up, before taking Harry’s cock back into his grip.


“Shit,” Harry breathed, watching as Draco’s slick fingers curled around the girth of his now half-hard dick, acquiring a firm grip that made Harry have to choke back a moan. Once Draco found that the grip was apparently secure, he slowly began to move his fist in a steady stroking motion, all the way up the length. From the very base of his cock, up to the sensitive tip, Draco stroked up and down on repeat, both of their breathing getting hot and heavy.


Harry noticed the way Draco was standing shift and saw his he pressed his thighs together, his knees buckling slightly. Harry liked that, he decided, because it meant that he was enjoying this as well. He wanted to make Draco feel good too.


Harry tipped his head back and actually did let out a moan when he felt one of the man’s fingertips stray and begin to gently, with little but evident pressure, start to massage Harry’s corona. Harry hadn’t realised that this was a part of himself that was so sensitive. Draco paused at the moan, flaring up in fear of being found out, but Harry just caught his breath and flicked his finger again, murmuring, “Muffliato!”


“Thank you,” Draco whispered, his voice hoarse, and it went straight to Harry’s dick. He was definitely more than half hard now, he thought as Draco’s fingers started up again, sensually rubbing the section of his cock where the head met the shaft. Harry bit his lip, arching his groin upwards into the man’s hold. This felt better than any time Ginny had ever touched him - he wondered if it was because Draco was a Healer, and had to know about specific places on the body?


The pace of Draco’s hand seemed to speed up once he got more confident in his actions. He placed one of his knees onto the bed to get a better angle. Harry gazed at Draco’s face as he felt what he was doing; he sped up gradually, then slowed it down gradually. Squeeze and stroke. Pulse and stroke. It made Harry’s mouth water. He alternated between the different sensations and made Harry wonder whether or not Draco had done this sort of thing with other men before him.


Draco switched his hand around, turning it so that his thumb now rubbed the shaft when he jerked it instead of the head. He twisted his hand with flicks of his wrist, causing Harry’s jaw to twitch as he tried to keep it shut. He choked on his moans, his toes curling, (making his injured leg hurt, but he didn’t mind,) and he tipped his head back.


“Don’t stop,” Harry panted. “I’m gonna fucking - fuck…”


“You’re so eloquent, you know.” Draco gave a small laugh that sent tingles down Harry’s spine. He was in absolute blissful ecstasy, he realised, biting down on his bottom lip hard enough to dent it as he reached his climax.


He came over his chest and Draco’s glove, loving the feeling of being watched by the man with such hunger in his eyes. His chest heaved and his ribs hurt as it did but he was far too distracted by the fact that Draco didn’t stop moving his fucking hand.


“Malfoy—” Harry gasped, rolling his eyes up back into his head. It was too much, but Merlin, he’d never had this kind of feeling before. He felt his leg start twitching, his hips following Draco’s hand. “Malfoy, fuck, I’ve just—”


“You told me not to stop,” Draco teased, slowly taking his hand off of his cock and snapping his gloves off. He threw them into a trash can swiftly, as if the whole experience hadn’t even happened, but Harry could see then dent underneath his Healer’s robes.


“Thank you.” Harry’s eyes followed Draco around the room as he walked around on edge, writing things down in a rush.


“There’s no need to thank me, Potter, it was just for my research.”


Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he muttered, “Sure.”


Draco glared at him. “That never happened, do you understand?”


He licked his lips. “You’re hard.”


“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


“You’ve got a boner from getting me off,” Harry clarified crudely. “Let me help.”


The Healer turned to him with two elevated brows and a look in his eye that told Harry that he couldn’t believe how thick he was being. “Potter,” he said slowly, as if he were talking to a child. “Not only would that be breaking millions of rules, but—”


He shrugged. “I’ve never been one to follow the rules.”


Draco tensed his jaw before continuing, saying, “But you don’t happen to have any available hands to work with.”


Harry looked down at his casts. “Fuck.”


“Indeed.” The man sighed. He picked up his wand again and cast a quick but careful Evanesco on the remnants of their escapade that had been left on Harry’s bare stomach, and walked back to Harry’s side.


He pinched the sides of Harry’s underwear and began to pull them up over his thighs, which he could tell Draco was still impressed by. Harry raised his hips as so to help them glide easily over his ass again.


“I appreciate your concern,” Draco told him before he unlocked the door with his own charm. “But it cannot go any further than today.”


He left the room, and Harry resisted the urge to punch the wall.




Days had gone by. Days had gone by for far longer than Draco had said that they would go on for. Harry was convinced at this point that he’d never be able to leave this fucking prison of a hospital. It’s not safe for you to leave yet, Draco had said. It’s probably better that you stay in St. Mungos. They can keep an eye on you there, Hermione had said.


He’d had the rest of their tight but big family eventually come to visit him as well. Ginger after ginger came flooding into the hospital room, which was small enough as it was, with only the occasional brunette or otherwise. Draco had almost needed to wrestle all of the Weasleys to get them away from Harry’s bedside once visiting hours were over.

He needs his rest! Draco had shouted at them.

I think I know that better than you do, Malfoy, do you know how many broken bones on my children I’ve had to put up with over the years!? Molly had shouted back.


It had cheered Harry up, at least.


Draco and the other Healers at St. Mungos had eventually needed to put a limit on the amount of people that were allowed to see one patient at once. Due to the entire family wanting to see Harry all at once, with even Luna, Neville, and Dean and Seamus sometimes, along with obviously Ron and Hermione, it was difficult for Harry to get a breather.


Harry had been in the same hospital room for a little over two weeks. It had been a little over two weeks since Draco Malfoy had been declared his Healer and given him a handjob in the middle of the day. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.


He’d be lying if he said that he’d actually attempted to get it out of his head, because it was the most entertaining thing that he had in that room that was more of a box of boredom torture. He’d even been able to replace some of the nightmares with some raunchy dreams that he would never dare recount out loud. Some of them involved Malfoy walking into the room wearing a skimpy, leather white dress that had a red cross over the chest and doing things with a stethoscope that a stethoscope should never be used for.


Draco hadn’t woken him up in the midst of those kinds of dreams, despite his heart rate probably going through the roof, though his underwear was always magically clean when he woke himself up from the bliss.


These dreams were very important to Harry, you see, because they were the only time that Harry could actually get any kind of release. As previously established, Harry was physically unable to take any pleasure in himself, and Jesus, that was the real pain that he was experiencing. Forget several broken bones, Harry just wanted to get off.


“You’ve been looking uncomfortable lately,” Draco accused him without looking up from Harry’s notes. It was nine in the evening now, and he’d already managed to force Molly and Arthur out of the room. “Is there something that you haven’t been disclosing to us?”


“Sorry?” Harry spluttered as he forced himself to snap out of his fantasies.


“Are you experiencing more pain than you’re letting on?” he asked. “It’s important you tell me these sorts of things, Potter.”


“What happened to Mr. Potter?” Harry responded, avoiding answering the question that he was asked. “You used to be so polite when I first came in.”


“I realised that you were still somewhat insufferable.”


Harry grinned at that. “Somewhat? That’s progress!”


“Shut up.” Draco chuckled, but his speech wasn’t at all malicious. “Are you going to answer me?”


“Answer what?” Harry asked innocently. He watched with glee as the Healer picked up one of the papers and pretended to throw it at him.


“Are you in any pain that you’re not telling me about?”


“No,” Harry answered, because it was mostly true, wasn’t it?


“Then why do you look so uncomfortable? Don’t attempt to deny it, either. I got very roughly pulled aside by Molly Weasley earlier on, asking me why I’m not doing my most to keep you out of pain.”


Harry sighed, resting his head back on the pillow. “It’s nothing.”


“So there is something?” Draco asked, pressing eyebrow raised. He approached Harry’s bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, holding his palm to Harry’s forehead.


“Hey!” Harry pulled his head away from him. It still felt kind of weird when people touched his scar, after all. “Stop acting like such a wife.”


“By the way you speak, it sounds like I was born to be a kind of wife.”


“Maybe you were.” Harry shrugged lightly, and couldn’t help but imagine coming home to find the man that was sitting him, and maybe he’d be decked up in nothing but an apron, sweaty from the heat and humidity from the kitchen…


And then Harry shook that thought from his mind and pushed it back to the 1950’s.


Draco looked down solemnly. He spoke quietly, “Potter, I just want to help you.”


Harry felt bad for putting Malfoy through this kind of worry - and his other friends, by the sound of it - but it wasn’t just something that somebody could say, was it? Oh, I’m overall recovering, but you know what’s really been getting on my nerves? My sexual frustration!


“I don’t think that you’re going to want to help me, to be honest with you,”


Malfoy recoiled as if he’d been hit with a jinx. “Excuse me? Potter, you know by now that helping you is on a list of my number one priorities in this hospital, and to even dare to accuse me of not wanting to help you is just pure—”


“I can’t get off,” Harry interrupted him, mostly because he wasn’t really in the mood to get verbally attacked this evening. “I can’t jerk off. Are you happy?”


He watched Draco blink a few times in confusion. “Sorry?”


“You’re making me say it again?”




“No. Shove off. You heard me the first time.” Harry struggled to pull the blanket further up his torso. Harry heard Draco gulp. He felt a hot gaze over his body and his toes curled. “I can’t stop thinking about it, you know.”


Draco’s voice cracked. “What?”


“You know what. You. Your hand. It’s all that I can think about.”


“You shouldn’t.”


“I know. I can’t help it though. I haven’t had any other contact with my dick for like… ages.”


“This is not a professional conversation.”


“You asked me what was wrong.” Harry scooched a little closer to him. “There. I’ve told you. Are you going to try and help me?”


Draco’s face was like he’d suddenly come across a mountain of gold and yet had had all of his pockets cut holes in. “I’m glad that you told me,” he said softly. “But I can't do anything about that.”


Harry nodded in defeat, let his head fall back onto the pillow. “Alright,” he said plainly. “Then don’t try to ask me what’s wrong again.”


Draco stood and continued to write things down in his notes. Harry rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. He might as well, considering it’s the only place he gets to go where he has a chance for release.




“Hey, Harry,” a sultry and sexual voice entered the room, making the hairs on Harry’s skin flare up. “I’m here for your checkup.”


Harry looked up at the source of the voice with excitement and arousal, and was more than happy with the saucy result. Draco Malfoy wore a leather dress that fit his figure beautifully, pink stripes rolling up the sides of the suit. The infamous red cross of the medical world was plastered over the white backing, and he wore matching white stockings to finish the outfit off.


“Where are you hurting?” Draco asked him as he prowled forwards, and Harry realised that he felt free. The casts on his arms and his leg had disappeared, and he reached down on reflex to rub his crotch. “Oh?” Draco laughed suggestively. “It hurts there? Why don’t you let me help you out?”


“I want you to help me out,” Harry found himself saying. “I want to fuck you.”


“So bold…” Draco gasped, and settled himself in between Harry’s legs on the ground. He rubbed Harry’s inner thighs with a bite of his lower lip, and Harry looked down at the Healer’s body in appreciation. “Where do you want to fuck?”


“What?” Harry frowned. He didn’t give Draco a chance to respond as he said, “I want to fuck you everywhere.”


The room shifted and suddenly Harry was back home in Grimmauld Place, staring at the new accessory that his least favourite desk had suddenly acquired. Draco was bent over the table with his ass sticking out into the air, face pressed against the cold surface of the table. His hands were tied behind his back by the cord of the stethoscope that he usually wore around his neck, and his legs were spread apart wider than the broadness of his shoulders. Harry could see up his dress, he realised as he began to admire the pretty pink panties that left little to the imagination.


“Look at you…” Harry murmured as he stalked towards the man. He placed his hands on Draco’s hips and pressed his crotch against the ever-so-tempting backside. “Are you ready for me?”


“Yes, Potter. I’ve been ready for years,” he said. “Need you, now…”


Harry took a deep breath and with a snap, his trousers and his pants were gone, and he was shoved so deep into Draco that he was beginning to think he may faint at the sheer brilliance of the feeling that it was giving him. The dress was pushed up just above the rump of his ass and his panties were pushed just to the side of his entrance, where Harry was sheathed without any hope of leaving. The sight of his hands tied behind his back was the cherry on top of this beautiful situation, making it even more raunchy and slutty and downright dirty. Harry loved it.


The point in which Harry was sure that he lost his mind - and his will to hold himself back - was when Draco began to beg with large whimpers and loud moans, heavy and loaded words tumbling from the sinning lips. Harry gripped onto the man’s wrists and pulled his body back so that he was being fucked on Harry’s dick, Harry thrusting his hips along at the very same time to get to the deepest point that he could manage. Amazing sensations travelled through his groin and his lower abdomen, and he was sure that he was going to cum, not worried at all about whether or not he was wearing a condom.


He was so close- so fucking close, and then—


Harry opened his eyes, panting heavily, sweating all over. His cock was aching in the confines of his underwear, a fabric prison that Harry needed to free himself of before he felt like it would start getting painful.


But he couldn’t.


He whimpered in defeat as he wished that those goddamn fucking casts would just go and fuck off to the other side of the world. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment, damnit. He’d saved the world and in return, the world was cursing him with what felt like eternal blue balls.


His breath caught when he heard somebody clear their throat, but Harry knew who it was already and was far too hot and bothered to care about whether or not he stayed.


“Do you want to stay and watch me suffer?” Harry asked painfully. “This isn’t fun for me, you know. It hurts.”


“It’s not fun for me either, Potter,” Draco replied quietly. “If I could help—”


“You can help,” Harry responded with a desperate grunt. “Let me fuck you.”


He stared at Harry as if he’d grown another head. “Potter, you cannot just say that out of nowhere—”




Draco gulped as he looked at him, that one word shutting him up immediately. It made Harry’s knees feel weak. He watched the man press one hand to his groin and press his legs closer together. “Stop it.”


“You were listening to me dream, weren’t you?” Harry accused him. “Do you know what was happening in it?”


“Be quiet, Potter.”


“You were dressed up really fit. You had your hands tied behind your back and I was fucking you over a desk,” Harry explained, licking his lips as he kept his eyes firmly on the Healer in front of him. “You were so fucking hot, Draco.”


“Do shut up,” Draco responded, his voice shaky.


“Did you listen to me moan in my sleep? Was I saying your name?”


“Yes!” Draco shouted in a sudden outburst. “You were! And if I ever had to pick a moment where I wanted to off myself then I would probably choose that!”


“How come you didn’t leave?” Harry asked. “You weren’t doing anything important. You’re hard again. I think you wanted to stay.”


“I think you’re going to want to shut up.”


“Come sit.” Harry nodded his head towards the edge of the bed.


Draco sighed at him, expression as if he was fighting a war in his own head. “Potter–”




The Healer took one step forward. “Think about what you’re doing,” he whispered, and Harry suspected that he was talking to himself.


“If I thought that you didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be asking you like this.”


“I do want to,” he admitted quietly. “Salazar, you’ve no clue how much I want to.”


“If you lose your job,” Harry said sternly, “I will write to the Minister myself and request that you get it back.”


Draco gulped as he charged towards the bed. He waited for what couldn’t have been ten seconds before whispering, “You’re going to be the end of me all over again,” and Draco pressed his palms to Harry’s cheeks, and he kissed him.


Harry responded more eagerly than he had originally set out to do. He could picture so vividly what would be happening if he actually had the use of his flipping hands, touching the man all over, teasing him, making him squirm. The sounds that he would make would be absolutely to die for, Harry was sure of it.


Instead, Draco was making the best use of his hands that Harry could think of; reaching down to rub Harry’s cock in such a lewd way that it almost distracted him from the heaviness of the kiss that they were sharing. Closed eyes and open mouths, their lips collided with each other repeatedly and Harry had to stop himself from moaning at just the mere feeling of Draco’s tongue inside of his mouth.


Their mouths refused to part with one another as Draco threw his right leg over Harry’s torso, bending down so that he could keep the kiss connected. Harry was grateful for that, though it had meant that unfortunately, the special hand that Harry had come to love so much had been taken away from his groin. It was tangled in his hair now, whilst the other was doing something that Harry was unaware of - what he couldn’t see. He straddled Harry as they continued to kiss and started to roll his hips down, grinding their crotches together and making them both shudder from the pleasure.


“Mm, you’ve changed your tune,” Harry whispered into his mouth.


C’est la vie ,” Draco replied with a hum as he rocked his body, making the bed squeak. “Roughly translates to fuck it.


Harry groaned at that and separated their mouths, pressing his lips instead to Draco’s jaw, peppering kisses all the way up his jawline before taking his ear between his teeth. As Harry nibbled, Draco’s breathing sped up and the movement of his hips twitched - as if he was struggling to maintain a steady pace under the pressure of the pleasure. He was sensitive, Harry figured quickly, smiling at the revelation as he dragged his teeth from his ear down to the man’s neck, where he began to suck and kiss on the skin eagerly.


Harry was doing a mighty fine job, it seemed, judging by the enthusiastic noises and eager whines that Draco huffed out response, helping him out by turning his head to the side and twisting his fingers through Harry’s hair.


C’est bon,” Draco whimpered, “tu m’excites. Tu me rends fou.


What Harry would have given in order to be able to understand French in that moment would’ve been of greater value than the moon. He relished in the feeling of the long fingers against his scalp and wished that they were somewhere else. He wished even more so that he had access to the mobility of his own, feeling the immense need to touch Draco all over. If he reacted so wonderfully like this when Harry couldn’t even explore his body then he would have paid to experience his reaction when he could. Maybe he would get the chance to some time in the future. He fantasised about the possibility of being able to get the Healer into a proper bed and massage him with more than his lips and his tongue. He gave a soft pant as he pulled off of the pale skin he had become rather accustomed to over the past couple of minutes and marvelled at the beauty of the mark that he’d left behind, the wetness that was left behind making the red patch glow underneath the bright light of the room.


“Proud of your work?” Draco asked, voice breathy and soft.


“Will it be offensive to you if I say, ‘ oui?’ ” Harry smirked up at him. “It’s not fair that you can say sexy things in French when I don’t know what they mean.”


Draco laughed gently in response to that, leaning down and kissing his willing lips once again. “ Taisez-vous, ” he purred. Harry licked his lips as he felt Draco’s breath heat them up, his eyes purely on the Healer’s mouth. Draco rolled his hips down and they both groaned at the friction, the wonderful feeling of their cocks sliding against one another despite the lack of flesh being exposed. “ Je bande tour toi. Ta voix me fait bander comme un porc.


“Pork?” Harry choked out. “Why are you talking about pork when we’re—”


Harry gasped once Draco managed to shut him up. He was gripping him once again, the hand delicately and skilfully working over Harry’s cock over his underwear. Perhaps what Harry considered the best part of the situation and the new events that had unravelled was the fact that Draco was still humping him, still grinding against Harry’s crotch with his uniform still being worn so proudly and professionally. Harry wanted to pull it apart and rip it off of the man’s body.


Draco kissed him again and Harry could physically feel the intensity that came along with it, making his toes curl (and he didn’t care that that sort of hurt.) He and Draco both breathed in dishevelled unison and Harry wasn’t sure whether or not the room had felt this warm before they began doing this, but he could feel himself sweating because of the sudden humidity. He never wanted that heat to leave, because it was one of the best feelings he’d ever experienced.


Draco’s fingers circled over the tip of Harry’s cock and the fabric added an even stronger sense of friction that made his hips involuntarily buck up into his hold. He was certain that he wasn’t going to last much longer if Draco kept this up. He didn’t want this to be over, he found himself thinking, he didn’t want this godforsaken moment that they were sharing to end. He wanted to live in this hour for all of eternity and if he had access to a time-turner, he would probably make that a reality.


“Tell me about your dream,” Draco requested suddenly, dragging Harry out of his own head. “I want to know.”


“I already–”


“Tell me,” Draco said again as he sat up, looking down on Harry as he continued to roll his hips. “In detail.”


“Fuck,” Harry whispered at the view, perfect and fucking arousing. “I had you bent and tied up over my desk. You looked fucking hot.”


“Oh yeah?” Draco grinned with a sneaky raised eyebrow. “What else?”


“You were - fuck, that feels good - you were wearing the shortest fucking dress I’ve ever seen. Straight up exposed your ass. It was like you were dressed up to be fucked.”


“Quite a- a colourful idea you have painted of me in your mind, Potter.”


“You’ve got no idea.” Harry bit down on his lip as he recollected the dream. “I was fucking you so hard in it, I thought you were going to break.”


Merde ,” Draco cussed to himself. “Is that what you want, Potter?”


Harry nodded immediately. “I want to fuck you.”


“Tell me–” Draco moaned and shut his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. The movement of his hips sped up rapidly. “Tell me how,” he said desperately.


“Anywhere,” Harry responded eagerly. “But you know I’d do it fucking well. Shit, I’d get you against a wall and pin you so hard to it that you’d have scrapes all over your body from where you were being rocked against it.” Draco slapped his palm over his mouth and his head dropped back. Harry’s breathing immediately sped up as he felt his orgasm creep up on him, and he knew that it was the same for Draco. “You’d be so- so loud,” Harry continued, forcing his voice out in between moans. “I’d have to gag you myself with my belt so you didn’t get anybody’s attention.”


“Potter,” Harry heard Draco whimper from behind his hand, which had now formed a fist that he was biting down on. “Yes, yes, yes— fuck, merde, want it, want it so bad—”


“Fuck, Draco,” Harry hissed through his teeth.


“Harry, I’m— Prends-moi! Tu peux me prendre dans tout les sens! ” Draco gasped, running his mouth of in the language that Harry didn’t understand but at that point he didn’t care. Harry was too busy trying to keep himself from groaning loud enough to wake the entire country as he spilled into his underwear, his hips practically off of the mattress, taking Draco up with them. Draco came as well, which was evident from his little whimpers and the way that he dug his fingernails into Harry’s skin, deep enough that Harry knew they were going to leave dents in his abdomen. He didn’t mind.


Fuck, ” Harry cussed loudly, his chest rising and lowering faster than he was sure was healthy, and he tried to ignore how it hurt his ribs. Still bruised, he reminded himself.


He let his lower body settle back down onto the bed and he opened his eyes to see a completely worn out Healer, still on top of him, hair sticking to his forehead with the help of his perspiration. Draco’s mouth was hung open as he breathed heavily, and he slowly let his fingers withdraw from Harry’s flesh.


Draco shifted his hips. “I can’t believe we just did that.”


It wasn’t said maliciously, but it sent an alert of fear down Harry’s spine regardless. “I’m still not going to tell anybody.”


“I appreciate that.” Draco nodded, his head hanging low as he attempted to gain his breath back. “You really are a dark horse, you know, Potter?”


Harry laughed quietly, his concerns quickly vanishing. “Sorry?”


“I never would’ve guessed your mouth could spew such filth.”


“Hey.” Harry chuckled. “I’m sure whatever you were saying in French was worse.”


Draco bit his bottom lip, shrugging. “I suppose you’ll never know.”


“That’s really rude,” Harry complained. “I guess I’ll just have to learn French in time for next time.”


The Healer’s eyebrow shot up. “There’ll be a next time, will there?”


“Yeah,” Harry said firmly, smirk plastered over his face. “You’re the one who said you want it so bad.”


He watched Draco’s face flush a bright red, and he reached over Harry, grabbing his wand again. “We can talk about that when you’re no longer my patient.”


“I’m alright with that.” Harry nodded. “I don’t think I can go another round where I’m so vulnerable like that. You’re going to be the vulnerable one next time.”


Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t act as if you didn’t love it,” he said, before casting a slick cleaning charm over them both. He pulled the sheets back up over Harry’s body. “Get some sleep.”


“I just woke up,” Harry rebuked with a small laugh. “You look like you need sleep more than I do.”


“My shift ends in an hour,” Draco told him, walking over to the door to the room. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”




Harry saw Ron and Hermione again before he saw Draco.


“Merlin.” Ron grinned. “You’re looking happy, mate.”


“Has anything happened?” Hermione asked him as they both took a seat.


Harry shook his head at her. “Nope,” he lied. “Nothing’s happened.”


“That’s odd. Draco was looking very pleased with himself as well. Just a coincidence?” Hermione asked, though her smile was knowing.


“Draco?” Harry raised an eyebrow, avoiding the question. “Not ‘Malfoy?’”


“We had a chat.” She shrugged. “He’s quite nice now. I’ve invited him to the wedding.”


Harry was suddenly looking forward to the wedding more than he had been beforehand. He hoped the venue had a private back alley that was available.