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Half A Man

Chapter Text

“So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?” whispered Harry. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does… I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort's was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco's wand:

“Avada Kedavra!” “Expelliarmus!” 


Harry hisses in pain, finding it odd that the Killing Curse hurt this time. Perhaps it’s because he already died once. There’s certainly that same blinding white that he saw before he ended up at King’s Cross Station with Dumbledore, but the pain…it just doesn’t make sense.

The ghostly voice of Sirius floats through his mind saying, “Quicker than falling asleep.”

“Then why does it fucking hurt?” Harry groans out against the memory.

“That’s to be expected, Potter.”

His distress is momentarily forgotten and replaced with confusion. Harry would know that posh, drawling voice anywhere. “Malfoy?”

“Who else would it be? Granger refused to let anyone else come near you.”

Harry moans as another wave of pain overtakes him. “Am I…” he starts to ask. Dead? That seems unlikely, given his current discomfort and presence of Draco Malfoy. Seeing his old headmaster in the afterlife was one thing, but this is another altogether.

“You’re alive, if that’s what you’re wondering. Here, this will help with the pain. Open up.”

He nods his head in response, parting his lips and allowing whatever form of Draco this is to pour something down this throat. He swallows and almost sighs in relief as the potion starts to overpower the pain. Harry is just starting to accept the fact that he somehow survived the Killing Curse- again- when he thinks about the caster of said curse. “And what about Tom?” he asks Draco. “Did he survive as well?”

“Was Tom your partner?”

“What? No. Tom Riddle.”

Draco makes a choking sound that echoes loud around them. “Uhm…” he clears his throat before regaining his composure. “No, but Potter… what year do you think it is?”

That’s an odd question. “1998. Why?”

“Potter. Open your eyes.”

Oh. It hadn’t occurred to Harry that his eyes were still closed. After all, he figured he was dead up until a few moments ago. Slowly he forces his eyelids open. He blinks against the sudden onslaught of light, rubbing his eyes at the effort. “Where are my glasses?”

“You haven’t worn them in years- not voluntarily, at least- but we had to take out your contact lenses when you were brought in so Granger brought this old pair by.” Draco hands him the glasses, aiding in slipping the temples atop Harry’s ears.

Harry is just about to ask when Hermione and Draco became friends when the room comes into clarity. And that includes the person in it. He gasps. “Malfoy! You…you…” he can’t find the words to accurately describe the changes he sees so he goes with, “your hair.”

Draco, oddly enough, chuckles at his outburst. “You had pretty much that same reaction the first time you saw it.”

“The first time…? I don’t understand.”

“Potter,” he sighs before summoning the bedside chair and leaning casually on its armrest, ankles crossed. “Harry,” he tries again, earning another shocked look from the man in question, “It’s 2004. You killed Riddle six years ago and you’ve been an auror for the Ministry pretty much ever since.”

Harry can feel himself gaping but he just can’t seem to wrap his mind around what he’s hearing, let alone form the words necessary to respond.

Blessedly, Draco doesn’t wait for him to do so. “You your partner were brought in a few weeks ago. I don’t know the details of what happened, only that you were both injured. Your partner claims you sacrificed yourself to save his life, something I’m willing to believe given your savior nature.”

“M-my partner? Is it Ron?”

“If your partner was Weasley, don’t you think I would have just said that?” he quips.

Harry almost smiles. That’s the Draco he knows and bickered with for years. “Fair enough. So what’s the story with the hair?”

Draco runs his fingers through the short, brown locks with a huff. “It’s brilliant what a simple change in appearance will make people forget. True, some still ask for a new healer when they hear my name but at least they don’t run away at the mere sight of me.”

The change is truly quite startling, so different from the platinum blonde Harry was expecting. And then there’s the fact that Draco is now a healer. Harry takes in the standard lime-green robes worn by the healers at St. Mungo’s. He may not be able to place the present time but at least he knows where he is.

“Now back to you. The healers were forced to put you into a magically-induced coma,” Draco says without making eye contact.

“Was I hurt that badly?”

His gaze remains firmly on the floor.

“Malfoy. You have to tell me.”

“Can’t you feel it?” he asks cryptically.

Harry slowly starts to take in his physical state. He’s lying down, propped up slightly by few pillows behind his shoulders and neck. His head feels heavy but otherwise not outside of the ordinary. His arms and hands seem to moving okay. He peeks inside his shirt and sees the dark magic scar still prominently in the center of his chest. He starts to pat down his torso and hips when he notices that end of the bed looks strange.

“What happened??” he screams as he flips back the covers.

There’s a loud sniff and Harry doesn’t dare glance over at Draco for fear of what he’ll see on his former rival’s face. And he isn’t sure he could rip his eyes away from his own horror even if he tried. There, where his right leg used to be, from the thigh down, is nothing.

“What. Happened.” It is no longer a question. Harry demands it this time.

“They tried everything,” Draco says shakily, the waver evident in his voice. “There was so much dark magic, you shouldn’t have survived it at all.”

“But…what about Skele-grow? Pomfrey grew the bones back in my arm in our second year! Why didn’t they just do that?”

“They couldn’t.”

“Why not??” This can’t be happening, it just can’t. First he wakes up with six years suddenly missing from his life and now he’s also missing a leg. It’s all too much.

“It just wasn’t possible to-”

“It’s MAGIC! Since when is any of what we do supposed to be POSSIBLE??”

“Harry, you have to calm down s-”

“NO! I’m missing my fucking leg! I won’t calm down! Give me my wand! I can fix this!”

Draco tries to administer a calming draught but Harry pushes him away. Thankfully, they have some formulated to be used as an injection and Harry can’t fight what he doesn’t see coming. The change in his demeanor is almost immediate and Draco drops into the bedside chair in exhaustion. He watches as the potion takes effect. “Feeling better?” he asks.

“No.” Harry growls, though it sounds more like a gurgle due to his relaxed state.

“That’s fine. You’ve endured a massive amount of trauma. Physiohealers will help you learn to move again, and there are mind healers that will work you through coming to terms with what’s happened.”

“I don’t want to see any healers. I want to get my wand and go home.”

“I can’t give you your wand. It’s been confiscated.”

“Why?”

“Some of the healers think your wand might have been part of the problem.”

“What does my wand have to do with anything?”

“You’ve been using the wrong one.”

Harry may not remember recent events but he definitely remembers his own wand snapping in half during his fight against Nagini in Godric’s Hollow. What has he been using since? Perhaps Draco’s still? “Certainly I’ve given you your wand back, considering we’re somehow friends.”

“Friends might be a strong word.” Harry pulls a look so unimpressed that Draco apologizes. “Sorry. What I mean to say was, you valiantly returned my wand back in ’98. Then you went and bought yourself a new one even though Mister Ollivander told you it wouldn’t work. But no, you thought you could handle the magic. You thought you knew better. And the healers think that when you tried to block the Killing Curse from hitting your partner, it was just too much. The magic converged with your own and it hit your leg. That’s why they couldn’t save it.”

Harry is too relaxed to stop the tears from flowing down his face. This isn’t how things were supposed to happen. He was supposed to kill Voldemort, save the world, and then be free. Why did he even go on to be an auror? Wasn’t it Barty Crouch Jr. pretending to be Mad-Eye Moody that first planted the idea in his head? Now he’ll never be able to live the life he wants.

Draco slips his hand into Harry’s and gives a gentle squeeze. “Whatever you’re thinking in that head of yours, stop it. This isn’t the end. You’re alive. And if anyone can overcome adversity it’s the Golden Boy.” Watery green eyes meet his with disbelief, but Draco simply shrugs. “I wouldn’t bet against you, that’s for sure.”

One might think that losing a major limb and several years of your life would be the biggest shock you could awake to, but being comforted by Draco Malfoy definitely takes the cake. Harry holds onto his hand like it’s a lifeline. And maybe it is.


Now that he’s awake, Harry’s hospital room is filled with a seemingly nonstop rotation of healers and aurors. The former all come in to poke and prod at him and force him to choke down vial after vial of potions (the threat of injecting them against his will is always there, so Harry complies if only so the choice is his- even if in reality there is no choice at all). The latter come in to thank him for his bravery. Harry’s not sure which one is worse.

One bright moment is ‘meeting’ his auror partner, a wizard in his thirties called William Bellows. Apparently he joined the aurors after the rebuild of the Ministry following the war. He lost his parents and husband to a Death Eater attack and decided this would be his way to honor their memory. Harry likes him, and wishes he could remember their years working together.

Another bright moment comes when Hermione and Ron rush in to see him. They make it awkward by being afraid to touch him, though Harry understands their hesitation and he doesn’t blame them. It’s just an ugly look into the future. This is how everyone will treat him from now on, like he’s broken. And isn’t that the truth?

Hermione desperately tries to fill in all of the blanks in his memory, but it’s too much and it exhausts Harry. Ron promises to stay with him so Hermione gives them both a kiss on the cheek before turning to leave the room. At least this is familiar, Harry thinks to himself right before Draco Malfoy walks in and gets a kiss of his own- only his is on the lips instead of his cheek. He wraps an arm around Hermione’s shoulders and the two leave together.

They don’t see Harry gawking at their backs but Ron sure does. He snorts and says, “Weird, right? You’ll get used to it after a while.”

“Bu-but…” Harry stammers. Once in school Luna spoke of the possibility of there being an infinite number of universes, some similar to their own and some very different. Harry considers, however briefly, that she may have been right and that the dark curse he fell victim to sent him to one of those other universes. He shakes his head to dislodge the very notion. There has to be a reasonable explanation. “How? What happened?” he begs to know.

Ron tilts his head and shrugs. “Malfoy’s not so bad anymore. In fact, you were the one that made me realize he’s actually sort of funny. The bloke loves Quidditch almost as much as I do and he’s good to ‘Mione.” Another shrug. “And after all was said and done… I just… wasn’t the person that she deserved.”

This is all somehow harder to come to terms with than anything else. Ron and Hermione were meant for each other! Sure, they fought, but they challenged each other and balanced each other out. They made each other better. He needs them together to anchor him to this new reality.

Harry’s face must be quite crestfallen because Ron leans forward and assures him that they’re all still friends. “We’ve been through too much- and we still love each other, even if not in that way. We agreed to never give up our friendship, especially not for the likes of Malfoy. In fact, the five of us spend a lot of time together.”

“Five?”

“Sure. ‘Mione, Malfoy, you, me, and Nina.”

“Nina?”

“Oh,” Ron’s mouth tilts down slightly before breaking into a tiny grin. “Right. If you don’t remember anything after the final battle, then you wouldn’t know about Nina. She’s the oldest of Dean’s younger sisters. Would have been two years behind us in school, had she been a witch.”

Harry doesn’t care that Ron’s dating a muggle but it still comes as a surprise. He’s glad to see a smile on the redhead. “And she knows about magic, obviously, from Dean?”

“Yeah, though I don’t use it too much anymore, just little bits around the flat and every once in a while at work when it could save someone.”

“What do you do? Malfoy said you aren’t an auror…” he tries to keep the betrayal out of his voice.

“Fireman.” Ron says the word proudly, his chest puffing out a bit. “Sometimes I miss having a beard- or at least the option to grow one out like Bill- but it’s rewarding work. And like I said… I use a bit of magic when I need to. My captain knows because he caught me once and I had to have the Department of Muggle Affairs come out and talk to him but he agreed to me staying on because I’m able to keep more people safe.”

Harry’s smiling now too, Ron’s pride infectious. He can just imagine his best friend racing into burning buildings and hoisting people up onto his shoulders. That’s when he notices that Ron’s aforementioned shoulders are quite muscled, much more than they were in school. It reminds him of Charlie (though Ron is a great deal taller than his dragon-handling brother) but just as he’s about to ask Ron about him, Harry moans in pain. He doesn’t know how much time has passed as they chatted but it must have been enough for his potions to wear off.

Ron is up and out of the room in an instant, bringing back one of the many mediwitches he’s seen before. Harry is given another round of potions, each one more disgusting than the last. He hates how they make him feel drowsy but he loves the quick-acting nature of them. That’s one advantage to magic over medicine, he thinks as he yawns.

“Go ahead and sleep,” Ron says when they’re alone again. “I’ll firecall Mum and let her know you’re alright, or, well-” he blanches, glancing down to where Harry’s leg used to be, “You know what I mean. I’ll tell her to let you rest but then be prepared because she’ll be here and you know how she is.”

“I’ll welcome the familiarity,” Harry says warmly.

They both chuckle, Harry’s ending in yet another yawn. He tries to fight his eyelids as they grow heavier and heavier but it’s no use. He lets the potions drag him down into a deep sleep, finally allowing his mind to rest.

Chapter Text

The sun shines warm on a perfect July afternoon. It’s his birthday, and Harry is drifting in and out of sleep on a soft patch of grass with the gentle breeze tickling his face. Ron and Hermione are sitting under a tree across the garden. She reads aloud from a Charms textbook while Ron leans his head on her shoulder and pretends to listen.

A shadow drifts over Harry and he thinks it’s just a cloud until the shadow says, “Mind if I join you?”

While he can tell all of the Weasleys apart by their voices alone (even Fred and George, whom he has problems telling apart with his eyes open), this voice in particular could never be mistaken for another. And it never fails to make his heart speed up a little.

“S-sure!” Harry’s voice cracks. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He misses Sirius absolutely every day since he lost him through the veil, but one of the worst parts of losing his godfather is losing the only adult he felt comfortable enough talking to about this sort of thing. Arthur is an amazing father, sure, but even this might be a too much for the man.

Charlie drops to the ground with a small thud. Then he flops back and uses an arm to shade his face from the sun. “So,” he nudges Harry with his free arm, “Enjoying your birthday?”

“Sure.” Great. Now he’s repeating himself. “I mean… yes. Your family is always so nice to me and I love it here.”

“I’m sort of partial to them, too,” Charlies says with a laugh.

“Thanks for coming in. You didn’t have to.”

“The dragons could wait.”

He doesn’t bring up what happened to Harry and everyone else in June, but it hangs in the air nonetheless. All the members of the Order (and the Weasleys be extension) have made an effort to be around a lot this summer. Even if they didn’t make themselves known outright, Harry would often see them from the corner of his eye as he was roaming around the city. That’s why he never felt as ‘reckless’ as Dumbledore accused him of being.

“Tell me about them,” Harry requests to keep things light. He rolls over onto his stomach and props himself up on forearms as he falls into Charlie’s tale about his Hungarian Horntail yearlings.

At some point Hermione and Ron walk past, the latter saying something about dinner, but Harry waves them off. He’s so stuffed from lunch that he doesn’t even want to think about more food. They stay out until the sun starts to set.

The Burrow is uncharacteristically quiet when they go inside. Harry heads directly up to the attic where Ron’s room is, but Charlie grabs his arm to stop him on the second landing. He says, “I have something for you,” then holds up one finger and goes into his bedroom.

Charlie steps out a moment later holding a small, wrapped parcel. Harry gives him a crooked smile. “For me?”

“Obviously. Go on, Birthday Boy.”

Harry tears into the paper until he’s holding a golden ball. “A snitch?”

Charlie leans back against the wall and shrugs like it’s nothing. “Gred and Feorge told me about Quidditch getting banned last year and I figured you might need all the practice you can get before the start of the new season. Not everyone can be as good as me.”

His words sound mocking but there’s a cheeky smirk on his face that gives away his teasing. Harry kicks one of Charlie’s shoes with his own. “Oh, is that so?”

“That’s the snitch I caught to win us the Cup my final game of my final year as captain. Maybe some of my awesomeness will rub off on you.”

“Ha! Yeah, maybe.” Harry looks down to hide the blush on his cheeks. He lifts his gift and says, “Cheers,” then takes off towards the attic once more.

He’s halfway up the next staircase when he hears Charlie open his bedroom door. Steeling all of the Gryffindor courage he doesn’t believe he actually has, Harry turns and sprints back down to the landing. Charlie turns around in surprise and his surprise only increases when Harry jumps up onto his toes and plants a kiss on his cheek. It’s over before Charlie can even respond.

“That was to say thanks.” Harry blurts in explanation. He looks around wildly for a second and then bolts up the stairs for good this time, Charlie’s soft laughter echoing behind him.


“Rise and shine, Harry!”

Harry rolls away from the sun suddenly streaming into his hospital room, pulling the blankets up and over his head. Unfortunately, they do nothing to block out the annoying sound of his physiohealer’s voice. She’s perpetually upbeat- something Harry wouldn’t normally mind, but right now all he wants to do is crawl into a hole and forget that all of this is happening to him.

He hears a murmur of a spell and then his blankets are ripped off of him.

Healer Sherman (or ‘Leila’ as she asked to be called after Harry insisted she stop calling him ‘Auror Potter’) snickers at the indignant yelp she earns for her efforts. “You know the drill, Harry. You get up and move or you get blood clots and die.”

“So much for bedside manner,” Harry grumbles as he pushes himself up to sitting. “Also, can’t magic cure something like blood clots?”

“Spoken like a true muggle born.”

“Muggle raised,” he corrects.

“Of course, my mistake. Swing those legs around. Anyway, magic can do a lot but it can’t just make clots disappear. That sort of micro-magic is far too delicate within the human body. One wrong move and we’d tear a hole clean through you!”

“Comforting thought.”

Leila just shrugs and continues with his stretches. They go through all of the old ones before she adds in a few new ones. It hurts, but in a good way, and Harry’s never been one to shy away from a little pain anyhow. He is, however, looking forward to when he will be healed enough to do the hydrotherapy. In fact, any water would be nice right now. He’s been using cleaning charms on himself but they’re no replacement for a proper shower. He caught himself daydreaming about the luxurious tub in the Prefect bathroom yesterday. Maybe he can pay to install one like that in his… house? Flat? Where does he even live now? He’ll have to ask Ron the next time he visits.

When they’re all done Leila helps him lay back and get comfortable again, even going so far as to return his blankets. “Alrighty, Harry, things are looking good on my end. You have an appointment with Healer Briggs in a bit to discuss how you’re feeling.” He rolls his eyes at the mention of his mind healer, though he refrains from any rude comment. Leila, blessedly, ignores him. “After that, Healer MacAllen will be in to check on your surgical site and then we can talk about what comes next! Is there anything else you need from me right now? Any questions? Concerns?”

It’s all straightforward enough so he just asks, “How long has Molly been waiting today?”

Leila hides a laugh behind her hand. Molly showed up well before visiting hours the day after Harry gained consciousness, insistent upon seeing him. Mercifully, the hospital minister intercepted her before she could cause too much damage to the healing team in the surgical recovery ward. She’s been the first one in to see him every day since.

“Missus Weasley arrived promptly at eight o’clock this morning. However, she did bring the whole staff muffins so I think she’s warming up to us.”

“Orange treacle muffins?” Harry lights up with hope.

She pats his arm and promises to send one in with his next round of potions. “If there’s any left, that is.”

“There’d better be!” he shouts at her back as she leaves the room, still laughing.

Molly rushes in no less than twenty seconds later and hugs Harry to her chest as best she can with him in his prone position.

“Oh, Harry, my boy. My sweet, sweet boy.”

He breathes in the warm, comforting scent she always seems to carry with her. It’s a mix of flowery perfume and the smell of bread rising and Harry just drinks it in. He recalls all the times that Ginny would complain about her mother smothering her by being too overprotective or otherwise trying to be involved in all aspects of her life. But Harry revels in it.

He loves how much Molly has always cared for him. Many a hazy summer afternoon was spent wishing she would show up at his window just like the twins did in the old Ford Anglia and take him away. Besides photographs and viewing the memories of others, he can’t recall his own parents anymore. Sure, it was comforting to see them before he went to die in the Forbidden Forest, but it was the images of Sirius and Remus that helped the most. His parents are simply an abstract idea (which he should probably seek mental health treatment for- perhaps Healer Briggs could help him after all- but that’s another problem for another day).

As far as Harry is concerned, Molly and Arthur are as much his parents as Lily and James. Which is why Harry practically swooned when he got scolded for calling them ‘Mister and Missus Weasley’ the first day they visited him in hospital.

“Hiya, Mum,” he greets her now, smiling into her neck.

“I made those muffins you like.”

“Healer Sherman told me. Are there any left?”

Molly pulls away from him so that she can give him a disbelieving look, as though he’s daft for even insinuating that she wouldn’t have baked enough muffins for Harry to eat them until he got sick. She waves her wand and a muffin comes floating into the room and directly into Harry’s hand.

He takes a big bite and then thanks her with his mouth still full. She swats him on the arm, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t do that on purpose. He gives a cheeky grin before taking another bite.

Molly moves about the room, tidying the plethora of ‘Get Well Soon’ cards and bouquets of flowers, and Harry watches her as he eats. The last six years have seen her age more than he first realized (though perhaps the war is to blame for some of that). Her hair is much more grey than he remembers it being. The lines beside her eyes and around her mouth are deeper. At least she doesn’t seem to hold the constantly-tired posture that once plagued her frame.

Harry wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and asks, “Where did we leave off?”

She hums as she takes a seat in the bedside chair, smoothing her skirt out around her legs. “Well, I told you about Ginny.”

“Star Seeker for the Harpies. Ever you wild child with no chance of settling down.”
“Unfortunately.”

He snorts at that one. Harry already got the full story from Ron. Ginny was with Dean for a while, which is how Ron met Nina, but then Dean left her for Seamus, which should have come as a surprise for absolutely no one. Then she was with this older bloke that everyone thought was creepy, until she finally got her head out of her arse and started seeing Luna like she should have in the first place.

Harry was more than a little relieved to find out that he and Ginny didn’t get back together after things calmed down. He enjoyed the snogging and the snuggling during his sixth year but she simply wasn’t the one for him. She hasn’t yet had the chance to visit him- being a pro athlete keeps her busy- but he’s looking forward to the opportunity to pick her brain and maybe fill in some of the many blanks he has in his own.

“You also told me about Percy.”

Molly’s face lights up with the mention of her once-wayward son. He’s back at the Ministry, though he’s nothing like the Percy from before the war. He’s an undersecretary in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, working to help solve problems and help people. Percy is also making up for his familial mistakes, forging strong relationships with each of his siblings that they never had when they were younger.

“He’s so good with Bill’s girls. When Dominique was struggling to sleep through the night and both Bill and Fleur were so exhausted they could hardly think, Percy was the one who dropped everything to stay with them. Victoire just adores him.” She nudges Harry and adds, “She adores you too, you know.”

“I…” his lip quivers. There’s so much he’s missed out on and yet this one hurts deeper than he imagined it would. With parents like Bill and Fleur, he’s sure Victoire is amazing. But he doesn’t remember her at all. What if he’s not the same now and she hates him? It would break his heart.

One look, and Molly reads him like a book. “Don’t fret, sweetheart. Children are resilient. Bill told her that ‘Uncle Harry’ had a bit of an accident at work and now he has trouble remembering things. We told her to be patient with you.”

“Does she really understand though?”

“Perhaps not entirely, but she is only five years old.”

Harry thinks back to himself at five. He was sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs, drowning in Dudley’s hand-me-down clothes, and already serving his wretched family at every meal. Why couldn’t he lose those memories? Quickly, to smother the negative thoughts he asks, “So who’s next?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until later for that answer,” Draco interrupts as he strides into the room. “I apologize, Missus Weasley,” he says with a slight bow. “I know you only just got to see him, but Harry has an appointment to keep.”

“Oh, it’s never long enough!” She gets up and gives Harry another long hug. “We’ll finish with the rest when you come back. In the meantime, you listen to your healers and follow all of their instructions. Just focus on getting better so we can take you home.”

He doesn’t bother mentioning that there is no ‘getting better’ from a missing leg. He knows she is speaking from her heart. Harry forces a smile onto his face and asks Molly to bring Arthur along in the afternoon when he gets off work. She agrees and leaves, looking back at him at least twice before she’s even out the door.

“You’re one of the lucky ones,” Draco says to break the silence left behind. Harry gives him a questioning look in return so he explains, “Most people don’t have such loyal visitors.” Harry can only laugh (because it would take death itself to keep Molly away), which was Draco’s plan all along. He likes to deliver happy patients to their mind healers. “Now let’s get you down to see Healer Briggs!”

Harry groans, “Do I have to?”

So much for a happy patient. “Yes. I have the wheelchair ready for you and you can either get yourself into it on your own volition or I can levitate you into it.”

“Oh, I’d like to see you try.”

“Is that a threat?”

“You wish.” Draco’s wand is out before Harry can even react. He’s yanked up from his bed and unceremoniously flung into the waiting wheelchair.

Harry wants to be mad but even he can admit that he had this coming. He chuckles and says, “Even missing six years’ worth of memories, you’d think I’d have learned.”

“Harry Potter? Learn something? Never…”

He punches Draco in the arm, who promptly punches him back before pushing his wheelchair out of the room and down the corridor.