Nothing That Doesn't Offend You

Harry and Neville walked down the private hall together, their fingers loosely intertwined. Neville went to see his parents at St. Mungo’s more frequently since his grandmother’s death. The visits were more intimate, more emotional, now that the threat of disapproval no longer hung over Neville’s head like a vulture. He gave Harry’s hand a squeeze when they reached the door to the ward.

“See you in a bit then?” Neville asked, like always. Harry simply smiled, like always, and then parked himself on the nearest bench to wait. Harry actually dreaded the weeks that Neville visited his parents. The hours leading up to the visit made Neville tense and snappy, and the days that followed left him shattered and moody. Harry always went with him-it seemed the nice thing to do-though he’d rather be having a lie in, or out flying, or doing any number of mundane things, really. Usually he spent his time on the bench flipping through a Quidditch magazine, or simply sitting with his eyes closed, finding a moment of peace-the eye of the storm in Neville’s swirl of emotions-before dealing with the next two days of grief.

Today, however, he found himself restless, though he couldn’t put a finger on the exact cause. Perhaps it was the oppressive heat that had settled in over London for the past fortnight. Harry worked successfully at not digging any deeper than that for a cause. Whatever the reason, he told himself, it might be nice to go for a walk, stretch his legs.

He wandered down the bleak hall of the long-term resident ward, past door after door, until he reached a room with a wide window. Inside were several Healers tending to their patients, all of whom seemed to be working on individual little projects. A few were doing puzzles, some working with yarn, some simply sat and stared. His eyes were drawn to a pale figure, a young man who looked for all intents and purposes like an angelic child lost in the wonder of creation as he worked with a lump of clay. The man was in deep concentration; his pink tongue stuck stubbornly from his lips, head bent sharply over the table as his hands gently and rhythmically smoothed the clay into the shape of a shallow bowl. With a jolt, Harry realized he recognized those pale, slender fingers. It only took a second for him to realize that it was odd to recognize someone simply by seeing their fingers and only another second more for him to remember where he recognized them from. Those fingers. His dreams. The ones that leave him messy and wanting and not quite satisfied after he turns to Neville to quiet the ache.

Draco Malfoy.

Harry was nonplussed. He hadn’t seen Malfoy since before the war, yet here he was, in the ward for those whose minds and bodies were altered by Dark magic. Harry was entranced, watching Draco’s long fingers dip into the water before rubbing over a division of clay, smoothing it into a solid piece. His blond hair was longer, and Malfoy constantly tucked it behind an ear with clay covered fingers. A nurse finally walked in front of the window and frowned at Harry disapprovingly. He felt himself blush and walked away quickly, but not before allowing himself one more glance at his former enemy. Malfoy had picked up a wooden dowel and was poking his creation with a methodical air, grinning.

****************

Since the war ended, Harry had remained happily unemployed. He spent most of the summer shuttling between his and Neville’s flats, enjoying their time together before Neville was to return to Hogwarts as the Assistant to Professor Sprout that September. They’d made a “you’re gay? I’m gay!” discovery three months ago, and had hooked up without really questioning it. Neville had outgrown his awkwardness, and Harry was happy to be off the market. Soon enough Neville would be spending the remaining Fridays of the summer up at Hogwarts preparing the greenhouses, and when he left for good Harry wasn’t sure what he was going to do with himself.

Ron had been upset that Harry didn’t jump right into Auror training with him, but Harry had managed to convince both Ron and Hermione that he didn’t want to do anything just yet, but live, finally. Be in control of his life. Harry wasn’t even sure if he wanted to be an Auror anymore; the idea of sneaking about catching Dark Wizards had lost its appeal sometime after his little brush with death at the hands of that psycho bitch Bellatrix Lestrange. The fact that he now felt mildly trapped in this thing with Neville, who Harry knew was taking things far more seriously than he was, didn’t help the restless feeling that had been growing ever since he saw Malfoy at St. Mungo’s. He’d tried so hard to get away with a carefree life of little responsibility, and he was ill equipped with how to deal with a boyfriend whose company he enjoyed, who had explored with him the fumbling first intimacies he’d only dreamed about, but who he did not love in the slightest. Harry had a feeling he’d simply been trying to ensure he had a friend immediately at hand-a stand-in for Ron while he was away at the Auror Training Facility in Bristol for 18 months, a surrogate for Hermione while she studied under Snape at Hogwarts so she could team teach with him in the Fall.

Since Harry had discovered Malfoy on the same floor as Neville’s parents, he was secretly excited to return to St. Mungo’s. After leaving Neville at the door to his parents’ ward, Harry crossed his fingers and hoped Malfoy would be in the windowed room again. Much to his relief, the blond was sitting at the same table, working again with clay. Today he had built a tower at least 18 inches high, and he continued to place small amounts of clay at the top before using the water to smooth them together. His face was screwed up with concentration, and he worked with the clay with an almost tender touch. Malfoy’s innocent expression made Harry’s heart ache, and he wondered if his schoolyard rival ever looked this carefree in his childhood.

“Can I help you?” The same nurse from his last bout of Malfoy-watching was standing behind Harry, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when she addressed him.

“Um, no. I was just…visiting…with a friend. He’s visiting his parents…” Harry trailed off as he jerked his thumb back towards the Longbottoms’ room, and he felt his cheeks flare with heat.

“Did you want to visit him?” the nurse asked, pointing towards Malfoy with her clipboard.

“No! I mean…can I?” Harry didn’t know what his mouth was playing at, but it seemed to be working independently of his brain.

“Of course. You need to make an appointment first, fill out some paperwork.”

Harry meant to say no thank you, not interested, but when he opened his mouth he said, “How about the first Friday in August?” Bollocks.

“Fridays are good for him.” Harry nodded before looking at her quizzically.

“So…what’s wrong with him?” The nurse gave him a severe look, and he hastily explained.

“We…we were acquaintances at school. I knew he didn’t die-in the war I mean-but I never really knew what happened to him or where he went afterwards.” The nurse nodded thoughtfully.

“We’ve been able to determine that he was hit with two curses at once. We don’t know what they were. We do know that they wreaked havoc with his nervous system. Notice his clothes?” Harry nodded; they were different than the baggy pyjamas that the other patients were wearing.

“They are form fitting but flexible. We’ve spelled them so that he can barely feel them. Most touches have the capacity to set his nerve endings on fire, so the clothes cover him and keep him warm without hurting him.” Harry wondered how long Malfoy had suffered before the Healers had figured out that bit of information.

“The clay is good for him. It, as well as the water, is spelled to remain warm, close to body temperature, so as not to shock his system. He can work on his motor skills without affecting his touch sensitivity. The curses obviously impaired his neural receptors as well; he has basically been reduced to a childlike state most of the time. He is also mentally fragile, prone to fits of depression or violent outbursts. We work with him a lot on Mondays and Tuesdays, trying potions and spells in an attempt to reverse the effects. They wear him out and often leave him fairly unresponsive and he needs the rest of the week to recover.” They watched the blond for a few minutes as he shaped a chunk of clay into a pyramid.

“He doesn’t seem to recognize people, but then…” the nurse trailed off, and Harry knew what she was getting at.

“But then nobody he knows comes to visit?” She gave Harry a sad smile and nodded. Just then a great commotion erupted in the room and Malfoy was on the floor, rocking on his knees and wailing, his tower in a heap by his side.

“Oh, dear, I best get in there, poor lamb…” The nurse shuffled hastily towards the door, but not before turning back and saying, “I’ll see you in two weeks, Mr. Potter.”

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The first Friday of August arrived, and Harry was a bundle of nerves. He tried to maintain a calm exterior until Neville kissed him goodbye and hopped in the Floo to Hogwarts. St. Mungo’s didn’t allow visitors for another two hours, and Harry spent that time mainlining cups of tea, relieving himself of said tea, and debating whether to actually go or not. Even an extended wank in the shower wasn’t enough to calm him down, and when the clock finally struck eleven he Apparated straight to the lobby of the hospital.

The nurse was waiting for him at the check-in station on Draco’s floor, and she smiled when she saw him coming.

“I suppose I should learn your name, in case I need help or something?” Harry asked as he signed a small pile of forms.

The nurse pointed to the name sewn onto her smock-Nurse Hickock-and gave him a patient smile. “Robin will do.” Harry smiled back at her, and they turned and walked down the hall.

“This is the Activity Room. It allows patients to get out of their rooms, work with their hands, and also promotes hand eye coordination and provides sensory therapy.”

“Sensory therapy?” Harry asked, brow furrowed as he listened.

“Yes. These activities may look fairly mundane, but the textures of the yarn, the feeling of clay being worked between the fingers, these all provide a tactile means of mental stimulation. It’s a small thing, but important.” Harry nodded, fascinated.

They stopped outside the door and Robin turned and gave him a stern look.

“I’ll be with you the whole time, Mr. Potter. We don’t know how Mr. Malfoy will react to your presence, if at all.” Harry took a deep breath and blew it out quickly. Robin opened the door for him, and Harry walked in slowly. He sat gently in the chair next to Draco and watched him. The blond was carefully rolling chunks of clay into balls between his palms before lining them up in size order across the table. Harry was moved at Draco’s countenance; he looked almost sweet-naïve even-as he worked, completely absorbed in his task.

“Draco, someone is here to see you today,” Robin intoned gently. Draco didn’t respond, and stared intently at the rows of balls before he put the finished one in its place. He pulled off another chunk and held it in his palm. Draco stared at the clay for several seconds before bringing his hands together to create another ball.

“Don’t worry,” Robin whispered to Harry. “He only responds to direct communication about fifteen percent of the time.” Harry frowned, a sliver of sadness snaking through his belly as his mind argued with itself.

Malfoy was the biggest git in school.
Yes, but nobody should be reduced to this.
But he was a Death Eater! Who knows how many he raped, tortured, killed.
So are you saying he deserves this?
Well it’s just like a Dementor’s Kiss, really. Right?
And he would have deserved that?
I don’t know!
Obviously you feel some sympathy, or you wouldn’t be here.
Shut up.

“Harry?” Robin had been trying to get his attention as he warred mentally with himself.

“Sorry,” he said, shaking his head to clear it. “Yeah?”

“Why don’t you try talking to him?” Harry took another deep breath and let it out. Really, he was going to have to learn to breathe while he was here, or he’d find himself passed out on the floor.

“Draco? Hey there.” Harry gave a little wave. Draco showed no signs of having heard him.

“Draco, it’s me, Harry. Harry Potter?” Draco picked up another chunk of clay and began rolling it in his hands.

“Come on Draco. You know me, right? Potter? Potty? Scarhead?” Robin frowned and made notes on her clipboard. Just then a hulking bear of a man with wild hair and even wilder eyes lumbered by. As he passed their table, he reached over with his massive fist and flattened several of Draco’s clay balls into pancakes.

“Terence!” Robin said sharply to the bear-man as Draco began to wail. Another nurse rushed over to scold Terence and usher him away, while Robin tried to calm Draco down.

“Draco! Draco! Hush now, hush, it’s ok, we can roll them back up, see? It’s okay, settle down…” Harry watched, fascinated yet horrified. Draco’s normally pale cheeks were red, and tears spilled from his soft grey eyes.

“Merlin, Harry, could you watch him for a few seconds while I grab a sedative potion? I left it back at the nurses’ station…” Harry was dismayed at the prospect but nodded, unsure what else to do. Robin trotted quickly out the door and down the hall, and Harry turned back to Draco, who was visibly agitated by Robin’s departure.

“Hey, Draco, hey, it’s okay, don’t cry …” Harry reached out to touch him and Draco recoiled so quickly he fell off his chair and cried harder.

“Draco! Fuck … Oi! MALFOY!” Harry’s voice rang through the room, and it took him a moment to realize that Draco was no longer crying, but staring at him, a glimmer of not-quite-recognition on his face. Robin rushed back into the room and stopped short when she saw the two men staring at each other.

“Malfoy,” Harry whispered. Draco stared back at him, wide eyed, his breath coming in harsh gasps. As Harry leaned forward slowly, hoping to help the blond back to his feet, Draco caught sight of his smashed creation out of the corner of his eye. His face screwed up and he began to wail again, arms wrapped around his chest as he rocked back and forth, all recognition of those around him lost. Robin hurried forward and helped Draco drink the sedative before calling two orderlies over to help the blond back to his room.

“Well,” she said, turning to Harry. “That was certainly interesting.”

****************

“What did you do today?” Neville asked, dropping on Harry’s couch late that evening. Neville smelled of dirt and bubotuber pus, and Harry wished his boyfriend would have changed and showered before sitting on his furniture.

“Not much, just poked around Diagon Alley for a while,” Harry said, and told himself it wasn’t exactly a lie, save for leaving out the whole reason he left the house in the first place. He had stopped at the Leaky for lunch and visited the twins at the joke shop for a while before coming home. Harry wasn’t sure why, exactly, he wasn’t telling Neville about Malfoy, but he figured if he couldn’t explain the visits to himself, how was he going to explain them to someone else? Neville was prattling on about the new greenhouse, and Harry tried to focus back on the conversation.

“Anyway, I think it will be a really nice addition to the advanced Herbology classes. I’d better shower; I’m covered in filth.” Neville stood up and headed back towards the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to look at Harry.

“Care to join me?” Neville asked with a leer that was offset by his blushing cheeks. Harry smiled and followed his boyfriend, stripping as he went.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Harry visited Draco every Friday in August and with each passing week it became more difficult to tell Neville the truth about where he’d been. Neville was leaving for Hogwarts the following Wednesday, and Harry continued to sidestep The Talk about what they would do once they lived 500 miles from each other. Harry was also becoming a bit depressed about Draco’s condition. Since his first visit there had been no change in the blond, no recognition, even when Harry called him “Malfoy”.

This time Robin wanted to try a different tack, and asked Harry to talk about things he and Draco might have in common. So Harry told stories of Quidditch, Potions class, and the time Draco had broken Harry’s nose on the Hogwarts Express. Draco gave no reaction, but simply kneaded the clay with his hands, occasionally dipping his fingers in a bowl of water before using it to smooth out the clay. Robin shrugged at Harry and he gave her a small smile. She smiled back, and then her face shifted to a look of surprise. She nudged Harry’s knee and nodded towards Draco. The blond was looking at Harry, holding out a piece of clay on his palm. Harry stared at Draco’s hand before Robin nudged his knee again, harder this time, and he reached for the clay.

“Be careful not to touch him,” Robin whispered. Harry delicately lifted the chunk of earth out of Draco’s hand.

“Thank you, Malfoy,” Harry murmured. Grey eyes narrowed suspiciously, and that gleam of almost recognition returned, before Draco’s face lapsed back to a calm, childlike passivity. Harry noticed his own hands were shaking, and damn it but how did Malfoy always affect him like this? He set the clay on the table and began to mimic Draco’s movements. They kneaded the clay in silence for a quarter of an hour before Draco sighed and dropped his hands into his lap.

“All done, love?” Robin asked. Draco stared at his hands and did not answer. She nodded to the orderly, who came and helped steer Draco back to his room. Robin looked at Harry, and tears shone in her eyes.

“Well done, Harry.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he replied. He continued to knead the dough; the repetition was soothing to his jangled nerves. Maybe I need some sensory therapy as well, he thought wryly.

“Something about you is getting through to him though. Would you like to come in Monday and help with some of the healing charms?”

“Monday?” Harry blanched, and kneaded the clay with increased vigor. “I can’t, I mean, Mondays are bad—” Robin cut him off.

“How about Tuesday then?” She was looking at him earnestly.

“Tuesday?” No. “Sure.” Bugger.

“Great! See you then. We try to start around mid-morning. I’m going to ask the powers that be to grant you special access, so you can Apparate straight to this floor, rather than have to come up through the lobby.” Harry looked at her in surprise and she smiled warmly at him.

“Thank you,” Harry stammered out. “Thank you very much.”

****************

“I know you leave tomorrow, Nev, but I have to go to the Ministry, couldn’t get out of it.” Harry looked at his boyfriend with what he hoped was a put-out look on his face, fingers crossed behind his back.

Child, his mind taunted.

Go fuck yourself- you’re the one that got us into this mess.

“Yeah, I know. I…just…last full day together, and all,” Neville finished lamely as he gave Harry a brave smile. Harry stood and clapped his boyfriend on the shoulder before kissing his cheek.

“I’ll see you later then, okay?” Harry told himself the sick feeling in his stomach was just indigestion, and he Apparated to St. Mungo’s. Robin was waiting for him at the desk, and she gathered up her notes before leading him down a side corridor.

“Draco’s room is down this way. I told him you were coming.”

“Any reaction?”

“Well, no, but I like to think he understands.” Harry rolled his eyes. “Now remember, he had treatments yesterday, so he is a little…down today.”

She pushed the door to Draco’s room open and let Harry in. Down, Harry would say, was a monumental understatement. Draco sat on the floor in the corner, head bowed while he chewed on his thumbnail. His other hand clenched around a small rubber ball, and every few seconds he’d rock a bit and make a small noise that reminded Harry of a wounded animal. Robin gave Harry a small shove, and he walked over to where Draco sat.

“Hey Malfoy,” he murmured softly. Harry sat next to him and mimicked Draco’s actions. Draco’s unblinking, catatonic stare made Harry feel a little sick. After a few minutes, Draco stopped rocking, dropped his hand from his mouth, and sat still. Harry glanced at Robin and she smiled encouragingly at him.

“I’m here to help with your treatments today, Malfoy.” They sat in silence for several more minutes when the ball Draco had been holding rolled out of his hand. Both reached for it automatically-my god he’s still got his Seeker instincts, Harry thought wildly-but Harry was faster and Draco’s hand closed over Harry’s fingers instead of the ball. Both men sucked in their breath, and Harry turned slightly to look at Draco’s face. Draco had closed his eyes, a look of great pain stretched across his features. He opened and shut his mouth several times before snatching his hand away from Harry’s and rocking in earnest. Distressed, Harry glanced apologetically at Robin before getting up off the floor to sit on Draco’s bed.

“All right, lamb, time for your treatments,” Robin said to Draco. She squatted down in front of him, with an orderly standing behind her, and pointed her wand at Draco. She ran through a series of charms that seemed to have no effect other than to leave Draco shivering. She scanned him with her wand and, as she did, a faint blue glow followed wherever she moved it. As she passed it over his right hand she paused, frowning thoughtfully. Harry leaned in and saw that the wand’s glow had turned a slight purple color.

“I think that is enough for today, Draco. You eat some lunch, okay? It won’t do to have you get any thinner.” Robin jotted some notes on her clipboard. Harry watched Draco for a moment more before slipping off the bed and onto his knees in front of the blond.

“Harry, what are you doing?”

“Here’s your ball back, Malfoy.” Harry held his hand out close to Draco’s. Draco continued to rock.

“I’ll wait, Malfoy, don’t worry. I’ve got all day.”

Draco continued to rock, and rock, and rock. Harry heard Robin move behind him, and he shook his head at her. Several more minutes passed, when with a final wild sway Draco suddenly stopped moving. Draco peeked out through the sheet of pale hair hanging down before his eyes and reached a shaking hand toward the ball. He laid his hand over Harry’s for a heartbeat before pulling the ball out of Harry’s hand and tucking it back in to himself. Harry felt his chest constrict, and he resisted the urge to reach out and tuck Draco’s hair behind his ear.

“There you go, Malfoy. I’ll see you later, okay?” Harry was surprised to hear his voice quivering, and he shakily got to his feet and left the room without looking at Robin. He watched through the small window in the door as she rescanned both of Draco’s hands with her wand and, from his vantage point, he could clearly see the wand leave a purple trace. She smiled and said something to Draco before meeting Harry in the hall.

“Well,” Robin said, looking at Harry meaningfully. “I’ve got to get to the Charms lab and write up a report of what happened. Walk with me?”

Harry nodded and fell in step beside her. “So that reaction wasn’t standard, then?” he asked.

“I’ve never seen a Charm Aura change simply due to human contact. And the fact that he reinitiated the contact the second time? Nearly miraculous, in his case.”

“A new kind of sensory therapy?” Harry asked with a grin. Robin grinned back.

“You may be on to something, Mr. Potter.”

They maneuvered around a pair of orderlies levitating a patient near the lifts. Robin turned back to speak to Harry when something behind him caught her eye and she smiled.

“Hello Neville!” Harry’s mouth went dry, and he prayed to Merlin that the “Neville” behind him was a Healer and not his boyfriend.

“Hi Robin. Harry?” Harry closed his eyes and swallowed. No such luck then.

“Oh, you two know each other? Well I guess you would, both Gryffindors, eh? Were you in the same year?”

Neville ignored her questions and pinned Harry with a sharp look. Harry licked his lips and looked at the floor.

“What’s going on, Harry? I thought you were at the Ministry.”

“Ah…” Bugger and fuck.

“Oh, Harry here has been helping us out for a few weeks now,” Robin interjected. “Did you know Draco Malfoy?” Neville sucked in his breath and looked at Harry.

“Yeah, he was in our year. Slytherin.” Neville scuffed his shoe on the ground. “Malfoy.” He gave a soft snort. “Harry always did have a bit of an obsession with him.” Neville managed to sound both wounded and full of contempt, and Harry’s stomach bubbled, hot and sick.

Robin finally cottoned on to the awkwardness of the situation, and glanced back and forth between the two young wizards. Harry looked embarrassed, and Neville simply looked miserable.

“I just thought I’d visit my mum and dad one more time before heading off to Hogwarts tomorrow,” Neville finally said.

“Well.” Robin started, and then the lift doors opened with a soft ding. “I best be getting this info to the lab.” She looked back and forth between them before stepping in through the doors, with Neville close behind. Harry wondered absently why she didn’t just Apparate. His boyfriend turned around and gave him a soft, sad look.

“I’ll stop by later to say goodbye.”

“Right,” Harry mumbled, and he caught and held Neville’s gaze as the doors slid shut, trying to say I’m sorry and I know I’ve been a total arse and someday you’ll find someone that can love you back with just a look. He was pretty sure it didn’t work.

“Fuck,” Harry ground out, slamming his fist in to the wall.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Harry’s legs were shaky from exertion after his four hour walk around Muggle London. He’d hoped the walk would clear his head before he talked to Neville, but instead his mind felt more muddled than ever.

“Nev? You here?” His voice echoed softly around the flat. He sighed and flopped down in his favorite chair, rubbing his eyes with his hands. He should probably go find Neville, but he couldn’t seem to find the will power to move out of the chair. As Harry looked around at the room, he realized that he’d always seen it has his flat, never their flat. A parchment on the end table caught his eye and he reached for it with a sigh.

Harry,

I don’t think I can say goodbye to you in person, not after today. Robin told me what you’ve been doing, and I’m just so hurt that you were sneaking around, not even that it was Malfoy, just that you didn’t think you could tell me. Look Harry, I know that you don’t feel for me the way I feel about you. We hadn’t even worked out how we were going to see each other while I was at Hogwarts… I just tried to deny the fact that you didn’t take us seriously. I’m hurt, of course, but better to find out now, rather than in a year, or ten.

Neville

Harry read the letter through another time before tossing it in the fire. He headed to the Muggle pub on the corner and, by the time he stumbled home after midnight, he was well and truly pissed. Harry staggered out of bed when the sun hit his face the next morning, weaving his way to the bathroom to relieve his painfully full bladder. He debated on whether to take one of the noxious hangover potions he had, and decided more sleep was really the best way to go. The sheets were a tangled mess, and he tossed and turned before falling into a fitful sleep.

****************

Harry woke with a start and looked wildly around his bedroom before his senses returned to him. Right, he thought. The clock showed it was well past noon. Bar. Drunk. Neville. Nightmare. Shit. He ran a shaky hand over his face and frowned. He hadn’t had a nightmare about the war for months, and this one was more vivid than usual, like he was watching the events play back to him in slow motion clarity. He saw Snape running in front of him, blocking a curse aimed at Harry’s chest. He tackled Snape and the curse flew over their heads. He saw a Death Eater running towards them and flung an Extersum Nervulus spell at him before his mind registered that the masked figure was shaking his head and holding his arms out before him, his cracked voice crying No! No! Snape! Harry’s spell hit the Death Eater in the arm just as another jet of light struck the masked figure from behind, and he crumpled to the ground.

Malfoy. Harry scrambled out of bed and took a hasty shower before throwing on a tattered pair of jeans and a clean shirt and Apparating to St. Mungo’s.

****************

“I’m telling you Robin, I think I hit Malfoy with one of the curses.” The nurse just looked at him, doubt playing on her careworn features. Harry was antsy, nervously shifting from foot to foot.

“I don’t know Harry, it was just a dream, you had a tough day yesterday–I hope things are okay between you and Neville, by the way–but I think you just need to settle down. Here, have some tea.” He threw himself into the nearest chair and took the cup from her.

“You don’t understand, I don’t have normal dreams, like everyone else. I know what I saw, This was more of a vision, not of the future, but of what actually happened. My mind has completely blocked what happened that day, but I know it is locked in my brain somewhere. I’d bet my life that it was my curse that hit him.” Harry shook his head and took a sip of the lukewarm tea.

“Okay, well, do you remember what the curse was Harry?”

“It’s called Extersum Nervulus. It’s like an alteration of Obliviate. We used it to knock down an enemy and wipe out his nervous system temporarily. It takes the brain and tweaks things a bit so they can’t control their movements, can’t fire off a spell-almost like they are stuck in a world where all their wiring gets crossed. It basically immobilizes the victim for about ten minutes, so you have some time to spare before you have to capture them for good.” Harry gave Robin a miserable look and she patted his knee.

“First of all Harry, you were fighting a war. You can’t feel guilty for defending yourself and your friends. Secondly, this coincides with many of Draco’s symptoms. You say the other spell that hit him was from a Death Eater? That would mean it was probably a dark curse, yes?”

Harry frowned. “Well, yes, probably, but why would one Death Eater curse another? It doesn’t make sense.”

Robin stood up and stretched. “I’ll go talk to the lab and let them know we’ve possibly identified one of the curses. Why don’t you go home? You look like hell.”

“Can I…can I see him?”

Robin chewed her quill thoughtfully before replying. “He is actually better today than he usually is after his two days of treatment. Okay, but just for half an hour, all right?” Harry smiled and nodded in agreement. He walked swiftly down the corridor to Draco’s room and knocked softly before going in.

“Hey Malfoy, it’s Harry.” The blond was sitting on the edge of his bed, hands propped on the mattress on either side of his hips. Draco’s head was bowed and his legs swung back and forth like a bored child’s. He didn’t look up as Harry approached him and made no movement as Harry sat next to him on the bed. They sat that way for a while, with Harry swinging his legs slightly, copying Draco’s movements.

“Malfoy, I’m going to put my hand on yours, lightly, okay?” Draco didn’t respond, and Harry hesitated long enough to nearly lose his nerve. Finally he took a deep breath and said, “Here I go.” Harry raised his left hand slightly and slid it across the bed towards Draco’s right. Harry spread his fingers slightly and placed them softly on top of Draco’s long, pale digits. Draco’s arm gave a twitch, but he did not pull away. Harry stared at their hands, hardly daring to breath. They sat like that for a long time, and when Harry looked up, he was surprised to see Draco looking at their hands as well.

“Malfoy…” Harry murmured. Draco blinked and slowly raised his head to look at Harry. The blond’s face was calm and beautiful, and his grey eyes were wide and full of innocence. Harry blinked several times, fighting the sting, because now was definitely not the time to go all Hufflepuff, thank you very much.

“Hi,” Harry whispered. Draco stared at him for so long that Harry wondered if he would ever blink. The blond looked back down at their hands and slowly shifted his body, bringing his left hand over to rest on top of Harry’s. Harry let out a shaky breath and felt the tears wavering, not quite ready to spill.

“Hi,” Draco said. His voice was light and rough, barely a whisper, and Harry remembered the only noise Malfoy ever made was when he cried. Draco suddenly pulled his hands away, placing them in his lap and started swinging his legs again. Harry swung his legs slightly as well and struggled to get his emotions under control. There was a soft knock on the door, and Robin came into the room.

“Your half hour is up, Harry.” She looked at the pair of them on the bed and smiled. “No problems then?” Harry turned to look at Draco.

“Nope. No problems. I have to go, okay Malfoy? But I’m going to try and come see you more often. Is that okay?” Draco was unresponsive, save for a twitch of his hands. Harry reached out and touched Draco’s hands, giving them the lightest hint of a squeeze. “See you later, Malfoy.” He turned and slid gently past Robin towards the door.

“Robin, do you want to go grab some tea? I’ve got something to tell you.”

****************

Robin had been elated at the news that Draco spoke, and not only granted Harry permission to visit any time of the day, but listed him as Draco’s emergency contact. Harry went home exhausted and happy, and after a quick bite to eat, fell into bed by 7:00 o’clock.

Harry found that he loved going to the hospital, and averaged about four visits a week to Draco. After a month, he and Robin both felt they were making progress. Draco would often say hi to Harry when he arrived, and bye again when he left. Robin felt Draco was going through the same learning processes that everyone did as a child, that his brain was slowly but surely straightening itself out, and the results were coming through as if he were a toddler learning the power of speech. Draco allowed Harry short, light touches that always caused a visible change to his aura. Draco never looked more delighted-or more interactive-than on the days he and Harry sat in the Activities room, kneading clay and building bowls and towers and bricks.

Draco still fought against the deep depression that would occasionally pop up and hold him tight. On those days even Harry couldn’t get through to him. One Monday morning Harry found Draco under his bed, sobbing softly to himself. Harry lowered himself onto his stomach and carefully slithered in next to the blond.

“Malfoy, it’s me. What’s wrong? I’m going to hold your hand now, okay?” Harry reached out and tugged on Draco’s fingers, which had been tucked in a ball under his chest. Harry was relieved when Draco didn’t resist, but the blond shut his eyes tight and continued to cry. Draco moaned and thrashed and sobbed as if trapped in a nightmare. Harry murmured softly to him, a running commentary of nonsense combined with it’s okay and open your eyes, Draco and please don’t cry. It was nearly twenty minutes before the tears slowed, and Draco’s body relaxed. Harry’s shoulders ached and the floor was cold. He breathed a soft sigh of relief to see that the blond might actually be falling asleep, when Draco’s eyes suddenly flew open.

“Greg?” Draco rasped. His eyes flew to Harry’s face and he snatched his hand back.

“Dra – Malfoy, it’s Harry. Potter. Who is Greg? Greg Goyle?” Draco only stared at him, a mixture of fear and loathing on his face. Draco then closed his eyes and moaned, fresh tears dripping on the floor. Harry’s mind raced, and he crawled out from under the bed and left the room. He stopped by the nurses’ station and told the nurse on duty that Draco needed a sedative, now, damn it, and left a hastily scrawled message for Robin. Harry needed to get to Hogwarts. He needed to talk to Snape.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Harry strode across the Hogwarts lawn for the first time in over two years. He thanked all the deities he could name that the castle and grounds had been spared in the war. The fall sun was casting long shadows, and the ash and willow trees were shedding their brilliant leaves, carpeting the lawn with a haze of yellow. Harry slowed as he walked by the greenhouses.

“First things first, then,” he sighed. Harry found Professor Sprout in the first greenhouse he entered.

“Mr. Potter, what a surprise.”

“Hello, Professor Sprout. Er, is Neville around?” She gave him a long appraising look that told him she knew far more than she should, and his cheeks reddened.

“Greenhouse Three,” she said curtly, before turning back to her task. Harry left quickly and walked the familiar path between the buildings. He wanted nothing more than to run straight up to the castle, but guilt won out over fear, and he forced himself through the doors of the third greenhouse.

Neville was near the back, humming softly as he carefully swept up plant trimmings. He paused and looked up when he heard Harry’s footsteps.

“Hey, Neville.”

“Harry.” There was a long and very awkward pause before Neville said, “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, well, I need to see Snape…” Harry trailed off. Nice one, Harry. Fucking idiot. Neville looked at the floor, his face a picture of disappointment.

“I mean, ah, Neville, look…”

“No, Harry. Stop,” Neville said firmly as he held up his hands, palms facing his former boyfriend.

“I only held a tiny glimmer of hope you were here for me. But really, I’m sure if you were interested in working things out you would have written me or come for a visit anytime in the last…” he paused, looking thoughtfully in the air while counting on his fingers, “…four weeks? Yeah. So it’s been good to see you Harry, but I need to get this greenhouse cleaned up before the first year Hufflepuffs come down and tear it apart again.”

Harry stared at Neville dumbly, acutely embarrassed.

“Neville, I’m –”

“Save it, Harry.” Harry nodded, a headache pulsing to life in his right temple, and he left Neville to his cleaning.

As Harry made his way up to the castle, he brooded over the spectacular way he’d managed to stick a knife into every aspect of that relationship. He tried to shake it off as he walked down to the dungeons, and tried to relax as he leaned against the cold stone wall outside the Potions classroom. It wasn’t long before a group of third years came pouring out the doors, and Harry tucked himself into an alcove out of sight. When it appeared that the coast was clear, he ducked into the classroom.

“Harry!!” Hermione shrieked, rushing towards him to throw her arms around his neck. He laughed and hugged her back.

“Easy, Hermione, not too tight now.”

“Oh Harry, it’s so good to see you,” she said as she leaned back and held Harry by the shoulders, giving him the once over.

“You look like you’re keeping yourself out of trouble.”

“And you look like a professor. Wow, Hermione.” Harry stepped back and smiled warmly at his friend, taking in her upturned hair and smart black robes. “Don’t take any house points, okay?”

She laughed and gave him an affectionate shove.

“What brings you around, Harry?” Hermione looked at him carefully, and he wondered if the entire staff at Hogwarts knew what had happened between him and Neville.

“I need to speak to Snape,” he said, and gave her what he hoped was a look that said thank you, no, but I’d rather not talk about Neville just now, Hermione. She smiled at him sadly.

“I thought maybe you were here to see –”

“That’s over, Hermione. But I really do need to see Snape. It’s sort of urgent.” Hermione looked at him curiously, her interest in discussing his disaster of a love life momentarily quelled.

“Unfortunately, Professor Snape isn’t available today; he is having one of his…bad days. He won’t see you. I’m sorry, Harry. Can you stay overnight? Maybe he will be better tomorrow.”

“It can’t wait, Hermione,” Harry said, the image of Draco sobbing uncontrollably under his bed at the front of his mind.

“Fine, well, I’ll tell him you’re here. I can’t promise any more than that.” Hermione grabbed the pile of parchments off the desk and strode out the door, and Harry hurried to catch up. It was only a short distance to Snape’s quarters, and she motioned for Harry to stay away from the door.

“Consectum,” Hermione snapped, and the door unlocked. She slid into Snape’s room and shut the door behind herself. Harry only had a moment to wonder just how often Hermione needed the password to Snape’s private chambers when she slipped back out into the hall.

“No go, sorry Harry. If you want, you can bunk in my quarters, or get a room in Hogsmeade –”

“Tell him it’s about Draco Malfoy.” Harry stared hard at Hermione and she looked at him, more than a little surprised. Apparently Neville hadn’t told them everything. After a moment’s hesitation she let herself back into Snape’s room. Five minutes passed, then ten, before she poked her head out the door.

“Okay, Harry. Come in.”

****************

Harry cautiously stepped through the door, unnerved. He had no idea what to expect from Snape-his rooms or his demeanor. His former professor had been hit by a series of curses that had struck his body with such force he had flown arse over teakettle down a flight of stairs. Aside from major spell damage that left him weak, his wand arm was mangled beyond repair, and he always carried it tightly against his stomach.

Harry found Snape sitting in a large burgundy chair that looked about a thousand years old. His rooms were dark, but the rich furniture and candlelight gave them the impression of warmth. Hermione looked pointedly at the chair next to Snape and Harry hastened to sit down.

“Potter,” Snape’s voice rasped weakly. Harry tried not to wince, and felt a stab of guilt for not visiting him before. I mean, really, the man dove in front of a killing curse to try to save him. When had Harry become such a shitty friend?

“Professor, I don’t know if you realize this, but Draco Malfoy has been in a ward at St. Mungo’s since the end of the war. He is suffering from curse damage. His mental state, well, ah…” Harry faltered, not sure how to describe Draco’s condition to someone else. Snape was looking at him intently.

“Look, he’s not well. His nerves and neurons are all scrambled. He rarely speaks, he hardly makes eye contact, most days he is like a lost child, he only lets me touch him…” Harry looked up to see Snape’s eyebrows approaching maximum height, and Harry’s face reddened as he hastened to continue.

“They know he got hit with two spells simultaneously. One was…one was mine. Extersum Nervulus. And I remember him getting hit from behind by another spell, from a Death Eater. Whatever it is has caused him to be extremely sensitive to touch as well, but when he let me touch his hand, they saw positive results in his aura.” Snape continued to simply stare at him, and Harry fidgeted in his chair like a first year and looked down at his hands.

“When you so graciously knocked me down, Mr. Potter,” Snape managed, his voice shaky and barely audible from the curse damage. “I saw your spell hit a Death Eater. I did not know it was Draco, though now I see…” Snape closed his eyes briefly before continuing. “I see that he was coming to my aid. I also saw the Death Eater that hit him from behind. I believe it to have been Greg Goyle.”

Harry gasped and sat forward in his chair. “Greg? Are you sure? Do you know what kind of spell he would have cast?”

“Of course I’m sure, Mr. Potter. And I believe Greg cast the same spell that you did. Greg was aware of Draco’s status as a spy for the Order and did everything he could to protect him. He would have knocked Draco out, even momentarily, if he thought it would keep him safe.” Harry’s mind reeled and his heart raced in his chest.

“So Draco may have been hit by the same curse twice at exactly the same time?”

“So it would seem. That spell is known to have unpredictable effects, so getting a double dose obviously can be very damaging.” Snape watched Harry with an unreadable expression.

“My God,” Harry whispered. “Draco rarely speaks, but this morning he was having a sort of waking nightmare, and he said Greg’s name.”

“They were very close. Draco was concerned for Mr. Goyle’s welfare and tried to convince his friend that he didn’t need protection. He didn’t want the Dark Lord to find out that Mr. Goyle’s allegiance to Draco was a bit higher than it should be.” Snape’s voice was becoming weaker, and a light sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead.

“Where is Greg now?” Harry asked, hoping to God the answer wasn’t going to be –

“Azkaban,” Snape whispered. Shit. “He received the Kiss at the same time as Lucius Malfoy and many other Death Eaters, shortly after you defeated the Dark Lord.” Harry shuddered and looked away, unable to meet Snape’s eyes.

“Is that all you need, Harry?” Hermione said, interrupting his thoughts. “I think that Professor Snape has had enough for one day.” Snape gave her a glare that would make any first year think twice about ever addressing him again, but Hermione ignored him.

“Yeah, sure. One last thing, if I may. Do you know how to reverse it, or counter it? Draco’s…affliction?” Snape closed his eyes and leaned his head back for several long minutes.

“I’ve a few ideas-potions-Miss Granger and I can research them and contact you. Otherwise you’ll need to work on his nervous system. I think you are on the right track, and that is why your touch is healing him.”

“Sensory therapy,” Harry murmured. “Thank you, Professor. Hermione.” He rose and walked quickly to the door.

“Potter.” Snape’s voice was softer than a whisper. “I would have appreciated it if you would have told me Draco’s whereabouts sooner.” Harry furrowed his brow.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you. It just…slipped my mind.” Snape exhaled through his nose unappreciatively. Harry felt like he spent his life apologizing. Wouldn’t have to do that if you weren’t such a twat, his mind pointed out.

“Keep us posted, all right?” Hermione said quickly, and Harry turned to her gratefully. “And send me an owl sometime. It wouldn’t kill you.”

“You either, Professor Granger.” The two old friends smiled at each other before Harry turned and left.

****************

It took Harry two hours to get home, and he was exhausted but filled with a nervous energy that kept him bouncing from room to room. It was too late to talk to Robin, but he couldn’t seem to settle down. He grabbed his Firebolt and Apparated to the Quidditch Practice fields in the Wizarding section of Hyde Park. A pick up game was in full swing on one pitch. The second pitch, however, was completely free. He kicked off the ground and circled the field a few times, swooping and diving, letting the wind wash away his stress and anxiety. God I miss this, he thought, and with a whoop he leaned in and sped around the stands before diving into a spiral and pulling up seconds before hitting the ground. He became aware of cheers and whistles and looked to see that the pick up game had stopped, its participants now hovering on their brooms to watch him fly. They waved him over to join them, and Harry waved and shook his head, a grin plastered on his face. He flew a couple more laps before landing, and watched the pick up game for a few minutes before Apparating home, light of heart.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Harry arrived at St. Mungo’s before Robin and waited for her with a cup of hot tea at the nurses’ station. He jumped up when she came around the corner.

“Harry! You’re here awfully early. I take it you learned something at Hogwarts?”

“I think so. I think Draco was hit with the same curse twice.” Robin frowned at him, eyes narrowed, and he squirmed under the intense scrutiny.

“You’re sure?”

“I’d say ninety-five percent. Maybe ninety percent,” he said, waffling.

“I suppose that will have to do,” she replied, jotting notes on her clipboard. Harry wondered absently if she carried it everywhere, though that train of thought quickly derailed when he imagined the middle-aged witch in the shower, clipboard in hand.

“How is he?” Harry asked. Robin shook her head, still writing.

“Not great. He was so agitated by dinnertime we had to put him in a body bind and give him a Sleeping Draught.” Harry frowned. At seeing his expression, Robin set her clipboard aside and put a gentle hand on Harry’s arm.

“It’s okay; he needs to rest. I know it sounds cruel…we had to do it a lot when he first arrived. Everything set him off.” Harry could imagine Draco pinned to the bed, eyes wild with fury.

“Go see him. Go.” Harry didn’t need to be told twice.

Draco was lying immobile on his bed, staring at the ceiling, when Harry came in. He sat on the edge of the bed, and it dipped slightly so that Draco tipped towards him.

“Hi Malfoy,” Harry whispered. Draco’s eyes didn’t move.

“I talked to Snape and I think we figured out what hit you. We’re going to make you better, okay?” Harry wanted so badly to touch Draco, to hold his hand, but it seemed wrong to do it when Draco couldn’t pull away. Harry glanced around and withdrew his wand from his pocket.

“Finite Incantatem.”

Harry didn’t know if or how Draco would react to his newfound freedom, and he braced himself for the impact. Draco didn’t move, however, and Harry relaxed a bit.

“I’m going to hold your hand now, Malfoy.” Harry slid his hand, palm up, under Draco’s, and was surprised to feel the blond’s fingers bend down in a slight but unmistakable squeeze. Draco sighed, and Harry saw he had closed his eyes. Within a few minutes, Draco was sound asleep.

Harry watched him sleep for a bit, and then pulled the sleeve of Draco’s shirt up to his elbow with his free hand. A shadow of discomfort passed across Draco’s face, but he did not stir. Harry placed his free hand on Draco’s wrist with light pressure, and the blond twitched, goose bumps breaking out over his flesh. Harry held his hand there for several minutes before moving up farther on his arm. He continued like this, up and down Draco’s arm, until the goose bumps subsided, and Draco no longer twitched in response. He moved around to the other side of the bed and slowly worked on Draco’s other arm. He was surprised to find Draco’s muscles still firm and, although the blond looked too thin, he was still wiry. When he reached the soft inner flesh where the dark mark had been, Harry noticed the skin was slightly raised, almost like scar tissue. Harry placed his hand on it, and Draco jerked and cried out. He quickly withdrew his hand and placated the troubled sleeper with soothing noises. Draco settled back down, but his brow was still furrowed, and Harry tentatively placed a hand on Draco’s forehead. The blond inhaled sharply through his nose and turned his head away, and Harry let his hand slide off. He jumped when the door of the room swung open.

“Harry! I didn’t realize you were still here.” Robin looked at Draco’s sleeping form before shooting Harry a quizzical look. “Is he asleep?”

“Yeah. Is…is that okay?” Harry asked, guilt washing over him for releasing Draco from the body bind and for touching him while he slept, like some kind of deviant.

“Of course! Of course. He just rarely falls asleep without the aid of a potion. Apparently you have the charms to sooth this savage breast.” She smiled at him before casting some quick diagnostic charms on Draco, jotting down her results on the clipboard. She paused as she opened the door, turning back to give Harry a little smile. “Your work here with Mr. Malfoy is really quite remarkable, Harry. I’d be happy to recommend you for the Healer Therapy training program, if you’re interested.”

****************

Harry met Draco in the Activities room the next day, and for the first time since he started coming to visit his former classmate, the blond looked up at him and gave him a small smile before handing him a lump of clay. Harry smiled back and took it, allowing his fingers to brush over the palm of Draco’s hand. This time Draco barely flinched, and the two set to work kneading and pulling the clay. Robin sat unobtrusively in the corner of the room, observing and taking notes on her clipboard.

Harry was still amazed at the intense focus Draco could put to the clay work. He watched the blond’s long pale fingers dip in the water before he carefully smoothed down a wrinkle or crease in the clay. Draco repeated the movements over and over, with a look of near bliss on his face. Harry watched him for a long time, contentment rising in his chest, making his brain fuzzy.

Draco had noticed that Harry wasn’t working with his lump of clay, and he frowned, pausing, before looking at Harry, brows furrowed. Harry quickly dipped his fingers into the water and began smoothing his clay.

“Sorry,” Harry said, giving Draco an apologetic smile. Draco’s face relaxed.

“Sorry,” the blond parroted, and Harry’s jaw dropped open. Draco giggled. Harry’s face broke into a grin, and Draco giggled some more.

“Git,” Harry said fondly.

“Git.” Harry’s eyebrows shot up, causing Draco to giggle again. Harry searched his brain for other words.

“Treacle.”

Draco’s lip curled slightly as he repeated the word. “Treacle.”

“Broom.”

“Broom.”

“Castle.”

“Castle.”

“Wand.”

“Wand.”

“Hippogriff.”

“Hippogr –” Draco froze in the middle of the word, and Harry realized what he had said. He reached over and laid a firm yet gentle hand on the spot where Draco had been injured by Buckbeak so many years before.

“Hippogriff,” Harry repeated. Draco’s arm twitched several times, but he did not pull away.

“Hippogriff,” Draco whispered.

“Great Malfoy, really good,” Harry said softly with a smile before pulling his hand away and rolling some clay into a ball. Draco sat still for several minutes before slowly reaching for his clay again. Harry concentrated on his creation, and he soon turned to Draco with his palm up, a clay snitch resting in the hollow of his hand.

“Do you know what this is?” Harry asked. He gazed intently at Draco, willing him to answer. Draco slowly reached out and lifted the clay snitch out of Harry’s hand with tentative fingers. The blond put it in the palm of his hand and held it like Harry had.

“Do you know what that is, Malfoy?” Harry said again. Draco’s eyes narrowed, tongue stuck between his lips as he concentrated. Harry knew he was taking a huge risk; if Draco didn’t remember, he might have a huge meltdown.

“Sss …” Harry hissed, prompting the blond. Draco closed his fingers loosely around the piece of clay and closed his eyes.

“Snitch,” he whispered, and Harry whooped, startling everyone around him and setting several patients off kilter, earning him angry glares from the staff. But Harry didn’t care, because Draco was smiling at him so brightly, it was all Harry could do not to throw his arms around him.

“Brilliant Malfoy! Just brilliant.” Harry had an idea and reached over to hold Draco’s wrist, steadying the hand that held the clay snitch. He pulled out his wand, and when Draco flinched a little at the sight of it, Harry smiled at him.

“It’s okay-watch.” Harry tapped the clay snitch and it turned a bright gold. The wings fluttered in Draco’s hand, and he gasped in surprise before the tiny ball zoomed away. Draco watched it fly around the room, a look of wonder cast on his face. When it flew between them, Harry reached and caught it, causing Draco to gasp again before starting to clap and squeal in delight. Harry tapped the snitch again with his wand, and it returned to its immobile clay beginnings.

“Time’s up now,” Robin said over Harry’s shoulder. Harry smiled at Draco, who was staring at the snitch.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Draco said. Harry swallowed hard; he was pretty sure his heart was about to burst. With a final squeeze of Draco’s hand, he turned and walked out of the room.

****************

Part 2