Hard Time

Chapter Ten: Musings at Mungo's

When Harry arrived, they were changing the bandages on Draco's back. It took a fair amount of blustering at the nurses and a flash of his scar to prove who he was before they would let Harry in, and even then the head nurse, Hippocrates, let him know he'd only be able to stay for a few minutes. The fact that they probably remembered him from when Arthur Weasley had been bitten by Nagini probably helped, Harry considered, as he stepped into the room where a nurse was attending Draco's wounds.

Draco lay unconscious on his stomach on a white hospital bed, nude as far as Harry could tell, though a sheet on his lower half provided some modesty. He looked almost as white as the sheets, as the white walls, as the white globe hovering overhead providing the room with light. His wrists were wrapped tight with white bandages almost up to the elbow. Long strands of almost silvery blond hair hid his face, but it looked like there were bandages there too.

What drew Harry's attention most, however, was the red welts, bruises, and cuts literally striping Draco's back, stark red against the pale flesh.

"What the hell did that?" Harry asked, crossing the room to take a closer look.

The nurse looked up, startled. She frowned a little, and reached over to the bedside table for a little writing tablet, looking over the rims of her glasses to check the chart. "Mm, most likely instrument would have been a strap or belt--with a metal-tipped end, by the looks of it. Belt buckle, my guess. You can see the imprints in the bruises." She pointed one out. Harry thought he would be sick.

"And who did that to him?"

She shook her head, looking irritated by questions, setting the tablet down and pulling off another stripe of bandage to slather on something that looked like green mashed potatoes and smelled like something from Herbology. "Don't know. Could've been punishment--they've been known to take a strap to them at Azkaban. Or it could have been one of his cellmates." She glanced at the tablet again. "According to the report, they're saying the cellmates."

Harry was going to find out who it was, and then he'd see what they thought of Azkaban-style punishments, and puking pastilles. "I went to see him yesterday afternoon--at the request of his mother. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. There were a lot of bruises. Did you check those?" Why he was explaining all this to the nurse, he didn't know. It wasn't as if he needed a reason to check on Draco, did he? And yet he knew how it must look otherwise, him running over here like this, like some worried . . . he didn't want to finish the thought. He just wanted to see that justice was done.

He knew that was a damn lie.

You fancy him, and you're worried about him. He was silent a moment as the nurse finished the treatment, chewing his bottom lip as he watched. The nurse replaced the bandages--so many bandages--and nodded to him to come closer. "He had a broken rib, but we've mended that already. Some internal bruising and possible damage to the liver, but the healing sleep will cover it. The worst thing was the blood loss--that's going to take him a bit of time to build up again. Help me turn him back over."

Gingerly, Harry maneuvered Draco's lower half as the nurse turned the top half, careful to keep the sheet in place, careful not to touch too much or think what was underneath. It wasn't right, that Draco should be out cold, in God knew what shape, and for him to be thinking those kinds of thoughts.

Once they'd gotten Draco onto his back again, however, Harry was better able to see his face. At once he noticed the fact that Draco's nose was entirely bandaged up. There were dark bruises under Draco's closed eyes. "Holy--now you can't tell me he did that to himself either." Draco looked almost ghoulish, the cheeks hollowed, the skin waxen. He'd lost weight since the battle at Hogwarts, and he hadn't been particularly well fed even then.

"Broken nose. Again, it's pretty much mended, but that's cartilage, and we don't want to risk it breaking or leaving permanent damage to his face, so it's best kept bandaged for now." The nurse stood, looking over her tablet. She regarded her patient for a moment, and took one of Draco's wrists, handcuffing it to the rail of the bed. "In case he wakes up. Not that Hippocrates would let him get away with anything again; he'll have Mungo Jr. watching over him." She nodded over to a corner of the room to a small grey cushion where a white cat was sleeping. The cat opened one eye at Harry, revealing a slightly glowing blue eye that reminded him of Mrs. Norris.

"And who broke his nose?" With Draco turned over, there was a whole new slew of injuries to look at. The bite marks he'd mentioned to Kingsley earlier, and the bruises which were now turning green and yellow. An old, thin scar slashed across Draco's chest--that one Harry recognised with a sickening surge of guilt. He'd given Draco that one. But there was one more scar, this one new and angry red. Harry leaned closer, peering at Draco's chest.

Was that a "P" carved into his chest? Harry blinked, unbelieving. He had to run his finger over the livid scar to be sure it was real. "This has to be fairly recent." Had they been taunting Draco about Harry? Who else had a name starting with "P?"

The nurse looked over her shoulder. "Mm, yes. I'm afraid it's too late for us to do anything about that one. It'll be permanent." She marked a few things on the chart, and tucked it into a pocket in her robes. "It's time to go. He's going to be asleep for a few more days yet. You can question him after."

Harry had to think fast--amazingly enough, she seemed to take it for granted that he was already working for the Ministry, as an Auror perhaps, even though he hadn't even finished his N.E.W.T.s yet. The benefit of killing off the Number 1 dark wizard of the century. "Could you just give me a minute alone with him? I just want to take a few more observations. I'm sure you read I testified for his mother." If he was going to bluff, he'd bluff big.

She glanced over at the cat which had woken up and was staring at them both. "I reckon that's safe enough. Mungo will let us know if anything's amiss." She gave Harry a nod, and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind her.

Harry gave the cat a look, feeling the disquieting weight of its gaze on him, then returned his attention to Draco. All their talking, all the nurse's administrations, and he was still dead asleep. Well, asleep. Not dead. Thankfully not dead. Too near a thing, Harry thought, reaching out a tentative hand to pull the sheet up a little higher. There were goosebumps on Draco's arms. Harry pulled the sheet up higher and tucked it in so that it would stay.

Draco looked ghostlike; white skin, white hair, white bed, white room. It wasn't right. He didn't belong here any more than he did at Azkaban. Harry blinked, looking at the line of Draco's jaw, the way his hair, which had to have been recently cleaned, fell loosely onto the pillow, spilling across his cheek. Harry carefully dragged a tendril of it back, his finger brushing the smooth skin of Draco's cheek. Asleep like this, without his customary sneer . . . he was beautiful. Even with the bandaged nose. Harry looked at the pale thin lips, and licked his own lips unconsciously.

There was a knock at the door.

Harry scrambled to step away from Draco as the door opened and Kingsley stepped in. Harry blushed.

Kingsley glanced over at the sleeping figure on the bed. "I told you there wasn't anything you could do here at the moment, Harry." He motioned for Harry to follow him, and there was a look in his eyes that told Harry that he'd better obey. Carefully, Kingsley closed the door behind them. "He looks terrible."

Harry nodded. "I feel like he's my responsibility." He blinked rapidly; for some reason that confession was making his eyes tear up and his heart pound painfully. Kingsley clapped a hand on his shoulder, nodding.

"You can't save everyone, you know."

At once, rage flared. Harry glared at the Minister, dragging Kingsley's heavy hand off his shoulder and stepping away. "Don't tell me that. Don't ever tell me that." If he hadn't fallen for Voldemort's mind tricks, if he'd been there just a moment sooner to help Fred . . . or Lupin . . . . He should have figured out the Horcruxes earlier. He shouldn't have involved his friends. He'd have more of them left.

"Harry . . ." Kingsley sighed, frowning, his dark eyes filled with grief. "Come sit for a moment. Let's talk." He nodded to the Head Healer to use his office and led Harry in, sitting down on a white metal chair that looked half a century old. It didn't fit his tall frame well, but he seemed not to notice.

Reluctantly, Harry followed and sat down as well. He avoided looking at Kingsley.

"Now, I can move up Draco's hearing, as you mentioned in my office, but I'm not positive that's the best idea," Kingsley began.

Harry decided he did need to meet eyes with him after all. "But--"

"Listen, Harry. Once Draco is up before the Wizengamot, it becomes entirely their decision what becomes of him. They could sentence him to Azkaban for life. Or, as you say, they could release him. He's going to need a very strong case, however, for something like that to happen. You will need time to build such a case." Kingsley glanced at the tiny window in the door, checking to see if Hippocrates the Healer was standing outside. He was. Kingsley sat down again. "I figure a week or two tops here at St. Mungo's while he heals. Then unless there is further injury that needs tending, they're going to return him to Azkaban. Probably not the same cell as before, but I can't guarantee a solitary cell with the numbers they're dealing with at the moment."

Exasperated, Harry stood up. "Then what good are we doing?! Is this what I saved his life for? He's not a Death Eater any longer! The abuse he's been suffering should prove that!"

Kingsley nodded, patting Harry's hand in an obvious attempt to try and calm him down. "The point is, you need proof that he's no longer a Death Eater. He needs to make his choice clear; he needs to tell the Wizengamot and be convincing that he's not a threat any longer. Do you honestly think he would do that to their satisfaction?"

Harry shook his head, frustrated. If Draco's reaction to his small attempt at help was any indication, he'd do his usual sneer and seal his fate. He was silent a moment, thinking the words over. Kingsley was right; he had to be smart about this. What Draco really needed was rehabilitation, and it wasn't going to happen here at St. Mungo's and it certainly wouldn't happen at the prison. "Request to have him put under house arrest--at the Manor with me. Say that he's suicidal--he obviously is. Give me a chance to work with him. Between Kreacher and myself, we should be able to make sure he doesn't escape. Or hurt himself."

For a moment, Kingsley only stared at him. "You're serious, aren't you."

Harry nodded, looking back at Kingsley earnestly, holding his gaze without fear. "I am completely serious. I want to do this. I need to do this."

Kingsley started to shake his head, but as Harry started to protest again, Kingsley sighed, muttering something under his breath. "I'll check on it. But Harry . . . you know you're not qualified for this type of task. They have counselors here. He could do the rehabilitation in the safety of this hospital."

"You've got strings you can pull--use my name! I killed Voldemort--what's someone like Draco going to do to me? And here won't work. I know him. He's too proud--he won't talk to them. But he might talk to me." If anything, Harry knew he could probably goad Draco into it. He could appeal to that Slytherin sense of survival.

Kingsley nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "As I said, I'll check on it." At Harry's disbelieving look, he smiled. "I will, really. I can see that this means a lot to you." Harry flushed a little at that; the fact Kingsley had actually chased him down here more than attested to the truth of that.

"Thanks." At least it was a shot.

He thought Kingsley would let the Healer back into his office at that, but instead the man kept his dark eyes on Harry, scrutinising him. Harry felt himself squirm. "Anything else?"

This time it was Kingsley's turn to shrug. "Harry, I know you're going through a rough time. I just want you to know, if there's anything you want to talk about, anything at all, I'm available. I want to be able to help you." He smiled a little, a smile touched with the pain of loss. Harry suddenly knew who he was thinking of; all the lost members of the Order of Phoenix. Remus. Tonks. Moody. Cripes; there were barely any of them left.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. "I'm all right." Only in the most general sense of the word. The truth was, he didn't know what to do now, having survived the final confrontation with Voldemort. He'd really been expecting to die.

"You could always talk to the counsellors here as well. The Weasleys are concerned about you. They said you never mourned in a proper sense. That you've become withdrawn. That you haven't visited since moving out."

Harry could see why Kingsley had made such a good Auror. "I'm doing things my own way. I'm fine." He made it clear by his tone that this discussion was officially over.

With a sigh, Kingsley finally stood up. "Just please tell me you're returning to Hogwarts in the fall. You'd still make a really good Auror." He threw Harry a sardonic look. "Or a barrister. Draco's lucky to have as dedicated a friend as you." There was an emphasis on the word 'friend' that Harry wondered at, wondered what Kingsley thought . . . but the Minister was already heading for the door. Glad to be done with the interrogation, Harry followed.

They both immediately ran into Healer Hippocrates. "So I assume someone is going to tell me what this is all about?"

Kingsley granted him one of his wide gracious smiles and a clap on the back. "Business, Smethwyck. Harry had been studying Draco's case on behalf of his mother's request when this incident occurred. He's going to be representing Draco, so I want him granted full access while young Malfoy is here. Keep us posted on his condition, and let us both know when he awakens." Harry was astonished at Kingsley's efficiency. Maybe he really would be able to help after all.

"Three days. It'll take at least that long for the spell to dissipate," Hippocrates replied, looking Harry over with new interest. "I remember you. Came here when Arthur Weasley had the snake bites, yes. He patched up well enough, didn't he!"

"Yes, sir," Harry replied uncertainly. He tried to think if there was anything else he should mention. "I'm going to be looking into rehabilitating Draco. I'd, ah, I'd appreciate any pointers." After all, at this hospital they knew more than most places about the horrors that Death Eaters committed. There had to be some value in that, didn't there?

An unreadable expression passed over Hippocrates's face. "Interesting endeavour. Best of luck to you, young man."

Harry nodded, not sure what else to say. With one last look at the door to Draco's room, he let out a small sigh.

He had some cleaning up at the Manor to do if he was going to have a prayer of keeping Draco contained there.

***

TBC