Hearts Open (at the Close)

II.
True to his word, like the Gryffindor he was, Harry didn’t use his magic against Draco again. Weeks had passed since that night, during which Harry had kept his other promise—not to molest Draco—though Harry had curled against him sometime in the night. Draco couldn’t really hold that against him, however, as he’d woken up holding the dark-haired man tightly. He’d left while Harry still slept, and nothing like that had occurred again.

It was only a week after that evening that Harry reminded Draco he hadn’t promised to never touch Draco again, only that he wouldn’t do it that very night. Draco had glared at the equivocation and tried to force a retroactive promise, but Harry hadn’t budged, though he also hadn’t pushed his boundaries with Draco, making Draco think it had been a moment of weakness on Harry’s part.

Draco was still trying to get his patient to explain what he’d meant when he’d said that only a sexual touch felt good, but Harry denied saying it, though Draco could easily see the reticence in his eyes and the fear around his lips. Draco was a master of reading people, but Harry was just as good at avoiding questions.

Besides that setback, Harry seemed to be improving. Once he’d admitted that he actually could control his magic sometimes, Harry had been more willing to experiment in keeping it in check all the time. He still lost control when he had nightmares, and when his emotions ran high. But when he was calm and content, Draco had him use his magic to perform small, easy spells as Draco and Healer Kimm watched from behind a magical shield.

The sheer power and potential of Harry’s magic made Draco quiver. The man could easily rule the world if he had the notion—and the freedom. And he seemed to know it as well. He accepted his captivity with generally good grace, but Draco suspected that if Harry really wanted out, all the wards and protections in the world couldn’t keep him in place. He could shake the building to the ground as a matter of course. But he didn’t seem to want to, luckily for everyone within it.

Today was an important day for Harry’s recovery, which Draco still thought was entirely possible, if he could just find the key.

“Get dressed, Harry,” Draco said as he walked into the other man’s room. He’d taken to treating the place almost like his own flat, walking in and out without discretion, making himself tea and even using the loo instead of the staff one. He spent the majority of his workday with Harry, so it made sense, and Harry didn’t seem to mind. In fact, the less time they spent apart, the more comfortable Harry became, and that made him more likely to talk.

“What should I wear?” Harry asked.

That was a good sign. If Harry had morosely asked why, Draco wouldn’t be as comfortable suggesting what he was about to. “Something warm,” he said with a knowing smile.

Harry looked suspicious but disappeared into his room. Draco made tea and poured it into two thermoses while he waited.

After a few moments, Harry came out wearing blue jeans and about three sweaters. He also had a scarf, mittens, and a wool toque that mashed his hair down over his forehead.

“Okay…” Draco said, pulling on his cloak and making sure his wand was secured in the sleeve. He knew better than to ask why Harry wasn’t wearing wizarding garb. He suspected Harry didn’t feel like much of a wizard without a wand, though he had more natural magic than Draco had ever heard of, let alone met. Some days Harry seemed to prefer pretending to be a Muggle.

“Listen to me carefully. It’s important that you do.” Harry nodded. “You want to get better, right?”

This was a point of contention, because sometimes it seemed as though Harry really didn’t. But he nodded again, and Draco had to accept it.

“Good. I want you to get better as well. So today we’re going to go outside.” Draco smiled, waiting for his news to set in and excite Harry.

But Harry only nodded a third time and walked to the door, waiting for Draco to open it.

Draco almost pouted, but he caught himself. “Aren’t you happy?”

“You’re expecting something amazing,” Harry said quietly.

“No, not at all.” Expecting something, yes.

“Nothing will happen.”

Draco wasn’t sure if that was a promise or a lament. “Getting outside is something,” Draco reminded him gently.

But Harry only shrugged and looked pointedly at the door. Draco did pout this time, but he turned from Harry so it wouldn’t be seen.

He used a variety of spells and a Muggle key to unlock the door and then preceded Harry into the hall.

Healer Kimm was standing there, waiting. She didn’t look as though she approved, but Draco had finally been given veto power regarding Harry’s recovery. She could stand there and disapprove all she wanted, but she couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

Mediwizard Bates was standing farther back, nodding at Draco to let him know he had Bates’ support and protection. Draco really, really hoped he wouldn’t need it.

“Ready, Harry?” Draco said in his best cajoling voice.

“Sure,” Harry said gamely.

It only took a few minutes to get into the lift and end up on the ground floor before walking out the back way to the large yard. Harry paused as they approached the doorway to the fenced-in grassy area, but he stepped through a moment later as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Do you want to walk around?” Draco asked softly. Harry was taking this well, and he didn’t want to shock him.

“Can we sit?” Harry looked a little anxious. Many of the other patients and most of the mediwizards in the yard were staring at the two of them, and Draco knew Harry hated being gawked at.

“Sure. How about over here?” He gestured to a large oak tree by the perimeter of the fence.

Harry approved and followed as Draco led them around the back of the massive tree where they would be shielded from the gaze of most. Draco watched Bates settle just out of sight, his eyes trained on Harry.

“I’m impressed with how quickly you’ve been regaining control over your magic,” Draco said casually as he sat gingerly on the grass. Lucky for him his horrible lime green robes would camouflage any stains he picked up. He handed Harry one of the thermoses and opened his own, letting the soothing smell centre him. Harry set his to the side.

“It’s not regaining,” Harry said. “I’ve never had that sort of control. Or that sort of power, for that matter. Does that scare you?”

“What?”

“It’s his power, Draco. It’s not mine. It even feels different, dirtier and thicker. My magic felt bright and clean, light. Manageable. When I use his power, when I regain control, as you put it, I know I’m using his magic. I hate it.”

Draco couldn’t be happier that Harry was casually discussing something that had taken them ages to get to—Voldemort. But he was surprised that Harry seemed to think his raw magic wasn’t his own.

“What makes you say that?” he asked. “How do you know it’s not yours?”

“Why would it be mine?” Harry countered. “I’ve never had magic like that before, then I kill Voldemort, and suddenly I’m going insane? There’s no other explanation.”

“Even so, that’s all the more reason to learn to contain it. Your magic, that is.”

“Snape once told me there was a potion that would make a wizard a Squib. Not an ounce of magic left.”

Draco laughed fondly. “He used to threaten the Slytherins with that one all the time. Prickly bastard.”

“So you don’t think it’s real?” Harry asked, his voice suddenly small.

Draco finally caught up to the conversation. “Are you saying you’d choose being a Squib over this, over learning to control your magic?”

“It’s not just that, Draco,” Harry said earnestly, turning to Draco and meeting his eyes. Draco had to force himself not to look away. “I can feel it… changing me. I don’t want to change. I rather liked being me, or at least I would have if I’d been able to be me after I killed Voldemort. Doesn’t seem fair, does it? I waited my entire wizarding life to be rid of him, and once I finally did as I was supposed to, I’m the only one who can’t enjoy it.”

“No, it isn’t fair,” Draco said. He’d had the same thought more times than he could count.

Harry leaned back against the tree, tipping his head to the side to stare at Draco. Draco tried not to squirm under the gaze, but it took all his rigid Malfoy training to remain still. Harry had always unnerved him, but never as bad as he did now.

“I dreamed about you last night,” Harry whispered, maintaining his eerie gaze.

Draco shuddered. “Do you want to talk about it?” He had to ask; it was his job. But that didn’t mean he didn’t very much want to know what Harry’s subconscious had to say about him.

“You’re not a very good Healer,” Harry remarked, smirking a little.

“Of course I am!” Draco couldn’t help being affronted. He’d worked very hard to be where he was, thank you very much—and what did Potter know about it, anyway?

“I mean, you follow all the rules to the letter. ‘How does it make you feel?’ ‘What do you think that means?’” Harry’s voice was an unflattering parody of Draco’s, and Draco glared at him. “But you don’t understand. And how could you? You think you had it so rough, Draco fucking Malfoy. You think growing up with one strict and one doting parent tore you apart inside. And you tried so hard to be what Daddy wanted and what Mummy wanted, but no one thought about what Drakey wanted, did they?” Harry laughed coldly. “Except Drakey, of course. All Drakey thought about was Drakey—”

“Stop calling me that!” Draco shouted, his face flushed with frustration. “Just stop it. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Whatever,” Harry said easily, his voice back to normal. His entire demeanour seemed to change as he relaxed back against the tree again. “All I’m saying is you’re a shite Healer because you don’t know how to put yourself in your patients’ shoes, and more than that, you wouldn’t want to even if you did know how. You’d save a lot more people if you tried to understand them before you tried to heal them.”

Being insulted made Draco want to strike out, but he reined in the temptation. “Well, if I were in your shoes, I’d want to hear about what was happening outside my walls,” Draco said, deciding now was a good time to use the information he’d learned and had been saving.

“That’s what I mean. You have no fucking idea.” Harry chuckled almost fondly, shaking his head at Draco as if he were an amusing toddler.

Draco narrowed his eyes but ignored the comment. “I’d want to hear about my godson,” he said in a low voice, almost hissing.

Harry had never once asked about Teddy Lupin. Draco thought it was interesting that they were connected through Teddy—he’d written to his Aunt Andromeda as soon as he’d realised there was a link between Harry and Teddy.

“Don’t,” Harry whispered urgently. “Please, Draco.”

“He’s fine,” Draco said loftily, part of him knowing he wasn’t doing the right thing for his patient, but most of him hurt and angry over Harry’s jibes. “Though without a proper father figure, who knows how he’ll turn out. My aunt says she has a photo of you by the child’s bed, right beside one of his parents. She says he sometimes wakes up with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. Isn’t that sweet? Little Lupin wants to be just like Harry. Funny how our world works, isn’t it? Black was your godfather and now you’re godfather to a Black—in blood, anyway. Looks like you’ll be about as good for Teddy as Sirius was for you. Maybe you’ll meet him when he’s thirteen years old. Two years is better than none, isn’t it? Or do you think he’ll be better off without knowing you at all? After all, the rumours are so much more entertaining than the truth—” Draco broke off, panting. Oh, gods. There were limits and then there were limits.

Harry’s head was resting on his knees and his entire body was trembling.

“Harry, I—” Draco began, fists clenched. He was no better than his father, finding and exploiting weak spots like he had some sort of detector spell for it. “I didn’t mean it. I just want you to want to get out of here.”

But Harry didn’t respond, didn’t lift his head or acknowledge Draco at all. A sharp wind blistered Draco’s burning cheeks, and a few leaves drifted prematurely from the tree above them.

“Harry, I think we should go back inside and talk. This environment…” But who was Draco kidding… he was the variable that wasn’t working. He wasn’t a good Healer. Look at the way he was baiting and berating his fragile patient. He was pathetic, not fit for this job.

Then the air all around them stilled, and Draco inhaled the stagnant oxygen, tasting copper in the back of his throat. The only warning was a sharp intake of Harry’s breath before a burst of heat flared all around them.

The entire oak tree was in flames.

They encompassed the tree from root to highest leaf, and Draco barely had time to scramble away before he, too, was enveloped.

“Harry!” he screamed at the man who was much too close to the flames, though he seemed to be ensconced in some sort of protective shield. “Get away from there!”

Harry looked up disinterestedly, tilting his head at Draco as though he didn’t understand. Another blast of heat seared Draco, sending him stumbling back a few steps.

Then Harry’s eyes rolled back in his head and he keeled to the side bonelessly. The heat brushed past Draco again as Harry’s body seemed to absorb it. A moment later, the flames were gone, the tree a blackened and naked monument to Harry’s power.

Harry’s clothing smoked softly, wisps trailing up to be wicked away by the lolling wind, so harmless now.