Hearts Open (at the Close)

Healer Kimm took care—if it could be called that—of Harry for the next two weeks. Draco just couldn’t do it. Harry’s eyes were so forgiving when they should have been accusing, and Draco couldn’t handle it.

He wasn’t used to feeling guilty, and he really didn’t like it.

“He’s asking for you, you know,” Healer Kimm said, opening a file beside her brown-bagged lunch and looking so casual it was obviously a front.

Or a trap.

“Who?” Draco asked nonchalantly, eating his salad with forced precision.

“Harry Potter, of course.”

“How is he?” Draco wasn’t able to keep up the disinterested façade. He’d gotten as much from Bates as possible, but he needed more information.

“Actually, he told me to tell you you were right.”

“About what?” Draco asked sharply.

“He wouldn’t say. Just that he’d thought about it, and he was ready to hear about what was happening ‘outside his walls.’”

“Oh,” he said, wincing. He’d wanted to shock Harry into a reaction, but he’d taken it too far by half. The proof was in the charred remains of the old oak, not to mention the black mark on Draco’s file. It didn’t look good to have a patient lose control on one’s watch like that.

“Listen, Malfoy,” Healer Kimm said, leaning forward and narrowing her eyes at him. She’d never taken to Draco and didn’t believe that calling him by his hard-earned title was necessary. Draco understood hierarchy enough not to press. “You fucked up. We all do. There’s always that patient that gets away, so to speak. There’s always one who you’ll never forget, you’ll always regret, you can never save.”

“You’re talking like Harry’s dead,” Draco protested. “He’s far from it! He can recover, we just need to find the key to control his magic.”

In a startling show of compassion, Healer Kimm put her small hand on Draco’s pale one. “I don’t want to think we’ve lost him, either. He saved my arse just as much as he did everyone else’s in the wizarding world. But you can’t let him take you down with him. You need to practise distance and detachment. You’ve already dropped your caseload to a third of what it was a month ago. Other patients are suffering because you can’t just… let go.”

Draco breathed in heavily through his mouth in a way his mother would have greatly disapproved of. “I won’t let him go. He’s not gone yet.” Draco closed his eyes. “But I’ll take him back.”

Healer Kimm’s eyes were sharp but sorrowful. “Are you sure? He very nearly killed you.”

“Do you think you’re making headway?”

Healer Kimm sighed. “He’s no better than he was when you were seeing him. In fact, he’s worse. I’m not helping him.”

“He’s mine, then.”

He’s mine.

*

It did take time, as Draco had prepared for and expected, for Harry to begin to talk to him again.

Draco cursed himself every day for falling into his old ways at such a critical juncture. Harry had been on the road to recovery, he just knew it. And he’d gone and fucked the whole thing up by trying to fit Harry into the mould Draco’d had for him at Hogwarts—push him and he pushes back.

But when Harry pushed back now, people could die. Harry could die. Draco could die. And none of those were risks he was willing to take, not anymore. He’d be sickly sweet if he had to be, the most patient and understanding Healer that St. Mungo’s had ever seen. He’d be all that and more if it meant bringing the old Harry back.

But a few weeks after Draco had been reinstated as Harry’s sole Healer, things were slowly getting back to normal. Harry had more outbursts than he had before, but they were of a different sort. They were the same sort of episodes of wandless magic that children had—they were no longer self-directed or dangerous. Things like doors opening and closing before Harry’s hand would reach out to them, or the shower water keeping itself warm when, by all rights, it should have ran cold. Harry’s magic was trying to make his life easier for him.

And it was this fact that made Draco decide that Harry was ready for another visit to the yard.

Healer Kimm had staunchly refused, but Draco eventually wore her down. The yard would be entirely empty but for Draco, Harry, and a number of mediwizards. A shield spell would be placed around them so that no magic could escape. Wards would be placed on Harry—both a dampening ward for his magic and an intent ward. Harry wouldn’t be able to cast anything that could hurt Draco.

Draco didn’t bother saying that if the dampening ward on Harry’s room couldn’t contain his wild magic, a piddling ward by junior mediwizards wasn’t going to make a difference—he didn’t want to hurt his case.

Draco was confident that this time, things would go well.

“You must be insane,” Harry said, amused. “Or maybe amnesic.”

“Listen, Harry, I know last time I said some horrible things. I never said I was perfect.” He pointedly ignored Harry’s snort. “Sometimes when I get around you, it’s hard not to revert to old ways.”

“I know,” Harry said quietly. He touched Draco’s arm lightly and then stared at the point of contact for a long moment. When he looked up, there was something unfathomable in his eyes, and he licked his lips slowly as if contemplating dessert.

Draco cleared his throat and the spell was broken.

“If you’re sure,” Harry said. “You’re the Healer.”

The walk to the yard didn’t seem as long as it had before, now that Draco knew what to expect. Even if Harry did lose control, the environment was such that no one could be hurt. Precautions made both the Healer and patient feel secure, and Draco hoped Harry felt more comfortable this time.

Harry looked with wide eyes at the oak tree that had been magically restored. Except that the leaves were gone and would not return until spring, it was perfectly normal looking.

Now that the yard was empty, there was a sort of unnatural quality to it. Draco led Harry to a bench where they sat in silence for long moments, both obviously contemplating the last time they’d been there. Draco, in particular, was considering what to do to make sure nothing like that happened again.

“I miss him, you know,” Harry said suddenly, plucking at his sleeve.

“Who?”

“Teddy. I got to hold him, take care of him. Before everything went wrong. It didn’t happen right away, you know.”

“What’s that?” Draco knew the story, but getting Harry to talk had always been a key issue.

“Voldemort’s curse. Whatever his magic did to me. It was slow, insidious. At first, things just seemed a little overwhelming, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I still wanted to see my friends, still wanted to take care of Teddy. But then everything changed, and so slowly that I barely noticed because it seemed so normal. Only everyone was telling me it wasn’t normal, but I still felt the same.”

“I bet you were brilliant with Teddy,” Draco said honestly, smiling a little when he thought of his little cousin morphing to look like Harry, all messy hair and bright, smiling eyes. The kid could do worse, really.

“Sometimes.” Harry laughed without a trace of bitterness. “Sometimes I had no idea what the hell to do, you know? Someone hands you a child, and for that moment, you’re every damn thing in the world to him. But then you give him back and you’re nothing. Not that I blamed him, of course—he couldn’t remember me. But it was sort of like a new beginning every time I saw him. It didn’t matter how fucked up I felt inside, to Teddy, I was perfect each and every time. Forgiven, every time. New. Pure.”

Draco did something he’d never done with another patient—he reached out and took Harry’s hand. For a saviour, he had pretty rough hands. What did he do to warrant such calluses? Even when Draco had been in training, he’d never acquired anything like that roughness. But it wouldn’t have suited him. It suited Harry. Resilient; marked, but resilient.

Harry squeezed his hand back, smiling a little. Then his eyes grew determined as Draco watched with some anxiety. “I want to see him, Draco.”

“Teddy?”

“Yes. I need to. I need to know he’s all right, need to tell him I’m sorry—” Harry’s breath hitched, and he looked away. “I’m sorry for abandoning him.”

“Oh, Harry.” Draco’s heart was clenching painfully at Harry’s guilt. “It isn’t your fault.”

Now when Harry laughed, it was hard and cutting. “Of course it is.” He stood and began to pace in front of the bench. Draco stayed seated to give Harry the illusion of power, though he surreptitiously put his hand on his wand. “Whose fault could it be but mine?” he demanded.

“It’s Voldemort’s fault,” Draco said quietly, keeping a level tone, no matter what it cost him to say the name. “Not yours. You did… so much more than should have been asked of you. And you did it without even… without complaint. Not many people could—”

“Not not many, Draco,” Harry snapped. “None. None could have done what I did—not even me! I killed him and look what happened! All his awful power sank into my very bones and now I’m twice the wizard and half the man!”

“What can I do?” Draco said, trying and failing to keep the desperation from his voice. He didn’t know what to do, but he had to do something.

“Let me see him, just for a minute. Please. ”

“I can’t allow that, Harry. Not until we’re sure—”

“I’m sure!” Harry shouted.

Draco saw the mediwizards move in, but he raised his hand to stave them off. The shield was strong enough, and Draco wasn’t worried about Harry’s wild magic. He’d lost his temper worse than this in the past weeks. Harry’s magic was readjusting to help him—they had nothing to fear.

“I know you feel that way, but think of Teddy. I know you wouldn’t knowingly submit him to any sort of danger. That’s not the sort of man you are. You have to be strong for him, be strong now so that you can get out of here before he grows up enough to miss you terribly.” It was a cheap shot, but not at cheap as the ones Draco’d used the last time they’d been in the yard.

“Teddy would love me no matter what!” Harry cried. And suddenly he lunged for Draco, and not expecting it, Draco didn’t move quickly enough. They hit the ground with a solid thud, but still he held up his hand to the mediwizards. I can help him, Draco thought desperately as Harry scrabbled for his wand.

But Draco got it first and threw it beyond the confines of the shield. No wand for either of them was better than Harry having it. Merlin only knew the damage he could inflict with a focus weapon.

Harry cried out as if his own wand had been broken instead of Draco’s thrown. Then he cut off the anguished sound, and Draco froze beneath him at the abrupt shift in his demeanour.

Draco watched with the sensation of the calm before a storm as Harry seemed to struggle to control himself. He was shaking all over, pinning Draco’s hands down and gleaming with sweat.

But then Harry closed his eyes in defeat, and Draco couldn’t even shout before the sharp tug of Apparition told him what a horrible mistake he’d made with Harry.