Time Turned Fragile

I'm still working on Tempus Fugit, but I'm stuck at the moment, and this image has been in my head for months, just sitting there, so I'm going to try to do something with it. Thank you for all the supportive reviews! It really means a lot to me that you all think that it's worth continuing, and I'll hope you'll still be around to read it when I update again!
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Draco cautiously made his way into the darkened bar, ducking his head slightly to avoid the smoke that lingered in the air like clouds of noxious gas. He checked the slip of yellow paper again, and ran his fingers nervously over the sticky bit at the back. It said, as always, "Meet me in the corner booth in the back of The Wyverns' Court. 9 PM. I need your services." It wasn't signed, and the handwriting was neat and precise, but unfamiliar; the tiny scrap of paper was warded and charmed three ways from Sunday, and Draco couldn't figure out who it had come from, or where. He was about twenty minutes late, but he figured he'd need the extra time to gather his scattered thoughts. Ducking around the other patrons, he found the only corner booth in the building. The other three had been torn apart, and groups huddled around the overturned tables smoking or drinking. The table was curiously unmarked, and Draco ran his fingers along it, feeling for traceables. It tingled against his palm, and Draco pulled away. Why would a table in a muggle pub in the middle of muggle London register magic back at him? Who's magic? It was familiar, but old, as though the witch or wizard who had used it often enough to leave traces of their magic behind hadn't used it in some time.

The bartender ambled over to him, looking formiddable. "That's a special table," he grouched. "No one's allowed to sit there."

Draco flashed the note at him. "I was told to sit here." The grizzled old man took the note, studied it for a moment, and handed it back.

"You're alright then," he said, and shuffled off to continue his serving. A private table that teemed with magic. In a muggle bar. This night was getting stranger by the moment. Draco seated himself delicately, trying to avoid the nastier looking spots on the seat. He'd made a name for himself in the aftermath of the war by brewing potions. Pain potions, and sleeping draughts, and calming draughts and any number of things. He didn't ask questions; he simply took the orders and made the potions. He had few rules, but they included no love potions, no poisons, and no polyjuice. To have someone ask to meet him was unusual, but not unheard of. The fact that they wanted to meet in a dirty, run down old bar was the surprising part of it.

"Hey, James." The Bartender's voice cut through his thoughts, and he realized that several people at the bar were waving to whomever had just walked in. Curious, Draco craned his neck to watch.

The man had a pronounced limp, and he leaned on a cane heavily for support. His hair was wild, and fell into his face, obscuring his features, but there was something oddly familiar about it. At twenty seven, it had been almost ten years since he'd had anything to do with any one from Hogwarts, but it had only been two brief years from the end of the war. Potter had emerged victorious, as everyone but the Dark Lord had always known, and had promptly vanished off the face of the earth. No one paid him much mind; his job had been done, and he'd gone down in the history books, where he belonged now, with the rest of the dead heroes. Whether or not he was actually dead was irrelevant.

The man edged closer, and Draco peered through the haze at him, trying to place his features. He was broad shouldered, but smallish, and the limp caused him to bend slightly at the waist, making him seem even smaller. He finally reached the table, and Draco still could not see his face.

"I see you came after all. I was worried." His voice was gravelly, rough and deep, and not like anything Draco could remember hearing at all. "My name is James. I have great need of a strong pain potion, sleeping potion. Something for sicknesses."

He met Draco's eyes, and the blond was horrified to realize that he wore an eyepatch, and that it cut a horrific scar in half. The scar was not alone on his face, but it was the biggest, starting from the middle of his forehead and tracing a jagged line through his eye and down to his chin. "Sicknesses like what?" Draco finally asked, pulling a pad of paper and a pen from his jacket. "Stomach? Lungs? Mind?"

"Lungs," James said. "Leftover from a hex during the war. Can't breathe sometimes. Muggle doctors said asthma, but the inhalers don't work."

Asthma and inhalers were new words to Draco's vocabulary, but he understood the gist of what this man was saying. He was doing a fair bit of between-the-lines reading as well. So, he'd been injured in the war, hexed quite nastily, and was still suffering the after effects of those curses. Curses and hexes Draco could deal with easily. Taking notes, Draco watched through his hair at the man. He seemed to be just a few years older than Draco himself, and there was something dreadfully familiar about him.

"Excuse me," James said quietly, and untied the eyepatch. If Draco had once thought himself to be desensitized to horrific wounds he was proven wrong. It wasn't even that it was horrific in the normal sense. The scar bisected the eye cleanly down the middle. The iris and pupil were fogged over with a milky white tone, masking the original colour beneath it. The eye didn't move with the other one, didn't focus, and Draco was disconcerted by the sightlessness in it. After a few moments, he rubbed at it, and replaced the patch. "I didn't mean to disturb you. It... bothers me sometimes."

"I can give you a salve for it," Draco found himself saying. "It won't do anything for the scarring-"

James laughed. "I'm used to scars," he said without humour.

"But it should help the eye," Draco continued on as if he hadn't spoken. There were little warning bells going off in his head, but he couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. "Obviously you need stronger potions than what the street vendors can give you, or you wouldn't have come to me." James nodded, stretching out his bad leg and rubbing it gently through his jeans. He looked pained for a moment, and pulled it back in. "I'll get you what you've asked for in a weeks time. Where can I reach you?"

"Here," James said, his voice raspier than ever. He turned away coughing, and Draco winced to hear such a ravaged sound coming from him. No wonder his voice was shoddy, if he'd been coughing like that for two years. The coughing turned into wheezing, and James lifted a small plastic tube and pressed on it, breathing in. It helped, but not as much as an Athenry potion would. Already, he was cataloguing ingredients and bottles in his mind, wanting to help the veteran. "Here," James repeated once he could breathe. "I don't have an address, but if you leave word with Fred at the bar, I'll meet you to pay and pick up the potions." Their meeting was concluded, but Draco felt like there was something he was missing.

"I'll get the prices to you once I've brewed them. It will include labour and ingredients, plus the cost of the potions themselves."

Standing, James nodded. "Thank you, Malfoy," he said lightly, and took up his cane. Draco blinked. He went by the name Daniel Merdey now, in all of his circles. If people knew that Draco Malfoy, former Death Eater were brewing their potions, he wouldn't get nearly so much business. No one wanted anything to do with anyone who'd consorted with Voldemort, no matter how long ago it had been.

Draco chased the man out into the street when it finally hit him. "Potter, wait, " he said, and 'James' paused, coughing again. "Come to a decent pub with me for a pint." He'd made the offer on a whim, without even really deciding to extend it, and wasn't sure if his old schoolyard nemesis would agree.

"Fine," he said. "Where to? I can't apparate, but if you don't mind the Knight Bus..." Harry's single green eye looked luminous in the twilight drizzle, just enough light from the fading sun and the street lamps to illuminate him.

"You can't apparate?" Draco was asking before he realized the words were out of his mouth. The enormous purple bus was pulling up beside them, and the conductor leaned out.

"Where to, gentlemen?" He asked jovially. Harry pulled himself aboard with difficulty, and Draco followed.

"Kavanagh's," he said, and the conductor nodded.

"No," Harry said when Draco had seated himself close enough for conversation. "I have no physical awareness of my eye or my leg, so if I tried, they'd get left behind. Nothing I've done has helped. I think it's residue from the curses."

"I'd heard the war was bad, but I didn't realize you'd taken it so harshly," Draco said, feeling sympathetic.

"Hermione's been a great help, but recently she left with Viktor, and I didn't ask when she'd be coming back,"

"Viktor? What about Weasley?"

"Ron's dead. He died years ago, actually." Harry's tone was flat and emotionless, the only tone coming from the rough nature of his abused vocal cords.

"I'm sorry," Draco said, not sure what else to say.

"I'm not," Harry snorted. "He had it coming. He betrayed the Order to Percy, who ratted them all out to Voldemort." He coughed again, the sound wracking his body. He looked weakened when he finally was able to stop, and Draco pressed his lips together into a line. "Enough about the war. It's over now. What have you been doing with yourself? Business good?"

"Business is great," Draco said, finally feeling some enthusiasm. He'd never lost his love for potions over the years, and doing it for a living was more or less a dream come true.

They talked well into the night, and when Draco left him at the pub, he felt better than he had in years. It was like talking to Harry was therapeutic for him; he was finally able to confide fears and thoughts to someone who could be trusted. He started in on the potions that night, before he even bothered to sleep, and promised to do what he could for the Savior - his friend, after all these years.

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Fin. One shot. I've had the image of a half-blind, limping Harry in my mind for MONTHS....... and I hate this fic XDD But there you have it. Reviews are loved!!