Ch. 5 The Effects of Prison

It was sometime near dawn, when Draco started to dream for the first time since he had left Azkaban. Like the dreams he had had in prison, it was not pleasant. His reaction started small, tossing lightly, but soon he was screaming. He was trapped back in his cell at Azkaban, and the walls were closing in on him, just like they had so often seemed to do when he lived there. He woke, covered in sweat and shivering, to gentle shaking and a soothing voice calling his name. “Harry?” he whispered, opening his eyes dazedly. For a moment, he couldn’t tell which was the dream.

“It’s all right, Draco. You’re not in Azkaban. I’m here.”

The blonde didn’t answer, scrambling into the bathroom, almost knocking his host off the bed as he passed, and splashing his face with cold water. He didn’t come back out until he had regained his composure. Finally, he returned to sit in one of the arm chairs, as close to the fire as he could get, still shivering. “I thought you couldn’t hear anything that happened in here.”

Harry took a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around the blonde before sitting in the second arm chair and answering the question. “*Temporary* silencing charm, remember? Besides, you think wards to confine you are the only ones I set? I’ve woken Sirius from enough nightmares to know that Azkaban causes them. Are you all right now?”

“Fine.”

Harry nodded curtly and stood. “Would you prefer to stay in here while I make us some breakfast, or will you help?”

“I’ll help.” He didn’t offer any explanation for his choice, simply following his host out. Harry didn’t say anything either, but he smiled when his charge willingly helped with work that the arrogant Slytherin normally would have considered beneath his dignity for the second time.

They were silent for most of the meal, both awkward after what had happened between them that morning. Finally, the brave Gryffindor cleared his throat. “We should dress for the day. I thought we’d go shopping first, and after, we’d do whatever you’d prefer. Tomorrow, the hard part starts.”

“All right. I’m not even going to bother asking you about tomorrow. You won’t tell me. How long do I have before I lose what little privacy I get and you come barging into my room?”

“I’ll give you half an hour. Do you think you’ll need more?”

“No.” Draco sneezed delicately, and then blushed.

“You sneeze like a girl.”

“Shut up, Harry.”

They disappeared into their respective rooms to dress for the day. Draco, still cold from his nightmare, even after a hot shower, chose the warmer of the two outfits he had been given before settling in front of the fire to wait. He dozed a little and didn’t notice when his host returned.

“Draco? Are you ready?”

He jumped, felt dizzy momentarily, and then stood more carefully. “Yes.”

“Come on, then.” In the living room, Harry fiddled with his wand for a moment. Finally, he said, “I know a charm that will keep you with me. It’ll restrict your movements to keeping you near, but that’s all it has to do. You said yesterday that you’d put up with something of the sort, as long as other people couldn’t see it. The charm meets that requirement. Will you let me place it on you?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“It’s polite. If you’re unwilling, we don’t have to go out today.”

The Slytherin looked away. “Go ahead,” he muttered. He didn’t look up until he felt the magic settle over him, but when he did, his face was expressionless. “Shall we go now?”

On the way out the door, the Gryffindor stopped to put on a pair of sandals. The sky blue pair was also there, but the blonde ignored them. Neither said anything until they had left the flat.

It was early, and Hogsmeade was nearly deserted still. The few who were out tried to stare inconspicuously and failed utterly. Draco said quietly, “This colour clothing may make me easier for you to keep an eye on, but it makes it equally easy for others to notice me. My colouring is distinctive enough without drawing attention to me. Are you going to restrict me to it on this shopping trip?”

“No. You can choose what you please.”

“What’s that in reward for?” the blonde asked, almost bitterly.

“Acquiescing so readily to the binding charm this morning,” was the cool reply. “Not to mention putting up with the Council yesterday.”

“You don’t seem to agree with them much.”

“No, I don’t. And like when you asked me about the Council your first day here, this isn’t the best time to discuss it.”

“Fine. I’d rather not find out what you will and won’t allow me when I get into the shop, so will you tell me now?”

Harry considered, studying the Slytherin carefully.

When he didn’t get an answer, Draco made a face and snapped, “I may be just a child,” he spat the word like it was poison, “to you now, but keep in mind that I fought in the war, too. I had to grow up just as fast, regardless of which side I fought for. How can I obey rules you haven’t given me? I’m not a fool, Harry, regardless of my status as your charge. You have me flailing without any guidelines to see how I react.”

“To some extent, you’re right. I’ve been studying you the past couple days to learn about how you think, so that tomorrow will be easier. I also need to see what rules I need to make and what you’ve learned without strict rules, since tomorrow, you’ll start having set rules to obey. Tomorrow, you will be my charge, a child. Today, if you remain within reason, do what you like. I will not interfere unless you are being unreasonable.”

“You’re too kind,” Draco muttered. Still, he took advantage of the freedom while he shopped, purchasing clothing in multiple colours, none of which was the sky blue he was wearing at the moment. He made sure that he stayed with his host, but for a few minutes, it was almost like before the war again. That illusion was shattered when he turned to the sales witch and was completely ignored. He tried being polite several times, and Harry intervened before he could see if shouting had any more effect. His cheeks turned darker and darker shades of pink through the argument that followed. The witch was torn between not wanting a convicted Death Eater in her shop and not wanting to offend either said Death Eater or his guardian by asking him to leave.

“Mr Potter, I’m honoured that you chose here to do your shopping, but your companion. . .”

“Is my charge, in my custody, and isn’t going to hurt anything.” He glanced reassuringly at Draco, but his grip on the blonde’s arm was as much restraining as comforting.

“Mr Potter, he’s a Death Eater! If you could just come back without him. . .”

Draco watched at first, but eventually he looked at the floor, cheeks burning. He was so humiliated he had to grip the counter surreptitiously to stay on his feet. In the past, whenever he went shopping, clerks swarmed around him, trying to please him. He’d never been ostracised like this before. He waited miserably for his host to finish.

Finally, with the fame he had gotten for killing Voldemort, Harry prevailed. They bought the clothes and left, visiting the bookstore next. There, Draco was asked to leave outright, but the Hero of the Wizarding World once again got his own way. Finally, their shopping was done. They stopped briefly by the flat to drop the packages off. Leaving, Draco squinted and rubbed his eyes. He sneezed daintily, and the bright sun was giving him a headache. The rest of the morning they spent wandering in the park, looking for a good place to picnic. By the time they found one, it was a bit past lunchtime.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said when they’d sat down.

“Whatever for?”

“The shopkeepers. I didn’t expect them to act like that.”

“I thought you said I deserve what I get from them. I *was* a Death Eater.”

“Yes, you were. Regardless, today was supposed to be your day away from all of that. You were supposed to enjoy yourself, not be humiliated. Besides, you were hurt, and it was my fault, even if it was indirectly. I apologise for hurting you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

They were silent for a time. Draco shivered in the light breeze, but waved it off when he was asked about it. Still, he didn’t eat as much as he could have. His stomach felt. . .off, somehow. He attributed it to the humiliation he’d suffered in the village and ignored it. “What now?” he asked when he’d finished.

“It’s your decision, Draco. I could do with some ice cream, though. I doubt you got any in Azkaban, so how about it?”

The Slytherin considered and nodded. “That’s fine.” He stood slowly, using the bench to pull himself up. He held on a moment longer, making sure he was steady. He hadn’t had to do that since he’d left Azkaban, but he decided not to worry about it. He had no intention of having to go back to the flat any sooner than his host had originally promised. Still, if he were to pull off that ruse, they’d have to slow down. “Harry?” he asked.

“What?”

“Could we go a bit slower? My feet—well, I’m barefoot and it’s starting to get a little uncomfortable.”

“Do you want to go get your sandals?”

“No! That’d be worse.”

Harry seemed to believe the excuse, which wasn’t exactly untrue, and Draco sighed in relief. They headed back into the village and toward the ice-cream store. It was above a restaurant, a French one, Draco noted, straining to see the sign, so they had to climb some spiral stairs. Halfway up, Draco stumbled, abruptly hit with yet another dizzy spell while his stomach tried to rebel. Another wizard, coming down past them, gave him a helpful shove. He fell into his host, and then down. The Gryffindor caught him before he could fall all the way down the stairs, but most of the damage had already been done. As the blonde faded out of consciousness, he heard the other boy cursing the man who’d shoved him quite thoroughly. The curses didn’t seem to be actual hexes, but the man didn’t seem very happy, so perhaps they were.

He regained consciousness being carried by Potter, and instinctively struck out. “I can walk,” he started and then his whole body exploded in pain.

“No, Draco, I really don’t think you can. Hold still and let me get you back to the flat. I’ll call a medi-witch from there.”

Draco barely managed a nod as the pain continued to wash over him. He faded in and out of consciousness, therefore not noticing all the people staring at the strange pair. He didn’t come fully awake again until someone forced a potion down his throat. Immediately, some of the pain faded, although the dizziness that had caused him to stumble in the first place remained. He looked up to see Madame Pomfrey standing over him.

“All right, Draco,” she said softly. “Hold still and let me check you over.”

“What’s wrong with me?” he asked when she seemed to be finished.

“Everything’s going to be fine, Draco. I’ll just go speak to your guardian and explain the situation.”

The Slytherin, helpless in his bed, seethed as the woman left to talk to the Hero of the Wizarding World, who had been hovering in the hall like a cat that could see a missing kitten but couldn’t get to it.

Harry looked up immediately when the medi-witch entered the hall. “Well, Poppy? What’s wrong with him?”

“That prison is what’s wrong with him, Harry.” She sniffed disapprovingly.

“That boy almost has more health problems than you did all last year. Most minor, he needs corrective glasses. If you don’t get them for him soon, his eyesight will deteriorate to the point where he’ll need them permanently. He’s extremely sensitive to sudden noises and the like. He’s claustrophobic. His immune system was basically destroyed by his stay in prison, so he’s one sick little boy right now.”

Harry snorted at the child reference. At least she had kept her voice down. Draco would not have been pleased. “Okay, glasses first. I don’t know what to do about noise outside of the flat, but we’re normally pretty quiet. If it’s just sudden noises, he should be all right for the most part. Hopefully, he’ll get over that before we go back to school.”

“We can discuss that later, it’s really not so urgent. His muscles have partially atrophied, and he’s been pushing himself too hard-this day out took that last bit of his reserves. His bones were also weakened, which is why a simple fall like that rendered him with so many injuries. He has two serious sets of fractures, multiple ones in his arm and his leg. The hip on that side is broken, he has two broken ribs, his hand is shattered and he’s lucky he didn’t break his skull. The weakened state of his bones, combined with his malnourishment, means that I can’t simply heal him. The healing process is based on regeneration, and it’s pointless to regenerate damaged tissues. He’ll have to be stronger for that. I can give you potions to help speed his recovery, ease the pain, and to help him get over his illness, but he’ll have to live with his broken bones for a while.”

“Did you explain any of this to him?”

“No. It is my custom, when dealing with children, to simply reassure them and talk to their guardians. Albus told the Order that Draco Malfoy is your charge and seen as a child. I treated him as such.”

They talked for a bit more, discussing the specifics of what was wrong with the blonde. Finally, Poppy said, “Now, I’ll sit with him for a bit, give him some more potions. I want you to get those glasses for him immediately. It may seem trivial compared to everything else, but he needs the correction soon or it won’t do any good. There’s so little I can do for him, really, so it’s important to take care of what we can. Here’s the prescription.”

The Gryffindor nodded. He pointed his wand into the blonde’s room and muttered a counter-charm. At the medi-witch’s raised eyebrow, he explained, “I put a charm on him to keep him with me while we were out. I thought I probably ought to take it off before I left, so he isn’t forced to try and follow me. Tell him I’ll be back in a bit, as soon as I can be?”

“Of course, Harry.” When he turned away, she returned to the warded room and her patient.

No matter how much Draco fussed at the healer, she wouldn’t tell him anything about what was wrong with him. She just kept reassuring him that he’d be fine. Like he was a child, he noted bitterly, determined to chew out Potter when the younger boy got back from wherever he’d gone. She had cast spells on his arm, leg, and chest that rendered them basically immobile, but since it did ease some more of the pain, he decided it wasn’t worth complaining about. Yet.

When Harry did return, Poppy left immediately with a quick, “Good day Mr Potter, goodbye Draco.” She ignored her patient’s scowl. She had given her diagnosis, left her potions, and done the best she could for her patient. She would stop back in to check on him at a later date, but she didn’t want to be caught in what looked to be a nasty confrontation.

“Draco?” the Gryffindor asked, entering the blonde’s room.

“I’m here. Where did you expect me to be? I’m just a child, remember? I can’t go anywhere without my guardians.”

“What brought this on?”

Draco struggled to sit up, only to give it up for a lost cause, and sneezed violently. “Oh, I don’t know,” he snapped when the other boy helped him, propping a pillow behind his back. “Maybe it’s the fact that Pomfrey wouldn’t tell me what’s wrong with me! Maybe because nobody’s given me anything to help with a fever! Maybe because I’m sick on the day you promised me I’d get to spend out of your flat, and not only am I back in the flat, I’m stuck in my room! Maybe because I have a pounding head-ache! Maybe it’s just that I feel bloody awful and am taking it out on you.”

“I’m sorry about Poppy. She did the best she could. People don’t know how to treat you now, you realise. For her, it was easier to treat you like the child you are legally than to deal with the implications of who and what you are. I came in here to tell you what’s wrong with you, if you still want to know.”

“I do. It’s my body. I think I have the right to know.”

Harry sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “All right, Draco. First off, I brought you this.” He held up a small case.

“What is it?”

“Glasses. They’ll correct your vision. You shouldn’t have to wear them for that long. A couple of years at most.” He opened the case, revealing a pair of stylish, silver glasses, much nicer than his own. Gently, he placed them on his charge’s nose.

“I don’t need glasses!” He reached up with his good hand to take them off, but it was intercepted.

“You didn’t need glasses, Draco. Azkaban did more damage than I thought. If you don’t wear the corrective lenses, it’s possible you’ll need glasses for the rest of your life. I owe you a very serious apology, Draco. I completely underestimated the effects of Azkaban. I always assumed Sirius was basically fine when he got out, but he was innocent, and he had his animagus form. I should have gotten Poppy to look you over as soon as you got out. So. I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Fine,” the Slytherin said grudgingly. He wasn’t feeling well enough to argue properly. Besides, he was slightly mollified by his guardian actually apologising and admitting to making a mistake. “I accept your apology. It’s nice to know that Perfect Harry Potter can make mistakes, too. As for the glasses—at least they’re better than yours.” He had to admit, he could see much better with the glasses on. He hadn’t noticed that his sight deteriorated, but he hadn’t noticed a lot of things in Azkaban. “What’s the rest of it?”

“Um. Where do you want me to start? With what Azkaban did, with what’s wrong with you today, or with what the fall did?”

“Start with Azkaban. At least then, I have more to blame on the Ministry.”

“All right. I’m sure you already knew that you’re malnourished. That weakened your bones, and helped with the deterioration of your muscles. Lack of exercise didn’t help the situation any. Your immune system is shot, so you get sick far more easily. This can all be fixed, to a degree, with proper diet and exercise, but only if you follow the regime strictly.”

“All right. What’s wrong with me now?”

“You’re sick, obviously. It wouldn’t be a big deal in anyone else, but it’s dangerous for you because of your ruined immune system. You’re going to get a lot worse before you get any better. Madam Pomfrey can’t give you anything for your fever; she said it has to run its course, that you’re too weak for her to heal you. A strong potion would do more harm than good at this point. As for the fall—you broke a fair number of bones. Your arm is fractured in several places, you shattered your hand, and you broke several ribs. Your hip is broken, as is your leg in several places. Because of your weakened bones, your malnourishment, and the fact that you’re already sick, Poppy can’t fix them until you’re stronger.”

“So what happens now?” Draco asked, trying not to sneeze.

“Now we work on getting you over this illness intact. You’re going to get a lot worse, you realise. There’s only so much Madam Pomfrey can do for you, especially now.”

“Can or will?” Before Harry could say any thing, he grimaced. “No, sorry. I really don’t like being treated like a child. But I wish she could do something more. I hate being trapped. This room, I can almost deal with, especially since you let me out frequently, but now that I’m confined to my bed… I can barely move. I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”

“All right, I can understand that. Is there something I can do to help?”

“Don’t I. . .” A sneezing fit interrupted him. When he subsided, chest agonised and eyes and nose streaming, he sighed. “I can’t do this now. Stay with me?”

“As much as I can, Draco.” He offered the other boy a handkerchief.

The Slytherin fumbled with it, his dominant hand having been the injured one. “I can’t do anything,” he muttered, swiping at his face.

Harry took the handkerchief back and gently cleaned up the pale face before giving it back. “I’ll stay with you. I already told you that. This,” he gestured between them, “goes both ways.”

“Will you explain that?” the blonde asked, and then quickly raised the handkerchief as he sneezed again.

“Are you well enough to listen and understand what I tell you? I hadn’t intended to tell you this for a while yet. I didn’t think it would be an issue so soon. It’s also complicated.”

“I’ll listen.”

Harry looked at his charge in surprise. He had expected a smart remark or sarcasm—or something.

“Look, I’m too sick to bother with that. I’d think you’d be pleased,” Draco snapped, having correctly interpreted his host’s look.

“I am. I just. . .didn’t expect it.” He sat down on the side of the Slytherin’s bed. “How to start. Um. Were you paying attention when we got off the ferry from Azkaban?”

“I was a little preoccupied by the fact that I was chained up, but yes. You said that custody of me had passed to you.”

“That wasn’t just symbolic. It isn’t common knowledge. . .”

“Oh what a big surprise. So many things you tell me aren’t.”

“. . .but I have adult standing in the wizarding world. It’s a lot more complicated, but that’ll do as an explanation for now. I really do have complete custody of you. It’s like when my parents died, and I was sent to live the Dursleys. I’m your guardian. Even without the fact that you’re a child now, you’re underage.”

“How long until I’m allowed to be of age?” Draco interrupted again. “You tell me I’m a child now, but you’ve never given me any details about it.” He sneezed again, and winced. “Is there more pain potion?”

The Gryffindor helped him drink the potion before answering. “You had to be a specific age to satisfy Ministry law, so yes, there is more to it. We changed your records at the Ministry. You’ve even got a new birth certificate.”

“Does that mean that on my birth certificate, there’s no mention of my parents? I’m just your charge?”

“Yes, Draco.”

“Am I even a Malfoy any more?”

“Do you really want to be? Never mind, forget I asked. That was rude. Your record—criminal record—has been destroyed. You kept the same birthday, and everyone knows you’re really sixteen, but we took ten years off your age. You have twelve years until the Ministry acknowledges that you’re an adult. That can, of course, be changed if necessary.”

“I’m six.” He laughed hoarsely. “You’re right, Harry, I am a child.”

“Yes, you are. Which means you have to have a guardian. That’s me, now. In every sense. I’m responsible for you now, Draco. It goes beyond just re-raising you. I’ll stay with you when you’re sick, take care of you as best I can.”

“My parents never did.”

“My aunt and uncle didn’t either,” was the quiet reply. “But our poor childhoods are neither here nor there. They are relevant only in that I intend to do things differently.” He considered the other boy for a long moment. “Would a present make you feel a bit better? I don’t think talking to me has.”

The blonde considered. He’d never admit it, but concentrating on his host had drawn his attention away from how bad he was feeling, and he had been sneezing less, besides. Now that his attention was returned to it, though, his head was pounding, and all of his broken bones and bruises ached furiously. To let the Gryffindor know that would be unforgivable, though, so despite his better judgement, he grumbled, “I can’t think of anything I’ve done recently that you haven’t already rewarded. Do I deserve one?”

“I’m beginning to regret having said you’d have to earn everything, the way you keep throwing it in my face. This is a practical present. It’s something you’ll need anyway. I’ll be back in a second.” In a span of time barely longer than the promised second, he returned, holding a bulky, heavy package which he set down on the bed.

Draco worked slowly, one-handed, to get the paper off. Harry tried to help, but he was glared at for his trouble. The blonde wanted to do this on his own. When he had, he stared. The fifth year textbooks, new copies of them, were lying on his bed.

“You’ll need them when Hermione and I start helping you catch up. Also, there’s this.” He placed a wand in the other’s hand. “Intermediate level. You can do more with it. Also, you can summon things you need with it, so I won’t need to be constantly fetching things for you because you’re stuck in bed. You’d abuse the privilege, and you know it.”

The Slytherin considered for a long moment, smiling a little at the all too accurate jibe. He remembered what his host had said when he’d been given clothes. “Thank you,” he offered finally. He started shivering again, and Harry pulled another blanket up over him and built up the fire.

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else you’d like right now?”

“Something to eat. My throat’s sore, and you promised me ice-cream. I never got any.”

“There’s some in the kitchen. I’ll go get it.”

Harry made a quick phone-call before getting the ice-cream. He wanted Hermione over as quickly as possible. He couldn’t stay with his charge every minute, and wanted to explain that the girl would be helping while the Slytherin was still lucid.

A few minutes later, just as he finished serving up the ice-cream, Hermione came through the fireplace. “Hello,” he called. “I’m in the kitchen.”

“Hello, Harry. So, Malfoy’s sick?”

“Yes, Draco is sick. I’ll need you to help me keep an eye on him. I don’t want him left alone.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Harry. He hates me.”

“He feels the same way about me. I’m his surrogate parent, though. He deals with me. I told him last time, mostly because I was annoyed but still, that he could think of you and Ron as an aunt and uncle; it gives you a position of authority over him, and you two are practically my brother and sister anyway. If he doesn’t behave while I’m not there, tell me and I’ll deal with him. Come on. I want to give him his ice-cream before it melts.”

Draco surveyed the two people entering his room, and then turned to his host. “What is Granger doing here?”

“Auntie Hermione,” the girl corrected sweetly.

“You’re kidding, right?” When she slowly shook her head, he looked desperately at the other person in the room. “Please tell me she’s joking!”

“No, Draco. I brought your ice-cream.” He handed the blonde the ice-cream cone.

Draco took it with an attempt at graciousness, but his grey eyes, bright with fever, were narrowed. “Thank you. Now will you tell me why Auntie Hermione,” the words were laced with sarcasm and bitterness, though the effect was ruined when he sneezed, “is here?”

“She’s here because you’re sick, Draco. You’re already getting worse. I can’t stay with you all the time. You know that. I have other things that I have to take care of, including my summer homework. She’ll stay with you when I can’t so that you aren’t alone. Also, as soon as you’re over the worst of being sick, she’ll start tutoring you, as we agreed. I’ll be here a lot of the time, as much as I can be, but there’s only so much I can do.”

“Look, Malfoy,” Hermione started, but the Slytherin interrupted.

“Draco.”

“What?”

“If I have to call you Auntie Hermione, be a little less hypocritical and call me by my given name. And what about Weasley?” He quickly turned part of his attention back to his ice-cream cone as it began to melt over his fingers, but his eyes were still focused entirely on the person who was intruding in his room. Harry, he would admit had the right to be there. The girl did not. Besides, he could anticipate what she was about to say, and he didn’t like it.

She didn’t disappoint. “Uncle Ron, Draco, then.”

“I doubt he’ll like it if I call him that. He hates me more than the two of you put together.”

“I doubt that,” Harry said quietly. “I think that if Hermione points out to him how hard it is for you to call him that, he’ll rub your face in it. It might be easier if you just give in now.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed. “Get her to leave for a minute. I want to talk to you.”

“Ask her yourself, Draco. You’re being rude. You could apologise.”

Reluctantly, the Slytherin turned to face the girl, cheeks flaming. “Auntie Hermione, could you step outside for a moment? I need to talk to Harry. And,” he gritted his teeth, “I’m sorry for being rude.”

“Apology accepted, dear. You could call him Papa Harry, you know,” Hermione told him, but she complied. “Harry, tell me when you need me back. I’ll go sit in the living room.”

The Gryffindor boy sighed. “What is it, Draco?”

“This is humiliating! Why are you doing this to me? What did I do wrong this time? Or are you just punishing me because you can?”

“First off, Draco, I object to the last question. I already told you that I don’t like punishing you. I’m trying to be fair about this. I had hoped you could trust me a little by now. If you can’t tell, I’m starting to trust you. You have much more freedom than you did when you first came here.”

“I know,” the blonde muttered. “I started to trust you, and then this happens! Auntie Hermione. Uncle Ron. Papa Harry. I’m not six years old, Harry, no matter what the Ministry says. They aren’t my aunt and uncle. They’re my age, in my year at school, just like you. You, at least, I thought I could understand, but no. The minute I was starting to trust you, you humiliate me without even telling me what I’ve done wrong.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong, Draco. I’m not punishing you. I didn’t tell Hermione to do this, but she is an authority figure, and you should obey her. I told her what I told you the last time she was here because she was nervous about sitting with you when I can’t. She thought that you wouldn’t behave yourself. Making you call her Auntie Hermione may just be to remind you to behave. I don’t know, Draco. We’ve drifted apart a little. I’ve been so busy with the Council. They know, both she and Ron, that there’s something I’m not telling them. They resent it. Besides, they started dating, and I felt like a nuisance to them when they just wanted to be alone.”

“If you didn’t tell her to have me call her that, do I have to do it? It’s awkward and embarrassing.”

“It might be best to humour her. She’s finding the situation as awkward as you are. And like I said, she is an authority figure for you. Like Ron and Sirius.”

Draco considered, and he smirked. “Does that include calling you Papa Harry?” he taunted.

The Gryffindor turned red. “You have ice-cream all over you.” He went into the bathroom and returned with a wet cloth. “Here. Clean yourself up a bit. I’m going to go get Hermione.”

When all three were once again sitting in the blonde’s room, Harry asked, “Hermione, you’re all right to stay with him?”

“I’ll be fine, Harry. As long as he behaves.”

“And you, Draco? You’ll be all right if you wake up and she’s here instead of me?”

“If I have to be.”

“Good. You should sleep, Draco. You’ll heal faster, and I know perfectly well that you’re still in pain.”

“Whatever you say—Papa Harry.” He smirked as the dark-haired boy blushed, but he drank the sleeping potion willingly.

The two Gryffindors watched until they were sure he was sleeping. When they were, Hermione asked, “Do you have—feelings for him, Harry? The wizarding world may not accept it, but you could tell me. My parents were quite liberal.”

“No, I don’t, Hermione. What made you think I did?”

“You just seem to have an ulterior motive for having him here.”

“I do, but it isn’t that.”

The girl looked at him questioningly, and then looked away when she realised she wouldn’t be getting an answer. “Fine. More of those things you won’t talk about. I wish you’d tell me, Harry.”

They lapsed back into silence, watching the pale boy. As Draco slept, his fever climbed. He began to murmur quietly as he slept, but they couldn’t catch what he was saying. Finally, Harry said, “I need to go. I want to go to the Ministry and tell Sirius what’s happening, and I ought to tell Se-Snape as well.”

“All right, Harry. I’ll sit with him.” After her friend left, she continued to watch the Slytherin sleep. His murmuring got louder, and every now and then she could make out a word. Most frequently was Harry’s name. Abruptly, she realised that the boy was calling for his surrogate parent.

“Draco Malfoy calling for Harry Potter when he’s sick,” she muttered. “What is happening in Hell, I wonder? I hope they’ve got the ski-lifts ready.”

Still, she knew it was probably a good sign for the relationship between the two boys. Resolving to tell her friend what she’d heard when he got back, she settled more comfortably in the arm-chair to wait.