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Work Header
Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Archive Warning:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Category:
Multi
Fandom:
Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Relationships:
Draco Malfoy/Harry PotterHarry/Ginnypast Draco/Astoria
Characters:
Draco MalfoyHarry PotterHermione GrangerRon WeasleyAstoria GreengrassGinny Weasley
Additional Tags:
MysteryDramaFriendshipSlow BurnRomance
Language:
English
Stats:
Published:2014-09-30Completed:2014-12-25Words:74885Chapters:17/17Comments:407Kudos:2311Bookmarks:912
Running on Air
eleventy7
Chapter 11
Chapter Text
The coastline of Sutton-on-Sea is flat and linear, unlike the meandering cliffs of the Cornish coast. The yachts skim across the water like bright kites, their sails catching the ocean breeze. The beaches are wide plains: soft and deep close to the footpath, but then the sand firms up, like packed brown sugar, as it nears the shoreline.
They sit on the sea defence wall and watch the yachts. There's a thin line of jagged wood, like teeth, farther along the beach and Harry suggests it's a shipwreck. Draco, far less inclined to think so fancifully, says it's the remains of a pier. A light argument ensues but soon dissolves when their attention is caught by two swimmers braving the sea and wading out past the breakers.
"They must be freezing," Harry observes. Even in summer, the sea here would hold an unwelcome chill.
The sun slowly sinks in the sky, casting long shadows over the land. Soon enough, the sky is darkening into a hazy dusk and the yachts slowly come in. Even the swimmers find their way ashore, pausing on the wet sand to towel themselves off and walk briskly towards the car park.
Draco and Harry return to the car and Harry wonders if Draco will ask him to choose another place. Maybe they'll keep driving, until spring melts into summer. A high summer, he thinks, with a propane-blue sky and fields of gold.
But Draco sits on the passenger's side and opens the atlas, and so Harry takes his cue and sits in the driver's seat. He readjusts the mirrors slightly and reverses out, half-expecting Draco to say something about his inadequate driving skills. Harry's realised, over the course of their journey, that Draco is indeed a very skilled driver.
But Draco doesn't say anything except "Turn onto Sutton Road," and it doesn't take Harry long to realise Draco's taking them home again.
As the last of the sunlight dies across the land and night slowly settles in, Harry wonders if they'll travel beside a river. He wants to see those stars reflected, falling around him as he drives on into the darkness.
Somewhere past Huntingdon, Draco falls asleep.
* * *
London appears as nothing more than a faint orange haze on the horizon, a blur of lights illuminating the smog hanging low over the city. The city creeps up slowly, like a tide slowly encompassing them. The rows of houses soon rise and fall, crescendoing into apartment blocks and office buildings, and soon, Harry realises, he's nearly home.
They arrive at the apartment at nine o'clock. Harry realises he hasn't eaten all day and neither has Draco; Harry's loathe to pester Draco about his lack of appetite but nevertheless sets about making a pot of tea and an enormous stack of toast, too tired to bother with a proper meal. Draco seems in agreement; he eats the toast without comment and disappears into the guest bedroom without another word. No doubt in need of a very long sleep, Harry thinks. Draco started the day easily enough, but it was obvious that he tired throughout the day and, by nightfall, he was clearly exhausted.
Going away is easy. Coming home is hard.
Hermione had warned him about this, he thinks. She'd specifically mentioned side-effects, but she hadn't gone into any detail. Draco probably needs proper medical care, Harry thinks with worry. People who might actually know about causes and symptoms and that sort of thing. Places that could provide appropriate medication. Or even the manor, where Draco could be surrounded by familiar rooms - luxurious ones, not a tiny spare bedroom in Harry's apartment - and have the attention of his mother, who knows him far better than anyone else, and be doted on by the house-elves.
But Draco didn't go to any of those people or places.
No; he came to Harry.
And perhaps Harry's not doing anything right. He's not organising things and owling people and telling them Draco's back. He's not doing any of the things he should be doing - he realises Draco hasn't even got a change of clothes, Harry didn't even think about that - and he didn't even prepare a meal for Draco until tonight, if tea and toast could be called a meal - and he's not doing anything that people normally do to help.
No. Instead, he hasn't said a single word about everything that happened. Just sat in silence with Draco, and gone with him on long car trips that are obviously very exhausting for Draco, and talked about stupid things, like Oliver Cromwell and shipwrecks.
And maybe, he realises, that's exactly why Draco chose to turn up at Harry's apartment rather than anywhere else.
* * *
On Sunday morning, when Harry wakes, he reaches for his glasses and then his wand. His glasses are exactly where he left them; his wand isn't.
He sits up, puts his glasses on, and carefully considers the situation. After a long moment, he checks the floor in case his wand rolled off the bedside table. When his wand still fails to appear, he opens up the drawer. Maybe he mistakenly left the wand somewhere else.
But he knows he put it next to his glasses. He always does. It's been his routine for a long time.
If Draco took Harry's wand, surely it was for a good reason. Draco hasn't got a wand, Harry remembers. He'd borrowed his mother's, Harry knows, but he left it behind when he vanished and, Harry realises, he's been wandless since. Maybe he needed to perform a spell, for some reason, and he didn't want to wake Harry so...
...or maybe he took the wand and left. Maybe Draco finally came to his senses, realised the complete madness of the entire situation - sleeping in Harry Potter's apartment, taking road trips together- and left. Perhaps Draco remembered their hateful school-years and reminded himself of the hundreds of reasons they could never be friends, and stole Harry's wand in vengeance for Harry stealing his, so many years ago.
Harry stands up and slowly opens his door, stepping out into the hallway. Water is running somewhere, he realises, and he glances at the end of the hallway. The bathroom door is open, and Draco is tapping Harry's wand against a paperclip, transfiguring it into a toothbrush. His hair is damp, Harry realises - he must have had a shower - and Draco's clothes look freshly Scourgified.
Draco hasn't seemed to notice him yet. Harry stands and watches him brush his teeth, feeling terribly guilty about his earlier thoughts. He'd so easily assumed Draco had just stolen his wand and left.
At any moment, he thinks, Draco will notice him. But Draco's attention seems elsewhere, and Harry stands in the hallway for a long moment, watching Draco hunt through the mirror cabinet for floss. It's strange to watch him so unguarded. Many people, Harry has learned, have little tells and habits that give away their emotions or thoughts. Ron's ears reddening, for example, or Hermione chewing her lip. Narcissa playing with her jewellery, or Astoria tucking her hair behind her ears.
But Draco doesn't seem to have any nervous habits. He does everything precisely, efficiently, Harry thinks, and he remembers Draco's way of driving. Every movement a conscious decision.
"Going driving today?" Harry asks, deciding to make his presence known. He half-expects Draco to jump, but he just turns and glances at Harry as if he knew Harry was there all along.
"No." He takes a dreamless sleep potion from the cabinet and shuts it.
Harry frowns slightly. "Having problems sleeping?" He takes a few steps closer and Draco stares at him for a moment. There's something distant in Draco's eyes, Harry thinks, and it worries him. "Is everything all right?"
"Fine."
Harry says nothing. Draco seems to be a little slower than usual, as if he's still exhausted from the journey yesterday. They shouldn't have gone, Harry thinks.
"Got my wand?" he says, and Draco looks bewildered for a moment before he glances at the wand beside the sink.
"Oh. I borrowed it." He picks it up and walks toward Harry, holding out the wand. When he's within reach, however, Harry ignores the wand and takes Draco by the wrist instead, pulling him a little closer.
"Is everything all right?"
"I said I'm fine." Draco looks away. "Just tired."
"Having nightmares?"
Another long pause. Then Draco speaks quietly. "I dream of the other time, the one I was trapped in. Sometimes, when I wake up, it's...confusing." His grip tightens on the potion vial. "I'd rather not lose my mind, so..."
You're going to St Mungo's. That's what Harry should say. He should owl Narcissa and ask for the family Mediwizard, try and organise a Healer...
"You want me to contact anyone?" Harry says instead, and Draco shakes his head.
"I'm tired."
"All right."
Draco hesitates. "Don't contact anyone."
"I won't."
"I know I should tell them."
"It's all right. They can wait," Harry says, and he knows it's a terrible thing to say, but it can wait. I'm not sure I want to come home, Draco had said, and Harry's just grateful Draco's here. It's enough, and he tells Draco that. "You've done enough. Go and get some rest."
Draco hesitates a moment. "When I wake up," he says, "we'll go somewhere."
"How about Dover?" Harry says. "I've always wanted to see those famous white cliffs."
Draco nods. "To Dover," he agrees, and then he turns and walks away, Harry's hand slipping from his wrist.
Reassured by their plans for Dover, Harry lets Draco sleep for the rest of the morning. He spends the time going through the boxes of Draco's possessions - he'd completely forgotten about them, but the box of clothes, for example, will no doubt prove useful. Draco probably has less use for the old textbooks and the calendar diary, but at least they're there. Something familiar.
Harry knocks on the guest bedroom door at some point in the afternoon, thinking Draco might want a cup of tea. However, there's no response. He runs a few errands, Disapparating to Gringott's, and returns to the apartment at five o'clock.
He knocks on the bedroom door at six, then again at eight, thinking Draco might want a meal. When there's still no reply, he begins to worry.
Well, perhaps Draco's just very tired.
At around ten o'clock, Harry goes to bed. He checks on Draco first; Draco appears to be fast asleep, the empty potion vial on the bedside table and a half-glass of water. Harry watches Draco's face for a long moment. Even asleep, he looks troubled somehow, his mouth a thin, unhappy line and a faint tension in his face.
Harry hesitates, then reaches out and rests a hand on Draco's shoulder.
"Draco," he says quietly.
Draco doesn't move.
"Draco."
Draco stirs, then, and makes a noise indicative of slight annoyance.
"Just checking if you need anything," Harry says, feeling relieved. Draco makes another noise that, although open to interpretation, has strong hints of 'go away'.
Harry straightens up and leaves, quietly closing the door behind him.
* * *
Monday morning.
Harry wakes early and has a leisurely shower before dressing and considered whether to call Holdsworth and plead sickness again. The white cliffs of Dover await him and Draco, after all.
He firecalls Holdsworth, whose sympathy is slightly limited this time but still present.
"Get plenty of rest, you can't afford to take tomorrow off too," she says.
Harry ends the firecall and paces around the kitchen, impatient for Draco to waken. After an hour or so, he finally goes to the bedroom door and knocks.
No reply. He waits a moment, then opens the door.
Draco looks exactly how Harry left him.
Still asleep? Harry thinks with exasperation, reaching for Draco's shoulder and shaking him gently.
"Draco. Wake up."
No reply. Draco feels very warm, though, and Harry, after some hesitation, places a hand against Draco's forehead.
Feverish.
Harry stands up abruptly. Is this another side-effect? Or just a cold? Merlin, why did he agree to that stupid trip to Sutton-on-Sea? It's clearly been too much for Draco, why didn't Harry behave like a responsible adult for once and drag Draco to the Healers as soon as he returned, like any normal person would do -
He tries, unsuccessfully, to wake Draco again, but Draco seems completely unresponsive. Almost comatose.
Don't tell anyone. That's what Draco had said, and Harry had promised. Draco doesn't want anyone to know, so they won't -
Harry realises he's mindlessly pacing around the room. He stops and leans against the door, staring at Draco.
Don't do this to me, Draco.
Slowly, feeling as though his body is immensely heavy, he walks to the fireplace and firecalls his two best friends.
* * *
He wishes they were angry with him. It'd be easier if they were angry. They'd speak crossly with him, and Harry would nod and agree that yes, he's clearly had a lapse in judgement...
But Ron and Hermione - both perched on the stools by the island counter - look at him with identical expressions of hurt and betrayal.
"It's about trust, Harry," Hermione says.
"Yeah, did you really think we'd go running off to tell everyone?" Ron adds. "All you had to do was ask us not to."
"I know, but it's just...I don't know." Harry feels terrible. "I don't know," he repeats. "Anyone in the right mind would have told Narcissa and Astoria, and taken Draco to St Mungo's, and - "
"Well, it's no use blaming anyone," Hermione says suddenly. "You said Malfoy was sick, didn't you? What happened?"
Harry looks away, embarrassed that he only involved his friends when it got to this point. "He said he was tired. He's been tired a lot, since he came back Friday night, but he's slept for nearly twenty-four hours straight, now. And he's got a fever."
Hermione frowns and says nothing.
"What do you think?" Harry prompts, worried, and Hermione looks at Ron, then back to Harry.
"I don't know."
"Well - we'll research it, right? You'll have a book or something..." Harry trails off as Hermione shakes her head.
"There's only ever been three recorded cases. I know one of them mentioned fatigue, but...I'm not a Healer. I don't know." She exchanges another look with Ron, and Ron speaks quietly.
"Look, mate," he says to Harry, "I know you said that Malfoy doesn't want anyone to know, but...I reckon it's time to go to St Mungo's."
"No," Harry says instantly. "I promised him."
"Think Malfoy'd prefer to be alive than to keep a promise," Ron says, and Harry turns away, knowing Ron's right and hating the choice he must make.
For a moment, silence eclipses them. Then Harry speaks, his voice laced with defeat.
"Call St Mungo's," he says wearily. "I'll owl Narcissa and Astoria."
Hermione puts a reassuring hand on his arm. "You're doing the right thing, Harry," she says.
It doesn't feel like it, he thinks.
* * *
Astoria is the first to receive her owl. She arrives at St Mungo's at midday, Sophie clutching her hand, and when she sees Harry sitting in the waiting room she turns a worryingly pale colour.
"You said you found him?" she says breathlessly. Harry nods. He'd been deliberately vague in the letter, saying Draco had been found but was seriously ill and currently at St Mungo's.
"Oh, thank Merlin," Astoria says, sinking into the chair beside Harry. "Oh, thank Merlin. All this time..." She looks around the room, as if expecting to find Draco there, smiling at her. "Where is he?"
"Fourth floor. They won't let anyone in," Harry says, and the anger he initially felt bubbles to the surface again. "Those bloody Healers, they're treating him like an experiment. Their eyes lit up like Christmas trees when they learned he'd been splinched in two time eras. They're running every test under the sun, and they wanted to bring in a team of Healers from the Research Division."
"So I can't even see him?" Astoria looks like someone's hit her with a hex. "What absolute rubbish! I'm practically family, if I want to see Draco then they can't stop me."
"Good luck. I'm Harry bloody Potter and they still kicked me out."
Astoria's worry is quickly turning to fury. Harry listens to her rant about the injustice of it all; he went through the exact same cycle of emotion and so he simply nods along sympathetically until Astoria has stalked away to furiously accost Healers. Harry also went through that particular phase. In fifteen or twenty minutes, he thinks, she'll reappear and collapse, defeated, into the chair again.
Hermione turns up at five o'clock, after work's finished. Harry had sent her and Ron away when they first arrived, saying they couldn't do anything anyway and they both had to return to work. They left reluctantly, promising to return in the evening.
Hermione is very cautious around Astoria and stiffly introduces herself, but Astoria's frankness soon wins Hermione over.
"Oh, there's no need for stuffy introductions," Astoria says irritably. "You're Hermione Granger, who doesn't know your name?" She pauses, then sighs. "Sorry, I've been stuck here all day waiting for a Healer to give us some news, any news - Sophie, don't touch people's hair, it isn't polite - and it's just been a nightmare."
Hermione is appropriately sympathetic and Astoria warms up to her. Harry leaves them talking to each other - Hermione soon bouncing a giggly Sophie on her lap - and tries to find a Healer. He waits outside Draco's room and grabs ahold of a Healer's assistant trying to exit with armfuls of potions.
"Draco Malfoy - "
"Oh, we just finished the last of the tests," the assistant says cheerfully. "Minchin the Marvellous reported similar effects after he was time-splinched - it's certainly very interesting, isn't it? The senior Healer says he might run some more tests tomorrow, actually, because this is a very good opportunity to write a paper on..." The assistant trails off.
"A good opportunity?" Harry says angrily.
"Well...er, my condolences for the situation, but on the bright side, we now know a lot more about the chemical reactions within magical cores when..." The assistant pauses again.
"If you're done treating Draco like a research paper," Harry snaps, "I'd like to see him."
"Well, of course, but you won't get much out of a visit."
The Healer assistant is right, as much as Harry hates to admit it. Draco is still asleep when he goes into the room, and the assistant returns to tell Harry that Draco will remain asleep for at least the next twelve hours.
"He's in a magically-induced sleep," she says brightly. "Just to make sure everything recovers completely. Minchin's nervous system was completely shot when he woke up, but..."
One of the other Healer assistants, industriously writing on a chart, looks up and gives her a look.
"Never mind," the assistant says meekly, and disappears to find Astoria.
Harry thinks he should give Astoria a moment alone. Narcissa should be here soon; he'd expected her to rush into St Mungo's very shortly after sending the owl, but it's possible she's been out all day and is yet to receive the message.
He watches Draco a moment longer, then turns and leaves.
* * *
Going back to the apartment feels strange. Draco was only there for three nights, but somehow the apartment feels despairingly empty.
He should have taken Draco straight to St Mungo's. When Astoria and Narcissa realise he kept Draco hidden for nearly four days, they'll be furious with him. And he'll deserve their wrath.
Kept Draco hidden.
Because sometimes, that feels like his intentions. He wanted to hide Draco, just have a moment - maybe a bit longer. Just him and Draco. Driving and speaking about nothing important and falling asleep in the English midlands. Stars and rivers and fields, and if he closes his eyes he can remember the sun-warmed stone of the sea defence wall, solid and real beneath his skin. The breakers rolling in, quiet and constant. The dunes of the beach subsiding into long, smooth plains.
They never did find out whether the buried wood was a shipwreck or a pier.
Harry spends most of the night staring at the ceiling.
* * *
He goes to work the next morning. There's four owls waiting outside his office, and Harry's heart slowly sinks. That can't bode well.
"Scourgify," he mutters, getting rid of the owl droppings around his door, and steps over a sleepy pygmy owl. Ginny's.
It's the first time he's stepped into his office since Draco came back. It's strange how everything's exactly how he left it five days ago, last Thursday. Draco's file is still in his drawer. The pensieve, filled with memories, sits undisturbed in its cabinet. Harry takes off his cloak and hang it on a peg before sitting behind his desk. The owls flutter around him, eventually settling into a neat line. One particular owl - a large hawk owl - pecks the other owls until they've shuffled aside.
"Oh, you're the most important, are you?" Harry mutters at it, taking its letter and narrowly missing an angry peck.
It's a rushed letter from Narcissa. She had been visiting a friend's country estate in the Highlands and has only just returned. The letter is short and consists of little more than a brief reason for her absence and a sentence stating she will be along to St Mungo's directly.
The next letter is from Astoria and is uncomfortable to read; it's full of heartfelt gratitude for 'bringing Draco home' and tells Harry that he's always welcome to visit her and Matthew, even though the case is closed.
Would he still be welcome at her house if she knew Draco had actually returned five days ago and Harry had kept it secret? Guilt blossoms in his heart as he sets the letter aside.
The third letter is from Hermione and consists of an envelope full of clippings and notes from books, detailing side-effects of time-splinching. Not much research available, she's written, and I don't know if it'll be useful - but thought you might like to read through the notes, at least.
The fourth letter is from Ginny. Hope everything's well, she's written. Ron told me you solved the Malfoy case. Congratulations! I know you've been working hard all year on it. Anyway, you wouldn't believe the formations the English National Team is developing at the moment. Quite interesting, the way the Chasers communicate...
It's nice of Ginny to make the effort, Harry thinks. She's never been one for writing letters, but now they've broken up she occasionally sends postcards or brief letters. Perhaps trying to reassure Harry they can still be friends, and Harry appreciates the gesture.
The owls - their letters finally delivered - perch along the hatstand, all of them looking prepared to briefly nap. Harry looks down at his desk, then opens the drawer and slowly removes the latest case - a young Staffordshire witch, with known mental health issues, has gone missing after she was supposed to attend an appointment with a Mind Healer. Harry writes a note for the Muggle Liaisons team to check local hospitals and homeless shelters, but after that he has problems concentrating. He feels like he should do something, but what? Draco needs Healers, not a...friend.
Friend. Not quite the right word. They were never friends. They went from strangers straight to enemies, and then nothing but an insignificant memory, a distant figure easily dismissed and forgotten. Then...
...this strange thing between them. Disconnected memories, thoughts racing through a Legilimens spell, driving lessons and a Renault Mégane, a long-forgotten letter written in the back of a calendar diary, stars in a winter sky as the Celtic Sea stormed ophiolite cliffs.
A knock on the door, although it's open. Harry glances up.
"Hey."
"Hey." Ron glances at the owls roosting on the hatstand. "All right?"
"Yeah."
Ron takes a seat in one of the armchairs and helps himself to the bowl of toffees.
"Those are for interviewees," Harry says. It's an old joke between them. Ron grins and unwraps the toffee.
"Ask me a question, then." Ron pauses. "Or maybe I should be asking you a question." He points the toffee wrapper at Harry. "You and Malfoy. You've got this weird thing going on."
Harry's mouth drops open. "Did you just practice Legilimency on me?"
Ron laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his toffee. "Course not. But I suppose that tells me everything I need to know. Bloody obvious, really. Malfoy turns up at your place, you decide to go on road trips together - "
"I know, I know, it's stupid, I should have notified Narcissa and - "
Ron waves a hand dismissively. "If you're looking for a lecture about responsibility, go find Holdsworth. I, on the other hand, just think it's weird. Are you friends with Malfoy now?"
Harry hesitates. "No," he says at last.
Ron gives him a long, shrewd look. "Right."
"Stop looking at me like that," Harry says, feeling slightly peeved. "I'm not one of your cases, to be put under a magnifying charm and analysed." Ron's gotten rather cunning during his Auror training - surprisingly good at picking up details that may have escaped him in his younger years - but Harry just wishes Ron didn't apply his newfound skills to friends and family as well.
"You're getting rather defensive," Ron says, and Harry narrows his eyes. Ron grins. "All right," he says, "I'll stop winding you up. Got to go. See you at the Mad Alchemist later?"
"Maybe," Harry says evasively, but Ron doesn't look bothered by the lukewarm response.
"Yeah, better check St Mungo's visiting hours first," Ron says, his eyes bright and mischievous. Times like this, he reminds Harry strongly of Ginny or George.
"I will."
"Good." Still looking far too amused about something, Ron leaves, narrowly missing a dropping from one of the owls.
"Scourgify," Harry mutters.
It's going to be a long day.
* * *
Five o'clock. Harry can hardly wait to leave, rushing to the atrium so he can Disapparate directly to St Mungo's. Visiting hours finish at five-thirty.
Draco still hasn't woken, a Healer's assistant tells Harry as she fusses about the charts at the end of Draco's bed. There's not much he can do.
He sits beside Draco, anyway, and wonders if Astoria and Narcissa have been and gone. Narcissa may still be in the hospital - perhaps she's left to find a Healer for more information, or perhaps she's left to have a meal.
So he sits and waits until the Healer leaves.
Silence. That's fine. Draco always liked silence. Space to think, space to breathe.
He studies Draco's face. Whatever potions they've given him have transformed him into a blank canvas. In his sleep, Draco always looked faintly unhappy, as if he slept with purposeful focus, with deep concentration. But the potions have washed all of that away.
Harry never held much with speaking to the unconscious or the dead. His final experience with death - when he held the Resurrection Stone - taught him the finality of death. Speaking to someone who clearly isn't there is pointless.
But Harry, so long ago, had spoken to Draco - Draco, who hadn't been seen for three years, who was clearly absent - and Draco had answered him.
Harry sits silently in the room for a long time, watching the sun slowly diminish in the sky. The sun won't set for another hour or so. Summer is slowly unfurling across the country. Distantly, he can hear the faint chimes of Big Ben, marking half-five. Someone will no doubt be along shortly to usher Harry out. Footsteps echo along the corridor and Harry exhales slowly, then looks at Draco.
"You promised we'd go to Dover," he says quietly.
A Healer steps into the room and clears their throat. "Apologies, but - "
"Visiting hours are over. Right."
He stands up and leaves.
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