All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 46

Slowly but surely, Harry's range of movement begins to increase, and with a combination of rest and Poppy's rigorous programme of exercises, his flexibility and control are also on the rise. The Quidditch match may have come and gone, but Harry's drive for independence is still very much in evidence, and Draco has the feeling that Poppy will not be able to hold him back for much longer. On the last day in November, he sits in his chair, dividing his attention between his usual pile of marking, telling Harry about Surya's not-quite-successful attempt to stay on her broom while flying at speed, and watching Poppy as she expertly manipulates Harry's pyjama-clad legs through a range of familiar exercises. If he's honest, he doesn't think he's doing any of the three things with any kind of skill or focus, but the atmosphere around the bed is one of light, well-worn camaraderie, and it's really rather difficult to care.
"I don't think she was really ready for that sort of speed, but she was insistent on having a go," Draco says, accidentally doodling a red beetle on Lois Maplin's homework and then quickly vanishing it.
"Sounds like someone else we know," Poppy says, pushing Harry's knee up towards his chest with slow, firm traction.
"Nothing wrong with trying things," Harry says, opening one eye to regard Poppy. "You know, I'm not sure my leg bent all that way before the accident."
"Nothing wrong with a bit of increased flexibility," she says pointedly, and pushes harder for a moment before releasing Harry's leg and reaching for the other one.
"Madam Pomfrey!" someone cries as the heavy doors bang open and Draco turns to see Surya, face and hands covered in blood, being half-supported and half-dragged by Winston and Emilie.
"Madam Pomfrey!" Emilie repeats, eyes wide with panic. On Surya's other side, Winston looks like he's about to be sick.
Poppy abandons Harry's leg and rushes over to attend to them, while Harry and Draco exchange curious glances.
"Calm down, Miss Alderson—can you tell me what happened?"
"Ah...fedostas," Surya mumbles as Poppy ushers her over to an empty bed.
"She fell down the stairs," Emilie translates helpfully.
"On her face," Winston adds.
Surya nods miserably.
Harry winces.
"Alright, alright," Poppy says, tapping her wand against her palm for a moment. "Don't worry, we'll have you as good as new in no time. You two—go and wait outside until I come and get you."
Winston and Emilie hurry for the door without a word and Poppy heads for her trolley. Draco gazes at the back of Surya's head for a moment with a twinge of empathy. It hadn't been so long ago that he'd sat on that very bed, feeling like an idiot and waiting for Poppy to fix him.
When he turns around, Harry is holding up a piece of parchment on which he has written:
It's amazing that you can keep her on a broom at all!
Draco smiles, and then his eyes settle on Harry's left leg, which is lying rather stiffly, waiting its turn to be stretched out. When the thought occurs to him he shakes it away, but it quickly returns, buzzing around his head like an unswattable mosquito, and before he knows what he's doing, he is reaching out and taking hold of the leg firmly.
"Should I ask what you're doing?" Harry says calmly.
"Probably not," Draco advises, getting to his feet and beginning the sequence of movements he has observed many times before.
"Just thought I'd check," Harry says, and when Draco looks at him, his face is completely relaxed, as though what's happening is the most natural thing in the world. "You can push harder than that, you know, I'm not going to snap," he adds as Draco leans right over him, far too close, pyjama flannel brushing against bare hip as his sweater rides up.
Draco swallows dryly and looks away. "Good to know."
"I appreciate this, you know," Harry says, breath catching the side of Draco's neck as he holds the position, and good grief, this was a bad idea; Harry feels warm and strong and smells like tea and autumn and all Draco can think about is what it would feel like to have the whole thing all over him, powerful hands gripping his hips and...
Harry makes a small sound of discomfort and the stark reality of the hospital wing crashes back in around Draco. Flushing violently, he lets go of Harry's leg and steps back, hoping that Harry hasn't noticed how hard he is and furious with himself for losing control.
"Sorry... did I hurt you?" he says, glancing to the next bed and finding that Poppy is still talking softly to Surya as she heals the cuts and scrapes on her face. It seems ludicrous somehow that nothing has changed in the space around him when he feels so shaken.
"No, just a little twinge," Harry says. "You can carry on... if you want to."
Draco frowns. He doesn't really have much of choice unless he wants to come out of this looking like an idiot who cannot control himself, so he finds a smile for Harry and resumes the routine, taking care not to lean too close or make eye contact. When he has finished, and Surya has been returned to her friends, he sits down in his chair and places his marking firmly in his lap.
"Thanks," Harry says, stretching out his legs and flopping into a sort of starfish shape across the bed. "Look, I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable in some way."
Draco looks up sharply. "You didn't."
"I feel like I did."
"Harry, I'm fine."
Harry lets out a long breath and stares at him for a moment before shrugging. "Okay."
"Okay."
"Well, that was a mess," Poppy says, squeaking over to the bed. "Fortunately, it looked a lot worse than it was."
"Draco finished my exercises for me," Harry points out.
"Yes, I noticed." Poppy lifts Harry's left leg easily and flexes the knee. "You've done a rather good job," she says, smiling at him. "If you ever get tired of Transfiguration, you can come and be my assistant."
"I won't forget you said that," Draco promises, relaxing enough to return her smile as the worst of his uncomfortable arousal fades away.
Draco doesn't think he wants to work in the hospital wing, much as he enjoys Poppy's company, but with every day that Harry gets stronger, he is more convinced that he's going to miss his time there. By Sunday, Harry is able to bend his knees enough to sit on the edge of the bed and dangle his legs to the floor; by Monday night, he is on his feet, holding onto Draco on one side and Poppy on the other, and by Tuesday evening, he is shuffling around the hospital wing with a metal frame, much to the initial alarm and eventual excitement of Stanley, who decides that running around and enticing Harry to chase him is a fine game indeed.
Realising that Harry's release is imminent, Draco suddenly remembers the broomshed, which he has rather neglected recently, and which Harry will no doubt want to inspect as soon as he is allowed outdoors. When he opens the door he is horrified to see that most of his hard work cannot even be seen beneath a sea of abandoned brooms, mud, and clumps of grass. Fuming, he works through dinner and right up to the start of Open House, sorting through brooms by wandlight, aiming cleaning spell after cleaning spell at the filthy floor, and finally, pinning up what he hopes is an adequately threatening warning to keep things tidy or else.
After Quidditch practice on Thursday, Draco and Stanley enter the hospital wing to find Harry's bed empty. On closer inspection, he sees that the covers have been thrown back rather than folded, and that all Harry's things are still sitting on the bedside cabinet, but Harry himself is nowhere to be seen.
"He's in the bathroom."
Draco turns to see Poppy in the doorway of her office, holding a steaming mug and smiling.
"His walking frame is still here," he points out.
"He doesn't need it. At least, that's what he says. He went off without it quite happily, though—a bit stiff but going rather well."
Draco smiles. "To be honest, I thought for a moment he might have escaped."
Poppy laughs. "Well, I think he's been considering it. That's why I've got to let him go."
"You're going to discharge him?" Draco asks, ignoring the unhelpful swoop of his stomach. "When?"
"In the morning. I knew I wouldn't be able to keep him here once he was fully mobile. If he makes it back from the bathroom in one piece I'll be satisfied that he doesn't need me any more," she says, expression rather wistful. "If it were up to me, I'd have him here for another week or so, just to be sure, but I think we all know he's had enough."
"Does he know about this yet?" Draco asks.
Poppy doesn't respond. Her eyes are fixed on the other end of the ward, where a door is opening and Harry is emerging and walking, slowly but steadily, towards them. He grins at Draco and Draco grins back, watching his careful steps, his cautiously-spread fingers, his hips in low-slung, faded jeans.
"I'm free!" he declares as he reaches Poppy and Draco.
"Not until you touch that far wall, that's what we agreed," Poppy says sternly.
Amused, Harry takes three more steps and presses his palm flat to the stone. "Okay?"
"Lovely. Now all you have to do is get a good night's sleep and eat a proper breakfast."
Harry sighs. "You can't just keep adding conditions. It's not fair."
Draco finds himself on the receiving end of a very effective appealing look, but he shrugs, knowing he has no jurisdiction here.
"This is my hospital wing, Harry Potter, and I can do whatever I like. Now go and sit down and drink your tea before I change my mind."
"Sir, is everything okay?"
Draco blinks, realising that he's been staring over Ivy's shoulder for at least a minute and he's still not sure why.
"Fine, thank you, Miss Baron. Carry on."
He moves on to the next student and forces himself to focus, but it's not easy, even when confronted with something that looks like a ferret with a lizard's head, because his mind doesn't want to be here. It's upstairs with Harry, wondering how he's getting on with leaving the hospital wing, hoping that Poppy isn't lecturing him too much and trying to work out when they will see each other next.
"He's coming back today," one of his students mutters to the girl next to him, who shakes her head.
"We'd have been told. I bet it'll be another week yet. Or maybe not until after Christmas."
"It's today," the first student insists. "I promise you."
"Yeah? Bet you ten Sickles it's not."
"It's today," Draco says, stopping at their table with his arms folded.
The first student blushes and starts working feverishly. The second aims a gleeful smile at the side of his head.
"I'm glad we didn't finalise that bet, then. Thanks, Professor Malfoy."
Draco sighs and returns to his desk. He wonders if Harry is back in his rooms by now.
Wherever he is, he doesn't show himself at morning break, and by the time Draco walks into the Great Hall for lunch, he is beginning to worry. When he approaches the staff table, though, he catches a flash of bright red and there he is, dressed casually in jeans and a sweater and sitting between Hagrid and McGonagall. When he sees Draco, he smiles easily and offers an apologetic shrug when the only seat Draco can find is almost right at the other end of the table.
Draco sits, vaguely aware of Sinistra to one side of him and Slughorn to the other, and picks at his lunch. Every now and then he hears a skitter of conversation involving Harry's name from one of the house tables and wonders if McGonagall has any plans to formally announce his return. Not that it matters, he supposes. Either way, Harry is back, and the strange, comfortable sort of twilight in which the two of them have existed since September is at an end. No more midnight chats and secret jokes and Sunday afternoon tea and cake; Harry has his independence back now. If he had ever actually needed Draco, he doesn't need him now, and Draco isn't quite sure where that leaves him, because he needs Harry more than he will ever be willing to admit.
He has no idea what happens now, what is supposed to happen now, or even what he wants to happen now. All he knows is that he feels uncertain and displaced and he hates it. So he carries on, because he doesn't know what else to do. He teaches his classes and he takes the first-years' flying lesson; he eats dinner and listens to McGonagall's triumphant announcement that Harry is out of the hospital wing but won't be taking back his classes until the new year; he feeds Stanley and heads out into the dark to spends an hour flying with Surya, who is as delighted as everyone else to hear that Professor Potter is back at last.
He does his best not to feel unwanted as he walks back to his rooms, but he can't escape the feeling that every one of Harry's students and colleagues will be thrilled to see the back of him come January. As he rounds the last corner, he stops short. Harry is standing at his door. Well, more accurately, Harry is leaning on the wall outside his door and looking slightly nervous, but he's there, and that is the important thing.
"Hello," Draco says, finally remembering to walk the rest of the way to the door and unlock it.
Harry pushes himself off the wall and gives him a frighteningly charming half-smile.
"I haven't been ignoring you today," he says. "At least, not on purpose."
Draco frowns. "You've been ignoring me by accident?"
Harry sighs. "God, you're a pain. Can I come in?"
Suddenly feeling hot and stupid, Draco forces himself to nod like a normal person and open the door. Harry follows him inside and is immediately mobbed by Stanley.
"Charming," Draco says, gently booting the beetle away from Harry's feet so he can make his way over to the hearth and sit down. Of course, he sits in Draco's chair straightaway, but Draco opts to say nothing. Just this once.
"Great chair," Harry remarks, making himself comfortable.
Draco lifts an eyebrow and flicks his wand at the fireplace. Seconds later, the dark room is alight with crackling flames and wavering shadows.
"So, where have you been?"
"Outside," Harry says, eyes gleaming. "Hagrid helped me get down to the grass and then I sat in my chair and watched Care of Magical Creatures all morning."
"And where is your chair now?" Draco asks with a hint of Poppy-esque sternness.
"In my bedroom. I don't need it all the time," Harry insists.
"If you say so. What about this afternoon?"
Harry wrinkles his nose and looks at the floor. "I was a bit tired after lunch, so..."
Draco looks at the fire and smiles to himself. "Is it good to be back?"
"It's weird," Harry admits. "Everyone's so pleased to see me and all of them want to talk to me at once... horrible noisy buggers," he adds, flicking a secret glance at Draco that makes his heart thump against his ribcage.
"Like you said, you can hide from pretty much anything in the hospital wing," Draco says, glancing around at his books and cups and piles of homework. "This is where I used to hide."
"It's important to have a sanctuary," Harry says, looking around, too, "but I don't think you need to hide any more."
"Maybe not," Draco murmurs, but he barely has any idea what he's saying because Harry is staring right at him, right into him, and he daren't move in case he spontaneously implodes.
"I was wondering," Harry says after a moment, finally breaking the spell. "I know I'm not supposed to be taking any of my classes back until next term, but how would you feel about me sitting in on a few of them, you know, just to help me get back into things?"
"Of course," Draco says. "They're your classes."
"Brilliant," Harry enthuses, grinning.
As it turns out, Harry's plans to 'sit in and observe' do not only involve the classes and clubs that fall under his own remit. On Monday morning, Draco finds him standing in the corridor with his second-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, and it quickly becomes clear that sitting quietly and Harry are things that do not really mix. He makes it all of ten minutes into the first lesson of the day before he raises his hand to ask a difficult question, and the obvious amusement of the students only seems to spur him on to further acts of disruptiveness.
Torn between not wanting to encourage him—it may be almost the end of term, but there is plenty still to learn—and his natural urge to smile at Harry's poor attempt at an innocent expression, Draco ignores Harry's presence as best he can. His best, he has to admit, is nothing to write home about, but it's clear by the end of the day that if nothing else, his students seem to feel much more enthusiastic about Transfiguration than usual.
"You smile a lot more than I thought you would," Harry says, lounging in a chair at the very back of the classroom. The last of the students have left for the day and Draco is sitting on the edge of his desk, opting to look out at the darkening sky instead of at Harry.
"I certainly do not."
"Draco, that doesn't even make any sense."
"I don't care. Anyway, I have to go and get ready for flying, so you'd better get your arse out of my classroom before I lock you in it," Draco says as stridently as he can manage with Harry sitting there and smiling all crookedly like that.
"Can I come with you?"
Draco blinks. "Why would you want to do that?"
Harry just laughs and gets to his feet. Fifteen minutes later, he is standing on the lawn in coat and scarf while Stanley capers around his legs and Draco attempts to recapture the attention of a group of first-years who have found something much more interesting to look at.
"I'm sure Poppy said something about you needing to rest," Draco says as he carries the broomsticks back to the shed at the end of the lesson.
"Poppy obviously has no idea how boring resting actually is," Harry says, hurrying to catch up with him. His steps are still stiff and slightly awkward, but he is already working up to his usual speed and Draco still hasn't seen him use the hovering chair once, the stubborn bugger.
"It's not her fault you have such a short attention span," Draco points out, shifting the brooms to one arm so that he can pull open the door of the shed. He waits.
"Bugger me," Harry says, looking over his shoulder at the neat rows of brooms, the clean-swept floor and the freshly-painted walls. "Did you do this?"
"I'm afraid so."
Harry shakes his head. "It was such a state... I can't believe it."
Wrapping one hand around Draco's forearm for support, Harry steps around him and into the broomshed, and Draco watches with satisfaction as the wide green eyes flick all around the interior before settling on him.
"What on earth did you do this for?" he asks, brows knitted.
Draco shrugs awkwardly and turns away to stack the brooms in their proper places. He doesn't have an answer for Harry. He'd make one up, but his brain seems to have stopped working.
Behind him, Harry sighs and then suddenly laughs. "Put your broom back in the rack when you have finished using it. Racks are now charmed to automatically deduct five House points for any broom not returned within twelve hours," he reads and laughs again. "That's genius—which charm did you use?"
"None," Draco admits with a flicker of a smile. "It seems to be working, though."
Harry stares at him for a moment. "You absolute Slytherin."
Draco just laughs.
After dinner, Harry expresses a desire to visit the staff room, and with nothing better to do until his meeting with the house-elves, Draco follows him there and watches vaguely as he pulls notes and cards and bits of parchment out of his pigeon-hole and sorts through them. As he stands there, wishing he knew what to do with himself, McGonagall appears and starts poking at the fire and muttering to herself. Draco wonders if this is normal behaviour for her; he never comes to the staff room unless he's asked to, and he can't remember the last time he was here.
"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," Harry says, now gazing at the notice board with interest. "I can't help noticing that my name is on the Hogsmeade rota for this weekend."
"You needn't worry, Harry, Aurora has agreed to take your place," McGonagall says without looking away from the fire.
Harry chews his lip for a moment. "Well, that's very kind of her, but I think I'll go anyway."
McGonagall turns sharply, poker in hand. "That really won't be necessary."
"I want to," Harry insists, turning to face her, and for long seconds Draco watches as they stand there, locked in silent battle.
"It might be prudent to wait until next time," McGonagall says.
"The walk will do me good," Harry counters.
"Aurora has probably already made plans for Hogsmeade," McGonagall argues.
Harry says nothing for a moment, and Draco thinks he might be about to give in. "Oh, well," he says, shrugging. "I suppose we'll both go."
McGonagall closes her eyes briefly and then, to his astonishment, looks to Draco for help.
"I was planning to go to Hogsmeade this weekend anyway," he lies. "Christmas shopping, you know."
"Oh, so you'll be there in case I fall down?" Harry says, turning to him with a wry smile.
"I will feel better to know that someone will be there in case you fall down," McGonagall says, shooting Harry a weary look and sweeping out of the room.
When Draco heads for his house-elf meeting and Harry follows him, he isn't in the least surprised. Neither is he surprised when the elves swarm around Harry as soon as he steps into the kitchens, pulling out a chair for him and chattering excitedly amongst themselves. He is only a little bit surprised when he lets himself back into his rooms afterwards and realises that Harry is still with him.
"Tea?" he offers, watching Harry examining his book shelf and wondering if he, too, isn't quite sure what he should be doing now that things are supposedly back to 'normal'. There's nothing normal about any of this, and yet he's perfectly happy to have Harry wandering around in his living room, even if he is too curious for his own good, and even if the sight of him makes Draco feel a little bit like the world is falling in.
"Tea would be great," Harry says distractedly, and then: "This picture."
"Yes, what about it?" Draco says, glancing at Rosa's drawing.
"A child drew a picture of you," Harry marvels. "That's not the Draco Malfoy I know."
"No, I don't think it is," Draco admits.
"You actually put my picture of Stanley on the wall." Harry laughs. "I'm honoured."
"You should be," Draco says. "Hang on a minute." He ducks into the bedroom and pulls out a battered old case from under the bed. After a brief rummage, he finds what he's looking for and rejoins Harry in the living room. "I told you he was a real person," he says, handing the photograph to Harry.
"This is Dave the Rave?" Harry asks, gazing down at the picture of the huge, tattooed man with one arm around Draco's shoulders.
"Yes. And me."
"Yeah... you look..." Harry frowns and falls silent.
"You can say it. I look terrible," Draco says, looking at his photo-self over Harry's shoulder. "That's the bench in front of the Nag. The landlord's wife took that with my very first disposable camera."
"I'm not going to say you looked terrible, but you look much happier now," Harry says firmly. "And I'm glad."
Lost for words, Draco does what he always does when he's uncertain: he makes tea.
The next couple of days fall easily into the same pattern, with Harry splitting his time between observing Hagrid's lessons and making a nuisance of himself in Draco's during the day, and trundling about after Draco to his various clubs and meetings during the evening. Halfway through Wednesday afternoon, it begins to snow. Unsurprisingly, Harry is the first to notice, and equally unsurprisingly, he manages to draw the entire class away from their reading to watch the flakes swirling past the windows.
Draco's flying lesson is just as easily disrupted when a delighted Stanley begins to scuttle around in his first snow, leaping into small drifts, chasing snowflakes and tacking excitedly.
"Alright, can we pay attention, please?" Draco calls, secretly just as charmed as the others by Stanley's enthusiasm.
He thinks he gets about ten minutes out of the shivering students before Stanley once again demands everyone's attention. Draco turns, exasperated, to see him attempting to climb Harry's legs, flapping his wings and tacking to be picked up.
"I can't," Harry says reluctantly, and Draco knows how much he hates having to admit that his arms are still a little on the weak side. "You're too heavy."
"His feet are cold," Laura Mearley says, and her classmates cluck sympathetically.
As Draco watches Stanley picking up his little feet one at a time and shaking them, he realises that she is right. Stanley obviously loves the snow, but his legs have not been built for cold weather.
"Oh, alright," Harry sighs, bending and hoisting Stanley into his arms. He throws the long string over his shoulder, brushes the snow from Stanley's shell and turns to Draco. "I'll take him inside."
"Thanks," Draco says, watching the two of them walk away. As they disappear out of sight, Harry is holding Stanley up at eye-level and talking to him quite firmly.
Curious, Draco turns back to his class and, in the absence of Harry and Stanley-shaped distractions, manages to get them all up into the air and through their usual drills.
Harry isn't at dinner that night, nor does he show his face at Open House. Stanley wanders in with a first-year student who claims to have had his lead thrust into her hand by Professor Potter, but neither she nor the beetle can tell him anything about what Harry might be up to. On Thursday morning, Harry sits at the back of Draco's Transfiguration class as usual but merely smiles mysteriously when Draco tries to find out where he's been. Once again he is absent from the staff table at dinner, and, oddly enough, so is Hagrid. In an attempt not to go insane with curiosity, Draco pretends not to notice and throws himself into his work with such vigour that by the early hours of Friday morning, he has, at long last, caught up with all of his marking, and he falls into bed, exhausted but relieved.
"Have you got a minute?" Harry says, just as Draco is about to leave his classroom for lunch.
"I suppose so," he says, sitting on the edge of his desk and folding his arms. "Have you finished being weird?"
Harry grins. "For now," he says, and hands Draco a small cardboard box.
Draco stares at it, puzzled. "I don't understand."
"Just open it."
Draco opens the box. Inside are six tiny leather boots. Stanley-sized boots.
"Am I going completely mad, or are these snow boots for my beetle?" he asks cautiously.
"That's exactly what they are. I thought it was a shame that he couldn't play in the snow when he obviously liked it so much," Harry says.
Draco picks up one of the tiny boots, heart swelling almost painfully. His eyes prickle and he blinks hard, because he's not going to bloody well cry, especially not on Stanley's new boots, but he can't think of the last time someone gave him such a thoughtful gift.
"They're... well, they're rather magnificent," he says at last. "Thank you."
Harry lets out a long, messy breath. "I'm pretty relieved you like them, actually. We thought you might just think we were completely mental."
"We?"
"Oh!" Harry shakes his head. "I almost forgot. This was a joint effort—Hagrid and I made them together. Well, I measured Stanley, and then Hagrid stitched the boots and I shrunk them down to size. We decided it would be easier that way."
"Hagrid can sew?" Draco says, struggling with the incongruous mental image.
"Oh, yeah, he makes a lot of his own clothes," Harry says. "I don't imagine there's much choice in the shops for someone his size."
"I don't imagine there is," Draco says faintly, replacing the little boot in the box and sealing it up.
That night, Stanley is fitted with his snow boots and takes to them immediately, scuttling up and down the lawn at Harry's side and making sure that Draco's students do not learn a single thing.