Favoring The Strong {Drarry}

- h -

Val hasn't properly been to visit Draco and Harry since the accident. She's watched Teddy and James and she's driven them to and from the hospital and she's calmed Harry down over the phone, but she hasn't had the chance to sit with them and talk like they did before the incident, as rare as it had been.

They had become a stable part of her life no matter how unstable they both were.

In the end, she's the one to see the article first. The man who shot Draco is caught by police officers on a Tuesday evening a little more than a month after the incident but after being taken away by what the newspaper says is a "Special Division" he hasn't been seen or heard from again. Her grip on the paper tightens, then she's speeding off to tell Harry and Draco what's happened.

She makes it to Harry's house in one piece, but when she knocks, the man who answers the door is not Harry and as much as he looks like Draco, it isn't him either. They stand there frozen, stsring at each other. They don't know each other or how they've come to cross paths, but they both look and feel terrified.

"Well," she hears Draco's voice cut through the awkward silence. "Father, who's at the... Oh." He comes around the door not soon after, drowning in a jumper and wrapped in thick blankets. He looks terribly thin and sickly, but she imagines he probably already knows that.

Is this what happens to a wizard without magic? She feels sick to her stomach. She doesn't know if it's a mix of seeing him so broken while she had come to bring relief or her own surmounting worry in the face of him looking so gray and drab. Then she realizes that this is Draco's father. The murderer and she upheaves the little she's eaten into Harry's bushes.

"I'm not sure Harry is prepared to handle my parents and two sick lovers, but come in," Draco says with his usual put-upon air, but she can see the worry between his brows easier now that he looks less put-together.

She eases her way around Draco's father, giving him a wide berth that seems to have him straightening his spine in pride as if no one else gives him such respect. He speaks to her then as if she's earned something.

"And who might you be?" His voice is more posh than Draco could ever manage and she realizes that Harry and Draco had been opposites in more than just some magical war.

"Uh...Valeria Cross," she says, "but everyone just calls me Val."

"And you're...muggle, I'm assuming." She's heard the word before, but she can't quite place it. At her look of confusion he clears his throat and tries again. "You aren't of wizarding blood."

"Oh," she says feeling less than graceful. "No. No, I'm not."

He hums but says nothing else, though he nods his departure as he heads off into another room once he's led her to the kitchen behind Draco, where Harry stands against the countertop, a cup of tea in his hands. His face looks weary. There are bags under his eyes and his hair is more of a mess than usual. She doesn't ask when the last time he slept was. But when he sees them, a smile lights up his face and she remembers what it's like to live in a bubble that encircled this man. He rushes over and leads Draco to a seat before coming to wrap her into a hug. She steps back, not wanting to breathe rancid vomit breath into his face.

"She sicked-up in your hydrangeas," Draco says with a tired smirk before reaching down to sip at the cup of tea that Harry had vacated when he helped him to a seat.

"Oh?" Harry asks looking at Val concerned. "Are you okay? Do you need... I'll fix you something." He goes over to the still hot kettle and pours her a cup of instant tea. He sets a small saucer on it to let it steep then sets about making her toast and eggs.