lomonaaeren

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Chapter Six—An Open Heart Can Heal an Open Wound

Harry knew, from the lack of stiffness in his limbs and the tingling, cooling pain in his back, that he hadn’t had his eyes closed for long. He opened them at once and sat up, then barked in pain as his head collided with someone’s chin. The other person staggered away from him, swearing, and Harry recognized Malfoy’s voice.

He remembered that he’d fainted, then, and Malfoy had curled an arm around him as if he thought he could lift Harry to bed by himself. Of course, if he used a Lightening Charm, then he probably could. But either Harry had awakened before they reached the bed, or Malfoy had been leaning over him and watching him sleep.

Harry shuddered. He hoped it was the first. The second was simply creepy.

He looked around, and was relieved to see that Malfoy had carried him into the bedroom he’d chosen, instead of Harry’s. At least he had enough courtesy not to intrude into the one place where Harry had told him explicitly he wasn’t welcome. Or had he thought that having Harry in his bed was better than—

Harry shook his head briskly and swung himself off the bed with one hand placed flat on the covers. His feet hadn’t touched the floor yet when Malfoy came swarming up to him, face bright with false concern and voice dripping sickly-sweet condescension.

“Oh, Potter, you can’t get up yet, of course not. First, I think your friends would murder me. And second, we need to find out what that curse is and who cast it. I won’t allow you to risk your health whilst you’re still treating my father—“

“I know exactly what that curse was and who cast it,” Harry snapped irritably. He glanced at the watch on his wrist and was relieved to see that it wasn’t six yet. He still had a chance of going to hospital and keeping his promise to Marry by seven, though he would have to give up the second visit to Lucius that he’d decided on. “You must not have associated with many mediwizards before, if you’re used to people who are unable to recognize spells when they feel them.”

Malfoy stared at him for long moments before he snapped his mouth shut. Then he hissed, “And you’re doing such a marvelous job with the curses cast on my father.”

Harry assumed a haughty, frowning mask. “Are you really still questioning my competence?” Inwardly, he was rejoicing. If Malfoy went back to insulting him, that must mean he no longer desired Harry. Or, at least, he’d decided such a troublesome partner wasn’t worth the bother he brought along with him. “Then you should be fighting to get another Healer assigned to the case.”

Malfoy shut his eyes and massaged his forehead. A headache already, Harry thought cheerfully. Excellent. He pushed away the inevitable guilt that always showed up when he caused someone else pain, at least since he’d got his mediwizard’s training. Malfoy was likely to cause pain to Harry and to other people, his father included, if he was allowed to go on “admiring” Harry.

“That was unfair of me,” Malfoy said quietly, opening his eyes. “I keep forgetting—sometimes I think you’re the boy I knew at school, because you don’t look that different. But if I can change in the years since then, surely you can. You have. I—“ He gave a weak smile and gestured with one hand. “I don’t usually lack eloquence like this,” he said. “I think it’s because I know I’m strongly attracted to you, but you’re not someone I can flirt with the way I usually would. You want different things. I’m still getting used to providing them.”

Harry stared at him. He tried to remember the last time someone who wasn’t Ron, Hermione, or another Weasley had apologized to him, and he couldn’t.

But Malfoy’s last words just proved the entire point. Malfoy saw sex as an exchange of favors. He would do things for Harry, perhaps including the apology, and Harry would take him to bed. That wasn’t the way it worked, and Harry had neither the time nor the energy to explain it to him. He had other things to do.

“The important thing,” he repeated, “is that I know that curse. I’ve seen patients come into the Spell Damage ward suffering from it. It’s called the Beetle’s Bite, apparently because there’s some magical beetle in Germany or the like that spits acid—“

“Acid?” Malfoy was on him in moments, wrenching him around and staring at his back in horror. Harry rolled his eyes.

“Not actual acid,” he said. “The shock and the burning sensation combined feel like a bite from the beetle, that’s all. You took care of it with your cooling potion. Thank you.” He kept his voice frosty and formal, and leaned away from Malfoy’s hand. It took an effort to keep his temper around the man. If he knew that his attraction to Harry was unusual and inappropriate, why was he having so much trouble not acting on it? “And as for who cast it, it was either Xavier or someone who had Xavier’s help. The house is warded, but Xavier is still keyed into the wards.”

Malfoy stepped back and stared into his eyes. “Pay close attention, Potter,” he said gravely. “There are points where courage becomes stupidity. This is one of them. Keep it in the back of your head for all future references, and perhaps you won’t have to actually experience one of them again.”

“It was easier to let him have access to the house to take his things back than to deal with his whinging when I kept him out,” Harry said patiently. “Besides, I have a house-elf. Kreacher keeps him from stealing anything, setting traps, or poisoning the food. I never thought about his attacking from the outside, through the wards, because I never thought he’d actually want to harm me physically.” He gave Malfoy a wink. “He rather likes me physically. On the other hand, that didn’t prevent him from leaving me.” There. That ought to serve as a clear warning of the way Harry regarded attractions that originated below the belt.

Malfoy didn’t seem to think so. He was frowning. “And is this Xavier likely to prove a threat to my father? My first thought was that someone had tried to kill you to harm him.”

“The Beetle’s Bite doesn’t kill, though it can render those who are more sensitive to it in enough pain to go to St. Mungo’s,” Harry said. The words slid out of his lips without his thinking about it; they were the exact ones that Healer Pontiff had used to him when she taught him about the curse. “Xavier is unlikely to prove a threat, no. He just wanted me to know that he was annoyed with me.”

“He hurt you.”

“And so what? I’m used to pain, and there was no lasting damage. If anything, I owe it to him, as a reminder to tighten my wards and stop allowing him access to my home.” Harry held up a hand when Malfoy opened his mouth. “Before you can ask, that doesn’t mean I like pain. I tend to squirm and kick when someone tries to bind me, and you wouldn’t want a bruise disfiguring that pretty jaw of yours, would you?”

That supposedly pretty jaw dropped further open, and Malfoy made some kind of incoherent sputtering noise. Harry figured that made it a good time to hop to his feet and start towards the door. He stumbled on the first few steps, but by the tenth, he was walking steadily. Malfoy’s potion had gone a long way towards combating the effects of the curse and calming the tremors that otherwise would have had his limbs vibrating like a toy’s, he thought. Maybe he would let Malfoy know that, if he behaved himself.

But he was constitutionally incapable of doing so. He caught Harry’s arm just as Harry was about to enter the library where he’d been attacked and tighten the wards. “Potter, you should be resting,” he said.

“A hint,” Harry said, and elbowed Malfoy in the ribs; the only reason it wasn’t the solar plexus was that he moved in time, doubtless because he’d seen how well the tactic worked on Julius. “In general, I’m not fond of lovers who sound like my mum.”

Malfoy let him go so he could fold his arms defensively, which was perfectly fine with Harry; it meant he could reach the window and examine the hole in the glass the curse had made in coming in. He raised his eyebrows. Well. Xavier had been cleverer than he’d imagined. Instead of simply taking advantage of the holes in the wards that existed for him because he’d once been welcome in the house, he’d bounced a second curse through one of those holes and then off a weaker part of the wards, which had an effect like untying a knot in a taut rope. The whole of the wards over the window had relaxed, and the curse had come through without effort.

“Defenso,” Harry murmured, tracing his wand above the gap in the wards, and they repaired themselves obediently. Another swift spell removed Xavier’s access to the house. He stepped away, nodding, and turned towards the door of the room.

Malfoy stood with his arms extended and his wrists braced on the sides of the doorframe. Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing.

“Did you know the adult human male arm is not actually strong enough to resist the determined charge of another adult human male?” he asked conversationally. “Xavier found that out the hard way. He really should have taken a course in mediwizardry before he started dating me. It would have prevented a number of unpleasant surprises from affecting him the way they did.”

“You were just wounded, Potter,” Malfoy said, who seemed to have decided to ignore reality in favor of sticking to the course of sheer stubbornness. Harry knew a lot of people like that. “Pardon me for being more concerned about that, and for thinking you should be flat on your back—“

“Not with that curse,” Harry pointed out sweetly.

“It was just an expression.” Malfoy was definitely speaking from between clenched teeth, now. Excellent. Harry didn’t think he was someone who could stand much aggravation, and if things went on like this, Harry might manage to get him to give up the notion of guarding Harry as well as flirting with him.

“But we’ve had the discussion before, about how important it is to be specific.” Harry regarded him severely. “You don’t know about specific wording, you don’t know about the specific strength of arms, and you can’t find the words to tell me exactly why a spell that shares life force between two people is so important. I’m afraid that you must excel rather more at the practical part of your potions mastery than the theoretical one.”

Malfoy dropped his arms from the doorway to fold them again. That was exactly what Harry had been waiting for, and he slipped by whilst Malfoy was beginning a little speech about Harry’s lack of gratitude. He was downstairs before Malfoy caught up with him, and Harry had time to thoughtfully flex his back muscles and decide he would be better off carrying a book for Mary under his arm rather than in a satchel slung over his shoulder before Malfoy started speaking.

“You are the single most stupid person I know,” Malfoy began.

“Does that mean you want someone else treating your father?” Harry raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Malfoy’s face grew darker and darker. Harry carefully concealed his triumph. He had discovered already that Malfoy took triumph as a personal invitation to try and change the mind of the person who felt that way.

“It’s not—it’s not traditional stupidity,” Malfoy said. He was struggling for words, practically fuming, his face red, and Harry felt a cheerful sense of anticipation. He would probably still be staring at the walls and fumbling after words when Harry had Flooed from the downstairs library on his way to St. Mungo’s. “You have knowledge of mediwizardry that I never will, that’s more than plain.” He snorted. Harry smiled and Summoned the book of Muggle fairy tales out of which he intended to read to Mary; since she’d been reared in the wizarding world, she would never have heard most of them before. “But you can’t care for yourself in the most basic matters, where even Goyle would have no trouble—Potter, are you listening to me?’

“Every overdramatically emphasized word of it,” Harry said, and marched out of the room to the Floo with Malfoy trailing behind him.

“You can’t—“

“No legal authority prevents me,” Harry said.

“Then let common sense have some authority!” Malfoy had got hold of his arm and seemed disinclined to let go, even when Harry tapped his hand with his wand to teach him a lesson. Harry sighed and let loose a stinging spark that made Malfoy yelp and jump back, shaking his fingers as he examined them for signs of split nails.

Harry tossed a handful of Floo powder into the flames and prepared to step into them.

“I have a good mind to stay here,” Malfoy snarled around the fingers in his mouth. “You’ll run into trouble without me. That might teach you to reflect on what I’ve done for you and be grateful.”

Harry sighed and looked back at him. God knew why he was taking the time, but he would try honesty once more. “Malfoy, don’t you understand? I didn’t ask for this protection. I didn’t want it. Your father isn’t different from any other patient to me.”

“I know you dislike him.” Malfoy took his fingers out of his mouth and scowled at him.

“I won’t let that dislike prevent me from treating him,” Harry said precisely. “It doesn’t matter when I’m his mediwizard and he’s my patient. You don’t need to stick to my side. You don’t need to honor me. You don’t need to think the Heart’s Blessing spell was an extraordinary thing to have done. It’s not. I’ve done the same thing for a few other people before, and I’ll do it again in the future. Taking care of your father is mundane for me.”

Malfoy stared at him.

“And that’s why you don’t need to offer to protect me,” Harry finished, “or offer me potions, though I’m grateful you did. And that’s why I don’t find it necessary to accept your companionship in bed, either. That’s my personal life, outside of the interactions of patient and mediwizard, and I get to say what I do with it. Don’t rely on the Heart’s Blessing spell or my position as regards your father to soften me. If you and I ever were lovers, it would have to be because I liked you, not simply because we were in close proximity.” He hesitated, then added, because it was true and cost him nothing, “And you’re handsome and witty enough to find someone who actually likes you as a person, rather than chasing futilely after someone who’ll always reject you.”

He turned around and whirled into the flames with a call of, “St. Mungo’s lobby!” Behind him, he thought Malfoy was standing still, with his jaw probably hanging somewhere in the vicinity of his knees.

An open heart can heal an open wound, Healer Pontiff had once told him, when Harry had expressed frustration at how many people he had to deal with who blamed him for not ending the war sooner. If you confess your own reluctance and confusion about the end of the war, you might soothe their anxieties, and make them realize you’re as human as they are.

So, now, Malfoy understood exactly why Harry didn’t want to date him. Maybe that would soothe his hurt pride and let him move on.

*

“Mediwizard Potter.”

Harry didn’t let himself sigh as he laid down the book he’d been reading to Mary from. She’d fallen asleep ten minutes ago as she listened to a story about a bird who had to go on a quest for three golden feathers, and Harry had half-whispered the concluding words, then watched her sleep. Of course this was the moment Emptyweed would choose to appear and disturb him—the one moment of the day Harry had achieved something like relaxation.

“Yes, Healer?” Harry said politely, rising and moving towards the door. He didn’t intend to remain in the room where his raised voice might wake Mary.

Emptyweed didn’t respond immediately, which was unlike him. Instead, he stood fidgeting and staring at Harry. Harry stared back stoically, though he had to clench his jaw to prevent an unfortunate outburst. Emptyweed had acted like that in the past when he’d failed to prevent some other Healer from dumping a case on Harry, or when someone had gone over his head and countermanded whatever orders he wanted to give Harry.

I’ll say this about Emptyweed. At least he stops others from taking advantage of me most of the time, because he wants his control over me to be absolute.

“Mediwizard Potter,” said Emptyweed, and that was also unusual, because he didn’t often repeat himself. “You are henceforth removed from the Malfoy case.”

At first Harry thought he must be dreaming. Those were the words he had hoped Emptyweed might say the first day he gave him the case, after all.

He kept his voice calm as he said, “I’m sorry. I must not have heard you correctly. Someone else has been assigned to treat Lucius Malfoy?”

“You’ve never had problems with your hearing, Potter.” Emptyweed folded his arms and scowled past Harry. “That’s exactly correct.”

“I had thought I was the only one in St. Mungo’s who would agree to treat him, given his past,” Harry said. “Sir.”

“They found someone else.”

“Who?” Harry could feel his patience sliding away from him. He put up with Emptyweed most of the time because the man could sack him if he wanted, and he at least gave Harry the opportunity to help people by his unwillingness to do his own work. But he would not stand to see someone else abused because Emptyweed lacked the will or the spine to confront the prejudiced bastards and bitches in the St. Mungo’s hierarchy.

“That’s not your concern now.”

“It is,” said Harry, controlling his voice with an effort that made sweat start on his forehead, “because I’ll need to meet with the new Healer, or mediwizard, and give him or her the notes I’ve made so far about the curse on Mr. Malfoy.”

“Your research skills have never been exceptional, Potter.” Emptyweed swiveled to face him, looking down his nose in an ordinary way. “I’m sure that whatever you’ve discovered, the new Healer can find out more quickly.”

“But it would save time if I let him know—“

“Potter, do not presume to row with me.” Emptyweed’s voice was loud and incredulous. He leaned forwards, as if he could bear Harry down by his sheer weight. “Do you really think yourself the best researcher or caretaker in this hospital? Do you think you have skills that Healers twice your age with three times your natural talent at potions don’t have? The new Healer will take excellent care of Mr. Malfoy, I’m certain.”

“Tell me who it is.” Harry had never stood up to Emptyweed like this before, and he thought the Healer was just as shocked as he was by it. But this wasn’t some petty matter of precedence or an insult delivered when he was tired. This concerned someone else’s safety and well-being. One reason Harry had become a mediwizard was that nothing else had mattered to him so much after the war. He couldn’t bring back the people who had died in those battles—a fact that had taken him a long time to accept—but he could do his best to prevent anyone from succumbing to diseases or spells that only needed a quick eye to detect.

“I would almost think you’re begging to be sacked.”

“If you prevent me from doing my job,” Harry snarled softly, “then perhaps I should go into private practice. It couldn’t make me less money than this, and it would mean I had the final say about who gets helped and who doesn’t.”

Emptyweed began to protest, but Harry overrode him. “I don’t think you know who will take over Lucius’s care,” he said.

“On first-name terms with a patient, Potter?” Emptyweed mustered his most impressive glare. “You know what comes of that.”

Harry flushed hotly. He’d first met Francis, another of the lovers he’d failed, as a patient, though they hadn’t started dating until more than two months after Francis had been released from St. Mungo’s.

But his present, and not his past, was the important thing now. “You don’t know,” Harry continued. “Perhaps no one will. Perhaps those people you warned me about, the ones you could only give me a week of safety from, have maneuvered things such that the one mediwizard who would risk his life for Lucius’s own—“

“You’re being melodramatic now.”

“Am I? When someone removed the stabilization fields and tried to set the curse to work on him again?”

From the way Emptyweed took a step back, Harry was confident he hadn’t had anything to do with that attack, at least. “Impossible,” Emptyweed muttered after a long moment. “You mustn’t have cast the fields properly. We all know your magic tends to fail at unpredictable moments.”

“Not this time,” Harry said. Yes, he would fight those battles on Lucius’s behalf that he wouldn’t fight on his own. “They vanished abruptly, not deteriorated over a few hours’ time. I had to use a risky spell to save Mr. Malfoy’s life. I’m sure he won’t like it if he has to deal with someone else in the middle of a treatment like this.”

“The decision’s made, Potter.” Emptyweed backed further away from him, as if Harry were some sort of angry god, though Harry, as far as he knew, had no weapon but the fury on his face and in his voice. “You will turn over your notes on the various curses plaguing Mr. Malfoy to me tomorrow, and then you will cease to visit him.”

And he turned and fled.

Harry stood where he was for some minutes, breathing steadily and fighting the urge to pound a fist into the wall and scream aloud. Then he stiffened his spine as another bit of Healer Pontiff’s advice came back to him.

In times of emergency, do what you can, when you can.

He Summoned the book from the chair he’d been sitting in, not opening the door so he wouldn’t wake Mary up, and then headed for Lucius’s room.

*

Lucius was sitting up in bed, finishing the last remnants of a meal that looked as if it had chicken in its ancestry somewhere and talking quietly with his wife. He looked up when Harry burst through the door and pushed the tray away from his lap with a neat, economical motion. The better to spring up and out of the bed if he needed to, Harry noted distantly.

“Mr. Potter,” Lucius said, and his eyes flickered to the door. His mouth grew tight and chill. Harry reckoned he thought Draco ought to have followed him. “And where is my son?”

“Back at my house,” Harry said distractedly. “There was a bit of excitement and he had to think over whether he really wanted this position, after all.” He shook his head and plunged right into the story of how Emptyweed had removed him from the position of Lucius’s mediwizard. Narcissa leaned forwards until she was literally perched on the edge of her chair, but Lucius listened without moving. Harry wasn’t sure he even blinked.

At last, when Harry finished the story, Lucius gave a short nod. “It is utterly clear what we must do,” he said.

“Do you know a way to find out who your enemies in St. Mungo’s are?” Harry ran a hand through his hair and began to pace. He hated to show this much distress in front of a patient he was trying to reassure, but calmness would be an outright deception now. “I don’t have contacts among anyone who really runs the hospital, just a few ordinary Healers and mediwizards trying to do their jobs. I don’t know how to guarantee your safety.”

“Mr. Potter.” That was Narcissa, her voice so thin and faint Harry had to stop pacing in order to hear her. From the way Narcissa’s voice immediately grew stronger, that had been her intent. “My husband is no longer safe here. We will be removing him from St. Mungo’s.”

Harry stared at her for a moment, but he could see the sense in what she said. He nodded. “I know the names of a few Healers who left the hospital when Emptyweed and idiots like him started becoming prominent,” he said. “I can give you their names. Two of them will attend anyone, and won’t care about your past. One of them will do anything if you give him enough money, although—“

“I intend to retain your services,” Lucius said. “Competence is not easily discovered, and I would be a fool to surrender someone as dedicated as you are.” He settled comfortably back against his pillows, as though matters were all settled.

Harry felt a tight surge of dread across the middle of his stomach. “I don’t think I could Floo or Apparate out to Malfoy Manor every evening,” he said lowly. “You wouldn’t be getting the best of me when I’d dealt with other patients all day.”

“I was not thinking of that,” Lucius said.

Harry frowned at him, baffled now. “You want me to consult from a distance? I don’t think any of the Healers I mentioned would like a mere mediwizard taking on so much of their work.”

Lucius watched him with a faint smile, though Harry didn’t understand what there was to be so happy about. Then he began to speak in a normal voice on a completely unrelated topic. Harry did his best to calm his impatient urge to fling about the room and listened instead.

“The Heart’s Blessing spell, and others like it, are valued for the same reason a friend’s surrender of his money to another to pay debts is valued,” Lucius said. “Imagine a man who was willing to beggar himself so that a friend might not go to jail. That is true friendship. The friend might not ever be able to pay back the money. And yet, knowledge of the debt remains between them, unforgotten but honored, and thus the money is shared, in the truest sense. The Heart’s Blessing spell is not an action performed once and forgotten, but a shared drawing on the same life force. My heart beats because yours does.” Lucius laid a hand over his chest. “Your blood, in essence, flows in my veins. That explains the color of the red light when you first cast the spell. Some small portion of your blood passed into mine.”

“And?” Harry asked impatiently. He had never paused to wonder about the color of the spell. If anything, he had thought it was red because it involved the word “heart.”

“If the person given such a gift does have the means to repay the debt,” Lucius said, eyes piercing, “he always does. Or—and this was more common in the age when such spells also were—he shares something else. His home, perhaps; the friend who shared his money would have free right of access there. There is no simple cancellation of such a spell, Mr. Potter, but only a building of more bindings, more links. You are welcome into my home, and I will pay you all the money you could desire to continue attending me.” He bowed his head. “I hope the connection may continue into the future.”

Harry found his mouth hanging open. Narcissa made a discreet motion that he was to close it; he did so. Then he said, “I—surely too much lies between us in the past for that to happen?”

Lucius shook his head. His gaze literally hurt to meet now. “Not at all,” he said with awful gentleness. “You have proven yourself a person with great honor. That is not the impression of you I had before. I thought you more lucky than anything else. It has been, traditionally, pure-blood wizards and witches who achieved such sharing, not half-bloods.” Harry glared. Lucius did not deign to notice. “Now you have shared yourself with my family outside the bounds of war, and in spite of our being on opposite sides then. I would welcome you among the Malfoys.” He showed his teeth suddenly. “And hopefully I can cure that disgraceful lack of ambition you seem to have, to lift you to a position more deserving of your talents.”

Harry placed a hand on his forehead, dazed. He couldn’t leave his patients at St. Mungo’s like that. He couldn’t leave his job. He couldn’t change his whole life about to please the Malfoys.

On the other hand, there was no doubt that Lucius Malfoy was the most vulnerable of his patients right now, the most in need of special care. Harry had been assigned other, far more ordinary cases in the last few weeks. Others could take over his burdens if he removed.

I can’t believe I’m mad enough to be considering this.

And then the solution occurred to him. Harry relaxed and lifted his head. “I’ll stay with you in the Manor until we find a cure,” he said. “Then I’ll ask you for enough money to set myself up in private practice.” He would be more comfortable with an equal exchange like that than with this talk of continuing obligations.

Lucius smiled and bowed.

Later, Harry was to wish he had looked a little more closely at the edge on that smile.

Chapter 7.