One Thing

Chapter 10

As Draco's eyes fluttered open, the sparkling blueness of them struck a chord in Harry. He smiled sadly down at his beloved, Draco grinned groggily up at him.

"You stayed," he said, as thought he hadn't really expected him to.

"Yeah," was all the Harry said in reply. As Draco sat up he began to become more aware of his surroundings. He noticed that Harry had cleaned up his entire room, and felt a rush of gratitude toward the shaggy-haired boy. Then he glanced down at himself. His eyes fell on his pajamas. He glanced back at Harry shiftily.

"I think, perhaps, that you should go," he said shortly, dropping the warm tone. Harry was not deterred.

"No," he said calmly but firmly. He'd worked out a plan. He was not going to give in, and he was not going to go away. Not without some answers. Let Draco hate him, if he must. Harry was hell-bent on helping him, whether he liked it or not.

"What do you mean 'no,' Potter? This is my room. I can dismiss you whenever I please," Draco spat. Suddenly he was the same spoilt brat who'd harassed Harry and his friends for six years. Harry was taken aback, and nearly showed it, but resisted the urge to recoil, realising that this was a defense mechanism.

"Yes, you do," he replied, his voice loosing a bit of its calm tone. "But I don't think you want to."

"Oh, no?" Draco asked condescendingly. His eyebrow was raised, and he wore an expression somewhere between amusement and incredulity. "Then why would I be asking you to? Tell me Potter," he went on smoothly, "what makes you think I still even desire your company?" At this Harry began shaking his head, telling himself that Draco didn't mean it. Draco apparently noticed this, and laughed.

"Oh please," he drawled, rolling his eyes and looking remarkably like his father. "You didn't think I'd keep you around forever, did you?" He spoke slowly, pausing between his sentences, allowing his cruel words to take effect. "Surely," he continued, "you must have heard of my reputation. I'm the Sex God of Slytherin. I can't be limited to one person for more than one night. You're lucky you lasted this long, really." He looked sympathetic now, as though he really did care what the knife he was forcing into Harry was doing to him. "But you're such a pretty fuck." Cue the twisting knife. "Ohh," he said, as though realising something. "That's right. We never did get around to that, did we? Well, now you see, don't you? Why I can't be bothered to keep you around any longer." He stood up with this, and walked past the mirror, smoothing his hair, before waving his wand, changing his pajamas to robes, and proceeding to the door. When he got there, he turned once more to Harry, who was still sitting on Draco's bed. "Stay if you must," he sniffed aristocratically, "but I do expect you to be gone by this evening." And with that he was gone.

"Harry...Harry wake up." The first thing Harry saw when he awoke was Draco smiling fondly down at him. He then became aware of the severe pain and stiffness in his neck. He had fallen asleep sitting in the wooden chair in front of Draco's bed, leaning forward, with his head sideways on Draco's belly. As he sat up Draco continued to smile at him, but then became inexplicably nervous.

Oh no, Harry thought. This was turning out to be just like his dream. He had to stop it. "Draco, before you say anything," Harry rushed, as though Draco would just spring up and run out of the room at any moment, "you should know that I love you and I always will, no matter what. Please, please don't get rid of me."
"What?" Draco was incredulous. "Potter, what the bloody hell are you going on about?"

"Nothing," Harry muttered. "Just a dream."

"What sort of dream?" Draco asked in a mother-hen-like tone.

"Well- Wait a minute! I should be comforting you! Draco, we have to talk about this." Draco looked very uncomfortable and began toying with his sleeve; the left one.

"I don't want to," he said quietly.

"Why not?" Harry asked desperately. "I want to help you Drake, I need to-"

"Well maybe," Draco interrupted quietly, "I don't want your help. And maybe, you can't help me, anyway."

Harry saw the truth in this. "All right," he said with apparent strain, "fair enough, I suppose. But you will talk to someone, won't you?" At this Draco became very panicked.

"No," he said quickly, "No, I can't, Harry you won't make me, will you? Please Harry, I don't want to, you can't make me, I can't do it, please Harry, please don't make me." He was frantic and he'd begun rubbing his left wrist on his knee, causing friction between the fabric and the fresh wounds. The disturbed Harry deeply.

"Stop. Stop it Draco, do you hear me?" Draco didn't appear to hear him. He continued this nervous habit and bit his lip, glancing around the room worriedly. Finally Harry reached out grabbed Draco's wrist, effectively ceasing the compulsive rubbing. "Please Draco, stop that." Draco looked at him as though he'd just realised he was being spoken to.

"Stop what?" At this point Harry had had enough. He couldn't deal with this anymore.

"Nothing. Look, how about you come down to the kitchens with me, you look like you could use a hearty meal." Draco nodded, relief apparent on his face. He began to stand up, and Harry helped him. They left Draco's room, through the empty common room, (it was only 3 am or so,) and into the corridor. Harry continued to lead Draco up stairs until they reached yet another landing. Then Draco turned to him, suspicion apparent in his visage.

"Blaise told me, once, that the entrance to the kitchens is below ground."

"Oh?" Harry commented distractedly, pretending not to have really heard what his boyfriend had said.

"Yes," Draco said slowly. "So what are we doing on the up so high?"

"Oh, well, I just wanted to stop by the Gryffindor tower, to pick something up." Draco suddenly yanked his arm away from his guide.

"Like hell," he accused. "The entrance to Gryffindor tower is on the third floor. We're on the fourth."

"How'd you-"

"Never underestimate the mentally ill, Harry, we know how to count." Draco's voice was full of betrayal and malice. "Where are we going?" he demanded.

"To the kitchens, like I said," Harry replied slightly edgily. Draco looked at him challengingly for a few moments, tapping his foot.

Then he snapped, "Fine, well, if you don't want to tell me, I'll just be off, then." With that he bolted, surprising Harry. There was a reason, however, that Gryffindor had beat Slytherin to the Quidditch cup on more than one occasion. Harry's superior seeker instincts took control and he threw an arm out, catching Draco as he tried to make his escape. The small blonde boy continued to struggle, and eventually Harry had to wrestle him to the floor.

"You have to see someone, Draco. I'm taking you to Dumbledore so he can refer you to someone."
"No!" Draco shrieked. "I can't! I won't! You can't make me! I'm not going!" He continued to struggle, and Harry could see that he would be able to get nowhere with him like this, so he struggled to pull out his wand. By this time Draco was in hysterics, kicking, screaming, crying, and Harry was worried Filch would find them. So he cast the spell as quickly as he could.

"Somnoliens," he said, and Draco went instantly limp in his arms. Harry stuck his wand back into his pocket, pulled out his invisibility cloak, and threw it over both of them.

When he reached Dumbledor's office, he knocked loudly. After a while the aged sage opened the heavy oaken door. Though Harry was still wearing his cloak, the professor said, "Harry. Come in." So Harry did.

As soon as Harry was in the door he immediately looked for the most comfortable place to lay Draco.

"Over there," Dumbledore directed, waving his hand vaguely to Harry's left. Harry looked in that general direction and saw a day bed where he was certain there had been a coffee table only a moment before. He didn't question this but moved quickly to make Draco as comfortable as possible. Only as Draco appeared out of thin air on the day bed, did Harry realise he was still wearing his cloak, and removed it, again not questioning his Headmaster's abilities. He turned to face Dumbledore.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but then hesitated, waiting for the professor's permission to explain. The wise old man gave a short nod, showing acquiescence. So Harry began.

"Well, you see Sir..." And so the young stressed boy began, finding that the more of Draco's and his story he got out, the better he felt, as though an immensely heavy burden was being lifted from his shoulders as he spoke. When he was finished he looked at Dumbledore. Throughout his story he'd begun to pace, and only now did he finally relax enough to sit. Perhaps it wasn't relaxation so much as exhaustion.

Dumbledore remained silent for a time, as tough considering his subsequent words very carefully. Eventually he began to speak very slowly.

"I think," he paused, "we have two options here, Harry." Harry leaned forward, ready to hear whatever the headmaster had to suggest. "One of those being," he continued, "to owl Draco's mother." Harry grimaced at that idea but allowed his superior to carry on, which he did. "The other of which, I'm afraid, is to have Draco committed; perhaps to the psychiatric ward at St. Mungo's."

Harry was silent for an extended period of time, grimly shaking his head, considering possible alternatives. There weren't many. None, in fact. He began to get very frustrated, not finding either of Dumbledore's suggestions particularly satisfactory. Then a small raspy voice came from the other side of the room.

"Don't tell my mother." Draco sat slightly upright, the effort it took to fight the sleeping curse evident. Once he saw that Dumbledore had turned to acknowledge him he repeated himself and then promptly collapsed again onto his pillow, falling instantly asleep. Harry eventually turned to Dumbledore, who eyed him questioningly.

"Well," Harry said grimly, "you heard the man."

Dumbledore left Harry alone with Draco as he went to have a conversation through the fireplace with the Chief Resident at St. Mungo's. Meanwhile, Harry turned to Draco. "Enervate," he muttered. As Draco awoke, he looked nervously around: first at Harry, then to the door, and then back again. "Do you promise you're not going to try to leave, Draco?" Harry asked as though he was speaking to a very small child. Draco shrugged moodily.

"Whatever," he replied vaguely, crossing his arms and looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes until Dumbledore returned.

"Oh good, you're awake," he said cheerily, as though Draco had just been napping, as opposed to being forced unconscious against his will. He frowned up at the Headmaster. "I have something of great importance to discuss with-"

"Yeah, well you can keep if to yourself. I've read enough tragic dramas to know pretty much what you're going to say. 'I'm a danger to myself and others, blah blah blah, I need to be rehabilitated, blah blah blah, I'm being sent to a place where I can be more adequately cared for and receive the special treatment I deserve, blah, blah blah.' How soon should I have my things packed?" His arctic tone matched his expression.

"Actually, that's the good news," Dumbledore replied merrily. "You don't need to leave. The doctor at St. Mungo's said that she can pay a visit later this week, and you needn't be committed, provided that you wear this." The old man extended his arm, dangling a silver charm bracelet from his ancient, lanky fingers.

"What is it?" Draco asked suspiciously, eyeing the jewelry with much the same air.

"It's a Protectorate's Bracelet," Dumbledore replied. "It's given to an individual in the charge of someone else. It has a different charm for every aspect of your health: physical, mental, emotional, eating habits, flesh wounds, magical injury, and near death. When you experience a drop in any of those branches of well being, the corresponding charm will glow, both on your bracelet, and on it's sister bracelet, which is given to the Guardian. This, Harry," he turned to the raven haired boy, extending an identical bracelet to him, "is the Guardian's Bracelet. It is gravely important that you wear it at all times, lest Draco be in trouble and you miss it. If anything happens, anything at all, you must notify me immediately. Do you both understand?" He looked back and forth between the two boys, who were currently marveling over their newly acquired trinkets. It was Harry who finally snapped back to reality.

"Yes, Professor," he said, and turned to Draco. "Here, let me help you with that," he said lovingly. He took Draco's bracelet from him and fastened it gently around blonde's fair wrist, which was still marred with small red lines. The bracelet immediately shrunk to fit Draco's tiny wrist, thus keeping it from slipping off. Draco returned the favour, then clasped Harry's hand in his and turned to Dumbledore.

"Thank you," he said quietly, and turned to leave.

"Yeah, thanks," Harry chimed in as he followed Draco, whose hand he still held.