Title: Patient Zero
Summary: : One month, one quarantine room, one plague that could wipe out the entire wizarding population, and two wizards with nothing to do but try not to drive each other insane.
Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
Warning(s): wanking, voyeurism of a sort, first time
Deathly Hallows compliant? Yes, except for the epilogue.
Word Count: 5,400
Author's Notes: Though the damage here is more physical than psychological, I hope that you enjoy this! My apologies for the liberties taken with the combining of medicine and magic, but here's hoping that it still makes some sense.
Harry shouldn't have been all that surprised to find Draco Malfoy, of all people, in what could only be described as the "bad" part of town. It was simply a surprise to se him at all, having not laid eyes on that particular pointy nose in at least five years now (the closest thing was probably the portrait of Snape that Harry always tried to avoid eye contact with when visiting Hogwarts).
"What's wrong, Potter?" Draco snapped, folding out from his reclining position against the dirty concrete wall, looking like some shadowy preying mantis. He was thinner than Harry remembered, though it seemed to suit him. A cigarette dangled from between his fingers. "You look like you've swallowed your bloody tongue."
Draco for his part didn't seem fazed by Harry's appearance here, but then again, something about the heavy-lidded eyes made Harry think that not much at all could faze him anymore.
"What are you doing here?" Harry finally managed, an edge of demanding in his voice.
"Waiting for… a friend," Draco drawled. "Same thing most people do here. Except Aurors, of course. You lot just make trouble."
Harry sighed. "And I suppose your friend is coming to sell you some illegal substance."
Draco pulled his free hand out of his pocket and a single gold Galleon danced over his knuckles. "Neat trick, huh? No magic required, just good coordination."
"Look, Malfoy. If I were you I'd get out of here." Harry could hardly believe the words were leaving his mouth. "I'm just the first one in. There's a full-fledged sting going down on this building - " He nodded to the concrete. "In less than an hour. Not because of you and you friends - we've got a tip that there's a much more dangerous kind of potions making going on in there than the production of that crap you voluntarily poison yourself with. But I can't promise that there aren't a few Aurors who wouldn't jump at the opportunity to get their hands on a Malfoy anyway."
"Small potatoes then, am I?" Draco stepped closer to him, flicked the cigarette butt on the wet concrete, and toed it out with his shoe. "It's always drugs with you people. Maybe I'm out here turning tricks."
Harry's face coloured, and he was about to say something when suddenly Draco wretched forward and coughed. It seemed normal at first but then became violent hacking.
Instinctively, Harry reached out to help him. Draco grabbed his arm, and for a moment it seemed to be over, but then he coughed again, this time coming up with blood. It sprayed even through his fingers covering his mouth, misting Harry's face.
He inhaled without thinking and almost felt the tiny particles of blood entering his mouth, his nostrils. Horrified, Harry regarded the wheezing Draco through glasses speckled with blood, then got a better grip on his arm and Apparated them both straight to St. Mungo's.
It was not a small room, but somehow the monochromatic white interior made it seem even more cramped. The two single beds were pushed against either wall, a table in between them with four chairs. One of the walls was eighty percent covered with a glass pane, a window into the corridor, giving a glimpse of the outside world, or at least as close as it got in a hospital. Sometimes it changed to a giant mirror - two way, Harry supposed, though he didn't like the idea of people watching him when he didn't know they were there.
This was the best quarantine room that St. Mungo's had to offer. They weren't exactly used to accommodating celebrities.
They had been in the room for about eight hours when Draco finally woke up. He hadn't been very cooperative earlier, despite how sick he'd been. He seemed much better now… or maybe it was just the lingering effects of the tranquilizer?
"Okay, Potter," he growled once Harry had patiently afforded him the time to work out where they were. "What the hell is going on here? If you Aurors have kidnapped me hoping to flush out my father, you're out of luck."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Right, and I'm in here with you because you're such great company. We're in a quarantine room, Malfoy. Or did it escape your notice that this looks more like a hospital than a prison?"
"Quarantined? Quarantined from what?"
Now Harry was getting annoyed, because when it came down to it, this was all Malfoy's fault, and now Harry was stuck here, too. "A very dangerous virus," he snapped. "Which you probably just injected into yourself for the fun of it."
Draco balked. "What? A virus? I most certainly did not!"
"Your friends at that potions shop," Harry hissed, "do more than just brew recreational drugs. They work for the remaining contingent of Death Eaters, who now that Voldemort is dead, have no qualms about dealing in more… unconventional forms of death and destruction."
"Muggle weapons?" Draco practically spat the word.
"In a way, yes. A virus, apparently intended to wipe out those with Muggle blood. Only it's still in the testing phases. And you were a guinea pig, apparently. Judging from that oh-so-pure blood you were coughing, they haven't got the formula quite right."
"I would never have agreed to test some virus," Draco insisted, shaking his head. "They… they must have slipped it into something else they sold me!"
"Probably so. Gosh. Imagine that, unscrupulous drug dealers." Of course, the potions maker himself had been dead by the time Aurors had gotten to him. His employers had probably decided the work wasn't proceeding at the pace they'd anticipated and decided to tie up loose ends.
"So there's a cure, right? I mean, there's got to be a cure. With you people working on it…"
Harry slumped into a chair. "Not yet. Which is why we're here. It's not only for quarantine, it's a clean room. Saturated with wards that keep out any biological triggers. The virus relies on hormonal fluctuations or outside antigens or magical effects to push it out of the dormant stage and into the deadly one. As long as we stay in this room and don't use magic, the virus is basically in stasis. So we can wait for them to figure out a cure. And not infect anyone else in the meantime."
"You don't seem sick," Draco accused.
"That's because I didn't develop any symptoms before we got here," Harry snapped. "But trust me, if you've got it, I've got it. We figured all the Aurors would be safe during the raid because the disease isn't exactly easy to transmit - I didn't foresee running into someone infected that I would get close enough to to get a mouthful of his blood. And luckily they were able to get your cough under control since that was your only symptom. Wouldn't exactly want to hear you hacking up your lungs for however long…"
"Well I didn't know I had a disease," Draco muttered, sinking down onto the bed on the far side of the room. "So this is it then? We're stuck here? Together?"
"Looks that way."
"This is bollocks."
Harry sighed. "Think of it this way. It could be worse. You and I could be Patient Zero and Patient One of a plague that wipes out the entire wizarding population."
"You're right, it could be worse." Draco rolled over onto his side, facing the wall. "Granger and Weasel could be here."
Harry wondered briefly if a murder-suicide would be an ideal solution to this situation.
In the past four days, Harry had heard a litany of swear words that he'd never even known existed. It was immensely educational, actually.
But the moment the word "withdrawal" had escaped Draco's lips, Harry had gone white. "What? What? But the doctors told me that there weren't enough drugs in your system that you were going to - " That would be bad, bad, bad. A clean room wouldn't do a bit of good against the chemical fluctuations in the body of someone withdrawing from a hard drug, especially an opiate.
"It's not drugs, you moron," Draco groaned, flailing in his bed so that the blankets flew every which-way. "I'm not an idiot. I didn't do the addictive stuff. I just need a cigarette. I need a cigarette!"
"Oh." Harry blinked, relieved, but also irritated. "This is a bloody hospital, Malfoy. No smoking."
"Most of the people here aren't stuck here twenty-four-seven indefinitely! Hell, even the mediwizards can go home and enjoy a nice fag after work…"
"You're just going to have to suck it up and deal with it. I'm sure you'll be fine in a few days."
"A few days? Merlin's prick on a stick, Potter! You've obviously never quit smoking!"
Prick on a stick. Harry made a note of that one.
It didn't take long for Harry to get an idea for what Draco's priorities really were. After he'd spent a day bitching about how much he hated the Ministry and Harry in particular, he'd spent a week bitching that he wanted a smoke, and now he was bitching about the lack of sex.
"I haven't gone this long without sex since I was fifteen," he whined.
Harry wondered vaguely who Draco had been shagging when they were fifteen. Probably Pansy Parkinson. Harry didn't say how long he'd been without sex. That wasn't a conversation he wanted to have.
"And what's with them sticking us in here together?" Draco mumbled. "How's a bloke supposed to get some privacy? Bloody uncomfortable, wanking in the loo."
Harry felt his cheeks go a little red. He'd noticed that as well. He was twenty-three years old; he'd been having near-nightly wanks since he was fourteen.
The bathroom attached to their room was small and had just a toilet, a small sink, and a shower barely large enough for one person. In the past week, Harry had braved masturbation twice - once in the shower (with near disastrous results when he'd slammed his wrist against the tile) and once on the toilet (slightly better, but incredibly cramped).
"Look," Harry said irritably, "would you rather be dead?"
"Ask me in another week," Draco shot back. "Though I'm not sure how I'd kill myself in this place anyway. Strangle myself with some toilet paper?"
Harry woke to the sound of Draco wanking. Granted, he didn't know right away that that's what the sound was (he wasn't a pervert!), but combined with a soft moan a few seconds later, it was distinctive enough. The room was pitch black at night, so Harry couldn't see even so much as a hand moving underneath a blanket on the other side of the room, but he could imagine as much.
He wasn't sure why, but it made him want to as well - made the impulse rather irresistible, actually. So Harry reached under the sheets, wrapped his fingers around a cock that was now well on its way to erection, and inexplicably thought of Malfoy. Of Malfoy wanking, actually.
He gritted his teeth, trying to form a new image, but that one wouldn't budge. Especially with the little sounds coming from the other side of he room.
When Harry came, it was silent.
"So weren't you supposed to be married to that Weasley girl by now?"
Harry turned to look at Draco in surprise. It was the first personal question that Draco had asked him in the two weeks they'd been stuck in this room - or probably ever, if it wasn't the set-up for some sort of insult or joke.
Harry waited for a moment in case anything else was forthcoming.
"Oh come on, Potter," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not interrogating you, just making conversation. It's either that or start trying to figure out how to hang myself with these bed sheets."
Harry finally said, "We broke up during that last year we both spent at Hogwarts."
"Oh," said Draco. He paused, then added, "I didn't go back."
"I know. I always, um, kind of wondered why." Harry, Ron, and Hermione had all returned to Hogwarts after it was rennovated just in time for the new term. It had been odd, suddenly being in a class of who they still thought of as sixth-years. They'd mostly kept to themselves. And Ginny… well, that was complicated.
Draco shrugged. "The three of you were together, at least. And half of Slytherin wasn't coming back anyway, and the other half… well, I doubt I would have been particularly popular. So I just uh, went with my parents for a while."
His parents. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, whereabouts still unknown. When Draco had shown up back in London three years ago, Aurors had questioned him but hadn't gotten anything. Harry had no doubt, however, that Draco knew where they were. But he wasn't going to ask. That wasn't what this was about. And frankly, the Malfoys weren't exactly a priority anymore. As far as Harry was concerned, as long as they stayed out of trouble they could hide wherever they damn well pleased.
"I guess I would have married Pansy if things had gone as planned," Draco added. "She would have made a good wife. Knew how to entertain and put on appearances, good childbearing hips…"
Well, that answered Harry's question about who Draco had been shagging, then.
"… wouldn't care who I shagged on the side as long as I kept Galleons in the vault."
Or maybe not.
Harry looked at him with disgust. "Some marriage!"
Draco smirked. "Oh, I see. So that's why you couldn't marry the Weasley girl. Not exactly physically compatible, eh? And you just couldn't bring yourself to do it, knowing that you'd be constantly tempted to cheat. Oh, what a gentleman. Did she see it that way?"
Harry flushed. "Oh, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about." It was getting late, so Harry simply got up and turned off the light by way of ending the conversation.
A few seconds after he'd climbed back into bed, he heard Draco's voice in the darkness saying, "You know who was the best shag in Slytherin? Blaise Zabini."
Harry froze, didn't say a word. And then prayed to whoever was listening that he didn't hear Draco wanking that night.
Every time a mediwizard stood outside their room and spelled his voice inside, the news was more of the same. We're working on it. Getting closer. Just hang in there. Blah blah blah.
Draco was getting antsier and antsier with each passing day, and Harry suspected it had more to do with boredom and the confined space than the lack of nicotine now. Of course, the boredom meant that the two of them spent more time talking than Harry would have ever thought possible.
As jarring as it had been for Harry to see Draco looking so washed up on that street corner, he had to admit that he liked Draco a hell of a lot more than when they'd been in school. He might be a little more jaded now, but he was also less pompous and vain, didn't have that irritating sense of entitlement clinging to him anymore.
"You know," Harry said, after they'd spent a few minutes reminiscing about Snape and just how amusing he'd find this entire situation, "once we get out of here, I could probably get you a job at Ministry…"
Draco snorted. "Right. Doing what, mopping floors?"
Harry bit his lip. "Of course not. You're a very talented wizard." He'd caught himself just before saying were. "And they owe me favours there. I mean, it's not like I'm suggesting you be an Auror."
"I you can't beat 'em, join 'em?" Draco muttered.
"I was thinking more along the lines of… I don't know, the Department of Magical Games and Sports? You were a decent Quidditch player."
"As good as you. If not better!"
"Well, whatever. In any case, I'm sure I could…"
"I don't need your charity," Draco said irritably. "And why the hell do you care, anyway? It's my fault we're in here, remember? Because of my beat-down, junkie ways?"
"It's not charity! I just thought…" Harry lowered his eyes a little. "I don't know, I thought we were getting to be friends."
Draco laughed bitterly. "What, just because we're the only person the other has to talk to? This isn't friendship, Potter, it's proximity. There isn't so thin a line between love and hate, you know."
"Fine," Harry snapped, "well just sod of then!"
"Fine," Draco returned sharply.
They both sat on their respective beds and faced the wall.
They went over twenty-four hours without speaking, and it was Draco who finally broke the ice.
"I was thinking maybe I'd open a shop," he said.
Harry blinked in surprise, not just from the sentiment, but from the sound of Draco' voice. "Oh?"
"Can you imagine? My dad would love that. The Malfoy heir, a common shopkeep. Of course, it's not like being an heir does anyone any good when there's nothing let to inherit."
"What kind of shop?" Harry asked curiously.
Draco shrugged. "I don't know, antiques maybe? Someplace old wizarding families can pawn their valuables now that most of Knockturn Alley has been shut down. It's not all dark magic, you know. Some of it is just old."
"You know about that kind of thing?"
"Yeah, my mum loved it. Had a whole bunch of the Black family stuff, used to show me what everything was, how to spot a fake."
Funny, Harry had a whole bunch of Black family stuff too. "Well if you do open a shop like that, I think I have some things you'd be interested in," he said.
"Oh," said Draco. "Well, maybe."
There was a long, drawn-out silence, then Harry said, "You know, the real reason Ginny and I broke up was because I figured out that I was gay."
Draco snorted. "As if that weren't obvious."
Harry wasn't sure if it had been triggered by his admission, or simply by the fact that the two of them were on good terms now, but the sexual tension between himself and Draco just kept getting worse and worse until it was nearly palpable. Every time Draco stepped into the loo Harry wondered if maybe he was having a wank, imagined him naked in the shower. At night, stayed awake listening for the tell-tale sounds.
Still, Harry had no idea how to go about initiating anything. But if it managed to work… how brilliant would that be? What better cure for boredom than sex? At least, Harry assumed. Not that he would know. As he'd, well, not exactly had sex with a guy before. And what he'd done with Ginny should hardly count. In fact, it had been over so quickly that he wasn't sure it did count.
In the meantime, another night, another silent wank under the sheets. He'd stopped worrying so much about his privacy after that first time he'd heard Draco. So he sighed softly and slipped his hand underneath the elastic waistband of his pyjama bottoms, and started to slowly pull himself off.
In the darkness of the room he didn't see anything, but did hear the squeak of Draco's mattress, and then suddenly… felt a weight on his.
"What the…" he blurted, and then realized that Draco was in his bed. Slinging one long leg over top of his and sliding one long arm between them so that his hand could replace Harry's own on his cock.
"I decided it was about time we move to the next level of entertaining ourselves," Draco said as he stroked Harry's cock. "Any objections?"
"Top or bottom?"
"Do you want to top or bottom, Potter? This isn't a first date, we don't have to stop at the heavy petting."
"Top?" Harry offered weakly, and it must have been pretty unconvincing because Draco started to laugh.
"You've never done this before!" he accused.
"I have!" Harry blurted. "Sort of…"
Draco shook his head, obviously not believing him. "Well, it's not as if we won't have plenty of time to experiment. Unless you're total rubbish, I mean." He let go of Harry's cock and Harry whimpered softly. "On your stomach, Potter."
Harry took that to mean that Draco was vetoing his choice to be on top. But he was the virgin in this situation, he wasn't about to argue. Still, as he turned he offered cheekily, "Awfully demanding, aren't you?"
He could almost hear Draco's smirk, even though he couldn't see it. "Give me a few minutes and you'll be the one demanding - for me to fuck you harder."
"Oho! Is that so?"
Draco didn't respond, but Harry wondered if the two fingers that he suddenly felt teasing his entrance were supposed to be his answer. They were gone for a second, and Harry heard Draco spit, and when they returned, the fingers were spit-slick and slid more easily over his hole, though not easily enough, since Harry winced as Draco started to push them inside.
Draco muttered something under his breath, something like, "… fucking lube when I need it…" Then he leaned over Harry a little and breathed into his ear, "This works a lot better with a wand, but watch this."
Harry craned his head over his shoulder to watch as Draco made a flourishing motion with his hand, murmured a spell under his breath, and then - tada! A sickle-sized glob of viscous liquid in the middle of his palm.
Harry's mouth dropped open. Sure, he'd been working on wandless magic himself, and there were a few practical things he could do… but Draco Maloy had apparently focused his energy on learning how to conjure lube without a wand. Wandless lube. Harry wondered if there were any Ministry jobs that would appreciate that sort of skill set.
When Draco's fingers slid inside Harry again, they went much more easily this time, and after a few minutes of stretching and stroking and pushing and pulling, Harry was moaning wantonly underneath him.
"Ready?" Draco asked, and Harry hardly had time to consider the surreal fact that he was about to lose his virginity to Draco Maloy, when he felt the warm thickness of Draco's cock start to slowly slide inside him.
"Oh fuck, oh oh oh - " Harry gasped, squeezing his eyes shut against the initial discomfort.
"Sorry," Draco offered. "It would probably be easier at first if I were smaller." Harry detected a hint of smugness in his voice at that. Prat. "But don't worry," he added, "you'll appreciate it eventually."
Next time, Harry decided, he was topping.
But right now, he didn't have any complaints. It hurt a little, but with Draco's magical lube, it went pretty easily, and before he knew it Draco was buried to the hilt and began to thrust slowly as Harry whimpered and moaned.
Harry started to rut against the mattress a little, just for the friction on his aching cock.
"Fuck, this is so much better than talking to you," Draco gasped.
Harry wasn't quite sure how to take that, but at the moment he agreed with the basic sentiment. "Please," he groaned, "I need - fuck - "
That's when Draco pulled back a little and urged Harry up onto his hands and knees, never losing contact with him. And as Draco began to thrust harder, he reached around and grabbed Harry's cock, pulling him off in time with his thrusts.
That was about all Harry could take. "Oh! Oh! Oh! Malfoy!" He was sure it was the longest and hardest he'd ever come, spilling sticky and hot over Draco's fingers as his body bucked and then went limp.
He felt Draco thrust once, twice, three more times, then heard the loud moan and a flood of warmth fill him. After a moment they were a tangle of limbs on Harry's bed, smelling of sex and sweat.
"Fuck," Harry sighed. "That was… okay, yeah. Definitely a notch up in entertainment."
He waited for Draco to say something beside him, but the other wizard was strangely quiet. Finally Harry turned to look at him, and saw that Draco looked… odd. A bit blue in the face, actually, and then he sat up abruptly, holding his throat and gesturing as if he wouldn't breathe.
Harry immediately reached over and pushed the emergency call button beside his bed, not even worried about their current state of impropriety. Draco was suddenly coughing and wheezing, and then the coughs turned wetter, until there was blood misting over the sheets.
Panic rose to the surface in Harry. It was the virus, it had to be. He and Draco… they'd triggered it. He hadn't thought that sex would be enough, since they'd certainly been wanking enough without any problem, but maybe it was the combination of the sex and Draco's wandless magic. Chemical and magical fluctuations, fuck, fuck, fuck.
The heavy door on one side of the room opened for the first time in a month and two mediwizards wearing clothing covering their entire bodies, including heads and faces, rushed into the room.
Harry scrambled off of the bed to give them room, and watched in horror as they worked on Draco, having no idea what they were doing. It seemed to go on for ages, people coming in and out, and Harry finally settled onto Draco's bed, drifting in and out of sleep. Every once in a while one of them would come over to him and check his vital signs, but other than that they seemed to be concentrating on Draco, who eventually seemed to be stabilized.
As soon as he was alone in the room with Draco for the first time, Harry made is way over to what used to be his bed and looked down at the sleeping or unconscious form. "You'll be fine," he promised. "They're going to find a cure. I swear. I mean, they won't let me die. I'm the bloody Boy Who Lived, right? That should make you feel better than anyone else. And I'm not going to let them try to cure me until you're all better."
Still, as he made his way back over to try to sleep some more, he couldn't help but wonder why he still didn't feel sick at all.
The mediwitch who came to escort Harry from the quarantine room the next morning wore a head covering as she went in, but took it off as soon as they were in the corridor. Harry stared at her in disbelief. "But - I - how can I be out here? Why aren't I in quarantine with Dra - with Malfoy?"
"Because you don't have the virus, Mr. Potter," the witch said, and sounded strange, as if she weren't sure whether to be apologetic or happy. "You've been subjected to the same conditions as Mr. Malfoy, and you haven't exhibited a single symptom. If you were going to get sick, you would have done so shortly after Mr. Malfoy last night, since it was largely a magical trigger." At least there wasn't any chastisement in her voice about that.
"So his coughing up blood on me didn't infect me? How is that possible?" Harry didn't add that if that hadn't infected him, then surely what happened last night would have…
"No, we believe that the virus was passed onto you, but you have an immunity. It appears that the kinks left to be worked out in the virus were quite serious indeed - in fact, it had the opposite effect that the Death Eaters intended. It affects only purebloods. Something about your mother's Muggle blood gives you an immunity."
Harry just stared at her. "How long have you known this?"
"We've suspected for about a week now, but have been trying to come up with a way to test the hypothesis without purposely triggering the disease to see if you were actually infected. We didn't want to risk harming either one of you. Of course, ah, it appears that you solved the problem for us…"
Harry coloured a little and looked through the window into the room at Malfoy unconscious in the bed. "So then what can be done for him?"
"Our best bet right now is… well, your blood, Mr. Potter. Because you've already been infected with the virus and your immunity built the appropriate antibodies, we're hoping that those antibodies could go into Mr. Malfoy's body and kill the virus."
Harry nodded, resolutely. "Whatever it takes," he said. "Take as much as you need."
Harry had sat in the quarantine room in a chair by Draco's bed all night, watching the drip-drip-drip of an IV pushing his own blood into Draco. He remembered with some irony how last night he'd considered how much he wanted to top Draco, to be inside him. This was definitely not what he had in mind.
When Draco finally opened his eyes, he was already frowning. "What the hell happened?"
Harry rubbed his tired eyes and grinned. "You're awake!"
"Of course I'm awake. What happened?"
"You sort of… uh, the virus…"
Draco's mouth dropped open. "Because of the sex? You nearly fucked me to death, Potter?"
Harry couldn't help his mouth from twitching in amusement at that. "Well I guess you could put it that way…"
"So why aren't you sick? What's going on?" His eyes darted to the IV, and he started to scratch at the needle in his arm but Harry batted his hand away.
"I was never sick. Anyone with Muggle blood is immune."
Draco gave him a dubious look, but Harry continued, "No, really! See, that - " He pointed to the IV bag filled with red liquid. "That's my blood. It's curing you."
Draco made a face. "Oh, how romantic."
"Hey, I figured you'd be grateful! Not only are you getting out of quarantine, but you're going to be well and don't have to worry about infecting the rest of the wizarding world and bringing the downfall of our race!"
"Yeah, my dad probably would have been pretty hacked off if I'd killed all the purebloods."
"You'll be out of here tomorrow," Harry promised.
"What are you still doing here?"
"Oh. Well. I, uh…"
Draco's lips curled up into a smirk. "One near-death shag and you're already gagging for more, are you?"
Harry cleared his throat. "Well, maybe I just wanted to make sure we keep in touch. About, you know, your shop. I've got a house full of Black family shite that I don't want."
Draco blinked. "Really?"
"Yeah. And I mean, I've already given you my blood, a few dusty old books aren't much of an inconvenience…."
"Well I don't take charity," Draco reminded him. "But I'm sure we can work out something."
"How about I come by tomorrow and make sure you get out of here okay? I mean, uh, you know. Kind of sketchy with all those crazy Aurors about."
"Yeah, I bloody hate Aurors."
Harry briefly considered leaning over and kissing Draco's forehead, but mercifully managed to quell the impulse. Instead he just gave him a brief smile and then headed out of the quarantine room and into the bright light of the rest of the hospital.
He felt almost disturbingly happy, given the events of the last month. But maybe that was just what he needed, a break in his routine, something new and… good.
Of course, there was one thing nagging at him. In the back of his mind, like a fly buzzing around his peace.
That vile of blood the mediwitch had taken from Draco before she'd started giving him Harry's blood. The same vile Harry had watched her hand over to Percy Weasley.
Because after all, a virus that would kill all pureblood wizards… that wasn't something that the Ministry would be interested in.