Harry couldn't help but stare at Malfoy today.

He looked very ill. His face was pale with spots of colour high on his cheeks, and he sat slightly hunched over. He had been in this state for the past two days, and Harry's (admittedly apprentice) Healer sensibilities were offended. During their last potions class, Professor Snape asked Malfoy if he was feeling well, and he had promised he'd go to the Infirmary. And seeing as Harry was in the Infirmary whenever he wasn't asleep or in class, he knew Malfoy hadn't gone.

When Transfiguration finally ended, Harry packed his things quickly and caught up to the large group of Slytherins before they left the room.

"Malfoy, are you alright?" he asked, straight to the point. Malfoy's cheeks reddened.

"I'm fine, Potter," he said, picking up his bag and getting ready to leave. Harry raised his eyebrow and caught Malfoy by the shoulder. He looked into grey eyes, noting that the pupils were larger than they should be in this light. Harry placed his hands gently against Malfoy's cheeks and forehead, well aware that he was being stared at.

"You're burning up, Malfoy," Harry said, moving on to press his fingers along Malfoy's neck beneath his jaw line, ignoring his incredulous stare and the Slytherins snickering nearby. "Your glands are all swollen and your heart is racing as well. Why haven't you gone to the hospital wing?"

Malfoy looked away, toward Parkinson and Zabini, who were of the snickering group. Parkinson breathed something to Zabini, who smirked at Malfoy, whose flush increased. A couple years ago, Harry would have suspected a plot, but since the Slytherins had defected from Voldemort's ranks and the war had been won through what still felt like nothing more than a series of treasure hunts and a fast acting poison slipped in Voldemort's drink by Snape, he had become less paranoid.

"I'm not that sick and I've been busy," Malfoy said snappishly, trying to pull away and retain some of his dignity. Harry was having none of that. He may not care for Malfoy very much, but when he took on the apprenticeship with Pomfrey last spring, he'd taken the Healer's Oath, and not helping now would be breaking that Oath. The boy looked like he was about to pass out, for Merlin's sake! What was he doing going to classes?

"You're not busy now," Harry pointed out. "I know for a fact you have a free period after this class."

Malfoy's eyes took on a shifty light. "I have to go with Pansy to -"

"Rubbish, Draco, that can wait for your health," Parkinson said. Harry approved, and gave her a nod. She nodded back, looking incredibly amused. "Go with Potter to the hospital wing, I'm sure he'll take good care of you."

"Of course I will," Harry agreed. "You probably just need a few potions and to go to bed for a bit."

Harry could have sworn he saw Pansy wink at Malfoy. Never mind that, because Malfoy was looking worse by the minute. Since Harry had spoken, his flush had increased and his eyes had glazed over.

"Come on, Malfoy," Harry said, taking his arm in a gentle but firm grip and leading him out of the classroom. Malfoy allowed it, which just confirmed Harry's worries about the state of his health. By the time they reached the hospital wing, even walking slowly, Malfoy had begun to shiver slightly and Harry was supporting most of his weight.

"Lay down right here," Harry said as he lowered the feverish boy onto a bed. "Just relax, I'll be right back."

Madam Pomfrey was in her office when Harry went in to get Malfoy's records.

"I've got Draco Malfoy out there, ma'am," Harry said, casting the spell to retrieve the file. "I think he's got the flu, but he's been ignoring it for a few days."

"Go ahead and take care of him," Pomfrey said, distracted. She was filling out some paperwork and seemed to be making a list besides. "He's a healthy boy, not many factors involved. The standard flu potion should work, but run a standard checkup. He hasn't been here in a long while."

"Alright," Harry agreed, and left to tend to Malfoy, file in hand. He found him curled up on the bed with his eyes closed. In Harry's absence, Malfoy had untucked the bottom half of the bedsheets and pulled them over himself. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he approached.

Malfoy squinted an eye open to look at Harry for a moment. "Pretty shitty," he admitted. Harry smiled sympathetically and set the file down on the nightstand.

"I need you to sit up for me and remove your shirt," he said, not expecting the furious blush that flared across Malfoy's cheekbones at the instructions. He blinked. "Or, you could just remove your outer robes and unbutton a few buttons?"

Malfoy quickly sat up and dangled his feet over the edge of the bed, his fingers reaching to unfasten the clasps on his robes.

"It's fine," he said, looking rather embarrassed as his fingers fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, though Harry couldn't tell if he was still embarrassed about taking off his shirt or if it was because of his reaction to the suggestion.

"I don't have to treat you," said Harry, carefully neutral. "Madam Pomfrey is here, I can go get her for you if you'd prefer."

Malfoy shook his head with a sharp motion. "It's fine," he repeated. The cuffs were still buttoned when he tried to pull his shirt off, and he couldn't get his wrists out. He gave up very suddenly and left his hands in the sleeves, shoulders slumped, flushing darkly and avoiding eye contact. Harry frowned uncertainly at the top of his head for a moment, but began the round of tests as if nothing had happened.

He traced his wand down Malfoy's chest from his windpipe to his lungs, then drew a path along his skin that passed over all his vital organs. Mindful of Malfoy's skittishness, he carefully avoided physical contact as he bent over Malfoy when it was required that he trace his wand along his back.

When he checked Malfoy's heart rate, the spell showed that it was beating even faster than it had been in the classroom. Concerned, Harry paused and cast a spell that allowed him to listen closely. It was strange, but nothing alarming, and could probably be explained away by whatever was making him so nervous. Harry moved on to examining Malfoy's eyes, ears, and throat, confirming his initial diagnosis.

"You can put your clothing back on," Harry said, putting his wand away and picking up Malfoy's file. He jotted down a few notes and snagged several potions out of the supply cabinet as Malfoy dressed.

"Can I ask you why it took me forcing you down here to get you checked out?" Harry asked when he was finished. "I mean, a simple potion would have solved this two days ago. You're going to need to stay here for a few hours and take three or four because you waited."

Malfoy just sat there, avoiding Harry's eyes, and didn't answer for a moment. "I don't like going to the hospital wing," he said finally. "I usually don't have to; normally it isn't anything serious and it goes away after a day or so."

Harry nodded. "Understandable, I suppose, but next time, even if you don't want to come here, can you at least find me and I'll tell you if it's serious?"

Malfoy nodded, still refusing to meet Harry's eyes. Harry gazed at him sympathetically for a moment, knowing what it felt like to be sick and to want the world to go away. Time to fix that and get Malfoy back to the smarmy prat Harry knew. He pulled a chair up next to the bed and caught Malfoy's eye. Holding up the light blue potion, he began to speak, a small, reassuring smile on his face. "You have a very advanced case of the flu, shame on you and so on. This is the first phase of treatment. You'll take it right now and begin to feel better almost immediately." He handed it to Malfoy, who examined it. "That one will make you feel sleepy, which is good, because you need rest. Once you wake up, you'll take this one." Harry held up the vial of murky green potion. "It imitates a fever in order to kill off any of the remaining flu, so you'll feel very hot and you'll have to stay here for observation. It only lasts about twenty minutes though, and it isn't as bad as it sounds."

Malfoy nodded and bit his lip as the explanation went on. He looked slightly out of it, staring dazedly at Harry as he spoke, but he didn't look like he was going to protest any of the potions, so Harry wasn't about to complain. "You'll take this last potion directly after the green one, and stay just a bit longer while I make certain you're completely healed. That shouldn't take long, maybe five minutes, and then I'll shave all the hair off your body and we're done."

Malfoy nodded again. Harry shook his head with mild exasperation.

"Malfoy? Hello, Malfoy?" Harry snapped his fingers in front of Malfoy's face, watching with amusement as he jumped a mile and stared at Harry wide-eyed.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?"

Malfoy flushed. "You were telling me about the potions. I take this one first, then the green one, then the last one."

Harry nodded. "Fair enough. Take that then, maybe you'll be more alert after your nap." He waited until after Malfoy had already poured the contents of the vial down his throat before adding, "Wouldn't want you to be sleepy when we shave you."

"What?" Malfoy exclaimed through a yawn. "You are not shaving me!"

"That was part of the process I described to you just now, and you agreed to it," Harry said, grinning as he removed Malfoy's shoes and helped him sit up so that Harry could pull the blankets out from under him and tuck him in properly.

"You will not do anything untoward while I'm asleep," Malfoy demanded, yawning again. His eyelids were beginning to droop, which rather ruined the intimidating effect he was aiming for. Harry resisted the urge to pet his hair, reminding himself that Malfoy would kill him, no matter how innocent and unassuming he might appear at the moment. Instead, he stood up quietly and left Malfoy's bedside to do an inventory of the supply cabinet. It had looked a little low when he was getting the flu potions, and he wanted to make a list for brewing later.

Roughly two hours after Malfoy had gone to sleep, Harry heard someone come into the Infirmary while he was folding newly cleaned pyjamas and storing them in the closet. Pomfrey was firm about not allowing the house elves into the hospital wing, claiming that she needed to see the mess before it was cleaned up in case it was significant. As a result, Harry had taken on most of the irrelevant busywork when he became her apprentice.

When he finally looked up from piling the last of the cotton trousers on a shelf, it was to see Pansy Parkinson sitting by Malfoy's bed, watching Harry.

He raised an eyebrow, expecting her to acknowledge him and go back to paying attention to Malfoy. Instead, she smiled at him and tilted her head in an invitation to join her. Harry's brow creased and he ambled over to stand at the foot of Malfoy's bed.

"He's doing well," he said, assuming that she wanted an explanation of what was wrong. "He just had the flu, and though ignoring it didn't help, he'll be fine once he wakes up and takes a couple more potions."

Parkinson nodded and smiled sweetly at him. "So did he tell you why he didn't want to come to the hospital wing?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck, nonplussed. "Yeah, he said he just doesn't like going and usually doesn't have to. So?"

Parkinson shook her head, tsking. "Potter, he lied to you."

Harry was immediately interested. Anything that was important enough that one of Malfoy's best friends felt they had to inform him was going to be noteworthy.

"What's the real reason, then?" he asked, pulling up a chair and sitting on the opposite side of the bed. He really hoped Malfoy didn't have a phobia of healers or hospitals or anything.

Parkinson smirked at him. "Think about it, Potter. His symptoms were... what? His face was flushed? His heart was pounding? Maybe he kept staring at what I'm sure you assumed was space?"

Harry stared at her, confused. "Look, Parkinson, I don't know what you're getting at, but he has the flu. The spells confirmed it and he's been responding to treatment just fine."

"Oh, I don't doubt he has the flu," she agreed blithely. "What I'm getting at is the reason why it took so long for him to come to the hospital wing, when everyone knows you pretty much live here since last year."

Harry thought he knew what she was getting at. "I offered to let Madam Pomfrey treat him," he said, frustrated. "If he doesn't like me, fine. But it shouldn't affect his health! That's just stupid, I can disappear if he doesn't want me around..."

Harry trailed off. Parkinson was shaking her head and had raised a hand for him to stop. "It's not that he doesn't like you, Potter. Come on. All that schoolboy angst was gone with the end of the war, you've both said it yourselves."

Harry ran a hand through his hair. This was true. Malfoy was no longer a bastard to Harry and his friends, just a bit of a prat. It had been surprisingly easy to form a truce. "I don't understand. If it's not that he doesn't like me, then what's the problem? Does he just not want to be treated by me because I'm still an apprentice? Like I said, I offered -"

"Potter, you are completely missing the point." Parkinson leaned forward slightly, taking Malfoy's hand in her own. Malfoy sighed and shifted in his sleep. Harry looked down at him and noted that he was due to wake up soon. "It's not that he dislikes you or doubts your competence. It's not a secret that you're good at what you do." She paused, pressing a finger to her lips in thought. "How can I say this? I don't know when it started, but since at least last year, Draco has had a rather large -"

Malfoy interrupted at this point by having a small coughing fit as he woke. Harry bent over him immediately, worried.

"Malfoy, are you alright?" Harry asked, concerned. Malfoy just glared at Parkinson. He was flushed worse than ever now, and coughing hadn't been one of his symptoms before he took the potion. Harry recaptured Malfoy's attention by putting a hand against his forehead, but thankfully his temperature had gone down considerably. Parkinson was actually snickering in her chair, and Harry spared a moment to give her an irritated look before refocusing his attention on his patient.

"I feel a bit better," Malfoy said, staring at Parkinson again, who smirked at him. "Though I don't think I'm up to visitors right now."

Harry nodded. "Alright," he said. "Come on, Parkinson, you heard him. Out."

She gave Malfoy one last look before focusing on Harry and giving him a smile. "Of course, Harry. Can I call you Harry?"

Harry stared at her, nonplussed. "I suppose so?"

She beamed at him. "And you can call me Pansy, of course. Would you mind escorting me out, Harry?"

Harry glanced back at Malfoy, who was still very red and was now glaring rather fiercely at Parkinson. If getting her to leave would cause less distress for his patient, Harry didn't mind helping a bit.

"Sure?" he said, offering his arm uncertainly. She took his arm with a demure smile.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, tossing her hair and sending yet another smirk back at Malfoy. Harry felt lost, but he walked her to the door anyway and closed it behind her with some relief.

Malfoy still looked upset when Harry got back to his bed, so Harry sat down in the chair and gave him a small smile.

"Nevermind her," he said. "I still don't have a clue what's going on, but what's important right now is you feeling better."

This actually seemed to relax Malfoy quite a bit, which freed Harry up to ask a few questions.

"That coughing fit you had when you woke up, what did that feel like?"

Malfoy shrugged. "It wasn't anything serious."

"You were coughing pretty hard," Harry disagreed. "I'm worried the potion reacted badly with something in your system. You haven't taken anything else recently?"

Malfoy shook his head vehemently. "I was just surprised that she was here," he explained. "It was just me being surprised, that's all."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "If you're certain." At Malfoy's firm nod, he handed him the green vial. "Do you remember what I told you about this one?"

"I take it now?" Malfoy tried with a winning smile. Harry's own smile turned fond and he nodded.

"It'll imitate fever," he explained. "You'll heat up quite a bit, but it only lasts about twenty minutes. Do you remember that?"

"I remember you threatening to shave me," Malfoy said suddenly. "You're not shaving me, Potter. I don't care if I die of this, you aren't shaving me."

Harry grinned openly now. "I just said that to see if you were paying attention, Malfoy. I'm not actually going to shave you unless you ask nicely."

A faint tint of pink appeared on Malfoy's cheeks, and Harry decided that was a far sight better than the red flush that had been there previously.

"Here you are," he said after a moment, handing Malfoy the green potion. "Drink up."

Malfoy peered at him suspiciously as he uncorked it. "I'm not going to ask you to shave me because the fever overheats me unbearably, am I?"

"Probably not," Harry said cheerfully. "We'll see. Drink up!"

With a half-hearted glare, Malfoy drank the potion. Harry took the vial from him afterward and sat back in his chair to observe.

"Why didn't you want to come to the hospital wing?" Harry asked. Malfoy began to sweat.

"It's really hot in here, Potter. I think the potion's kicking in." Harry nodded and summoned a pitcher of cool water and a glass.

"Whatever your reasons were for wanting to avoid it, we need to work around them," Harry told him as he handed over the cup. Malfoy drank thirstily and ignored him. When he finished, Harry helped to settle him on top of the blankets in his shirt and trousers. Malfoy's cheeks had gone a permanent dull red by this point, and he seemed to be struggling to remove his socks with only his toes.

"I told you why," he said finally, giving up on the socks and laying back against the pillows, his face pointed toward the window. Harry watched as he loosened his tie.

"I know," he said after a short pause. "But I'm getting the feeling that there's more to it than that, and I would really rather that you feel that you can come here when you're sick. I would hate to be the reason that you couldn't get the medical attention you need."

Malfoy swallowed hard and picked up his glass, which Harry promptly filled with water again. "It's not your fault," he said.

"Parkinson said otherwise," Harry said, standing and moving to the foot of the bed, watching closely.

"She said to call her Pansy, remember?" He looked annoyed for some reason. "She's just trying to goad me. I really don't mind, you know."

"You don't mind her goading you?" Harry asked, confused. Malfoy sighed.

"No, I mean I don't mind if you call me Draco. That was the point she was making."

Harry blinked. "Was it? I thought she was just..."

"Being her usual snobbish self?"

Harry tried to think of Malfoy as Draco and found it easier than he'd expected when the Slytherin was so candid like this. He doubted he'd see this Draco again after he got over his flu and left the hospital wing. It was a pity, really, Harry thought as he took hold of the tips of Draco's socks and pulled them both off in one smooth motion. He quite liked him this way. Draco started and wiggled his newly freed toes, blinking up at Harry with surprise.

Back to the point, though. "So if it's not my fault, what's the problem?"

"Merlin, you weren't lying when you said I'd be hot," Draco said, drinking more of his water. Harry watched intently, waiting for the answer he knew Draco was trying to avoid giving as he unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt and looked out the window again.

"Draco?" Draco jerked and stared at Harry's use of his first name, then sighed abruptly.

"It's not easy to explain," he said. "Not to mention it's incredibly embarrassing and you'll probably laugh at me or hate me or worse."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "I wouldn't laugh at you," he disagreed. "And if you think I'd go back to hating you over whatever this is...well I won't."

Harry couldn't fathom what could possibly keep Draco out of the hospital wing that would make Harry laugh at him and/or hate him. He had no Dark Mark, Harry had known that for months. He had no strange medical maladies. To be quite honest, Harry really didn't have a clue, because those were the only things he could think of that would cause Draco to think Harry would react in such a way. The only clue he had was from Parkinson, that it was 'large' and that Draco had had it since last year. Not very helpful. Maybe he really did have a phobia of the Infirmary or something in it?

Draco had untucked his shirt and was twisting the fabric between his long fingers. Harry poured him another glass of water and covered Draco's hands with his own, stopping the nervous movement.

"Drink this," he advised. "You can tell me whenever you feel like you can." Apprenticing for Pomfrey had taught him patience, if nothing else.

Draco was staring up at him, wide eyed, and Harry felt the briefest urge to move closer. Restraint was another thing he'd had to learn, so instead of leaning forward, he sat back slightly and offered the glass again. Draco took it and drank it down, eyes closed. Harry did not watch the way his lashes fell against his flushed cheeks, or the way his neck arched as he tilted his head back, because of his restraint.

Harry cleared his throat. "You should be nearly finished with this phase," he said. Draco nodded, relieved, and held up his glass for more water.

"So, Harry, has Draco told you yet why he doesn't like to go to the Hospital Wing?"

It was a couple days after Draco's enforced visit to the Infirmary. Parkinson had found him in the corridor on the way to Transfiguration and was following him.

"No, he hasn't," Harry said, glancing at her with a frown. "But it's none of my business unless it affects his health, which it won't now that he's agreed to find me when he's sick."

"You're not even the teensiest bit curious?" She smiled slyly at him. "You don't have to tell him that you know. You can still be all noble and let him tell you in his own time, just without the curiosity."

Harry hitched his bag up on his shoulder and shook his head firmly. "It's Draco's business. He can tell me if and when he wants me to know."

Parkinson pouted. "Fine."

The next time Harry saw Draco, from across the Great Hall at dinner, Draco gave him a small wave and a genuine smile. Parkinson was next to him, and she rolled her eyes when she saw him looking.

"Hi, Potter."

Draco showed up in the hospital wing the day after Parkinson had waylaid Harry in the hall, giving Harry an awkward smile when he briefly poked his head out of the potions cupboard. Draco coughed a few times and wandered over to where Harry was restocking the Pepperup Potions.

Harry's brows drew together. "Not feeling well again?" he asked, his voice filled with sympathy, muffled though it was from the cabinet. Draco's eyes cut away to his shoes and he shook his head, coughing again.

"This must be that cough you had a few days ago," Harry said, finishing up and leading Draco over to a bed. He summoned Draco's file as Draco nodded in agreement. "I knew I shouldn't have ignored it."

"It got worse," Draco agreed, and coughed into his fist, watching Harry out of the corner of his eye. Harry made a few notes and set the file down, annoyed with himself for letting Draco convince him the cough was nothing. He cast a few diagnostic spells and frowned.

"Huh," he said, setting his wand down on the nightstand. "You don't really seem to have anything wrong with you, aside from the coughing."

Draco flushed. "Well that's all it is, is a cough."

Harry shrugged. "I suppose. If you want, you can just lay down for a bit? It's not like you're missing a class or anything. You can have a Pepper-Up Potion if you like. They're fresh."

"No, I'll just sit down," Draco said, and picked a bed near the cupboard Harry was working at. He coughed again and leaned against the headboard, watching.

"Does Snape make all the potions?" he asked after a few minutes of peaceable silence. "I remember helping him with a few in fifth year."

Harry shook his head. "He used to, and Pomfrey helped when she had time. Now I make most of them, and Snape checks them before we put them into circulation, just to make sure I made them right."

"I didn't know you were that good," said Draco thoughtfully. "Didn't you used to take Remedial Potions back in fifth year?"

Harry rolled his eyes at the Restorative Draughts. "No, I didn't, actually," he said. "That's just what Snape told people as a cover for what we were really doing. He was teaching me Occlumency."

Draco blinked. "Oh," he said, surprised.

"I'll admit I wasn't the best at potions," Harry said ruefully, glancing over at Draco on the bed. "But I figured out everything that was holding me back when I decided I wanted to do this after the war. You need to have at least an Exceeds Expectations on the Potions NEWT to become a Healer, and that's cutting it close."

Draco nodded. "What was holding you back?" he asked after a small bout of coughing. Harry finished placing the last of the vials on the shelves and shut the cupboard doors.

"A distinct lack of patience, mostly," he said, pulling a chair up next to Draco's bed and propping his feet up at the end. "Patience is something that would have been helpful during the war, too, if only I had it."

Draco nodded again, and they fell into an amicable silence. It was kind of nice, Harry reflected, to sit here with Draco Malfoy and not have to prove anything, or even do anything. The silence was only broken by the occasional cough, almost like an afterthought.

"You know you can call me Harry, right?" Harry asked, the thought suddenly occurring to him. Draco looked up at him, inquiry in his eyes. "I mean, you called me Potter when you came in here. You can call me Harry, if you want."

The surprised smile that lit Draco's face had Harry blinking spots out of his eyes for long moments after.

Ron and Hermione were visiting with Harry in the Infirmary the next time Draco dropped by.

"Hi Harry, I -" His smile and voice faltered when he saw the two of them. Hermione's eyebrows had gone up at the familiar address, but Harry just waved him over to the table he used as an all-purpose working/eating/brewing surface. It was currently covered with parchment, the majority of it Harry's homework for classes shared with Hermione. Ron and Hermione had made a point of having study sessions scheduled with Harry so that they would actually see him sometimes, though Ron naturally used the time for other more important topics, like Quidditch.

"Hi Draco," Harry said. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," said Draco, eyeing the new Gryffindors. The Gryffindors eyed him right back, with blatant curiosity. Ron and Hermione had grown used to the idea of Harry talking to Slytherins since he'd become an apprentice; he could hardly (and would never want to) ignore the needs of a whole House while working in the Hospital Wing. Draco Malfoy was something new, though. "I just wanted to talk to you, but I can come back later."

Harry frowned. "You don't have to leave, I-"

"No, it's fine," Draco said, waving a hand toward the table. "You're studying. I'll talk to you later." And with that he very nearly fled out the door.

When Harry turned back to Hermione and Ron, Hermione, at least, had a very unexpected expression on her face.

"What's so funny?" Harry asked, slightly affronted. "I've only just barely convinced him to actually come to the Infirmary when he's sick. I don't want him finding some excuse to dash off again."

Hermione shook her head, smile still firmly in place. "It's not that it's funny," she explained. "It's just...it was cute."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "I'd be worried if I were you, Ron," he said playfully. "Hermione's looking at other men. You might have competition."

Ron grinned. "From you?" he asked, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "Yeah, Harry, sure. You'd be a real threat if I didn't know you'd prefer Dean over Hermione any day."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, why am I cute, then?" The two of them gave him identical grins, and Harry made a face at them. It was bizarre how they did that sometimes. "In English, please."

"I didn't say you were cute, Harry," Hermione informed him, grinning at his mock consternation. "Just the situation. Now tell me about your essay for Flitwick."

"Oh, hello Malfoy. Can I call you Draco?"

Harry blinked. Draco had just been walking past in the hall, minding his own business and giving Harry a small smile (and he really enjoyed that Draco had not gone back to being a complete prat after he got over the flu), when Hermione stopped him and began talking, Ron right next to her.

Draco was rather taken aback himself, if the expression on his face was anything to go by. He darted a glance at Harry, who shrugged.

"If you must," he said, sounding perplexed. Hermione beamed at him. Ron gave him a much less enthusiastic smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"You can call me Hermione, if you like," she said, and nudged Ron, who sighed.

"And we'll be on first name terms as well, if you want," he said, sounding extremely put upon. Draco nodded, still nonplussed.

"Can I ask why?" he ventured, and in response, Hermione leaned forward and spoke so softly Harry almost didn't catch it.

"We've decided you have potential," she said, tilting her head. Harry, who was watching this exchange with an enormous amount of curiosity, started when Draco looked directly at him and immediately away, flustered.

"Okay," Draco said, avoiding Harry's gaze as he turned to leave. "Thanks."

Hermione smiled with satisfaction as he walked away. Harry watched, bewildered. Maybe he should have taken Parkinson up on her offer.

Harry thought he and Draco had become very good friends of late. Draco dropped by the hospital wing whenever he had free time, and it even got to the point where Harry began to think of the bed by the cupboard as belonging to his newest friend. Sometimes he helped Harry organize things around the ward or brew potions (Harry always brewed just before dinner, and Draco sometimes ate with him in the Hospital Wing), and sometimes they studied. He even stayed one day when Ron and Hermione were visiting, and joined in on their discussion (i.e., complaint session, for Harry and Ron at least) about McGonagall's ten foot essay on Transmorgification. Oftentimes, though, it was just Harry and Draco, and they talked until they were interrupted by Madame Pomfrey or another student looking for medical attention. Draco was still a bit of a prat, but now he smiled at Harry while being a prat, which made it better somehow.

Pansy Parkinson still gave Harry glances from across the Hall at meals, as if inviting Harry to ask her what he wanted to know. Harry managed to resist the temptation and focused on his pudding, or alternatively on Draco next to her, who would inevitably look up at him moments later and give Harry one of those smiles that Harry could not recall ever having seen before Draco's flu, which had become as familiar and necessary for Harry as one of Ron's manly hugs or Hermione's motherly lectures.

Lately, though, Hermione and Ron had begun to look impatiently at Harry whenever Draco was around, and Harry could tell Hermione wanted very badly to launch into one of her famous lectures. Draco always had his usual smile for Harry, and the only indication that he was aware of Ron and Hermione's impatience was the flicker of unease that crossed his face whenever he caught them at it.

It all made Harry feel incredibly dense. It seemed like even Ron and Hermione knew what Parkinson wanted to tell him, and expected Harry to know as well, and to do something about it. The likelihood that it had anything to do with an Infirmary phobia was pretty much nil by now, and all this secret keeping didn't seem fair. Clearly, it was something important, and clearly, it involved Harry.

He said as much to Hermione one night, up in Gryffindor Tower before bed. She sighed and exchanged looks with Ron in response, which made Harry bristle slightly.

"Harry," Hermione said, raising a hand to stave off the comments he had just opened his mouth to make. "It's just that we've come to kind of like Draco. He's actually sort of decent, when he wants to be."

"He did come over to our side before the war ended," Ron said grudgingly. "And it wasn't even a plot, remember?"

Harry nodded, thrown off completely at this unexpected vein of conversation. "I like him too," he said, brow furrowed. "What's the problem?"

"We think..." Hermione paused, and looked at Ron.

"We think you should stop...playing with him," Ron said, making a face. Harry gawped at him.

"What?"

"Stop playing with his feelings, Ron means," Hermione corrected quickly, giving Ron an exasperated glance. "He's fine, we approve. Go ahead and stop dancing around it, okay?"

Harry stared at them. Hermione took pity.

"Just go talk to him, Harry."

Harry sought Draco out the next morning, meaning to ask him, once and for all, what the hell was going on. Patience be damned. Harry was going to find out today what all this whispering and glancing and pointed looking was about. He found Draco at the bottom of the stairs near the Entrance Hall that led to the Slytherin dungeons, talking to Pansy Parkinson. He didn't look happy, and Parkinson just looked exasperated. Harry paused, uncertain if he wanted to interrupt when they were clearly in the middle of something.

"Why don't you just tell him?" Parkinson asked. She was facing Harry, though she didn't seem to have noticed him yet. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"He could hate me, Pansy." Draco sounded frustrated right then more than anything else. He was facing slightly away from Harry, arms crossed. "His friends want to tell him too, but it'll ruin everything. It's fine as is. Leave it."

"Why would it ruin everything, Draco?" Harry thought he saw her eyes dart toward the top of the stairs where he was standing, but he couldn't be sure. Guilt suddenly washed over him, and it occurred to Harry that listening in on conversations might be worse than letting Parkinson tell all. Harry turned to leave, but Draco was already speaking.

"I'd rather at least be friends than nothing, okay? Now stop dropping little hints, stop making plans with Granger, stop winking at him every time he looks at the bloody Slytherin table. Just stop. I'm happy with things as they are now."

Harry had stopped at least, his brain slamming into a brick wall at the first part of Draco's tirade. He closed his eyes and his head drooped as an inkling of what was going on wormed its way into his mind. It was so bloody obvious. Harry really was an idiot. He ignored Parkinson's protests that she hadn't been winking at anyone, and leaned against the wall.

It hadn't even occurred to Harry that he was a person who would have relationships, especially with his apprenticeship. He knew he was gay, yes, but that didn't mean he had to date now anymore than he'd had to before he figured himself out, and he was busy enough that the option hadn't even existed in his mind. It was only natural that he wouldn't think of it in his interactions with others, even when they were as attractive as Draco, and especially when he really only saw people in the Hospital Wing or in classes. It just wasn't a mindset Harry was used to exercising. He thought about sex, yes, but in an abstract sort of way. Helping people was something that was much more concrete in Harry's mind.

He still felt like an idiot, though.

The question Harry needed to ask Draco had changed. 'What's going on?' didn't really apply anymore, and neither did 'Do you know all our friends are insane?', which had been Harry's backup question. Now the question was something more along the lines of 'Were you avoiding the hospital wing because you like me?' Or maybe something more subtle.

Subtle was good.

Harry dithered in the Entrance Hall until he realized that Draco and Parkinson were probably going to be coming upstairs at any moment. He panicked a bit and dashed up the staircase, intent on descending when he saw them and faking a casual encounter. From there he would wing it. It was at this point that Harry suddenly realized that, what with his apprenticeship and his generally introverted personality, he hadn't been very casually social with anyone lately, aside from Ron and Hermione, who didn't count, and Draco, who was in a whole different context right now. Even with them, he often used the bedside manner he practiced in the Infirmary. Hell, even all the celebrations after Voldemort's death had only required speeches (written mostly by Hermione) which Harry could read verbatim. At the actual parties, he'd spent the majority of his time hiding from reporters in the loo, and at one memorable event, under the snack table while they milled around, eating hors d'oeuvres and wondering where he'd gone. Basically, he was in over his head.

And now that he'd realized that and taken the wind out of his own sails, Draco and Parkinson appeared right on cue. Harry's brain was coming up with very little, most of it vulgar variants on the phrase 'oh no'.

Parkinson saw him immediately, snake that she was, and called to him. Draco looked as well, smiling, and if Harry saw more in his expression than he had ever noticed before, it wasn't anything but a confirmation, which didn't do much for Harry's nerves.

Harry smiled back at them and started his trek down the stairs, frantically planning what he would say when he reached them. 'Hello' seemed safe. He would say hello.

He reached them, and opened his mouth. "Do you want-" Harry cut himself off abruptly. That was not 'hello'. Draco and Parkinson stared at him, waiting for him to finish. Harry hoped they couldn't see the panic. He had almost asked Draco to Hogsmede. His mouth had betrayed him. He was not ready to ask a question like that. Subtlety was what he had chosen, and that was not subtle.

"Do you want to go inside?" he asked lamely, gesturing at the Great Hall. Parkinson beamed at him, which was alarming.

"That sounds wonderful," she said, taking Draco's arm and steering him so that he stood next to Harry. Draco looked mildly confused at her cheer, but Harry was suspicious. She might have known he was there by the stairs the whole time, and engineered the conversation in the right direction. It seemed like something she might do. Interfering bint.

Draco showed up in the Hospital Wing later that day, while Harry was dealing with a third year's sprained ankle. Dropping his things next to his usual bed, Draco stretched his long legs out along the bedspread, outer robes abandoned on top of his bag. Harry nearly hit the third year in the knee with the spell he was casting.

When he'd finished with the procedure and shooed the boy out, Harry went over to Draco and pulled up a chair as he usually did, though he didn't sit down. Draco smiled at him and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry had been thinking all day about the proper way to solve this problem, and had decided that questions weren't really the way to go. Heart thumping madly, he leaned over Draco and kissed him carefully on the forehead, as a test. When he pulled away, Draco had flushed a deep red and was staring at him with wide eyes. Harry decided this meant he passed, and aimed lower, for his lips this time.

Draco responded instantly, curling his fingers into Harry's hair and pulling him closer, so that Harry had to brace himself against the headboard with one hand or risk falling. Draco made small, interesting noises while they kissed, and Harry pressed closer still, trying to extract more of them.

"I really like you," he mumbled against Draco's soft mouth, which curved up into an irresistible smile as Harry kissed it.

"I lo...I..er...really like you too," Draco said, his hands moving from Harry's hair to his jaw. His words were slightly muffled against Harry's lips. "I...I don't know if you noticed. It was kind of obvious, I think."

Harry shook his head, brushing their noses together. "It took me a lot longer than you'd think," he said.

Draco laughed breathlessly and kissed him again. "I don't mind."

After a while, Madame Pomfrey walked in and pretended to act scandalized. Harry, who knew her better, was aware that it wasn't so easy to shock her and suspected she had been hiding in her office for quite a while and giving them some time alone, a gesture which he appreciated greatly. She did, however, alert him to the fact that he was straddling Draco on a hospital bed, a move he only vaguely remembered making. His face was burning rather spectacularly as he relocated himself to the chair.

She had only come in to retrieve the third year's file, which Harry had forgotten about completely. She waved off his apologies. "Get out of my hospital wing," she said fondly as she booted them out. "You spend far too much time here, Harry."

Harry took the hint and pulled Draco down the corridor, pausing at the end and looking at him. Draco's embarrassment at being caught was fading slowly, replaced by shining eyes and what was probably the most seductive smile Harry had ever seen.

Draco stepped closer, backing Harry against a nearby wall. "Hogsmede this weekend?" he asked. Nodding, Harry slid his arms up around Draco's shoulders, allowing Draco to nuzzle his way along Harry's jaw and behind his ear with his nose. Harry let his eyes fall shut and his fingers dance against soft strands of blond hair, shivering when Draco nipped experimentally at his earlobe.

"Gryffindor Tower is five staircases from this hallway," Harry said, gasping as Draco sucked on his pulse point.

"Mmmm," Draco agreed against Harry's jawline. "Slytherin is only three."

Harry moaned softly. "I always thought Slytherin had its redeeming qualities."

Harry could feel Draco's smirk against his neck, and his hands against the collar of his shirt, brushing lightly against Harry's throat.

"I don't know," Draco mused, deftly undoing Harry's tie as Harry opened the clasp on Draco's robe with nervous fingers. "The Charms classroom makes up for a lack of beds with close proximity to the Hospital Wing, don't you think?"

Harry agreed, and they arrived very quickly at the Charms classroom, which was only one very small staircase away and quite empty.

The moment the door was locked and silencing spells had been raised, Draco had Harry up against another wall with his shirt open. He seemed to enjoy doing that. Admittedly, Harry could not think of one complaint and responded eagerly to Draco's attentions, though he nearly lost it when Draco's fingers strayed to his belt and unfastened it.

"You're gorgeous," Draco said softly, bending to kiss Harry's collarbone as Harry gasped helplessly and pressed his face against blond hair, squeezing his eyes shut. Draco's clever hands were inside Harry's trousers now, his dexterous tongue against Harry's lips and throat while Harry's mind slowly unravelled. Harry's own hands, clumsy in comparison, were moving jerkily against Draco's back, sliding up to run through his hair and travelling back downward to reveal the smooth skin beneath a newly untucked shirt.

Harry's orgasm had him tensing and clinging to Draco, pressing close and burying his face in Draco's neck, panting his name over and over. Draco pulled him even closer and held him tightly, nuzzling at the nape of Harry's neck and whispering things his melted brain was unable to comprehend.

Once he started to gain back his mental faculties, Harry loosened the grip he had on Draco and rested his forehead against Draco's cheek, still breathing hard. For his first time with another person involved, Harry thought that had been pretty spectacular. Though he didn't let go, Draco had stopped whispering when Harry relaxed, and some of what he'd been saying had filtered through.

Harry sort of vaguely wished he was less oblivious to social cues. Draco was one of the few people Harry really spoke to on a constant basis; one of the few people he felt comfortable talking to about almost anything. Had Harry realised this was an option before today, he would have jumped at the chance and held on with both hands. Like he had earlier in the hospital wing, as a matter of fact.

Harry felt dizzy and incredibly happy, as though he'd been stung by a billywig. "You're pretty perfect yourself, Draco."