Title: A Generous Hand
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Content Notes: AU after the Sectumsempra incident in HBP, angst, mentions of gore, bonding fic, present tense
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Wordcount: This part 3600
Summary: AU. Draco wakes in the hospital wing to find that Harry Potter was the one responsible for both wounding and healing him. He doesn't understand why he's so upset when he finds out years later that the price was a bond that only affects Potter—but he is.
Author's Notes: This is another in the series of July Celebration fics I'm posting. It's also an idea I've had for a long time. The second part will be posted tomorrow.

A Generous Hand

Draco opens his eyes with a gasp and sends a hand flying to his chest before he realizes it. He remembers it—the blood, the pain—

But when he draws his shirt up, there's nothing on his chest but a faint, silvery line that looks almost like a figure eight in shape. Draco traces it, then looks up when he hears the matron bustling in. He drops his shirt back over the scar before she can see anything.

"Be careful about sitting up, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey tells him, setting out a series of potions that Draco watches warily. Has she seen the Dark Mark? "You lost so much blood that I wasn't sure you would make it at first." She gives him a worried look.

At least she isn't talking about kicking him out of the hospital wing or calling the Headmaster. For now, Draco will take it. He adopts a carefully blank expression. "What happened? I just remember—a lot of noise, mostly."

Madam Pomfrey sighs and takes out her wand to cast a diagnostic spell on his chest. It makes a small purple glow pulse from the region where Draco thinks the scar is located, but nothing else happens or hurts. "Mr. Potter admitted that the two of you got into a duel in that bathroom that's always being flooded. Teenage boy nonsense. He also admitted that it was his hex that broke the mirror and cut your chest with the broken glass. He'd been studying healing spells with Miss Granger. I would say that you owe him a life debt, but since he was the one who admitted cutting you in the first place…"

Draco wants to snort. He knows it wasn't a fucking broken mirror that caused this. He remembers the spell flying from Potter's wand like a burning rope, he remembers the despairing look on Potter's face, and he remembers the pain.

But it's also true that he's been healed, and Potter might well have got his mysterious healing spell from the same place that he got that nasty curse. So he lies back and lets Madam Pomfrey work on him, his mind drifting.

Fine, Potter. We don't owe each other anything, and we don't have to talk about this ever again.

"I'm sorry, I what?"

Draco stares at Healer Hiddons, who doesn't seem to want to look him in the eye. Which might be attributable to the results of the diagnostic charms he just cast, but those results are also ridiculous and Draco is disinclined to believe in them, so.

"You have a bond in place," the Healer finally says, his attention on his wand and the legs of Draco's bed instead of Draco's face. "It appears to be a healing bond, and what we would call a level-one chain—that is, it doesn't bind you at all, although it might constrain the other party to certain actions. By the look of it, I would say that it's at least a few years old." He raises his wand and taps it against the center of Draco's chest. "And it emanates from here."

Draco knows without looking that the Healer is touching that strange scar that Potter's healing of the Sectumsempra curse left on him. He did talk to Professor Snape about that curse before the end of his sixth year, and Snape admitted he had created it, but also that Potter shouldn't have been able to heal it the way he did. Draco let it go when he realized he would probably never see Potter at close quarters again and would get no information out of him.

Now, though…

"Would this bond ever become heavier than it is in the future?" he demands. "More of a chain?"

"No." The Healer blinks at him. "All of the energy that healed you in the first place and is holding the wound closed is coming from the other party. I assume you don't know who that is, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Oh," Draco says grimly as he reaches for his shirt, "I think I might have some idea."

It seems as if he'll be seeing Potter at close quarters again, after all.

Potter works at St. Mungo's now, after having refused ridiculous attempts by the Aurors to try and recruit him. Draco strides through the corridors with his head burning with anger. How dare Potter cast a spell that draws fuel from him and places a bond on Draco, and not explain? It probably means that Draco owes the bastard a life-debt after all. Professor Snape said nothing should have been able to close the wound.

But a bond that draws power from Potter for years on end? That would do it.

Draco feels his mouth twist into a snarl as he jerks to a stop before Potter's powder-blue door (a ridiculous color) and pounds on it with one fist. He hates owing debts. He should be given the chance to take care of them fairly.

The door jerks open before his fist lands for the third time, and Potter yanks his head back out of Draco's reach. "Jesus, Malfoy!"

Draco doesn't know who Jesus is, and at the moment, he thinks he can sod off, too. Draco marches into Potter's office, blows the door closed with a wave of his wand, and lifts his shirt. "What is this, Potter?"

"Oh," Potter says, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Bloody oh is all you can say?"

"Well, I didn't think you would find out about it after so long." Potter shrugs and leans back on the wall. "Anyway, I don't know what you want me to do about it. The bond costs you nothing. It'll always remain a scar, and it won't demand anything of you. So why storm in here shouting and waving your arms around?"

"I was not—" Draco cuts himself off. Arguing with Potter is just a distraction, which might even be what Potter has planned. "Listen to me. I don't want to owe you debts. You'll take off the bond. Now."

"Then what, Malfoy? You'll bleed to death? That's your brilliant plan?"

"What?"

"There's a reason that the bond has to be permanent, Malfoy. The curse I used was too powerful. It could only be countered by something else equally powerful—but the initial spell wasn't all that strong, or I probably wouldn't have been able to cast it at all. It's only small amounts of weak magic played out over years that make up for it. You'll bear the scar and the bond forever, because otherwise you would go back to bleeding the way you were the moment I cut you open."

Draco clenches his hands slowly. Part of him suspected that, but it's still nearly as cutting as the curse to hear the evidence from Potter's mouth.

"All right. All right." Draco's breath huffs out, and he finally manages to calm down and say, "Fine. But then we have to change the nature of the bond itself. Make it two-way."

"No."

Draco flinches. He didn't miss that tone. It's the tone Potter used to use in Quidditch, shouting orders at his team or taunting Draco. It's the voice that defied Umbridge and told Draco he was a git too many times to count. He knows that Potter has just dropped an iron gate across the possibility that Draco can actually repay him.

"Why, for fuck's sake?" Draco snaps.

Potter studies him, then sighs and flicks his wand. Draco tries not to jump as two cups and an already-singing kettle zoom into the room, but doesn't succeed. Potter only shrugs and hands him a cup, then gestures him towards the tray that floats right behind the kettle with lemon, milk, and sugar on it.

"Because the bond demands a certain price," Potter says, sitting down in a plush chair that Draco didn't really notice before and crossing his legs. The tray lands on a table next to the chair, and Draco takes the one across from it. Potter's office is large and airy, except for one cramped corner across from them, crowded with bookshelves. "I was willing to pay that price because I was young and stupid and thought I might not live through the war anyway. But here we are, both alive. You shouldn't have to pay it."

"Tell me what it is."

"The bond runs on the strength of my remorse for casting that curse at you." Potter pushes his glasses up his nose and pours milk into his cup. "It establishes a kind of empathy that would make me aware if you were in danger—strong emotions like fear and rage, the kind you were feeling when I cut you open. But…"

"Will you stop making me drag this information out of you?"

"Fine, Malfoy! I found the spell in Snape's book. God knows what he was going to use it for, but it creates a bond that is supposed to tie two people together in something like marriage, okay? Except it makes only one person vulnerable to that." Potter looks away from him, and his skin is as brilliant as the roses that Mother grew in the Manor gardens this year. "I can't have sex with anyone."

Draco opens his mouth, but he can't get anything out.

"I knew the price. Like I said, I thought it was okay because I could barely imagine a future for myself at that point." Potter sighs. "And now I'm stuck like this. But that doesn't mean you need to be."

Draco drinks his tea and listens to Potter talking of the other costs of the bond—a drain on his magic, not that it matters much to someone of Potter's strength; a general awareness of Draco's direction that would mean he could Apparate to him if he was in danger—without saying anything else. As he's getting ready to leave, Potter nods to him, nibbling his lip.

"I should have told you about this before. I'm sorry. I also shouldn't have used that curse on you. I'm—sorry for that, too."

Draco leaves, fuming so steadily that it feels as if he's one of those Muggle machines he once read about, guided by steam. He marches down the corridors, glaring Healer trainees out of his way, and goes back home, and flings himself down on the rich turquoise-colored sofa in his bedroom, and stares at the ceiling.

He should be happy. The bond doesn't demand anything of him. Potter made that clear. Draco can sleep with who he wants, go about his day, and cast whatever spells he wants without feeling a drain.

But the sense of a debt unpaid remains anyway, going from niggling at his brain to clawing at it as the hours pass.

Draco rises when he sees Potter come into the Leaky Cauldron. It took eight evenings, lingering here, to be sure of what time Potter would come in and when he wouldn't have his red-haired parasites with him, but now he knows. He strides up to Potter and cocks his head at the table he's been sitting at, a private one near the back of the pub.

"Join me for a drink, Potter." His own tone can imitate an iron gate when he wants it to, as well.

Potter eyes him, but seems to realize he's not getting out of it, and follows Draco to his table. He does get some butterbeer and a sandwich thick with cheese and mustard that he all but eats like a werewolf. Draco frowns at him. "Do you not eat on shift?"

"I'm not actually healing people yet," Potter says, and licks his lips to remove a speck of mustard before he reaches for the butterbeer. "Only training. I need to spend almost all my time reading and practicing spells. I'm behind because they usually expect you to have more private training between now and your NEWT's."

"Make the bond two-way."

Potter sighs and finishes the gulp of butterbeer in his mouth before he puts the bottle down again. "No."

"Why not?" Draco is proud of those words. He planned them; he makes them as thick and dark as he can, and sees the way that Potter pauses with his hand in the air.

Then Potter completes his motion and shakes his head. "No reason you should have to suffer. The same reason I gave you before."

"What was your brilliant plan if you died during the war, Potter? Since that would have the same effect as canceling the bond?"

"It wouldn't have," Potter says, with the annoying certainty that Draco wishes he hadn't had time to acquire since the war. "That's different from canceling the bond. The strength needed to maintain it would just all snap back to you at once as my magic fled my body, and you would have been completely healed without the bond existing anymore." He hesitates, then adds quietly, "I don't blame you if you want me dead now."

Draco does clench his hands, but says curtly, "Don't be ridiculous, Potter."

Potter watches him, and says nothing.

"Make the bond two-way. Or can't it be done?"

"It can be done. But why should you be dragged into this trap with me, Malfoy? Believe me, it's not worth the sense of a debt repaid."

"Oh, so you know that for sure, do you?" Draco leans back in his chair and lets his voice rise again. "Making decisions for me again, the way you did when you decided not to tell me about the bond?"

A few people turn to look at them. Potter winces. "Calm down, Malfoy. You don't want everyone to know about the bond, do you?"

"I might want them to know that you're a selfish prick, Potter."

"Yes, so selfish to carry the burdens of the bond instead of trying to spare you from them," Potter spits at him.

"Yes, poor pitiful Potter, the martyr for so many things. Taking people's free will away from them and parading around with it. It must be so heavy."

"There's no reason for you to—"

"Be what, Potter? Capable of making my own decisions? Free of the debt?"

"Be a virgin for the rest of your life!" Potter's red ears are more impressive than a Weasley's hair. "Or just have the memories of the sexual experiences you've already had, whatever. I was stupid, Malfoy, but I can bear it, okay? I've been bearing it for more than a year."

Draco stares at him. He's so desperate to make a dent in Potter's stubborn head that he actually says something he would never say otherwise. "Why would I have to remain a virgin for the rest of my life?"

"Haven't you been listening to me when I talked about the costs, Malfoy? Always making sure that you can't—"

"But," Draco says, and he leans forwards, and he lowers his voice, and he angles himself so that Potter can look down his shirt, "I can have sex with you."

And Potter does look down Draco's shirt, Draco's certain of it, before he snaps his eyes back to Draco's face. He's breathing heavily, and the red flush has spread down his cheeks from his ears. "Don't be ridiculous, Malfoy. You're not attracted to me."

"Really?" Draco doesn't have to feign his surprise. "Don't spend much time around mirrors, do you?"

"I'm a boy."

"You're a man."

Potter does look as if he might have a stroke from the redness of his face, and Draco decides to cut this meeting short. Let Potter get used to someone else making the choices for him. He sighs and stands. Then he bends down and gives a quick stroke to the nape of Potter's neck, a sensitive place he won't have thought about protecting.

Potter gives a full-body shiver that makes Draco smile. Potter might not be attracted to him in a way that would ever have resulted in anything if they were free and unbonded, but he's also never had sex. That makes him susceptible. "See you tomorrow, Potter," Draco says, in the same low tone but this time loud enough to be heard, and strolls to the door, rolling his hips.

He hears the outbreak of voices behind him and grins. Potter can deal with that curiosity until tomorrow.

Draco anticipated the fist that hits his door the next morning, although admittedly not so early. He stands and stretches, already awake, and works the last of the languor out of his limbs before he goes to open the door and reveal Potter.

Potter spins into the entrance hall and whips around. Draco catches his breath. Potter has been either calm or embarrassed the last few times Draco saw him. This is the way he was meant to look, burning like a brand.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, nothing that someone listening to me won't fix."

"You—you made everyone think we're dating!"

"I know. Isn't it fun to make someone else have to deal with lies?"

Potter stalks up to him and strikes him in the middle of the chest with one finger. "I was trying to save your life, you great bloody git! I thought you would be upset if you knew about the bond. That was why I kept it quiet!"

"And instead, I'm upset because you lied. I'm afraid that you have to deal with your idiocy either way, Potter."

Potter spins away from him and paces back and forth in the drawing room. Draco watches hopefully for the minute when he'll notice how nice the drawing room is; this isn't Malfoy Manor, which Draco will need a few more years before he can live comfortably in, but it's a nice house in Hogsmeade. There are crystal vases on the tables courtesy of Mother and mirrors on the walls courtesy of Father and fresh flowers floating in water in large glass bowls courtesy of the house-elves.

To his disappointment, Potter doesn't look as if he gives a fuck. Instead, he turns around after some stalking and muttering and asks, "What if I tell you everything about the bond? What if I tell the public? Is that enough humiliation for you?"

"It's not about humiliating you, Potter. It's about giving me a real choice."

"I did! I gave you your freedom!"

"Freedom that I don't want if it comes with a debt! A debt I can never repay!"

"You don't owe me a debt!"

Draco folds his arms and tilts his chin back, so that Potter can see Draco's best looking-down-his-nose-at-people impersonation of Father. "You don't command my feelings, Potter."

Potter stops and puts his hands over his face. Draco listens closely, because his voice is muffled this way, and hears, "Maybe this is all a nightmare and I'll wake up in a few seconds. Come on, wake up!" Then he pinches the back of his own hand sharply, and yelps.

"Look," Draco says, getting tired of this display, "you ought to think about all the advantages this arrangement offers you."

"What bloody advantages, Malfoy?"

"Well, for instance, you don't have to carry the secret of the bond on your own anymore. You have someone who can share it with you. And there's the fact that I might donate some money for your Healing research if I thought it was interesting and applicable enough. I'm still richer than you are, even with the fines the Ministry imposed."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy, do you think—"

"And," Draco says, dramatically lowering his voice to save the best for last, "you'd get someone to have sex with. I know that you told me you came up with the bond because you made a stupid mistake and you were young, but you're not as young now. What if you did have a partner you could spend time with?"

Draco's voice seems to have its effect. Potter stands there, staring at him, tongue apparently stuck to the roof of his mouth, as Draco slinks to his feet. Draco makes his way forwards, and slides a gentle hand from Potter's forehead and the scar that marks him even now down the side of his cheek and towards his throat. Potter's pulse is jumping. He looks deliciously vulnerable.

Draco tilts his head to let his warm breath follow the same path. He doesn't kiss Potter, not yet. He's determined Potter's going to beg for that.

"Come on," he whispers. "You know that this is the best solution. You're lonely, you're grieving for the loss of something you thought you would have, and you're all tangled up in resentment towards me, right? Sometimes you wish you'd saved me some other way. Come on, Potter. It's the obvious solution."

Potter abruptly jumps away from him and says rapidly, without looking at him, "I need to talk to Ron and Hermione." And then he races out the door, before Draco can even get an elf to open it for him.

Draco sighs and retreats to his couch to contemplate his flowers. He supposes that it was inevitable Potter's friends were going to get involved, but he can't say he's at all looking forward to seeing them again.