Chapter Text
Published - August 20, 2020
Updated - February 5, 2025
Healer Potter was called in to handle a new patient who was being transferred to his care for long-term rehabilitation. That in itself was rare. Most healers can heal injuries and wounds in hours, if not minutes. But Harry didn't want to be in the trauma wards anymore. It reminded him too much of the war. After five years of training and making his way through the ranks, he was allowed to open a rehabilitation ward for magical physical therapy and deep tissue restructuring.
He had a lot of success getting those old injuries that never properly healed right to fade away. Ron's broken leg from third year had started to ache during his Auror Training. Harry was glad that after a few outpatient sessions, it healed right up and proper. He was good at his job. Still, the only patients assigned to his service for long-term care were cases like back injuries from the quidditch players crashing or some other severe blunt force trauma to the body, like a car crash (and that was rare).
He walked up to room three and looked through the observation window. The patient was looking at the wall, away from the door. He had blondish hair, it was a little dark.
"He's a jumper," announced the transfer warden. She was charged with making sure that the patients got where they needed to go and that the ward's healer-in-charge accepted them. Harry did not allow people to dump patients on him just because they couldn't figure it out what was wrong. In no way was he an expert on spell and potion damage, nor did he want to find the counter-curses and antidotes for them.
"Huh," Harry said. Suicide wasn't common in the magical world. Mind healers were supposedly good at extracting the bad stuff out. If they got help, which Harry himself refused.
"Want the rundown?" the no-nonsense warden asked. He liked her directness but also made sure she never talked to his patients much. She agreed with that plan.
"Sure."
"Most of his back is shattered. He couldn't move his feet if he wanted to, but he is Immobilized from the neck down. Limbs are partially healed, but there are still a few breaks. His neck and head are okay, but there's some muscle damage. Would you like to hear the old injuries?"
She only told him the old injuries because he could actually heal them proficiently. He nodded, accepting her sum up, though she was a warden.
"Severe damage in his wrists and ankles."
Harry looked at her for information or an explanation.
"I don't got nothing. The scars are there. Restraints, long term."
"Fuck. What happened?"
"Doesn't talk."
"Mind healer see him, yet," he asked, looking at the patient.
"Oh yeah. She came down."
"And?"
The transfer ward looked at him, directly. "She ran out screaming and is on medical leave with a mind healer of her own."
Harry's jaw dropped. She must have gone into his head without permission and discovered it was a bad idea. "Merlin."
"He also refuses to eat."
"Boy... this just keeps getting worse," Harry said. This patient probably made his rounds through the whole trauma and Mental Health wards before being transferred to him. The intent behind the transfer was clear. Heal his physical injuries and cut him loose, his mental problems untreated."
"What about family?"
"None that I have seen."
"Who found him, then?" Harry asked.
"Parole officer, actually."
"Parole officer. It does keep getting worse." Harry wanted to ask her what the patient did but decided against it. Harry was a healer. It didn't matter.
"Nasty jerk, too. You'll hate him... the Ministry guy, I mean. I can guess why your patient took the plunge with that guy on him," she said, and Harry frowned.
"Can I see the scans?" he said, and she handed him the file.
Twenty-five, the same age as him. The transfer warden might see and hear the obvious problems, but Harry saw the deeper ones, the ones even the trauma healers miss. The patient had been repeatedly subjected to the Cruciatus Curse and many other pain-inducing ones. There were worse internal injuries to his lower region. Severe torture and sexual abuse. His heart sank.
Harry avoided the trauma ward for this reason, but this patient had been shafted from ward to ward with no one looking deeper. Harry couldn't refuse him, though. He was the only one who could fix his injuries and relieve his pain. He looked through the progress notes and wondered why there were no potions in his system except nutrients.
"Thank you, Cassandra," he said, taking the file. Maybe relieving his patient's physical pain will give him some relief. This would take a long time, and Harry would extend it out as long as possible. Some normalcy might help the patient with his mental problems.
"You're welcome, Harry," she replied. She was one of the few he liked to talk with.
Harry opened the door, but the patient didn't look over. As Harry got closer, he saw the hair was dirty, and he muttered a cleaning spell, enraged that the trauma ward healers hadn't even done that. It was light blonde hair but severely tangled, like the patient hadn't brushed it in years. He was shivering and roughly breathing. Clearly, he was scared. Harry felt pity in his heart. He had to be very delicate.
"Good morning. I'm going to be your healer for the next few months."
The patient lifted his head and slowly turned to look at Harry. His gray eyes were cautious, confused and full of fear. "Potter?" he whispered, hardly louder than a pin drop.
Harry recognized him, now. "Malfoy?"
Draco Malfoy stared at him only briefly, like he didn't believe he was real, before he returned to looking at the wall. "Leave me alone, Potter," he said, almost lazily.
"I can't do that, Malfoy. You're in a lot of pain and have a lot of injuries."
"I want another healer," he said, a bit of sadness in his voice.
Harry frowned. It was his right to refuse service, to a limited degree. He had tried to commit suicide, though. His rights to refuse treatment kinda disappeared until Mental Health cleared him.
"Malfoy... Draco. I'm afraid you've been to the other trauma wards, and they could only heal you so much."
"So, they sent me to you last?" he sneered, still not looking at him. "Are you that bad?"
"No, I'm that good, and they would have sent you to me eventually. You need rehabilitation on your back and limbs."
"Don't bother. As soon as I'm released, I'll make sure I do it right," he breathed, with tears in his eyes.
"Kill yourself?"
Malfoy didn't answer and refused to look at him. Harry probably should tell him that statements like that would only prolong his stay in the hospital. Harry would make the proper notes in his file to state as such. He couldn't let a suicidal patient go home.
"Well, there's no way you are getting out of here if you can't walk. So, do you want me to heal you or not, Malfoy?" Harry tried the casual approach.
Malfoy didn't answer. He just kept his eyes on the wall and trembled. Merlin, he's been traumatized, and Harry wished he paid more attention in his Mind Healing rotation during his training. However, the mind healers usually just stared at their patients, and then they wanted him to open his mind to them. Harry refused to go anywhere near Occlumency and Legilimency, again. He knew now why the mind healer ran away, screaming. Malfoy knew both proficiently.
"Alright, I'm just going to start with your left hand, okay?"
Nothing, but more shaking. In an ideal world, he'd wait until the patient was calmer, but he had a feeling that it wasn't going to happen. Harry pulled up a stool and gently took Malfoy's clenched hand. He could see the scars from the restraints, metal if he had to guess. Malfoy was getting more distressed, and Harry tried to whisper reassurances, but he was starting to suspect that actually touching him was making it worse.
Harry could feel for him. When he was beaten as a child, any touch felt like physical pain. He knew the darker things in his past made him touch-sensitive, too. But he had to touch him to heal him physically, and maybe, if Draco associated his touch with pain relief, he might get more comfortable. Harry slowly straightened out his fingers, and Draco hissed in pain. Harry wondered how long they had been broken. He reached out when his magic and felt several fractures and healing attempts. Too many to count. Torture. And what dismayed Harry was that they weren't six years old, when Voldemort was around. They were only a few years old, some as recent as a month. The fall didn't cause it.
He closed his eyes and started silently murmuring the healing chants and repairing even the tiniest microfracture in each finger and metacarpal. He spent over an hour weaving the healing spells in the bones and then repaired the tears in the muscle and tissue around it. He was sweating by the time he was done. He finally opened his eyes, and Malfoy wasn't shaking anymore and looked away quickly, like he hadn't been watching.
Harry took a deep breath. "Well, let's see where we are at. I'm going to remove the Immobulus Charm on your hand but not your wrist. I haven't healed that yet. I just want you to move your fingers, okay?"
Malfoy looked at him like he was crazy, but Harry lifted the charm from his fingers. Harry placed his palm up and made the fingers move.
"You try, Draco."
Malfoy glared at his given name, but slowly complied, moving each finger one at a time. He seemed fascinated with it, as if he hadn't seen his fingers do that in years. It made Harry's heart ache more just thinking that.
"There you go. One hand down," Harry said, with a cheerful voice. No reason to bring Draco down more.
Malfoy turned his head over to the wall, again. Harry wasn't going to expect him to open up so early. Harry was surprised that he had spoken at all with what he had been through.
"I'm going to start on your wrist. There's a lot of damage, and it'll take several sessions to fix that."
"They said it couldn't be healed," he whispered.
"The other healers couldn't heal it. That's what I do, and I'm the only one healing this way in the hospital and at least in the country. I'm very good at healing physical injuries, but it takes a lot of magic, and I can only heal so much at once. That's why you'll be staying here for a long time. Tomorrow, I'm going to have to give you some Skele-gro before we start. There are so many bone chips," Harry said, feeling them and vanishing the small bits. They were smashed to pieces. He fingered an incredibly out-of-place one, and Malfoy sucked in a breath.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'll have the floor warden bring a pain potion."
"No!" growled a voice from the door.
Harry didn't want to jostle Draco, so he only glanced at the door, where a low-level Department of Magical Law Enforcement peon was standing. He hadn't knocked.
"That Death Eater is prohibited from any potions, including pain and healing potions!" the peon insisted.
Harry froze when he realized that Draco had been without any medical potions since his fall. How did the trauma ward allow that? The Department of Magical Law Enforcement doesn't have that much power.
"I don't care who you are. I'm his healer and he will get whatever potions I deem necessary!" Harry spat, not looking at him but instead looking at Draco's reaction, and he wasn't responding well.
"Maybe you don't know who I am! I'm Officer McGrath, his parole officer! I decide his medical care and restrictions! You will not give him any pain or healing potions, and he's a dangerous criminal. In fact, if he's stable, I want him released! We don't need to waste any more time on him."
Draco had nearly stopped breathing. He looked petrified. Tears were streaming down his eyes, and Harry guessed that Malfoy would be huddled in the corner of the room, if he could. Draco was afraid of this man, who was at least one of his abusers in some capacity. Harry didn't turn yet. He was gripping Draco's hand, hoping to avoid direct conflict in front of his patient.
"You're just a parole officer for the Ministry. You have no authority here! You will leave and, if you ever set foot in this building, I will call the Aurors to have you trespassed. Leave now! Mr. Malfoy is now under our care and will be for the foreseeable future!" Harry spat, only turning to glare at him.
"Are you a male warden or something? I've met his healer, and they understood their place! I'll have you fired for talking to me like this! Where's your manager?"
Harry gently put Draco's hand down and stood up. He turned and rounded on the malicious asshole. "Listen here! You have five minutes to clear the building before I call the Aurors."
"Shut up! You can't threaten me! What's your name, punk!?"
Harry hadn't realized that people had forgotten what he looked like. Anonymity at last ! "Harry Potter. Here's my scar if you don't believe me."
He lifted his bangs, and the officer's jaw dropped. "Wait... I apologize...."
"Oh... I see you realize how fucked you are? I'm Healer Potter, and I'm in charge of this ward. My manager is the Head of St. Mungo's and we are on great terms. I'm also friends with yours... Ernie Macmillan, right? Ron Weasley is in charge of him and is running the Aurors, and Hermione Granger is in charge of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I trust you know that they are my best friends? I eat over at their place at least twice a week, you know? Their son's middle name is Harry. I also have dinner with Minister Shacklebolt every so often."
"I'll be leaving. I didn't mean...."
"To what? To overextend your reach? Deny medical treatment to parolees in your care? You should have run when you had the chance. Well, I suggest you find a new job quickly. I'll only be too happy to pass along this conversation. I'll also go find the other trauma healer, too. If you, in any way, made my patient's condition worse with your restrictions, I'll want more than your job!"
"B-But... he's a Death Eater!" he stammered.
"He's a person first and deserves prompt and immediate medical care. And you should know he saved my life during the war, so I'm particularly pissed that this happened. Two minutes before I call the Aurors."
"I'm not doing anything wrong! You can't...."
Harry sent a Patronus through the wall with his thoughts alone. "We will find out."
The officer turned and left. Only a second later, the floor warden arrived. "You called, Healer Potter?"
"Yes, please update security that that man... McGrath... is not allowed in the hospital. Also, no one is to see Mr. Malfoy without my direct consent. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Auror... I mean Healer, Potter," she said, with a smirk.
"In another life, Natalie. Thank you."
"No problem. I'll set the wards myself," she said.
"Yes, bring me these three potions, please," he replied, handing her a note.
"Right away."
She left and he turned back to Malfoy, who looked a little calmer. Tears were still in his eyes, and he was looking away.
"I'm sorry about that, Draco. I won't let him or anyone else come here to disturb you in your recovery."
Malfoy's grey eyes flinted over to him and then back to the wall. He could still see the tears in them. But he didn't say anything. Harry just continued to murmur his healing spells while they waited.
"Thank you," Draco whispered.
"You're welcome, Draco. I will protect you, now."