(A/N: Rated M for mature content and language.

I freely admit I troll fanart sites. Frequently. I recently saw a cluster of Dr. Harry pics and it spawned this. I haven't read many Dr. Harry fics yet so hopefully this doesn't turn out clichéd or predictable. Harry is a Muggle doctor (we'll let him explain why as we go along) and has a most surprising patient. Guess who? Oh, fine... it's Draco's son! And cue the Drarry... Heh.

Warnings: EWE. MalexMale slash. Smut. Language. Derogatory/hate speech. Mentions of/Implied child and spousal abuse. Mentions of Mpreg (and miscarriage). Questionable medical knowledge (Google and personal experience only goes so far; please forgive any glaring errors but feel free to kindly point them out).

Enjoy! :))

Draco Malfoy held his son close, trying to sooth his quietly sniffling child as they waited for the healer... er, doctor.

He couldn't still his jiggling knee, even if he wanted to. He was anxious as it was with his son being injured... And being in the middle of a Muggle hospital (an American Muggle hospital) with his injured son wasn't helping his nerves any. He tried to keep the sneer off his face as he looked around the drab room and the people he could see just outside the flimsy curtain. Some were medical staff rushing about, others were patients shuffling about or staring blankly as they sat in the uncomfortable plastic chairs as they waited their turn to be seen.

How embarrassing was it that this was where he had to take his son?

Draco looked up when he heard a staticy, disembodied voice paging Doctor Cunningham, Doctor Cunningham to room 312 for the third time and he sighed loudly. They had been waiting for Doctor Cunningham for nearly 20 minutes now; if he were paranoid, he'd think it was personal.

He knew better, though. Americans, in the scattered but fairly large magical communities, were largely ignorant of his family's history and the role they played in the last Wizarding War. (Most Americans didn't even know there had been a problem across the pond. He sort of envied that, honestly. The ones aware of the struggle didn't have many details and tended to shrug it away; it was over and done, not worth talking about anymore if it wasn't deemed important day-to-day.)

So, reality—and not his overactive imagination—meant American Muggles, especially, didn't know (or loath) the name Malfoy. The wait was just simply how it was. For everyone. It was stupid, and rather inconvenient, but at least it was the norm.

Draco gently shushed and soothed Scorpius when his son whimpered and sniffled again. He was pretty sure the pain medication wasn't helping... Damn Muggles and their stupid, ineffective pain medication. It took too damn long to work and he found himself wistfully missing the horrible tasting pain potions of his childhood. For the most part, they tasted like poached skunk's arse, but they worked. Quickly.

He straightened when shuffling, quick footsteps approached the room they were in instead of walking past. He felt a moment of wild hope followed hotly by a surge of panic when he saw the doctor. The head of messy black hair and short, lithe build (noticeable even with the baggy, white doctor's coat covering the man's body) was eerily familiar. The man even had glasses; they were thin, modern frames that were virtually invisible at the right angle.

Just as he was trying to convince himself there was no possible way Harry Potter could possibly be standing in front of him (Ladies Fate and Luck didn't hate him that much, did they?) the man looked up.

Draco caught surprised green eyes and mentally cursed. Fuck you sideways Fate and Luck, you sour old twats, he thought morosely. He stayed still, keeping a comforting grip on Scorpius as the doctor (who was not Harry fucking Potter—it just had to be some random, cosmic 'everyone-has-a-twin' thing) shuffled into the room. He narrowed his eyes when the doctor looked everywhere (the chart, the room's floor, even his son) but at him.

"Scorpius Malfoy," Doctor Cunningham said, trying his damnedest to ignore Draco Malfoy's presence. He checked the file once more, confirming name (yeah, definitely Scorpius Malfoy—dammit) and age, (6 years old, going on 7 in a week) as well as why he was there (injured elbow). "I'm Doctor Cunningham," he said, eyes flicking briefly to the elder Malfoy. He'd curse his luck, but it was a moot point... By now, he was used to the occasional bout of horrendous luck.

He quickly redirected his attention and smiled at the little boy and pointed to the arm that was being cradled gingerly against a small midsection. "Hurt our arm, I see. May I take a look?" He pulled a wheeled stool closer and plopped down on it. He waited until grey eyes (just like Malfoy's) flicked all over his face, apparently searching for something. Scorpius finally nodded slowly and he nodded back, pleased he seemed to have passed some test and offered another small smile.

"Let's have a look," he said softly and gently looked at the boy's arm. The elbow was swollen, looking painful and inflamed. Definitely broken—elbows didn't swell up otherwise. He didn't prod or poke at it, sparing the child the unnecessary pain. "It appears to be broken, but we'll get an X-ray to be sure, hm?" he asked Scorpius, giving the small blonde a winning smile when he nodded importantly, giving his consent. He focused on the child's chart, avoiding the elder Malfoy's gaze and quiet "Potter".

He was going to ignore that damn blonde. His name was Cunningham, dammit, and that was the only name he would respond to.

"Right, let's get you to X-ray," Harry said to the younger blonde as he stood. He waited for Malfoy to help Scorpius to his feet and eased a hand over the boy's narrow shoulders, smiling down at the little blonde when he just followed along without protest or pulling his arm away. "So, how did we do this then?" he asked, nodding towards the arm Scorpius had tucked against his side protectively.

Elbows weren't common areas to break, but he saw it enough to wonder if it was some sort of athletic accident. The old 'it's all fun until someone gets hurt' was not just an old cliché, in his opinion. He spared a moment to curse the invention of trampolines, loathing the high percentage of children he saw due to the damn things, before giving the small blonde his full attention again.

He noticed the way Scorpius shoulders stiffened and he looked warily, questioningly, back at his father. As much as he wanted to, he didn't follow the child's gaze to look at Malfoy. For about a whole 10 seconds. The blondes seemed to be having quite the silent conversation and he could not decipher what was being 'said' apart from the child's unease.

Draco cleared his throat and gave his son an apologetic look. He looked at Doctor 'Cunningham', his face blank. "Bit of a mess on the stairs tripped Scorpius up," he said after a pause. He wanted to wince; it sounded like a pathetic lie to his ears, but Harry was nodding a little. He was almost annoyed the man had gone back to studying the tiles or nodding to random staff that passed them instead of having the decency to look at him.

"He landed funny and his elbow swelled up like a balloon moments later." The panic and anguish in his voice was real, even if the story wasn't. He gave Scorpius' shoulder a consoling pat and squeezed gently, offering a silent apology.

"I see," Harry said, trying not to look at the elder blonde any more than he had to. He didn't want to have to explain to the child why he was glaring at his father, after all.

Also, it was unprofessional—and he prided himself on maintaining his professionalism through any challenge.

Even blonde gits.

He hadn't seen the blonde bastard in years—before he'd even made himself at home in Muggle London. Sure, he didn't exactly hate Dra—Malfoy; they had sorted through quite a bit of childhood issues after Malfoy's trial (and the return of his wand). They had actually become friends; it hadn't been easy but they'd managed to stop trying to kill each other and verbally attack the other after Hermione (Merlin love her) had threatened to hex them for being childish wankers. Not even Malfoy had the bottle to disagree with her, probably remembering Hermione's right hook. After that, they tried to get along. It became less and less of a shock as they started to realize how much they shared in common the other.

Until Malfoy started ignoring his owls, floo and phone calls. After several failed attempts, unopened letters returned by Malfoy's owl—instead of his own, indicating the blonde had gotten the letter but was ignoring it, forgoing giving a response for whatever reason.

He had, eventually, gotten the hint that Malfoy was over their trail friendship.

Surprisingly, it had hurt. He thought they'd started to get along really well (well enough to have Ron in frequent jealous snits that only served to amuse Draco). He'd even started to notice his feelings changing into ones more-than-friendly when the blonde buggered off without a backwards glance. He had his tantrum, Hermione rolling her eyes but talking him through his angsty moments and a thankfully brief, unhealthy relationship with Firewhiskey. He finally got to the point he was able to respect Malfoy's unspoken wishes to sever ties and eventually left him alone.

And now, here was Malfoy—with his adorable (even with tear-stained cheeks) mini-me. Even as it hurt a little to see Malfoy had a son, he couldn't help feeling a detached sort of happiness Malfoy had a son, an heir, like he'd always wanted. He tried to ignore the pleasant feeling he felt flutter through him to see Malfoy's open affection for the child, but it was difficult.

He wasn't aware of his thoughts mirroring the blonde's when he cursed Fate and Luck. Why did the Malfoys have to come to a Muggle hospital? And even worse, to his hospital? He never would have, in a million years, expected to see Malfoy move across the pond... to America—the git never had anything nice to say about the country (or Americans), so it was a shock. But he wouldn't ask about it. It really wasn't his concern and he had a feeling Malfoy wouldn't offer an explanation, anyway.

Harry cleared his thoughts and got Scorpius settled on the X-ray table, watching the tech lay a leaded apron over his body and shift his arm as gently as she could, murmuring apologies for each pained whimper. He ducked behind the partition, pleased the tech didn't kick him out. It was over quickly and the tech was helping the young blonde stand moments later. He escorted Scorpius back to their waiting room, relieved Malfoy hung back as they walked.

"Be right back, kiddo," Harry said brightly, leaving before either blonde could comment. He needed a moment and he also needed to find the tech for the X-ray images. He adored Muggle technology and that X-ray technology had advanced to the point they could, for the most part, be read on any computer or hand-held tablet now. He tapped and swiped at his tablet, bringing up Scorpius' X-rays. He tsked softly, noticing the break. It wasn't terrible, just a bad fracture really, but enough to cause massive amounts of pain and swelling.

He grabbed casting materials and headed back to the Malfoys. He held up the package, "I hope you like green?"

Scorpius chewed the inside of his cheek, sneaking a peek at his dad. "Uhm, red's my favorite color," he said softly. He gave the doctor a shy smile and really hoped he wouldn't be stuck with green... Maybe if they had camo print it would be cool but not just plain green. Yuck.

"Oh, be right back," Harry said, trying not to smirk or gape like a fool. He quickly ducked out, chuckling softly as he swapped out the casting material. He was probably more amused than he should be to know Malfoy's son liked the color red over green. He popped back in the room and got everything ready. He dragged his wheeled stool back over, settling himself right at the end of the bed Scorpius was perched on. "So, this your first cast?" he asked, simply to make conversation.

He did notice the way the boy stiffened once again without offering an answer, but he just hummed with a small shrug and stayed focused on his task. He was happy with silence... He positioned Scorpius' arm, instructing the little boy to keep it still, and started wrapping it with batting.

Scorpius, and his dad, watched the casting process with detached interest. This was Scorpius' third cast, after all, and he was no stranger to the procedure. Both blondes were impressed with Doctor Cunningham's agile fingers, gentle touch, and knowledgeable technique, as well. By the time Doctor Cunningham was gently smoothing the red overlaying casting material, Scorpius was feeling pleasantly groggy and lightweight. "I hate casts," he muttered, his voice slurred and heavy with the pain medication. "Itchy."

"I bet," Harry said non-committally, recognizing the mumblings of a dozy child. Just as he finished smoothing the cast, rounding the edges for comfort, he noticed Scorpius was out completely, the pain medication finally knocking him out and into sleep. "Third, correct?" he asked Malfoy without looking up at him. He focused on smoothing the edges of the cast, keeping his hands gentle so he didn't jar Scorpius' arm more than he needed to.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment. He had hoped Harry's earlier question meant he wasn't aware of Scorpius' medical history. Bugger. "Yes," he admitted. He hated that he had to see Muggle doctors. He hated that they kept thorough records even more.

Harry merely hummed, unsure what to say. He didn't want to discuss anything personal and he knew Malfoy would shoot down any attempts to ask about problems at home. He didn't want to accuse the blonde of anything, but he was getting a funny feeling in his gut. He ignored it though, taking Malfoy at his word that the cause of the injury was a simple combination of bad housekeeping and childhood clumsiness (he had seen Teddy trip over air enough times to know some children were just uncoordinated). He watched the blonde gently smooth hair away from Scorpius forehead and place a lingering, gentle kiss to his temple. It really didn't look like the action of an abusive parent (or one overly compensating).

He rolled his stool away, scooting as far back as he could and still give a semblance of politeness. "You'll have to call for an appointment and come back in a few days so the area can be X-rayed again," he said, handing Malfoy and out-patient care-sheet print out and the contact information for the Pediatric Orthopedic department the hospital worked with. "They might adjust the cast a bit, since the swelling should go down soon." He watched Malfoy nod, his eyes on the card, knowing the blonde was familiar with the procedure.

"Pain medication?" Draco managed to ask, smoothing a hand through Scorpius fine blonde hair. He once again wished he could just sort everything with a pain potion, but Scorpius was allergic to them and wouldn't stand for the vile taste of alternatively brewed potions. That and he had yet to find a decent Potion Master in this sodding country. American wizards, apparently, didn't bother with the subject and most shuddered at the very idea—most preferred Muggle pharmaceuticals.

Yes, ingesting bat spleens (and other fun things) did sound revolting, but it was a fair sight better than suffering with pain or a hangover if one didn't have to.

Harry cleared his throat and passed over a small, amber-tinted plastic bottle. "It's a low dosage of codeine and Tylenol. There's enough for a week or so, try to overlap the doses so he doesn't experience any pain," he said, nodding at the smaller sleeping blonde. He didn't like the idea of Scorpius dealing with the pain and it was easier to keep pain away than trying to chase it away. He watched Malfoy pocket the bottle and turned on his stool, sure the blonde would take his son and leave.

"Cunningham?"

Harry knew he was asking about the name and not addressing him. He chose ignorance though, and just hummed, cocking his head a little to indicate he was paying attention.

"You know what I'm asking, Harry," Draco said archly, annoyed Harry was being an arse. He knew the ex-Gryffindor well enough to practically read his mind. Even after all this time. He sucked his teeth with annoyance when Harry only continued to look at the charts, occasionally making notes in his chicken-scratch. He carefully slid out from under Scorpius, arranging his son on the bed, and poked Harry in the shoulder. Probably a little harder than intended when Harry winced and wrenched his shoulder away. "I'm talking to you."

Harry slowly turned, a wry smile on his face. "Oh, now that you want to talk, I'm meant to just go with it?" he asked, pleased he managed to sound almost bored and not as stroppy as he felt. He sort of hated Malfoy still had the ability to make him feel 14 again, in the worst way possible. He folded his arms across his chest and felt a little mean to enjoy the clear discomfort, and a little guilt, flitting across Malfoy's face. He realized it was probably a little petty, but he still did, just a little. Served the bastard right. He spun back around on his stool, ignoring the arse and going back to his notes.

"I'm sorry about that," Draco muttered. He hated apologizing but he knew when it was needed. He narrowed his eyes when Harry continued to ignore him. "I said I'm sorry, you git. I don't just throw apologies around easily, you know," he said, waving his hands around a little.

Harry spun around again. "And? Fine, you're sorry. Good for you. You're forgiven," he said with an eye roll. "You should take Scorpius home, the hospital beds aren't comfortable." He knew from personal experience how terrible the beds were, having kipped on one here and there during his time at the hospital. He'd rather sleep on the floor... He looked at the younger blonde and couldn't suppress a small smile. Scorpius really was adorable; he looked a lot Malfoy when he was a small, pale, pointy, skinny little prat.

"What?" Draco stared, trying to make sense at the quick change of subject. Well, Harry said he was forgiven, and that was important. Right? Even if it didn't sound sincere, grudgingly given, he was going to accept it at face value. Harry couldn't have changed that much in the past few years to not mean it...

"I will, but I'm curious... Why Cunningham?"

Harry sighed and rubbed at his forehead, making the skin wrinkle. He knew Malfoy well enough to remember he was a stubborn arsehole and wouldn't leave this go. He certainly didn't feel like having the git in his face for hours, demanding answers and poking him incessantly. He had hours on shift yet and he wanted to see the back of him as quickly as possible.

"I kept my married name. There—" He spread his hands out. "Mystery solved."

"You got married?" Draco asked quietly, his eyebrows rising up his forehead. He felt a sensation that he couldn't identify, but felt suspiciously like a punch in the stomach, and promptly ignored it. His brows then lowered and pinched together in confusion. It seemed odd Harry would take his wife's name; that didn't seem a common practice at all. Of course, if Harry had wanted a new surname badly enough, he'd do it happily. The idiot.

Harry sucked his teeth and huffed a sharp breath through his nose. "Yes." He didn't want to tell the prat he was no longer married, very unwilling to delve that deeply into his personal life with the blonde. He wasn't going to go into the divorce or his reasons for keeping his husband's last name, even though they were no longer married. Malfoy would probably laugh at him and tell him he deserved it all for being a naive, idiotic Gryffindor.

"Oh." Draco's eyes lowered until they were resting on Harry's left hand. His ring finger was bare. There wasn't even a line indicating he wore a ring there habitually or recently. Maybe he didn't bother since he was a doctor; he knew quite a few professions were jewelry was a dangerous hindrance and therefore removed. However, there were no marks at all that would indicate Harry wore a ring when he wasn't working, either. It was very curious...

"Where's your ring?" he blurted out. He noted Harry's tense shoulders and supremely annoyed expression and shrugged unapologetically when he was pinned with hardened green eyes. He was curious. Harry should remember that about him.

Harry resisted the urge to tell Malfoy to go fuck himself—sideways—and just took a few deep breathes. "I don't wear it any more. Seems pointless since I'm no longer married," he said with a flat look and a small, brittle smile. He wasn't going to say any more. He wouldn't—

"So, you're divorced then?"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel his blood-pressure spiking... Malfoy was many things but daft wasn't one of them and him asking pointless questions Harry had already answered was wearing his patience thin. "Go. Away."

"No," Draco said smugly and made a show of getting comfortable on the bed next to Scorpius. It was hard and the flimsy padding did nothing to keep the metal frame from immediately pressing against his arse in a most uncomfortable way. But it didn't matter. He wanted the juicy gossip, he could put up with some mild discomfort in the hopes of getting the dirt on Harry.

And judging by the pissy look on the other man's face, it was good, too. Potter—er, Cunningham was divorced! It was shocking and rather scandalous... But he really couldn't imagine how that possibly could have happened. Potter was practically a saint, he simply couldn't imagine what could have had the man end something as serious as marriage. Maybe the bint cheated on him? It was actually a relief to realize Potter wouldn't put up with that, regardless of his annoying self-sacrificing ways. He always thought the other man resembled a doormat too often...

"What happened?"

Harry turned his back to Malfoy, firm in his convictions to ignore the prat. After a solid two minutes of Malfoy asking 'what happened?', over and over again like a hyperactive toddler, he whirled around. He noted Malfoy's smug little smirk, but he ignored it. He was pissed off but not enough to start blabbing his business to the blonde. "Shut up! Merlin, you're annoying! I'm not telling you, so shove off. Take your kid home."

"No, I want to know what happened."

Harry snorted, a sound of dark amusement. "Well, that's just tough shit, now, isn't it. I don't owe you any explanation." He pointed at the small, sleeping blonde and used his stern doctor voice. "You need to take him home so he can rest. And maybe take better care of him, yeah?" he added. He wanted to wince when Malfoy's expression closed off.

Maybe that was a little much...

As a doctor, and a parent, he knew accidents happened all the time- in the blink of an eye. Teddy nearly broke his wrist jumping off a couch when he'd turned away for a grand total of 10 seconds. He was opening his mouth to apologize, take the words back if possible, when Malfoy's lips shifted into a nasty, familiar sneer.

Oh. Well... Bugger.

"Fuck off, Potter," Draco said in a low, clipped voice. "What the fuck do you know? Do you even have kids?" he asked coolly. Harry shook his head, only hesitating a little (he did have partial custody of Teddy but he knew what Malfoy was getting at). Draco smirked meanly, as if expecting the negative answer. "Then you haven't the faintest idea of what it's like being a parent."

Harry swallowed thickly, his hand resting on his lower stomach for a moment before he forced it (and the tight, dark feeling that tried to smother him) down and away. "True," he said quietly, inclining his head slightly, after clearing his throat twice to get past the lump lodged there.

He certainly wasn't going to tell Malfoy about that issue. He'd only told Hermione of his miscarriage- and that was only because she had been the one to find him curled in on himself, his lower half covered in blood, and apparated him to St. Mungo's in a blind panic. He still counted himself (and Hermione) extremely lucky they hadn't been splinched. He cleared his throat again, hardened his expression and looked pointedly at the door.

Harry was a little dismayed they'd gone back to their 'hurting each other' dynamic—and quite easily at that. Maybe that just proved their friendship was doomed before it really even started and it was for the best it hadn't gone anywhere. It saddened him, but maybe Malfoy had realized it first and that was why he stopped bothering all those years ago.

Fine. He could let it go, too. He had other friends; he didn't need a snarky, mean spirited little twat to hang around with.

Draco stared at Harry, confused by the anguish he saw plain as day on the man's face before it was wiped away. He really didn't want to dwell on why it had been a practiced response for the normally open man. He didn't like the easy way Harry just... gave up. It was just plain wrong not to fight with Harry. Maybe he had pushed for too much, too soon. They hadn't talked in years and he forgot how sensitive Harry could be about certain things (even if he didn't exactly know which part of his comment had, apparently, crushed the man enough to close off).

He sighed softly, another apology withering on his tongue, and gathered Scorpius to his chest, making sure he was comfortable and secure. He eased out of the doorway, briefly turning to look over his shoulder. He almost said 'bye', but Harry was pointedly ignoring him so he simply left.