Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor am I affiliated with it in any way.

Author note at the bottom.

Sitting Across from Him

Draco had been at work when he'd gotten the owl, and he arrived still in his fine, black robes with the tailored, fitted suit beneath. He had aged beautifully, as Malfoys always had, and even at nearly sixty years of age, he was more striking and handsome than he had ever been. Only someone who was intimately familiar with him would recognize the subtle signs of stress that had crept into his appearance over the course of the last year. His composure was perfect and business-like, but a closer look revealed eyes slightly bloodshot around the edges—the dark circles below them days old—and his usually impeccable hair was casually falling down around his ears.

He strode across the atrium with long, measured steps, and was met halfway across the room by a thin, haggard wizard with a face like an apologetic, overripe tomato dressed in what Draco was certain were the nicest robes he owned. The man was shriveled in on himself, shoulders hunched and hands clasped at his throat as Draco walked smoothly past him and up an elegant staircase.

"We know you're very busy, Minister," the tomato said, his voice elevated in an attempt to sound optimistic as he followed Draco, "but we weren't sure what else to do. You see, it's very... That is to say, it's not a "good" day, and we were having trouble, and thought that—"

"I don't believe I invited your conjecture, Mr. Eventon" Draco said in a clipped tone, "but I'll be sure to prompt you if I find myself in a cold room and in need of hot air. In the meantime, you can fetch Lucinda and send her to me. Now."

Mr. Eventon's mouth clamped shut immediately, and the cowering man stopped dead in his tracks, watching Draco retreat down a hall lined with numbered doors before turning on a heel and jogging back in the other direction.

Draco winced as he turned a corner and flew up a flight of stairs two steps at a time. He'd have to apologize to Mr. Eventon at some point for being so short, and if there was one thing he hated to do, it was apologize. The tiny Director of Admissions had done the right thing in reaching him, but Draco had hardly slept in a week and his mood was reflecting it.

It was at the top of the stairs that Draco first heard the screams. His pace quickened and his unbuttoned cloak flapped around his ankles furiously as he skirted a sturdy-looking witch in pale blue robes holding a clipboard. She knew who he was, of course, and she watched him go to the room at the end of the hall before sighing and shaking her head in a pitying sort of way. Draco saw, and had half a mind to turn around and tell her off, but she was already walking away from him, her focus returned to her clipboard.

Draco let her leave the hall unimpeded, and turned to the door in front of him. He reached for the knob, but the door was opened before he could reach it. The screaming intensified for the brief moment the door was open, and a younger man walked out and closed the door behind him. The man was about half Draco's age with messy, black hair and striking green eyes, and he looked as tired as Draco felt.

"A-Albus," Draco stammered, looking surprised. The screaming coming from the other side of the door died down to a murmur.

"Good," Albus said, looking tired, "they reached you. I wasn't sure if you were somewhere an owl could find you." He sighed and pushed his glasses up his forehead to pinch the bridge of his nose. Draco put a hand on his shoulder.

"They didn't tell me you were here," Draco said. "How bad is it?"

Albus let his glasses fall back into place. "Bad enough," he said, looking forlorn. "He thinks—Of all things, he thinks I'm him. Or someone pretending to be him."

Draco forced a smile and shook Albus' shoulder gently. "Well, there is the strong family resemblance," he said. Albus returned the smile grimly; he knew it was Draco's attempt at a compliment, but his emotions were too raw to accept it with any grace.

"When was the last time you slept?" Draco asked. "You look like you're about to fall over."

Albus smirked. "You should talk," he said. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

Draco raised an eyebrow at him. "If that's a politician joke, it's hardly the most clever I've ever heard."

Their exchange was interrupted by a thin, pretty witch with red hair wearing blue robes the same shade as the witch from before.

"Lucinda," Draco said, sounding somewhat relieved.

"Draco. Albus," she greeted them both familiarly.

"Lucinda, can you tell me just what in the hell is going on?" Draco asked, turning fully to face her, dropping his hand from Albus' shoulder.

"Well, we knew from the beginning that there would be "good" days and there would be "bad" days," she began. Her voice was somehow both firm and sympathetic. "Unfortunately, with this type of illness, that's the only thing we can reliably predict. There's no treatment, as you well know, and there's no way to guarantee "good" days. What worked yesterday might be the very thing that triggers an episode tomorrow. This disease... It doesn't just affect the afflicted," she told him. "It affects entire families. All we can do is be supportive."

All the air left Draco's lungs in a heavy sigh. He knew she was right; everything she'd said he had already heard before.

"Do you want to go in and see him?" Lucinda asked.

"Is that wise?" Draco asked, looking apprehensive.

Lucinda shrugged. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "Like, I said, there's really no way of knowing for certain. It could make him worse, or it could be just the thing he needs."

Draco was grateful for Lucinda's candor. Naked honesty was a virtue one could rarely find these days, and while her answer didn't make him feel any more confident, it didn't sugar-coat the reality of the situation. Still, he looked dubious.

"I'll go in with you," Albus said. "Maybe seeing us together will be better."

Draco glanced at Albus thankfully, and finally nodded. "All right," he said. "Let's go."

Lucinda nodded, her smile encouraging as she opened the door to the unlit room and ushered them inside. She closed the door from the hallway, intending to wait for them on the other side.

The room was handsome, and larger than it probably needed to be under the circumstances. The bed was a four-poster king and was dressed in shades of green and gold. There was a bureau on one wall next to a writing desk and chair. Off to the right was a small lounge area with a plush sofa and a reclining chair and coffee table. Another door across from the entrance led to a private bathroom.

Light was streaming in from a window facing out onto the garden, casting long shadows against the far wall, and everything smelled like astringent coated heavily in vanilla. The figure on the bed was still and silent now, breathing heavily but steadily. Albus remained standing uncertainly by the door while Draco approached the bed and sat on its edge. He thought it best to let Draco try first.

"Hm?"

Harry seemed confused, as he often did these days, but was smiling pleasantly as he looked over at Draco. Draco smiled with relief and leaned over to brush Harry's hair out of his face. "Hello, my love," Draco said, his voice hoarse.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, looking apologetic. "I think you've got me confused for someone."

Draco's breath caught in his throat and any hope he'd been retaining fell away. He cleared his throat and kept the smile plastered on. "Ah, quite right. M-my mistake," he said, forcing the words out from between his clenched teeth.

"I have got to say, though," Harry said evenly, "you look terribly familiar."

Draco nodded. "I'd be disappointed if I didn't," he said, trying to keep the mood light. "It's Draco," he said. "Remember?"

There was a moment of silent contemplation where Harry's expression remained politely puzzled, then a dawning realization widened his features.

"Malfoy!" Harry exclaimed, and Draco flinched at the sound of his last name being tossed at him like a curse.

Harry jerked back from Draco, his hand grasping desperately for the bedside table. He jerked open the drawer, his eyes never leaving Draco, she rummaged around in it with one hand, but it was empty.

"My wand!" he shouted. "What have you done with my wand?"

Draco raised both hands defensively and to show that they were empty. "No," he said insistently, "you've got it all wrong. It's me," he said. "It's me, Draco. And Albus is here, too, see?"

Albus stepped away from the door and into the fading evening light, looking hopefully at his dad, but this only caused Harry more distress. He pointed an accusing finger at Draco. "I know what you're playing at!" he screamed. "Think you'll shove me in a box and replace me with a Polyjuice double." He scooted further back to the other side of the bed, as far from Draco and Albus as he could. "You won't get away with it! Ginny'll know the difference. Ginny!" he called. "GINNY! Where is she! What have you done with Ginny?! GINNY!"

Every word was a curse, a knife cutting Draco to ribbons. "Just calm down," Draco tried to soothe him. "Just try to remember. Please."

"Dad, please," Albus said. "Everything's going to be fine. Mum's fine."

"Bastards!" Harry screamed. He lunged himself across the bed, his fist soundly meeting Draco's jaw. Draco's head snapped to one side and he fell off the bed onto his back. Harry leapt after him, landing on top of Draco.

"I'll kill you!" he screamed. His hands moving for Draco's throat, but while the punch had taken Draco by surprise, he was vastly stronger than Harry in this state. He grasped Harry's wrists to keep him still.

"Get Lucinda!" Draco roared at Albus, who turned immediately to the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob, however, when Draco's voice cracked as he added, "And... get your mother."

Albus hesitated, looked down at Draco and Harry struggling on the floor, and then left the room. A moment later, Lucinda came in to help Draco wrestle Harry back onto the bed.

"Albus has gone to get Ginny," Lucinda said as much to soothe Harry as to inform Draco. "He's gone to get Ginny," she repeated, this time only for Harry's benefit. Even as she said the words, the tension started to leave Harry's body.

"Ginny?" he asked, his voice small and frail, not like the Harry that Draco remembered.

"Yes," Lucinda said, and Harry stopped fighting them. His eyes were glued to Lucinda, like he had forgotten entirely that Draco was in the room.

He probably had.

Draco slowly released Harry and moved to the far end of the room, out of sight, while Lucinda placated Harry with sweet promises and shushing sounds. He nearly collapsed onto the sofa, one hand over his mouth as he attempted to calm his racing, bleeding heart. The assertion of will it took just to contain his emotions made his head feel like a vice was gripping him at the temples. His head throbbed and his throat constricted; he forced himself to take slow, measured breaths.

Lucinda left Harry's side a few moments later and walked softly to where Draco was sitting. He didn't look up at her, so she knelt in front of him and made him look her in the eyes. "Albus will be back soon," she said, carefully dodging any mention of Ginny. "I have other patients to take care of, but I'll be back to check on you later."

She put a hand on his shoulder as though to steady him, and then stood up and left the room. She closed the door gently behind her, walking past two other uniformed witches on her way back down to the atrium.

When Lucinda was out of earshot, the older of the two witches turned to the other. "Early onset dementia," she whispered to the younger witch, shaking her head. "No one expected it, not for Harry Potter, poor thing."

The young witch nodded; should couldn't have been older than eighteen. "Who's the man?" she asked.

"That's his husband, Draco," the older woman said. "Huge scandal when it all happened," she went on. "Wives and children involved. It was a big mess."

"Don't the two of you have anything better to be doing?"

Both women jumped as though scalded and turned hastily to meet the intense glare of the woman who had addressed them.

Ginny was wearing a severe-looking Muggle business suit, her fiery-red hair was cut pixie-short above her ears, and every ounce of her ire was trained on the two gossiping witches. Albus was standing behind her, a disapproving look on his face as well, but no one could glower like Ginny could.

"M-Mrs. Thomas!" the older witch squeaked out a rushed greeting.

"Best to keep your tongue still about things that don't involve you," Ginny said with a tone of finality.

"O-Of course, Mrs. Thomas. S-sorry, Mrs. Thomas," the older witch stuttered, looking alarmed and more than a little ashamed. She gripped the arm of the junior nurse tightly and hauled her along down the hall to the next stop on their rotation.

Ginny had already been in a fowl mood upon arriving, but now she was truly angry. She stood for a moment, staring a hole in the floor where the nurses had been, until Albus cleared his throat, gently returning her to the present. Ginny seemed to remember why she had come, and continued down to Harry's room.

"Draco's inside," Albus said. It was a warning, but Ginny had already partially opened the door. She cast an annoyed glance at her son, who looked away, and stepped into the room; Albus waited outside.

Ginny's nose wrinkled at the sterile smell of the room that someone had tried to mask over with an ineffective Air Freshening spell. Her eyes drifted from Harry lying on the bed to the other end of the room where Draco was sitting, staring at her. His expression was torn between pain, pleading, and apologetic, but he said nothing. Ginny said nothing back, and instead turned her attention fully toward Harry, who was muttering under his breath something about Aurors.

Ginny sat on the edge of his bed the same way Draco had before, and she leaned across the mattress to peer down at Harry. "Hello, my love," she said, just as Draco had said before, but instead of the civil uncertainty Harry had used with him, his recognition of Ginny was instantaneous.

"Ginny," he said softly, her name like a feather on his lips. Draco's eyes watered, but he neither moved nor spoke.

"I'm here," she told him. Draco could here the smile in her voice, but he knew she was just as tormented by this as he was.

"I was afraid," Harry told her. "I was afraid something had happened to you."

Ginny shook her head. "Why would you think that?" she asked.

Harry struggled for an answer before saying the truest thing he could have: "I don't remember."

I don't remember. I don't remember.

The words seemed to echo from every wall in the room. I don't remember.

"That's okay," Ginny said. Draco could hear the tremor in her voice, and prayed that Harry could not. "Everything's all right."

Harry breathed deeply and sighed, a sound of utter relief.

"I love you, Gin."

Ginny's breathing became choppy and Draco's heart twisted in his chest.

"I... I know," Ginny managed, her voice strained. "I..."

Draco braced himself for the words that would tear him apart, but Ginny choked on them; she just couldn't say it. She turned the choking sound into a cough, and said instead, "You can rest now, Harry. Why don't you get some rest?"

Draco stood and silently crossed to the door, unable to sit in the room for any more of this exchange. He nearly collided with Albus on his way out, but ignored the younger man and walked halfway down the hall before stopping, forcing air into his lungs with every breath. Albus kept his distance; he knew well enough that there were no words strong enough to help Draco now.

Ginny joined them in the hall a few moments later, her eyes red and her cheeks flushed with exertion. While Albus did his best to blend in with the wallpaper, Ginny and Draco locked eyes across the distance between them.

Draco took two steps toward her, and began to thank her for coming, but she stopped him with an upturned hand.

"I didn't come for you," she said, and even though her voice was shaking, it lost none of its force. "I came for Albus, because Ha—because his father doesn't know that he... doesn't love me anymore."

"How long, Ginny?" Draco asked, matching the hurt in her eyes with his own. "How long are you going to hate me? We didn't plan it, Ginny. It wasn't some conspiracy from the beginning; it just—"

"Just what?" Ginny interrupted, danger lurking behind her voice. "Just happened? Just destroyed a twenty-five-year marriage?"

"It was fifteen years ago, Ginny!" Draco shouted, throwing his hands up.

"Fifteen years!" Ginny screamed, stepping forward and jabbing her finger into Draco's chest. "Don't talk to me about fifteen years!" she cried, stepping forward and forcing him back. "I'll forgive you when you figure out a way to give me back the twenty-five years of my life when he belonged to me. Figure that out, Minister, and then we'll have something to discuss."

Draco bit his tongue against his response. Harry wouldn't want them to fight like this, and Draco was too tired to argue with her anyway. He simply closed his eyes and hung his head as she flew around him and down the hall. When he heard the clicking of her heels on the stone steps, he opened his eyes and looked at Albus, who only shook his head.

"That's not a battle you can win," Albus said. "Not today."

Draco nodded. "You're right," he said. "Of course, you're right. These days are just as hard on Ginny as they are on anyone else."

Albus looked glad that Draco understood. "Listen," he said, "why don't you stay the night in case he needs anything. I'll get Lucinda to bring up a cot."

"Sure," Draco said dully, all the fight gone out of him. "Good night, Al," he said, moving back toward Harry's room.

"Good night, Draco."

Draco entered Harry's room as silently as he could manage and walked back to sit once more on the sofa. The steady rhythm of Harry breathing felt like a blessing after the theatrics of the day. Draco watched Harry's chest rise and fall as he slept, hypnotized by the simple movement. He recalled the last fifteen years briefly. Leaving out all the secrecy and lies, screaming and blame-throwing, scandal and headlines—leaving out this past year since Harry's diagnosis—there had been goods times. There had been a few, quiet years that had yielding a happiness Draco never dared dream he deserved.

Had it all been worth it? Had a few years of bliss for Draco been worth the torment that Ginny had gone through for the last fifteen? Had it been worth shattering apart their family? Had it been worth the hell of the past year? Tears caught in Draco's eyes as he realized the depths of his selfishness.

Of course it had.

His time with Harry, however short-lived, was worth it to him. It was worth every terrible thing that he or anyone else had suffered.

A single sob escaped Draco and the tears finally broke past his defenses. He buried his face in his hands and he wept as though he would never stop.

And then the door opened and Lucinda stepped inside. Draco looked up suddenly, distracted from his sorrows. Lucinda didn't look at him like the others—not with pity or curiosity. She looked at him with complete understanding, and she said nothing. She carried a cot in from the hall and began to set it up next to the sofa.

Draco watched silently until she was finished, but when she straightened up to bid him a good night, he spoke.

"Bits of him are still there," Draco said. His voice was small and pleading. He was begging her for something—to understand, perhaps, or to fix it. "I miss him," he told her. "I miss him more and more each day, but... I miss him the most when I'm sitting across from him."

Lucinda only smiled in her gentle, passive way, and said, "You should sleep, Draco. You should get some sleep."

"Draco?"

The sound of his name drifted to Draco from Harry's lips, and Draco was across the room in a second, sitting on the edge of Harry's bed. Lucinda had disappeared silently, leaving the two to one of their rare moments together.

"I'm here," Draco said, looking into Harry's face with urgency.

Harry smiled sleepily at him. "I was worried you weren't coming to bed," Harry said, and Draco choked on raw emotion. Harry wrinkled his eyes at Draco's clothes. "You're still dressed," he accused. "Not working late tonight?"

"No," Draco breathed, afraid of shattering the moment. "No, I'm not working late," he said. "I'm not going anywhere." To prove it, he stretched himself out onto the bed to lie next to Harry.

"Good," Harry said, yawning. "I'm so... tired these days, I think."

"Please," Draco whispered desperately. "Please don't close your eyes." He didn't want this fragile moment to end. Harry could be any version of himself in the morning, and the odds of him being Draco's Harry were low.

Harry smiled playfully. "I have to at some point," he said. As if to prove it, he closed his eyes, shifting closer to Draco on the bed.

Draco draped one arm carefully of Harry, tucking Harry's head under his chin. A moment later, he felt Harry's breathing become slow and steady once more.

Draco sniffed once, sobbed, and couldn't stop the tears from leaking out onto Harry's pillow.

"Please," he whispered, knowing that Harry couldn't hear him.

"Please."

Word Count: 3,759

Note: This is for Charms assignment #8, and is brought to you by the following prompts:

Pairing: Drarry

Sentence: "Please don't close your eyes."

Quote: "Bits of her are still there. I miss her most when I'm sitting across from her." —Candy Crowley

It was also written while listening to "Fix You," the Coldplay song as covered by Kurt Schneider and Austin Percario (which is very different from the original).

I have no idea what at all possessed me to write this, but I am sure it was possession. I've never written slash in my life, but for some reason, the story here called my name and broke my heart, and I knew I had no choice but to make it happen. I hope (and I mean this with love) that it broke your heart, too.