A throaty gasp escaped Draco’s lip as his mind made the leap from sleep into consciousness. Even when his head stopped spinning he could still feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. Still catching his breath, Draco moved aside his bed hangings to peer out at the dimly lit dorm room. There had been a noise when he first awoke and he wanted to be sure Blaise wasn’t about to descend upon him with his usual, concerned looks. Draco listened and scanned the room, but nothing moved and there was no noise other than the light sounds of sleep from behind the other curtains. The noise must have been his imagination—the last part of his dream as he came out of it.

Draco let the curtains fall back into place around his bed and sat back against his pillow, grimacing as his sweat-dampened pajamas clung awkwardly as he moved. He shifted and heard the crinkle of parchment. Carefully, he retrieved the parchment from the rumpled sheets. Last night he had fallen asleep looking at Ian’s most recent letter. There had been seven of them since the accident and they increased in frequency as each failed to gain a reply. Draco fully expected that Apollo would swoop into the Great Hall bearing yet another missive later in the morning.

He knew Ian was worried, but words failed him when he tried to write a reply. In this last letter, Ian informed him that he would be getting a room in Hogsmeade for the weekend and that if Draco didn’t meet him there, he fully intended to go to Hogwarts to find him. The ambivalence of his emotions concerning Ian’s visit was just one of many things weighing on his mind.

It wasn’t that Draco didn’t want to see Ian. In fact, he was sure that he had never wanted to see him so much in his entire life. It was simply that those bursts of longing were interspersed with intense feelings of shame and sadness.

Some of it Draco could almost rationalize away. He had felt a certain amount of nagging loss hanging on him since he first woke up after the quidditch accident. It was all somehow attached to his nightmares, which had become more persistent while remaining vague and hazy. At certain times during his waking hours, he could push these feeling out of his mind for a brief while or bury them under the rational that it was just a dream. It was only ever a temporary patch, but an increasingly necessary one. However, it was the things that Draco could not rationalize or deny that caused the greatest amount of anxiety and subsequent ambivalence over seeing his lover.

Draco hadn’t been able to look at Ben or Harper in a week. The day after his confrontation with Pansy, Ben had decided to continue in his efforts to make sure he was taking care of himself. Draco was reeling from recent events, confused over what had happened between him and Pansy that day in the hospital wing, and yet he could somehow feel the concern pouring off of Ben.

Something at Draco balked at this. First, because some part of him didn’t feel he deserved so much concern and second, because he was already filled to capacity and incapable of handling another emotional interaction. Sitting there that day, talking to Ben, Draco felt like he was about to burst and he reacted instinctively. With anger.

There was no doubt that he had said more hurtful things to people in his seventeen years, but that hardly mattered when he saw the look on Ben’s face. That look had brought him back to reality, but now Draco hardly trusted himself to be around Ben even long enough to apologize. Anger had become the only barrier between him and the feeling of being completely overwhelmed. He had never been so ashamed of himself and he didn’t know how he was going to make it up to Ben or face Ian.

Rubbing his eyes, Draco pushed his curtains back once more. He stored the parchment in the bedside table with Ian’s other letters, grabbed his toiletries and some clothes, and headed for the bathroom. It was ridiculously early, but Draco had learned from experience over the past days that trying to go back to sleep was useless. Instead, he spent the peaceful hours doing his homework and reading ahead for classes. The extra work from Pomfrey and Snape was time consuming and pairing that with his lack of focus during classes, not to mention his shaky performance on a broom these days, made these morning work session necessary.

Merlin! The thought of getting on a broom terrified him. Being the captain of the team meant he had been able to stay lower to the ground, commenting on his teammates’ progress rather than dashing at break-neck speed around the pitch. Even hovering on his broom made him anxious as memories and emotion from the accident played in his head.

Draco had only been studying with Pomfrey for a short time, but he recognized the symptoms of post-traumatic stress that she had outlined. At the time she had been pointing out that healing of the mind was often as important as healing of the body. He was sure this was Pomfrey’s way of making a point about his lack of empathy, but it actually relieved him to think that at least something going on in his head was explainable, if not immediately repairable. The truth was that he couldn’t avoid flying his broom forever. His teammates were already hinting at his lack of practice and Slytherin had a game not too far off. The reaction of his housemates and the school when he abandoned his position would be unavoidable, but no matter how much he might like to, Draco knew this was not something he could just get over.

Just as Ian’s letters and the concern of Ben and his friends were not things he could ignore. He would find Ben and apologize and meet Ian in Hogsmeade. He would do it even if this tension threatened to crush him and then he would deal with that too.

It was going to be a long day.

Resolutions were easier made then carried out, Draco decided as he nearly stumbled to the Snape’s office later that day. He had planned to find Ben at breakfast, but the boy had been late and by the time he arrived the post had come. There had been no letter from Ian as there had been everyday for the past three.

Rationally, Draco knew Ian had never smothered him when he was upset. He would see Ian in Hogsmead the day after next and Ian was just giving him the next two days to sort himself out before they saw each other. Irrationally, he imagined Ian’s anger at his treatment of Ben, his annoyance at not received a reply to his letters, and his realization that being in a relationship with Draco Malfoy wasn’t worth the aggravation. Rational and irrational argued all through breakfast, through his morning classes, at lunch, and on into the afternoon. Each made some valid points and despite knowing that Ian loved him, self-doubt had irrational ahead by five points. It was now time for his lesson with Snape, he still hadn’t talked to Ben, and he was exhausted.

Draco knocked on his professor’s office door. Snape’s impatient drawl demanded he enter. This wouldn’t be a pleasant evening. Thank Merlin he wasn’t late.

Snape was stirring a potion on the far side of the room when he entered. He didn’t even look up when he spoke, “There are instructions for the potion we talked about last week on my desk. Make it. Sprout gathered the ingredients fresh and those are on my desk as well so don’t mess it up and don’t take all night.”

Draco knew better than to reply. Instead he did his best to keep his weariness at bay and think back to last week’s private lesson as he read through the instructions. Natural healers are capable of healing the most grievous wounds even when regular healers would claim there was no hope, but that didn’t mean they had an unlimited amount of magical energy to expend. Natural healers who weren’t efficient with their use of energy or who didn’t know their limits were in danger of putting themselves into a magical coma. This potion, the gavande potion, could be altered easily to be either ingestible or topical in application and contained ingredients that helped magnify a natural healer’s applied magical energy.

While natural healers were rare and even fewer actually practiced, this potion was considered a staple in avoiding constant exhaustion and coma. The trick was that it had to be made by the healer who used it. Unfortunately, it also teetered on the edge of dark magic because it required a small amount of the healer’s blood.

He wished he had paid more attention at the time, but Draco could only vaguely remember the heated situation involving the potion around he same time the whispers of the Dark Lord’s return began. Panic prompted heavy regulation on all magical material that could even remotely be defined as dark. A long list of potions, including gavande, had been brought before the Wizengamet to be banned. The small population of practicing natural healers had protested, only to be accused of being dark themselves. The potion was banned anyway, and some of the healers with suspect family members had been coerced into serving the ministry and worked to the point of magical coma. Draco wasn’t entirely sure if they had fully recovered or not. In any case, the potion had finally been re-legalized and Snape had insisted he learn it before “those idiots” changed their minds again.

Snape began muttering under his breath across the room. The Wizengamot were idiots, Draco decided as he started adding in the final ingredients to the potions. Did they really think that their use of people as a means to an end was more moral than the way the Dark Lord had threatened families? He dropped the palmarosa, meant to calm the mind of the patient, into the cauldron.

People were hurt and manipulated by the Ministry just as they had been by the Dark Lord and his followers, yet everyone overlooked that, while pointing fingers as the Slytherins, him, and his mother. Hypocrites! Draco pulverized the echinacea and tossed it in with a strong stir.

Snape growled in frustration and Draco frowned. He really couldn’t say much for himself. The spirulina algae went in, to help produce blood cells. He knew he had always acted as an ignorant child with no control over himself, especially as of late. He picked up a sharp knife, ready to prick his finger on the tip for the final step. Of course everyone thought badly of him and soon Ian would as well, if he didn’t already. He was so stupid!

Draco jerked back from the table in surprise at the biting pain in his hand. The movement made the pain worse and he looked down to see that he clutched the blade of the knife tightly in his left hand. Blood ran in rivers from between his fingers and it almost took a force of will to unclench his fist and release the knife. He couldn’t see the cut with the blood flowing from the wound and dripping on the potion-stained floor. For a second, he remembered watching blood wash down the drain in a white shower stall…

“Stupid Child! You need a drop of blood, not your whole hand!”

Draco turned to see Snape approaching with a furious look on his face and suddenly he could barely draw breath. He clenched his wounded hand back into a fist, letting the pain ease the need to crawl out of his own skin.

“Stop! Stay away!” Draco heard someone gasp as he backed up into the table, causing his cauldron to slosh dangerously.

Snape stopped in his tracks, “Of course, Pomfrey would be fool enough to believe you have no empathy!”

The inescapable pressure spiked and dissipated to nearly nothing as Snape’s eyes became unfocused for a moment and his features blanked. Draco gasped in relief and slid to the floor, not caring that he was sitting in his own blood. He could suddenly think clearly again without the overwhelming emotions taking over his thoughts.

“You’re lucky I know occlumency. More than that, you are lucky that you were with me so I could recognize your condition before you drove yourself into shock or a coma,” Snape said in an uncharacteristically serene tone. The Professor firmly took his fist and forced his fingers open. Draco nearly sobbed as the touch came without the feeling of being overwhelmed. He only realized how painful it had been now that it was gone.

“What’s wrong with me? Am I losing my mind?”

“You’re an empath and an incredibly strong one considering Pomfrey wrote you off as having no abilities. You’re not going crazy, but I’m sure you feel like you are. You might have done serious harm to yourself, had you gone undiscovered. I imagine you might have given into self-mutilation to help ground the emotional confusion,” Snape explained as he skillfully collected some of the blood from his hand and added it to the cauldron. “It won’t be as strong since I added the final ingredient, but it will do for now.”

A vial of the potion was held to Draco’s lips and he drank automatically, still too dazed even to notice the muddy taste. Draco handed the vial back, “What do I do, Professor? How do I make it go away?”

“You don’t make it go away Mr. Malfoy. You learn to manage it and it will become a gift rather than a burden. However, before we get to that you need to heal your hand and get an undisturbed night’s sleep. Now focus before you get anymore blood on my floor,” Snape finished without real bite as he moved away.

Draco could already feel the potion move though him, a calm replacing confusion. He took that small piece of clarity and focused on his palm. Spells weren’t necessary, just concentration. Draco closed his eyes and thought of the dead cells that had once made up the unbroken surface of his palm. Cells were constantly being regenerated by the body and he called to them, persuading them to grow quickly and replace their fallen comrades from one end of the wound to the other, the dead cells washing away in the last drops of blood.

Something touched his hand and Draco opened his eyes to see a clean wet cloth pressed to his palm, wiping away the blood. When it was removed the only sign of the cut was the tender line of fresh cells that would soon blend away, not even leaving a scare.

“Well, Pomfrey taught you something. Drink this,” Snape said as he thrust another potion at him.

Draco drank it automatically, recognizing the taste of ingredients generally used in strong sleeping potions, “Sir, I’ll never make it out of here. I’ll be out in minutes.”

“Good,” Snape answered as Draco’s eyelids became heavy, “you won’t be disturbed by wayward emotion when you are moved to the Hospital Wing.”

“Hospital wing?” Draco slurred.

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy. You will need to be quarantined until you have gained some control over your ability. By the end of the weekend you should be more comfortable around other people,” Snape answered while reaching out to support his students increasingly limp form.

Draco forced himself to protest through the haze, “Hogsmeade. Can’t…”

Snape finally allowed his emotions free as his student passed into slumber, “Hogsmeade weekend is the least of your concerns, Mr. Malfoy.” The Professor drew his wand in preparation to move his student. After Mr. Malfoy was resting soundly, Professor Dumbledore and Narcissa Malfoy would need to be informed. It was going to be a long evening.