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Draco's brows furrow together as he pulls out his buzzing mobile, wondering why the hell Potter is ringing him. He debates letting the call drop - Potter would probably be calling him to have some inane conversation about the weather - but decides against it. He's not particularly busy right now anyway.
"What is it, Potter?"
There's a few seconds of silence on the other side broken only by what Draco guesses is breathing. He's about to hang up and dismiss the entire call - probably a loathsome butt dial - when he hears Potter's voice.
"Oh. I didn't think you - you'd answer," comes the slightly breathless response. The hair on the back of Draco's neck stands up at that. There's something wrong about Potter's breathing, something off - bad, his mind supplies.
He forces himself to swallow before he attempts to reply.
"Potter, where are you?"
"Hm? That - that's not important. I just-" he stops then and Draco can hear the sound of a wet cough. If anything, it makes the panic in Draco well up and he clutches the phone tight enough to crack it. There's something wrong.
"Potter, tell me where you are." He doesn't care if the request sounds pleading or fearful, Draco's concerned.
"Just... just listen, yeah?" There's another cough, longer and more painful sounding than the last. "I don't have much, time."
Draco hums but he's not really listening. Faintly, he's aware that he's sending patronuses to everyone he can think of - Granger, Weasley, Robards, Theo, Blaise, the entire sodding world.
"You're not listening," comes Potter's wheezing voice and Draco snaps out of his panic-induced haze. He's already closing the door behind him, intent of finding Potter if it's the last thing he does. He just needs him to keep talking.
"I am." There's a long pause on the other side and Draco's frantic heart launches itself against his ribs over and over while he waits. "Potter?"
"Oh," he replies, voice sluggish. It's quiet again and Draco's heart continues its complicated death dance, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. There's a desperation in his steps now as he begins to jog.
His wand is pointing him but he doesn't know how far away Potter is. Anxiety forms a lump in his throat and he forces himself to swallow down a sob as he coaxes Harry to talk again.
"I love you," Potter slurs out, a pained groan following shortly after before his breathing becomes more laboured. "Din't want-to die without 'elling you."
"You're not going to die." Not yet. Please not yet.
There was a huff on the other side - an attempt at laughter if Draco has to guess. His lungs start to burn as he forces himself to run faster, his eyes trained on his wand and his sweaty fingers clutching the phone closer to his ear. A few seconds pass and Draco's heart lurches painful when he realizes Potter hasn't said anything in a few minutes.
"Potter?" Silence. "Potter!"
He curses as he begins to sprint, not bothering to apologize to the people he pushes aside. There's something desperate and anxious crawling up his throat, making it ache until he feels tears running hot down his flushed cheeks. He has to get to Potter.
He doesn't care if all they ever talk about is the bloody weather, he doesn't want to even think of a world without -
"Harry, please," Draco's voice cracks, not caring that his voice is too loud, too vulnerable. The tip of his wand glows brighter and Draco turns into a seedy alley, falling to his knees when he catches sight of the Head Auror and several Healers surrounding Harry, who lies sprawled on the floor, his mobile lying beside his head.
-------
Draco's been sitting in the plastic chair at St. Mungo's for hours, days, weeks, he doesn't know. All he knows is that Harry is somewhere beyond those double door reinforced with some sort of spell to ward off those without authorization - Draco knows, he tried.
He can't do anything but stare straight ahead, his gaze unwavering from the smudge of something on the wall across from him.
Distantly he can hear other people buzzing around. They've tried to sit next to him, Robards tried to question him, but he hasn't had the energy to talk to anyone.
No, all his energy is spent on replaying their entire conversation. Those blasted words Potter had insisted on uttering.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Three words. Eight letters. A simple enough phrase but Draco couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that they'd been directed at him. By Harry Potter, no less.
He's not quite sure why he sticks around, either, but he just needs to know that... that he's alive.
Draco's head snaps up every time a healer so much as passes by, but hours have dragged on with no news about the savior. He tries not to worry about the implications.
------
Another hour ticks by and Draco wants to set fire to the blasted clock ticking away across the room. The sound has started to grate on his nerves and he's convinced that it's mocking him.
Another hour, it says.
The doors swing open twenty five minutes later, and a harried looking healer approaches the clustered group. He speaks quickly, but it doesn't matter - Draco wouldn't have been able to keep up even if he had been speaking as slowly as Professor Binns.
Relief courses through him at the words "recovery," and "stable."
It's all he needs to hear before he crashes back down onto the chair he had only vacated seconds prior.
It's good, he thinks. Potter's going to survive. Of course he bloody would - he's the Boy Who Lived. Draco's never been more glad of that fact.
He should go now. Return to his flat and pretend that none of this happened, that Potter hadn't called him when he was sure that he was going to die.
He should.
Draco stays.
--------
When Harry's cleared for visitors, Draco goes first. The Weasel protests but Granger argues that it was because of Draco that they found him.
Draco doesn't want to think about what would have happened if had let the call drop. He resolves to always answer his mobile. Especially for Potter.
When Draco enters, Harry's eyes are closed and his appearance is nearly ghost like. The blood loss must have taken a toll on him, after all. He shuffles in, unsure if his presence would be welcomed.
He regards Potter from the end of the hospital bed. There's no way Potter meant his words... Draco's damaged. He was on the wrong side, he's too sarcastic, too prissy, too complicated for someone like Potter. Why would he love him?
Just as he's about to chicken out and walk out of the hospital and all the way home, Harry's eyes blink open and he gives him a lazy smile.
"Hullo." His voice... it sounds different. Hoarse, but steady and not breathless or labored like before. Draco suddenly can't find it in himself to talk past the lump in his throat so he just tilts his head in acknowledgment.
"I made a proper fool of myself, didn't I?" Harry asks with a self depreciating smile. The lump refuses to go down and Draco forces himself to shake his head. Just once.
I love you.
The silence is growing unbearable now, suffocating almost, but he still can't find the words to adequately convey his emotions. What does one answer to those three words? Does he even acknowledge it?
Harry's picking at his sheet now and Draco's heart positively aches at the sight of Potter hunched over and gaunt.
But he's alive.
"How do you feel?" Draco asks, wincing at the stupidity of the question. Potter just had a near death experience - he certainly isn't going to feel well.
Still, Potter graces him with a small smile, his green eyes sparkling as if he knows just how mortified Draco is feeling.
------
Draco wakes up to the feeling of a hand running through his hair. It feels nice, soothing, and Draco forces himself to relax and regulate his breathing so that Potter doesn't stop.
"I know you're awake," Potter informs him conversationally after a few minutes. Draco's eyes snap open but he doesn't move because Potter's fingers remain tangled in his hair.
"Oh."
"Are we going to, erm, talk about it?"
"I suppose we should."
He hears Potter - no, Harry, definitely Harry - exhale behind him but luckily, the petting doesn't stop. It's a soothing gesture. Draco would probably be halfway across the country now if it weren't for this small comfort.
"I meant it, you know." I love you.
"I don't know what you want from me," Draco admits quietly. It's a terrifying admission, something about his words leaves him feeling vulnerable and weak.
"Anything you'd be willing to give. I reckon we could spend more time together and just... see where it goes?"
Draco thinks about it. There would be backlash for certain. Stories. Gossip. Rumors. Not everyone would accept it. Hell, few people would accept it.
But there would be Harry. His affection. His brilliant smiles. Love?
"Okay," he agrees before he can overthink it.
-------
It's not always pretty and easy.
They bicker a lot and Draco says insensitive things and Harry - the git - keeps getting hurt and giving Draco's heart a lot of stress. There's nights when they shout and cry and Harry storms out or Draco apparates away but they always come back, apologies on the tip of their tongues.
There's also lots of hugs and kisses, there's comfort and sweet nothings, there's understanding and a bond that runs deeper than either of them are willing to admit. There's dates and nights spent talking until morning, adventures and lie-ins, and everything Draco didn't know he was missing until Harry gave it to him and vice versa.
It's not easy but it's love and Draco clings to it with all his might. There's nights when he fears he will wake up and Harry will be gone, all of this a dream, but he always wakes up to Harry's bony elbow on his chest or an arm thrown over his waist or their legs tangled together and it settles that insecure beast that resides within his ribs.
He's scared, deathly so, so he takes a while to confess his feelings. Harry assures him that it's fine and continues to mumble 'I love you' enough for both of them.
He whispers it at night when he thinks Draco's fallen asleep, he says it in the mornings when they wake up. He murmurs it as he presses kisses up Draco's neck, he groans it when he's buried deep inside of Draco.
He says it whenever and wherever, uncaring of who else hears as long as Draco hears it too.
While Draco doesn't say the words back, he shows them. He's there to patch Harry up when his injuries are 'minor,' he buys the brand of biscuits Harry prefers, and listens attentively when Harry needs to vent. He shows it in his little gestures and without ever verbally expressing it, but Harry understands all the same.
It's on their one year anniversary that Draco finally dredges up the courage to say 'I love you.'
His voice shakes and his heart beats too fast but all his nerves are worth it if it means seeing Harry's brilliant smile and fond eyes.
Because after all, the answer to I love you is I love you, and Draco will answer every time.