A/N Huge apologies for the (unacceptable) delay in getting this chapter out. I won't bore you with the reasons why. But it won't be so long again between updates :) -Phoenixstrike.

The title of this chapter, like all the chapters, comes from a Muse song, and this one is Uno:

This means nothing to me
'Cause you are nothing to me
And it means nothing to me
That you blew this away

'Cause you could have been number one
If you only found the time
And you could have ruled the whole world
If you had the chance

You could have been number one
And you could have ruled the whole world
And we could have had so much fun
But you blew it away

Chapter Three: You Are Nothing to Me

"Draco, calm down," Harry says quickly, as Draco spots the lines in his arms and begins to panic all over again. The medical team is trying to keep him still too, explaining- in terms that Harry knows Draco will have barely any concept of as they're all Muggle- what happened to him and why he's in hospital. Instead of calming Draco, the few facts he's clearly caught the gist of are upsetting him further, so Harry makes a decision. Sod the Statute of Secrecy. He draws his wand, points it at the doctor and two nurses around the bedside, and whispers, "Confundo," three times in quick succession, giving him a few minutes in which to explain things to Draco without raising suspicions amongst his colleagues. He quickly casts Muffliato, and leans forward.

"There was an accident," Harry explains quickly. "You're in hospital. A Muggle one. It looks like you Apparated directly in front of an oncoming vehicle, and it hit you. And you were… hurt. Badly. The Muggles brought you here, in a flying vehicle called an air ambulance. These machines and needles that you're attached to take the place of spells and potions, and I promise you, Draco, it's vital they stay in place. Please, trust me."

"Why are you here? How did you find me? And what has happened to Christophe?" Draco says, and Harry can hear the alarm in Draco's voice.

Harry takes a deep breath, and glances at his colleagues, who are still blinking confusedly.

"I'm here because I work here. I'm a nurse, Draco. After we broke up… well, you know I left the magical world. This is what I do now. I didn't find you- you were brought into the hospital when I was on shift. I was part of the team that saved your life."

"And Christophe? Where is he?" Draco is trying to sit up to look at the doors, and is clearly terrified.

"He's… somewhere else here in the hospital," Harry says as he soothes Draco back down, and it's not a lie, exactly; the man Harry now knows is called Christophe is still here. It's just he's in the hospital morgue, rather than on another ward. Best that Draco doesn't know this just yet though, Harry thinks. He's only been awake half a day, and who knows what the information that Draco's- what, his boyfriend?- is dead could cause a huge relapse which Harry isn't prepared to cause. This doesn't make Harry feel any better about the lie though, especially after asking Draco to trust him. "Draco, what is Christophe's surname? We've not been able to identify him."

"It's Lefebvre. He's from Nantes," Draco says. "And can't he tell you his name himself?"

"He's… not awake," Harry says, feeling awful.

"Didn't Rennervate work? And don't give me that crap about not using magic in here, when I just watched you cast the Confundus Charm on those three Healers."

"Doctors. And two of them were actually nurses," Harry corrects automatically, though he's not sure why he's bothering, in all honesty. It's hardly important information. He avoids answering the rest of Draco's question. Draco is staring at him uncertainly now.

"And what is this?" Draco indicates the IV drips which are inserted in the back of his hands. "Is all Muggle medicine this barbaric? Why do they have to insert potions into a person's actual arm?"

"It's the quickest way to get the medicine you need into you," Harry says. "There's a saline solution in this catheter-" Harry points at the small tube closest to him- "this one's not connected to anything at the moment but was being used to give you units of blood-" Draco's already pale face drains of any lingering colour at these words- "and this one here contains antibiotics, which we're administering to you to prevent anything nasty invading your system and making you even more unwell. This one here," Harry gestures to the tube which is located in the crook of Draco's left arm, "contains nutrition, as obviously you've been unable to eat for the past few days. Want me to continue with the entire list of medications you've been given?"

"Muggle blood?" Draco hisses, and his face is murderous. "You let these… these people put the blood of filthy, common, non-magical Muggles into my body?"

"Yeah, I did," Harry snaps back. He suddenly feels angry. Comments like this, he reminds himself, are why Harry had walked out on Draco so soon after their wedding. "It was that, or let you die, see. The human body tends not to fare so well once exsanguination has taken place."

"Don't Muggles have Blood Replenishing Potions or something? Are they really that backwards?"

Harry bites his tongue, and the sharp sting from the bite reminds him that Draco is here not as his ignorant ex-husband, but as a patient, and a rather poorly one at that. He wants to point out all the ways that Muggles have advanced and overtaken wizards- technology, electricity, the internet… sod it, even pens that actually contain ink, rather than having to dip the feather of a dead bird into an inkwell, and argue who, exactly, is it that's backwards? But he doesn't. Instead he answers Draco's question, and explains briefly about blood donation and transfusion. Draco looks positively horrified by the whole thing, and Harry wonders if he should have just not mentioned the whole blood thing.

"Couldn't you at least have given me yours, if you really couldn't have got a Blood Replenishing Potion? At least yours is magical," Draco says, once Harry has finished explaining.

This sentence is so utterly absurd that Harry laughs. It's been years since he's held a conversation with someone with next to no knowledge of the world outside his (or her) tiny bubble of wizarding Britain, and he's obviously forgotten just how ignorant many witches and wizards can be.

"Besides the fact that you needed more blood than I could have given without rendering myself extremely ill, or dead, our blood type isn't well-matched," Harry says, and quickly explains the different blood types to Draco. He bites back another laugh when he explains that Draco, as a patient with AB negative blood, was extremely rare, and thinks he sees Draco's chest puff with unmerited, arrogant pride, as if having a rare blood type is some sort of coveted achievement.

"So, we're not compatible," Harry concludes at the end of his mini biology lesson. Draco's stare bores into him, those cold, steely-grey eyes that Harry used to lose himself in- usually whilst they were fucking, if he's honest with himself- softening slightly.

"No," Draco agrees, and his voice is low. "We're definitely not compatible."

Harry swallows hard and finds he can't tear his eyes from Draco's. He opens his mouth to speak, but in that moment his Confundus Charm wears off and he is suddenly aware of three medical professionals hurrying around Draco's bedside, all looking slightly ruffled and bewildered but otherwise completely normal.

"I'll check on you later," Harry says to Draco, forcing his gaze away. He points to the doctor and nurses. "They have work to do now."

He leaves.

Harry Summons a rucksack from the top of the wardrobe and begins to shove handfuls of clothing into it, not bothering to fold it in neatly. His hands are still shaking from rage, and there is a strong smell of scorched hair from the hex Draco threw at him just minutes before.

Draco is not in their bedroom. Harry can hear him cursing, followed by the sounds of shattering glass, down the hallway of their shared penthouse flat, and knows that Draco has just smashed the crystal plaque Harry had commissioned for Draco when he achieved all O grades on his N.E. .

He can't even remember what their fight was about- not to begin with, anyway. Probably the same thing they fight about every night: Draco's incapability to be even civil to Hermione or Ron, despite the fact Ron had done nothing to deserve civility of late. Harry's total disregard for so-called pure-blood 'traditions'. The article that appeared in the DailyProphet this morning, accusing Harry of yet another affair. The fact that when they're not fucking they simply have very little in common. He can't do this anymore, he just can't.

He grabs the Marauder's Map, his Cloak, and his few other prized possessions, which amount to very few to show for his almost twenty-one years, and throws them onto the jumble of clothing in the rucksack. He gives the bedroom a cursory glance; he'll probably never see this room again. Harry is just so tired of the rows, which are becoming louder, more frequent, and violent. He needs out. Out of this sham of a marriage which he should never have entered into in the first place.

"Off then?" Draco sneers at him as Harry walks down the hallway. He pauses, wand aimed at his and Harry's wedding photograph which has been Levitated from its place on the mantelpiece and Draco was obviously about to smash, and cups Harry's chin in his hand. Harry notices that it is bloody; the smashed crystal has gashed Draco's flesh. Good, he thinks maliciously. He bats Draco's hand away.

"Perfect Potter, Gryffindor paradigm, running away! Who'd have thought it?" Draco says. The tone is cruel and mocking. "You'll be back. You always are." He bends his head lower then and pushes his mouth against Harry's in an almost brutal kiss, which contains no passion or love at all and is simply intended to let Harry know exactly who Draco thinks Harry belongs to. Harry's not having that. He shoves Draco off his mouth with a growl.

You are nothing to me anymore," Harry says. "You lost the right to kiss me weeks ago."

"Which is exactly why you let me fuck you last night, I presume," Draco drawls, and rage surges through Harry. The bastard still doesn't believe that Harry really is leaving. Harry just about resists the urge to throw yet another hex at his husband, settling instead for barging him out of the way with his shoulder.

"Drop dead," he says, then yanks open their front door. As a final afterthought, he pulls off his platinum wedding band and throws it at Draco, before storming into the hallway, heading for the communal stairs. His neighbours will be glad at least one of them has finally moved out, he thinks. They won't need to keep putting up Silencing Charms every time he and Draco row. He reaches the ostentatious, gaudy staircase- Draco had chosen the flat, after all- and takes a deep breath. He's not just walking out on his marriage here. He's walking out on everything he's known and found comfort in since the defeat of Voldemort. And he knows that once he steps onto the staircase, there is no going back this time. Harry's lips are still tingling from the force of Draco's kiss. This is the last time he will feel this. Harry tries very hard not to cry.

He leaves.

Harry phones Hermione briefly to let her know the latest in Draco's recovery, before driving home for a quick bath, a change of clothes, and a meal of beans on toast. Not for the first time since Draco woke up is Harry wondering why he's still visiting; it's obvious that his spell work saved Draco's life and he will recover from the injuries he sustained, so why is Harry continuing to visit? He had intended to go back this evening, but he's so tired, and besides, Harry keeps reminding himself, Draco is not his responsibility. Not anymore. He drags himself to bed, and is asleep in minutes.

He returns to the ward the following morning with a bag of clothes and a few books for Draco, and the first thing he hears after stepping out of the lift is the sound of Draco swearing loudly, from the inside of his room. Quickening his pace, Harry half-walks, half-runs down the corridor to Draco's room, and swings open the door.

"Get… fuck… off…me!" Draco is panting, as a large male nurse Harry doesn't recognise is attempting to hold Draco down whilst a much smaller, female nurse Harry thinks is called Stella attempts to change the dressing on Draco's leg. She is failing miserably; despite the many tubes attached to him, Draco is lashing out and fighting the male nurse, and Harry is quite certain that, any second now, Draco will unleash some kind of wild magic, and then there will be hell to pay. He decides to intervene quickly.

"What's going on?" he asks, loudly enough that both nurses and Draco stop their skirmish and turn to the door.

"Mr Malfoy is being very stubborn about having his dressings changed," says the male nurse, exasperation laced into every syllable. "They're oozing, and need replacing."

"In the name of Salazar, get the fuck off me!" Draco cries. "Potter! Help me!"

"'Salazar'?" Stella repeats, her eyebrows furrowed, but Harry is already next to Draco's bed.

"I want Potter to change them. Not you, not her, him," Draco says, then launches again into his frantic outburst. Harry sighs. That was the other thing that royally pissed Harry off throughout their entire relationship: despite being married, for God's sake, Draco had still insisted on calling him Potter. But now is not the time to think about that, Harry reminds himself, as currently Draco is lying agitated in a bed, with oozing leg wounds, two fed up nurses, he keeps shouting out words like 'Merlin' and 'Salazar' and 'hex', and any second now he's going to make his catheter bag explode, or some other, but no less hideous, incident occur. If changing a couple of blood-stained bandages is what it takes to calm Draco down, then fine.

"It's OK," Harry says, putting down the holdall of things for Draco and grabbing a disposable apron and pair of latex gloves from the sink area. "I'll do them." He stares pointedly at the door, and both nurses sigh, but take their leave. Harry turns to Draco.

"Watch what you say," he warns, as he removes the blankets covering Draco's legs and reaches for the tray Stella had prepared for the dressing change. "Honestly, Draco, what did you think threatening to hex their eyebrows off was going to achieve?"

"Potter," Draco says quietly, "there is a tube stuck up my cock."

"It's a catheter," Harry replies, gently peeling the bloody dressing from Draco's thigh. Draco's eyes widen, and Harry knows he's recalling their earlier conversation when he'd explained the catheters in Draco's hands.

"What potion are those Muggle fools using that needs to go up my cock?" he replies, voice very high-pitched now. Harry has to fight to keep a straight face.

"Different type of catheter, Draco," Harry says as he cleans the bleeding wound from Draco's leg. "You can't, um, get up to visit the loo like this, so it collects urine. Look." He gestures to a large, half-full bag of piss. Draco flushes. Harry smirks.

Five minutes later, Harry has cleaned the wounds and replaced the dressings on Draco's legs.

"They could have done that for you, you know," Harry says, as he fills the information in on Draco's patient chart. "The other two nurses, I mean. They're as qualified as I am."

"I'm not having Muggles touching me," Draco snaps. Harry is about to yell back at this, probably to call him a pure-blood elitist fuckface, or something else completely unprofessional to say when you're a trained nurse and the person you're saying it to nearly died a few days ago, when he notices something else in Draco's face besides the haughtiness that Draco is trying to portray: fear. Harry could kick himself. Here Draco is, in a Muggle hospital bed which is as alien to him as St Mungo's would be to the other patients in this hospital, alone with strangers and being subjected to completely unfamiliar hospital procedures, all the while not knowing what has happened to his boyfriend, or to himself properly. It may have been years since Harry has had to deal with Draco and his moods, but they've known each other now for nearly a quarter of a century. Harry should know what Draco's self-defence mechanism looks like by now.

"I'm sorry," Harry says, and he means it, too. He should have been here this morning after all. "I'll make sure I'm here when you need personal care, OK? And I'll try and do as much of it as I can myself. But, Draco, there are certain things I'm not going to be able to do, and you have to let the doctors take care of you. They're trying to make you better."

Harry is putting all the soiled dressings into a bag when he hears Draco speak once more.

"When are you going to tell me Christophe is dead?"

Harry stills, and looks Draco in the eye. He's not going to deny it, because, really, that would be all kinds of shitty to do that.

"How did you know?"

Draco makes a noise which harry thinks sounds like, "Harumph".

"I suspected he was the minute I asked you about him when I woke up. You avoided my eye and wouldn't answer my question properly. You always were dreadful at concealing information. It's why you made such a bad Auror."

Harry lets the jibe go. Now isn't the time for a row.

"He was brought in the same time as you, but his injuries were more severe. He passed away only minutes after you both arrived in the hospital. I'm so sorry, Draco."

Then, to Harry's utter astonishment, Draco's face cracks into a huge, genuine smile.

"Oh thank Merlin for that," he exclaims, a look of enormous relief spreading across his still-bruised and cut face. "He's gone. He's actually, finally gone. I'm finally free of the bastard."

Harry returns to his home that night feeling exhausted and utterly confused. He throws the takeaway curry he bought on his way back onto a plate, grabs a bottle of Hobgoblin from the fridge, and puts EastEnders on the telly. But not even Bianca Butcher's insane and far-too-loud shrieking at one of her horde of children can distract him from what Draco had told him just an hour previously.

Harry had assumed, for obvious reasons, that Christophe Lefebvre had been Draco's boyfriend.

He'd been wrong. Very, very wrong.

Deciding after a while that he needed to talk to someone, and by 'someone' he clearly meant 'Hermione', Harry grabs his mobile, scrolls through his contacts until he finds Hermione's number, and presses call. As usual, Hermione answers on the fourth ring.

"Hello? Harry, everything OK?"

"Hi, Hermione," Harry says, through a mouthful of Dhansak, "could you pop over for a bit? I need to talk to you about that man Draco came into hospital with."

"Sure," Hermione's voice replies. "Give me ten minutes to finish off putting the girls to bed, and I'll Apparate over."

By the time she arrives, Harry's finished his curry and has a large pot of proper coffee brewing in his coffee maker. He hears the small pop of Apparition in his spare bedroom, then her voice call out, "Harry?"

"In the kitchen," he calls back, pouring two large mugs of coffee, adding milk to both, then a spoonful of sugar to his own, leaving Hermione's without. Hermione walk into the kitchen, gives Harry a confused smile, then slides into a kitchen chair, taking the steaming mug of coffee from Harry's offering hands.

"Daniel's not happy," Hermione says after taking a sip of coffee. "He wanted to go and watch the Champions League quarter-final in the pub tonight. But I told him you're more important than football, and he'd just have to stay home with Amy and Ellie and watch it on Sky instead."

"Thanks." Harry gives Hermione a small smile. "So, Draco knows that Christophe Lefebvre is dead. He's known ever since he woke up, apparently."

"Oh dear. How did he take it?"

Harry takes a deep breath. "Euphoric relief, is probably the closest I can come to explaining it." The flabbergasted expression on Hermione's face is almost comical. Harry thinks he probably would have laughed if the topic wasn't so serious.

"Hermione," he begins, "did you know that Draco was working as an Unspeakable?"

"I'd heard rumours," Hermione says, blowing onto her coffee. "But you must remember what that department is like; no one knows anything. They keep information about who works down there a tight-lipped secret."

"Yeah, well, apparently the Department of Mysteries was working on some huge project that involved international magic- I don't know exactly what, Draco wouldn't tell me- and the British Ministry transferred Christophe Lefebvre and about twelve other Unspeakables from all over Europe and Asia over to work on it. Anyway, this was all about six years ago, in 2008. The project finished up in 2010, and all the Unspeakables returned home, except for Lefebvre, who had apparently taken a shine to Draco."

He pauses then, taking a big sip of coffee. Hermione, predictably, is hanging on Harry's every word, her brown eyes wide and alert.

"Lefebvre wouldn't take no for an answer, according to Draco. He convinced their supervisor to take him on at the Ministry permanently, and he left France and moved to London. He even bought a house on the same street at Draco's.

"He kept sending gifts, apparently. Small things, but enough to make himself a complete nuisance- a box of chocolates from Honeydukes here, a bottle of Ogden's Firewhisky there. That sort of thing. Draco returned everything unopened. This went on for nearly a year. Then one night he and a few other Unspeakables were working late when Draco reached out for a glass of water, and took a swig. The next thing he knows, or can remember, anyway, he's flat on his back in his own bed and Lefebvre is having sex with him."

Harry has to stop here and control himself, for he can feel his magic begin to flare up. He takes a few deep breaths to calm himself, and they work to an extent, but he can still feel the rage boiling close to the surface of his skin.

"Bastard had slipped him Amortentia. Draco said he was always so careful not to eat or drink anything he'd not kept a complete watch over, but it was late and they'd been working for seventeen hours straight. He let his guard down, and Lefebvre took full advantage of it. This went on until last summer."

Hermione claps her hands over her mouth in horror.

"It's Merope Gaunt all over again," she says in a quiet voice through slightly trembling fingers. "Oh my god."

"Let's just be glad they obviously couldn't have a child," Harry replies. He doesn't even want to think about the possibility of what could have happened if two men could conceive together. It might have meant another Voldemort. It's exactly these sort of fucked-up situations that makes Harry glad of his decision to return to the Muggle world. "Of course, after the initial dose, it's much easier to keep slipping it to your victim, and Christophe Lefebvre managed to control Draco with it for eighteen months."

"And none of Draco's so-called friends thought it was suspicious that he'd fallen into a relationship with the man who had stalked him for over a year?" Hermione says. "That's just simply awful. What sort of people are they?" She has turned rather pale now, and affection for his oldest and best friend floods Harry. Hermione and Draco have never got on, but she can find compassion in her to be horrified at the situation. Harry thinks that she may just be the most wonderful person on the planet.

"You said it yourself, Hermione," Harry says sadly, "his friends just don't care enough. They're all far too absorbed in their own lives to spare any time for Draco, who they never completely forgave for marrying me."

"So what happened last summer then?" Hermione asks. "How did Draco break free?"

"Some top-secret bloody Unspeakable thing again," Harry says. "Again, I don't know the full story, but Draco says he was sent into isolation for a couple of weeks, despite Lefebvre's frantic protests, and the potion began to wear off. When he emerged from it he realised what Lefebvre had done, and he tried to flee. But Lefebvre wouldn't let him go."

"Why didn't he go to the Aurors?" Hermione says. Harry notices her coffee is sitting absently on the table, completely forgotten about now.

"Why would they have cared? Amortentia isn't illegal, although god only knows why. And besides, Draco didn't have a lot of faith in the Aurors, not after how they treated his mother after the war."

Harry remembers clearly how Narcissa Malfoy was thrown into Azkaban for three months after the fall of Voldemort, awaiting her trial, despite Harry's protests. He was the one who had worked the hardest to secure her release from the place, arguing that she had never taken the Dark Mark, and had indeed saved Harry's life in the Battle of Hogwarts. It was during this time that he and Draco put their past animosity behind them and began to work together. And it was also during this time that Harry realised Draco might not be quite the massive arsehole he'd always thought he was.

"Draco tried to run. He sold his house in London and moved back to Malfoy Manor, which was warded. He quit his job. He was seriously thinking about moving abroad. Then about two months ago, Lefebvre managed to breach the Manor's wards. He didn't even bother with Amortentia this time. He simply Imperiused Draco instead."

Hermione looks like she wants to be sick. Harry can't say he blames her.

"Luckily, Draco has a strong mind and was resisting the Imperius Curse. He'd almost managed to throw it off entirely when he made an attempt to escape. Lefebvre noticed, and he and Draco got into a physical fight. Draco turned on the spot to Apparate, pulled Lefebvre into it on an unintentional Side-Along, and ended up miles away from where he'd planned in the middle of that road with an effing lorry hurtling towards them." He pauses then to drink the last remains of his mug of coffee. He's not sure whether he should voice his next thought aloud. But, fuck it, he's angry, so why not.

"Christophe Lefebvre is extremely lucky he is already dead. Because if I got my hands on him, I'd rip him to pieces."

"Harry." Hermione's voice is soft, and gentle, and all too knowing, as she places her hand over his. "It's been ages- years, really- since I've seen you this upset over something. Seeing Draco again after all these years… it's not, well, reignited feelings, has it?"

"He means nothing to me," Harry says. "Not like that, not in that way, anyway. I'm just so… so furious that he was treated like that, that's all." He shuts up then, as Hermione is giving him one of her Looks.

"So, when is Draco being discharged?" she asks, tactfully changing the subject.

"Week or so. Maybe two. I'm still casting charms, but I'm keeping them subtle. Nothing too drastic or altering," Harry says. "I think he's going to have to come here as he won't be ready to live alone, but after what he's been through with Lefebvre, that is probably for the best anyway. He's rather upset about the whole thing, as you can imagine."

"Just be careful, Harry," Hermione says, her voice carrying a heavy warning. "I don't want to see you with your heart broken again."

It's another ten days before the doctors decide that Draco is well enough to be discharged into Harry's care.

"Absolutely not," Draco protests, when he's informed he will have to stay at Harry's house for the foreseeable future. "Did you miss the part where I mentioned he is my ex-husband? Emphasis on ex?"

"Mr Malfoy," says the doctor in charge of his care, and really, Harry thinks this woman must have the patience of a saint, given Draco's behaviour over the past week and a half, "as there is no legal separation between yourself and Harry, he remains your next of kin. If you refuse to be discharged into his care, which is your right, then we must make arrangements for you to be cared by Social Services, as there is no other person to whom we can hand your care over." Draco looks blankly at this, and Harry asks for a minute alone with Draco, during which time he explains what Social Services are, and how strangers will have to provide all his basic care, without the added benefit of Harry's healing charms, all the while whist Draco lives in shared Muggle accommodation where he may not even have his own bedroom. It's clearly obvious from the horrified expression on Draco's face that this will not be happening. When the doctor returns, Draco, unsurprisingly, agrees to leave the hospital with Harry.

"As soon as I'm better, we're going to end this farce of a marriage properly," Draco snarls, as Harry helps him into his trousers.

"Fine. Now shut up for thirty bloody seconds," Harry bites back. He ignores the painful knot that forms in his stomach at Draco's words.

"I mean it, Potter. We're going to get divorced, I'm going to get a new wand, then I'm out of here. I'm thinking of Sweden, or maybe Japan. A new start."

"Could you just call me Harry? Is it really that difficult?"

"Shut up, Potter."

Harry pushes Draco harder than he probably should into the wheelchair, then, after signing lots of paperwork, he collects Draco's bag and a bunch of outpatient appointments, wheels him out of the ward and pushes the button for the lift. While they're waiting for it Draco launches into a tirade of criticism, complaining about everything from the food, to the cleanliness of this room, to, "That nurse who had pink hair and looked like a sodding clown", and back to the fact that he was going to have to live with Harry again "After I thought I'd finally got you out of my life for good." Harry surreptitiously draws his wand and casts a Silencing Charm over Draco. Draco glares back in earnest.

Ten minutes later, Harry has Draco safely strapped into the front passenger seat of his car, the wheelchair and Draco's hospital bag is in the boot, and Harry is ready to leave. He's removed the Silencing Charm from Draco, but is very close to putting it back on again.

"…think for a second I want to ride in this tin pot vehicle with you driving it? Why can't we Apparate?"

Harry takes several slow, deep breaths and counts backwards from ten. In German. Then he puts the key in the ignition, switches on the engine, and pulls away from the hospital, to begin what, Harry hopes, isn't one of the biggest mistakes of his life.