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There had been a time when the whole situation would have overjoyed Draco Malfoy. There had been a time when seeing his former rival utterly defeated would have been his most cherished dream come true. There had been a time when he would have gloated in the other man's face, calling out his numerous inadequacies. Yet, finding Harry Potter slumped down in front of his St. Mungo's office on a cold February morning holds none of the expected elation. Potter's rippled clothes and his battered overall appearance kills any ill feeling Draco might still have entertained towards the man.

Draco stops a few steps short of his unexpected guest. Up close, the man reeks of Firewhisky and looks like he hasn't slept, shaved or bathed in days. Life hasn't been kind to him lately. He keeps staring at his trainers, avoiding Draco's eyes.

"Come on, in you go." Draco says as he unlocks the door, ushering Potter inside his office, away from prying eyes and ears.

***


Draco is four years old when he first uses the word Mudblood. He hears his father say it and thinks it is a funny word. His father smiles and nods at him. Draco can't help but think that he did his father proud. He uses the word repeatedly after that, even though it will take a while before he uses it correctly.

He doesn't see his mother frowning in the background. He doesn't see her flinch whenever her sister's family's blood status is mentioned. Then again, he probably isn't supposed to notice these things.

***


Over the years, Draco has become quite good at his job. He hadn't been sure at first. In fact, he had thought that his mother was out of her mind when she suggested it. He had felt awkward throughout his training. However, once in contact with patients, he had quickly realised that his own experiences during the war has helped him relate to his patients' distress. He knows how to interact with each and every one of them. He knows what they need to get on with their lives. Yet, as he busies himself by removing his outer robes, moving things around on his mahogany desk and checking his agenda with Clarice, Draco is utterly lost.

Apparently, Potter isn't faring much better, swaying from foot to foot in the middle of the office and looking a little green in the face. Draco doesn't know whether he should be more concerned for the man's health or for his Persian rug. In the end he conjures an empty basket out of thin air and hands it over, killing two birds with one stone.

"Sit down, it will help you feel better."

He studies Potter, thinking much has changed since he last saw him on Platform nine and three-quarter a little more than six months ago. The black mess Potter calls hair is still the same, the ever-present glasses are still there, but the aura of power and respect the other man used to exude, is gone. The formal Head Auror robes have been replaced with Muggle clothing - a faded pair of jeans, sneakers and a t-shirt that has seen better days. He seems to have lost some weight, his clothes floating slightly around his frame, although when had they not?

"I'm guessing this is not a social call."

"No, it's not," Potter speaks for the first time.

"And considering that you didn't barge in, wand blazing, you are not here on Auror business."

Potter shakes his head and rummages through his pockets until he produces a rumpled piece of paper. "This will explain," he says shortly, handing it over.

Mr. Malfoy,

My request might come as a surprise to you, but over the past few months I have become quite worried about Head Auror Potter's wellbeing. I'd wish that time, understanding and kind words would be enough to get Harry through his issues, but recent events have made me realise that he needs more than that.

I've ordered him to rest and put him on extended leave, something he did not take well. I've also asked that he consult a Mind Healer for therapy if he wants to come back to work. This is why I sent him to you. I know that the two of you have not always been on the best of terms, but I know that you are the best in your field and hope you can help him.

Sincerely,
Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister of Magic

Draco meticulously folds the note back with his long fingers, thinking. He had never expected Harry Potter to have weaknesses, to show vulnerability. The other man has always seemed strong and sure of himself and Draco has always been a bit envious of that. But here he is, sitting in this office.

"Do you want to talk about any of this?"

"Not really, no."

***


Draco is six years old when he first learns about the Dark Lord and the Boy-Who-Lived. He is told stories about the Dark Lord and about his plans for the Wizarding world. He doesn't understand them all, but he gathers that the Dark Lord was quite powerful and he admires that. His father is a powerful man.

He is told that only blood-traitors and Mudbloods rejoiced when the Dark Lord fell. He is told that as a pureblood, he shouldn't look up to Harry Potter. Yet, he cannot help but wonder about the boy, about the power he must also have. He wishes he had a friend like that.

***


Draco isn't sure if sending Potter to him is the Minister's best idea. Draco isn't even sure that with ideas like that, Kingsley Shacklebolt should be the Minister of Magic. While they haven't been enemies in a while, they have never been friends either and have only exchanged a few pleasantries through the years. Besides, treating someone you know is highly irregular. Then again, everyone knows - or wishes to know - Harry Potter.

"Is it because of me?"

"What?" Potter raises his head from the basket where he had once again been submerged.

"You do not want to talk about what you are going through and I'm asking if it has anything to do with me being assigned as your Mind Healer," Draco slowly enunciates as if talking to a particularly dim-witted person. He knows he shouldn't, that this is a professional setting, but old habits die hard.

"Not everything has something to do with you, Malfoy."

Draco can't help but glare at Potter's words and has to take a deep breath before going on.

"Maybe, if you just explained what the recent events the Minister is alluding to are -"

"I'm not doing therapy," Potter cuts short with a glare.

"And yet, you are sitting right in front of me; could have fooled me."

Draco sees the light falter in Potter's green eyes. Maybe he should have refrained from commenting. Now, he almost expects the man to get up and walk out. Somehow, Draco wishes he would stay.

"I do not have a choice to come and sit here twice a week if I want my job back. But do not expect me to share my deepest thoughts with you."

Potter's tone suggests that the last statement is not open for discussion. For a brief moment, Draco is offered a glimpse of strength and power, a glimpse of the Head Auror everyone came to respect. However, the moment passes when the raven haired man closes his eyes and sags in his seat.

***


Draco is seven years old when he first sees his parents fight. He doesn't really know what it is about, but gathers that is has something to do with him and that somehow, Astoria Greengrass is involved. Later, he is told that when he grows up, Astoria will become his wife. He doesn't really wish to have a wife and he doesn't really like Astoria. She is only five and he doesn't play with children younger than himself. He is told not to talk back and to get used to the idea.

When Pansy Parkinson comes to play the next day, he kisses her in the middle of his mother's rose garden. It is kind of weird and a bit gross, but he doesn't care. The windows to his father's study are only a few feet away. It takes a while before another invitation to the manor is extended towards Pansy.

***


Draco can't deny that his life is extremely different from what most people envisioned for him. Hell, he can't deny that his life is extremely different from what he himself envisioned as a child. He had expected to be both feared and respected, climbing the ministry ladders, like his father and grandfather had before him. It was the Malfoy way after all. However, the war changed everything.

"You know that you are probably the most boring patient ever?"

Draco knows he shouldn't do it, but it's been three weeks and Potter's unresponsiveness is seriously starting to grate on his nerves. For all of his efforts, he is only rewarded by a shrug.

"This is a waste of time for both of us," Draco sighs, shoulders sagging. He doesn't know what he had been hoping for exactly, but this isn't it. "I have asked it before and I'll ask again. Is it because of me? You could ask for a different Mind Healer if you wish."

If Draco had to name only one thing he learned about Potter over the last few sessions, he would choose the man's stubbornness. Potter hadn't been joking when he said that he didn't want to be in therapy. He spent most sessions watching the clock slowly tick by, paying Draco no mind. He came in, sat down by the window for a whole hour and then left, without uttering a single word.

"And I've said it before and I'll say it again, not everything has something to do with you Malfoy. I don't want to be in therapy and I don't need it. That's all." This is probably the most Potter has said to him since their first session. Draco presses on, thinking he might never get a chance like this again.

"The Minister sending you here suggests otherwise."

"Kingsley can go fuck himself for all I care. I was doing perfectly fine at work. I was helping others. This is just useless."

The outburst is welcome after weeks of apathy, but it doesn't last. It leaves Potter looking sagged and tired as if he has been drained of all energy. Draco has to clench his hands to refrain from yanking his hair in frustration. He takes a deep breath. Yelling at Potter won't solve anything.

"It's only useless because you want it to be. I could help you." Potter barely reacts to his words, gazing through the window instead. "In fact, I really want to help you. Just let me in. Things cannot get worse."

The pained look Potter sends his way clearly indicates that the words are unwelcome. It is apparent that Potter is not ready to hear what Draco has to say and is definitively not ready to open up.

"Just drop it. I don't need your help. I just need my job back and everything will be alright."

If he didn't know any better, Draco could have believed his words. He could have believed that Potter's constant brooding and neglected appearance came from the shock of being put on probation at work. He could have believed that Potter was simply suffering from an unjustified decision - after all the saviour of the Wizarding world could do no wrong. However, he knows not to trust the man's words.

Draco remembers the Prophet's headlines a few months back. He remembers Scorpius' letters relaying information about his new best friend, even if he scowled at these passages at the time and wished to forget that his son had befriended a Potter. In fact, Draco can guess that Potter's problems didn't start when the Minister sacked him - even if only temporarily - but probably started one cold October morning. He could point this out to the other man, but he doesn't. He clearly isn't ready.

***


Draco is nine years old when he realises that none of his friends are home-schooled like he is. When asked, his father explains about schools being filled with blood-traitors running free and being infected with Mudblood germs and ideas. School is the last place he wants to be after that.

Having a private tutor is a privilege attached to the Malfoy name and fortune. However, he cannot help feeling lonely when Crabbe and Goyle leave after a weekend spent at the manor.

***


Draco discovers one morning that Potter's hung-over state in their first session isn't an isolated occurrence. Potter is still half-drunk when he stumbles into his office after giving a half-backed excuse to Clarice for his tardiness. To Draco, he offers no explanations.

"I gather that you spent a pleasant evening?"

"Not really." Draco is surprised to get an answer out of the man who had gone back to purposely ignoring him after their short argument the other day, but he doesn't show it.

"What's the point of fucking up your life then?"

This time, Draco only gets a shrug as an answer. He takes a moment to really observe Potter while the other man glances once more through the window. There is no denying the aura of neglect and of tiredness that he projects. His movements are slow and far between. The past few months have been hard and he looks run-down as if he had taken a page from his old friend Lupin's book. However, in spite of the grubbiness, there is no denying that he has aged quite well. A few strands of white grace the black hair, but the glasses are trendier than they used to be and the jaw is stronger, more determined. Despite the recent weight-loss, Potter still looks quite in shape. The thin shirt he is wearing hints towards well-defined muscles. Draco is almost envious; time hasn't been this kind to him.

"Are you quite done staring?"

Green eyes are glaring at him. He almost smiles. He misses this. He misses their rivalry, their fist fights and petty words. Potter has spent weeks sitting right in front of him and yet he is so far way.

"Don't have anything better to do."

"Then find something. Read, keep up with your correspondence or prepare for your next appointment for all I care." The words are slurred, but the meaning is clear. Draco wonders if Potter is acting the same way towards his wife and friends, also keeping them away. He wonders how long this has been going on.

"You actually enjoy wallowing in self-pity, don't you?" Draco suddenly asks, leaning forward in his seat.

Potter opens his mouth to protest, but Draco presses on before a single word can pass his lips. He has to test this new theory, he has to observe the man's reactions to what he is about to say. He cannot be lead astray.

"I believe that you actually enjoy playing martyr. I believe that you might even think that what happened to your family is, in some twisted way, your fault and that you have to pay for it. That might even be why you are refusing my help. Am I right or wrong?"

The glare coming his way intensifies  but there is a guilty light in the depth of the other man's eyes saying everything that needs to be said. Draco knows he is smirking, but doesn't care in the least about professional and unprofessional behaviour right now. It's the first true lead he has. He quite enjoys half-drunk Potter. He isn't as guarded as his sober counterpart.

***


Draco is eleven years old when he meets Harry Potter in Madam Malkin's. He doesn't know it's him at first, but he desperately wants to become friends with the boy. He has never met someone who hasn't already been approved by his father. The child wears baggy clothes and looks neglected, but in his excitement Draco notices none of that.

Afterwards, he talks about the meeting for hours until his father says he'll inquire about the boy. That knowing more about his background wouldn't hurt. Draco keeps quiet after that.

***


It's almost eight o'clock when the Floo flares to life. Draco is tempted not to answer; it's been a long day at work. There is a constant twitch in his right eye that only a few hours of sleep can cure. However a few seconds later, as he spots the Minister of Magic's head in his fireplace, he's glad he didn't follow his first instinct.

He already suspects that this must somehow be related to Potter and so, he is not entirely surprised when he steps into the Minister's office. On any other occasion, he would have taken time to admire the opulent décor, but now, only one thing registers in his mind. Potter is lying on the floor, Stupefied. His eyes are wide with surprise and his mouth is slightly aghast. A cushion has hastily been pushed under his head, offering the only source of comfort.

"Thank you for your presence, Mr. Malfoy. I couldn't reach Ginevra."

Draco circles Potter's still body for a while, letting the situation slowly sink in. He is clad in battered Muggle clothing once more, a stark contrast to the heavy formal robes Draco threw on before Flooing. He kneels next to his patient, notices the blood-shot eyes and recognises the scent of Firewhisky. The man reeks of it.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Draco asks, but quickly zones out as the Minister relates his tale. Somehow he already figured it out. He can practically picture Potter storming the office, pleading to be allowed back on the job. He can hear the shouts, he can almost sense Potter's rising anger as his request is again and again denied, no matter how many times he asks. He can imagine the Minister sending a quick stupefy towards his former Head Auror not really knowing what else should be done. Yes, he can picture all that and more as he gazes through Potter's unguarded eyes.

Draco is surprised when he Minister kneels next to him and leans forward to push a few strands of hair back from Potter's forehead, revealing the faded scar. He had almost forgotten the man's presence.

"Could you take Harry back to his home and make sure that he is all right?"

Taking patients home and tucking them into bed is highly irregular, but Draco gives his answer before he remembers any of this.

"Of course."

***


Draco is twelve years old the first time he plays Quidditch for Slytherin. Playing against Potter brings an added excitement to the game. They chase the snitch all around the pitch and Draco is exhilarated by the high speed flight. He wishes it could go on forever. They are equally matched, taking the lead in turns, and Draco is offered a glimpse of the blissful thrill their friendship could have been if Potter had accepted his hand aboard the Hogwarts Express that day. However, he did not and they became rivals even in this match Draco is dead set on winning. He is wearing Slytherin colours, his father is in the stands and he does not intend to bring shame upon his house and name.

The fall is abrupt. Draco is grateful for Pansy's attention when she comes running to him while everyone else gushes over Potter. As she assesses the damage to his pride and his bruised body, he cannot help but regret this new failure. He had thought he could best Potter this time. Yet the other boy remains so far ahead. He cannot help the surge of jealousy at the thought of all Potter has.

***


It's almost eight thirty when Draco stumbles out of the Floo network and inelegantly lands in the Potters' living room, Potter's stiff body in tow. He levitates Potter to the couch before brushing off the soot and taking in his surroundings. The place is homey and colourful, filled with children's drawing and plush cushions. However, Draco can't shake the impression of neglect the whole room projects. The air is stale, there is an impressive accumulation of dinnerware and of empty bottles on the coffee table and every step he takes sends dust bunnies rolling in every direction. He throws a few house-cleaning spells around, wondering exactly when the house's occupants actually stopped caring.

Draco decides to walk down the dark corridor, in search of the medicine cabinet for a Hangover Potion, sending more spells around as he goes. Walls and shelves are filled with pictures of friends and family and Draco is a bit put out by the amount of red hair. His views of the world evolved since the war, but some things are so deeply incrusted in his brain that they are quite hard to ignore. Not for the first time that evening, he notices that none of the items hazardously thrown around are even remotely feminine. Not for the first time that evening, he wonders where the Weaslette is, in which hole she managed to bury herself. She should be here, with her husband, but apparently hasn't been for quite a while.

Unsurprisingly, when he returns to the living room potion phial in hand, Potter is exactly where Draco left him earlier. However, the ancient looking elf - a crooked mix of bones and wrinkles - gushing around his master is quite unexpected.

"Finite Incantatem," whispers Draco, carefully pushing the elf aside as if afraid of troubling the scene. He adds a quick Sobrietus for good measure. The knot that had unknowingly settled in the pit of his stomach loosens as soon as the unnatural stiffness goes away and Potter's breathing returns to normal.

Potter blinks a few times before his body tenses again, in utter confusion. He sends a puzzled look towards Draco and towards the elf peering around his legs.

"Relax," Draco says, leaning forward and handing the potion over. "I'll explain everything."

***


Draco is thirteen years old when Astoria becomes a first-year Hogwarts student and a constant fixture in his life. The young girl is pretty, well-behaved and generally charming. They barely interact but her mere presence grates on Draco's nerves. She becomes the reminder of everything Draco wishes to ignore, of everything he had successfully ignored up until then. Draco resents her for that. He believes that taking Pansy Parkinson as a girlfriend and parading her in front of everyone is a fitting punishment.

Astoria pretends she doesn't see them, but he saw it. He saw her lower lip tremble the first few times he kissed Pansy in the Slytherin common room and so, he kisses her again and again even if he doesn't overly enjoy it.

***


"You should stop drinking," Draco says, finally breaking the heavy silence that had followed his explanation.

"And you should start minding your own business," Potter groans back, hiding his face in his hands as if ashamed of his earlier behaviour and appalled at the thought of Draco being aware of it.

The man looks utterly miserable and Draco has to kill the urge to move closer and reassure him. The man doesn't need sheltering. He needs to realise that he is slowly destroying his life and that something must change.

"When the Minister of Magic Floo-calls me and asks me to take care of you, it kind of becomes my business."

"I'll talk to Kingsley, he didn't have to contact you."

Potter probably is the most stubbornly irritating thick-headed idiot on earth. Nothing seems to get through. For the first time since Potter became a patient, Draco truly fears failure. There have been a few unsuccessful cases during his career and the thought of adding a name to the short list of patients he had to hand over to a colleague is rather unpleasant. He finally moves from his chair and sits down in front Potter on the coffee table - long legs folded awkwardly almost reaching his chest. He chooses his next words carefully.

"Do you love your job?"

"What?" Potter looks up, surprised. The motion brings them close, foreheads are almost touching. Yet, Draco doesn't feel the need to recoil. He stares directly into the guarded green eyes.

"Your job. Do you love it?"

"Of course, but - "

"Do you think you'll get it back if you keep this up? Do you think that the Minister will willingly want you back if you keep invading his office, throwing temper tantrums?" Potter fidgets. Doubt is settling in his mind. He finally averts his eyes and leans back on the couch, as if trying to avoid Draco and his words. Yet, Draco presses on, "I don't know what you imagined, but I certainly won't recommend reintegration if I see no improvement."

The grandfather clock's chime breaks the silence that follows the last statement. When he glances up, Draco is puzzled by the antique. Two distinct mechanisms are visible. One clearly marks the hours while the other one features four hands pointing towards various locations. However, his attention needs to be focused on Potter - not the clock - and so he lets it go.

"Why are you doing this?" Potter finally asks.

A thousand quirky answers come to Draco's mind. Because it's his job. Because he is paid for it. Because someone needs to beat some sense into the stubborn idiot. Because you are worth more than this. However, he holds his tongue - no matter how much it pains him - and settles for what's appropriate - no matter how much it bores him.

"You need to realise that I'm not doing this to bother you and that the Minister didn't put you on a leave to annoy you. Therapy has everything to do with your own happiness. I can help you and it's about time you realise it. At this rate, you'll destroy yourself."

"You have no right to judge me. You have no idea how this feels."

"Then, tell me. It's actually what I want to hear," Draco insists. He can almost taste the other man's internal struggle. He sees how shaken he is. He is finally about to open up. He just needs a final push, which Draco will happily provide.

"In fact, here is what I believe. You currently have two options. You could either persist in refusing treatment or you could actually use your time with me to work on some of your issues. One of these options will actually help you move forward with your life. The other won't. Do I need to spell out which is which?"

"It won't be necessary. I see your point."

"So, what option will it be?

Potter hesitates, but it actually is a good sign. A few weeks back - even a few days back - he would have immediately rejected the offered help. Now, his defences are shattered and Draco knows that he is on the right path.

"I do not like talking about myself."

"I'm not here to judge you," Draco automatically answers and these words are met with a questioning eyebrow and a dubious look from Potter - which is ten times better than the apathy he never got used to. As a reward, he decides to go with the honest truth for once. "Well, I might judge you, it's true. I'm not a saint . But it's my job to listen and help patients through though times. And I'm good at this job."

Potter nods and settles more comfortably on the couch. He runs a hand in his hair, which could seem pointless considering the state it is in, if it didn't betray uncertainty.

"What option will it be?" The words are softly spoken, almost whispered, almost kind. Draco hates himself for it, but is afraid of scaring Potter away.

"I don't know. I'll think about it"

"That's all I ask for." Draco cannot shake the smile that graces his features and is shocked to see Potter smiling back.

***


Draco is fourteen years old when he takes Pansy Parkinson to his bed for the first time. He is high on adrenaline from the Yule Ball and the dormitory is still deserted. As they kiss and fall on the soft mattress, he feels great excitement at the thought that he is about to bid farewell to his virginity. As his hand crawls under Pansy robes, he thinks about the things he will be able to tell his roommates. As he brushes the lace panties, he dreams of the power this new-found knowledge will hold over them. As Pansy shudders and attacks his formal dress robes, he realises the power he holds over her.

In the end, he cannot do it. His erection falters soon after they toss the remaining clothing aside. He tells her that she made it too easy and bored him, but he doesn't quite meet her eyes. He realised a few months ago that Pansy can read him too easily. She gets up, but he grabs her hand and asks her to stay. He doesn't really understand why he does so, but he is confused and could really use a friend. He is glad when she slips back into the bed, pulls the covers over their naked forms and snuggles in his arms. He is awoken by Professor Snape's angry glare and vitriolic sermon, but he doesn't protest. The look on Blaise, Theo, Vince and Greg's faces is worth it. He is glad that Pansy goes along with his charade.

***


Draco hesitates before tossing a handful of Floo powder in the hearth. He can feel the grains slipping through his fingers and can almost hear his mother admonishing him for the mess his is making, yet he doesn't care. For the first time, he realises that he truly wants Potter to get better. He needs him to get better. For the first time, he realises that Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't make a mistake when he sent Potter his way. The man knew what he was doing.

"You shouldn't stay alone."

"I'm not alone. Kreacher is here with me."

"Your life has become quite sad if you rely on house-elves to confide in and for keeping you out of trouble." Draco is reminded of the strange grand-father clock, he is reminded of the weird hand bearing the Weaslette's name and pointing towards work. "What about your wife? Why isn't she here with you?"

"Ginny -" Potter starts, but abruptly stops. He seems to be struggling with himself, looking for the right words. "Ginny isn't faring much better than I am. She says that being here doesn't help. It brings back too many memories. She's often away, touring and coaching the Harpies."

A sad smile braces Potter's features and Draco can almost feel his pain. No matter what the man believes, he cannot be left alone. He needs his friends. He needs his children's love. He needs his wife as much as she probably needs him. They need to talk about this together and face the truth. They cannot go on avoiding reality and pretending nothing ever happened.

"We will talk more about all of this in the morning, but I must insist. You shouldn't stay alone. Can you contact anyone?"

Potter hesitates once more, biting his lips. Draco is led to believe that the man has never spoken to his friends about his condition. He is lead to believe that Potter's friends have no idea how badly he is faring, how badly he needs help and how badly he needs someone to look after him. Not for the first-time, he wonders where the attention-seeking boy he knew from school has gone. Maybe he never truly existed.

"Ron and Hermione, but owl them for me, please, I cannot do this. Hector should be somewhere in the attic."

Draco nods and does as asked, finally tearing himself away from Potter's presence. When he returns, he notices the worried stares Potter is sending towards the hearth.

"Hermione will kill me for not telling her sooner. Kingsley didn't broadcast his decision and I let everyone believe I was simply taking some time off. Something to do with having too much earned time," he states.

Draco walks up to him and puts a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He doesn't expect the heavy tear rolling down Potter's right cheek, followed by many more. Uncomfortable, he tries to moves away, but Potter grabs his forearm and clings to him. In the end, he has no other choice but to sit down next to the man and let him use his shoulder as a pillow and his robes as a tissue. He remains stiff and distant, unsure about any of this, but Potter does not seem to care.

After long minutes, the Floo finally comes to life. Draco notices Weasley shocked expression and he hears the small gasp Granger can't refrain at the scene. In a few quick steps, she is next to him, prying Potter away from him. Strangely, Draco is almost reluctant to let go, but he does.

***


Draco is fifteen years old when he decides that he truly hates Potter. He had mostly felt resentment towards the other boy until then and had made the feeling quite clear. But did he hate Potter the way his father wanted him to? No. However, witnessing Potter leaving the showers after a Quidditch match changes all that.

He hates Potter for putting all of these inappropriate thoughts in his head. He hates Potter's fit body and, most of all, he hates his traitorous cock for reacting at the sight. He hates Pansy's knowing looks every time she catches him glancing Potter's way. Potter's near-sightedness is the only thing he is glad for. He doesn't think he would be able to live with himself if the other boy had noticed.

***


Finding Potter waiting outside his office the next morning doesn't come as a surprise. However, Granger's presence somewhat is. She speaks quietly into the man's ear, pulling away a few times before quickly closing the gap to add something more. She finally ushers him towards Draco and he thanks her with a nod.

They do not speak until they are behind the strong privacy spells of his office, cutting them off from the outside world. There are things Granger is not necessarily entitled to know.

"I'm just asking for one thing, do not ask about Lily," Potter says sinking in his usual chair by the window.

Draco cannot help but glance at the picture he keeps on his desk. The Hogwarts Express takes most of the frame, but every ten seconds, Scorpius' head pokes out of the train window to wave at his parents standing on the platform. Scorpius had been so excited that day. He was taking his first step towards adulthood. Draco cannot imagine never having shared that moment with his son. He cannot imagine what being deprived of it would feel like. He guesses he can oblige Potter for now. Upsetting him would be counterproductive.

"What do you want to talk about then?"

"Anything," Potter shrugs. He reclines more comfortably in his chair and Draco would have been fooled by the air of nonchalance if Potter hadn't actively been biting his nails.

"Let's begin with the start then. Tell me what happened the night Kingsley first sent you here."

Potter looks startled by this simple request and temporarily forgets his nail-biting endeavour. He had obviously expected much more indiscrete questions. A brief grateful smile graces his lips before he focuses on his nails once more.

"There isn't much to tell, really. I had a bit too much to drink after a mission gone wrong and I might have ended up in a fist-fight with my colleagues. Kingsley already thought that I was overworking myself and wanted me to take time off. I guess the fight only gave him the ammunition he needed."

"Tell me about the mission."

"You must have read about it in the papers," Potter waves away trying to dismiss the question. At Draco's blank stare he is forced to go on. "Girl found dead in Knockturn Alley. We had received a warning but my team arrived too late." There is a pause after which Potter slowly adds. "I found the body."

***


Draco is barely sixteen years old when his father is arrested and sent to Azkaban. Up until then, the war and its consequences had seemed such a faraway possibility. He knew, of course, of the Dark Lord's return. He had seen and heard his aunt Bellatrix rave about blood purity and the importance of getting rid of Mudbloods. He had even revelled in all of this, knowing it could only mean more power for his family. However, he had never thought he could be negatively affected by it all - not when there were more pressing matters like OWLs, school politics and being gay in a sea of purebloods who would highly disapprove.

But then, when his father is arrested and sent to Azkaban, the war and its consequences doesn't seem like such a faraway possibility anymore. The Dark Lord's return and his aunt Bellatrix' ravings take another meaning. OWLs, school politics and being gay do not matter as much as they did only a few hours ago. Not when his family's power and reputation are being threatened. And so, when Draco is offered the Dark Mark and a task a few weeks later, he accepts proudly. He would do anything for his family.

***


"Can I ask a few questions of my own?"

The request doesn't come as a surprise to Draco. Many patients have wanted to know a bit more about him in the past. He sometimes indulges them with a few well-chosen stories about Scorpius, but this feels entirely different. This is Potter.

"You can try. However, I do not promise to answer." Potter nods as if he had expected as much. He leans forward, studying Draco closely, trying to decipher him.

"Why did you become a Mind Healer?"

"Why not?" Draco shrugs. He wishes he could say he had heard the calling one day. He wishes he could say he really wanted to help others. However, the truth was much more prosaic. "It's a job after all. Why do you ask?"

"You never struck me as the compassionate type, that's all."

"I'm not. You at least got that right. Becoming a Mind Healer had nothing to do with compassion. It had everything to do with needing something to do with my life."

Potter nods and runs a hand through his hair. A thoughtful look settles on his face. "I guess I can relate to that. Needing something to do with your life."

"Is that why you became an Auror after the war?"

"On some level, I guess. It's something I thought I would be good at and Kingsley wanted me to join. They needed all the help they could get and they expected me to say yes. I didn't have anything better to do."

"You could have gone back to Hogwarts to finish your NEWTs like the rest of us did. You could have taken the time to figure things out before rushing head first into everything they had in store for you."

The affirmation doesn't seem to please Potter. His glare and frown are accentuated by a ray of sunshine reflected in his glasses, giving him an almost crazed look. Younger Draco would have recoiled. Potter had hexed him for less in the past. However, he's braver than he once was and knows that this needs to be pointed out even if Potter doesn't like it. Draco can feel adrenaline pumping in his veins at the thought.

"You didn't have to play the hero anymore. You deserved your rest."

"And then what?" Potter's voice is cold with fury and Draco can't help the shiver running along his spine. "I couldn't have idly sat while people's lives were still at risk. They needed me."

***


Draco is sixteen years old when he brings a Beauxbatons boy to his bed. It's Christmas Eve, the manor is filled with guests, even in his father's absence, and he is growing desperate. He fears failure and fears what might happen to him. He needs to experience this, at least once, before everything goes astray. For once, he doesn't care much about anyone discovering his deepest secret. Worst things could happen.

The act is both frantic and fierce - a struggle of power between heaving bodies. Draco's release comes quickly - too quickly to experience any real satisfaction. He is left with a deep yearning for more - a hunger he fears will never be entirely satisfied. Back at Hogwarts, he searches for the missing element, quickly alternating between nameless bodies without much care, but he doesn't find it.

***


"Aren't Mind Healers always supposed to ask about childhood?"

They have left their usual seats by the window to move closer to the fireplace due to the surprisingly cold early April weather. Potter has been happily gazing into the warm dancing flames for the best part of their hour together almost numb from the intense heat. His cheeks have taken a pink glow and he looks healthier and much more alive than he has in weeks. Draco likes the look.

"You should know by now that I'm not most Mind Healers. But I guess I could indulge you if you wish to talk about it." A daring smirk Potter cannot help but notice, even while looking ahead, punctuates these words.

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure if I really want to talk about it," Potter answers with a shudder and Draco leans forward to observe him more closely. There is something hidden there, something that might explain a few things and Draco is suddenly desperate to know what it is.

"Didn't you grow up among Muggles?"

Hearing these words, Potter looks up, wide eyes blinking a few times, as if surprised such a fact is common knowledge. Draco is amazed to see that even after all of these years regularly making the front page, Potter remains unaware of the information conveyed about him. Draco would have thought otherwise.

"Yeah, my aunt took me in when I was one year old." Potter sounds bitter and Draco isn't sure the resentment is entirely directed towards his Muggle family.

"Surely you had relatives or something in the magical world?"

"There was my godfather, Sirius, but you know what happened to him. Besides, there was my mother's blood protection to consider."

"I always thought it was a legend."

"It wasn't." Potter doesn't elaborate and Draco raises an inquiring eyebrow. He remembers his father laughing at the old wives' tale. He remembers the numerous nights his father spent trying to figure out the truth beneath it all, trying to figure out what was hidden deeper.

Still sensing Draco's gaze on him, Potter dramatically lets out a sigh and childishly rolls his eyes before furthering his thoughts. "It was one of Dumbledore's half-baked theories, but it doesn't mean it wasn't true."

Draco reclines in his seat, realisation hitting him. That's what the bitterness is all about. As much as Potter seems to dislike his relatives, his dislike for Dumbledore's intervention in his life seems even greater. He resents being sent away from the magical world. He resents the wasted years. He resents the missed childhood. And that resentment still lingers today.

"And how was it? Living among Muggles, I mean."

"Nothing I want to remember, and that has nothing to do with them being Muggle. They didn't like me and I didn't like them much. Aside from that, it was pretty normal I guess. I never questioned it until I turned eleven. The Dursleys and the Muggle world were the only things I knew."

"You didn't know about the magical world?" Even with Potter's head shake, Draco has to make sure he heard correctly and asks too many questions at once. "You didn't know you were a wizard? What about your parents? The Dark Lord?"

"No, I didn't," Potter cuts the questioning short. "Imagine my surprise when Hagrid told me on my eleventh birthday. Best day of my life."

Potter looks up from the now dying flames grinning, expecting to see a similar expression on Draco's face. However, a good laugh is the farthest thing on Draco's mind. He is truly appalled.

***


Draco is seventeen years old when the war ends. After months spent living in fear, he had almost lost all hope of a normal life - a life devoid of hysterics and madness. Almost, because as long as Potter was running free, a small chance that everything would be okay once again remained. He had chosen not to identify Potter that day at the manor. He couldn't have born the thought of losing the hope that gave him the strength to go on.

And now, standing in the middle of the Great Hall, his mother frantically clinging to him, he cannot help but admire Potter's handiwork. He had, once again, achieved the impossible - with Draco's wand. Draco only turns away from the scene when his mother finally manages to usher him away towards his father. There is blood on her robes and relief in her eyes. But stepping closer, he can mostly sense her fear for her family who will now be at the mercy of a very different enemy.

***


Draco is surprised to see Potter using his old hawthorn wand one day. After the war, he had expected Potter to return it to him. It was the proper thing to do after all. Then, after a while, he had stopped hoping. Potter had probably tossed his wand aside, uncaring. But now, his patient is using it to clean the mess he just made, spilling a few drops of tea on his trousers.

"Why did you keep my wand?" Draco asks, curiosity winning over his annoyance. He had frowned the first time he had seen Potter enter his office a tea-mug in hand. He had even protested, but Potter had stated that if he had to stop drinking alcohol he had to compensate somehow, and so the tea-mug had remained.

Potter sends him a puzzled look, before understanding flashes in his eyes. "I don't know," he shrugs. "I grew attached to it I guess. Even when I got my old wand back, I kept this one close by. Having a spare wand never hurt anyone."

There is something highly intriguing about the whole situation. He had never been able to get along with Potter in real life before and yet their wands had been deeply interconnected for most of their lives. Draco remembers Potter rambling about the elder wand and how it had been in both their possession. He remembers how Potter had juggled the hawthorn wand out of his hands and how he had used it to defeat the Dark Lord in the end.

"Do you want it back?" Potter asks after a while, clearly alarmed. He seemed to have noticed Draco's eyes lingering on the wand.

"No, you've had it longer than I have. It's truly yours by now."

Relief is clearly written on Potter's features at these words and Draco realises that it's a wonder Potter even asked if he wanted it back. The other man is now smiling lightly, brushing a floppy lock of dark hair out of his face. He looks almost playful and when he leans forward, Draco knows he is about to be privy to a few secrets.

"I really shouldn't have kept it. Ginny always wanted me to get rid of it, said nothing good could come out of a wand that once belonged to Draco Malfoy. I tended to disagree with her on that particular point. It drove her mad."

"Is she still away, touring with the Harpies?" Draco asks detachedly, trying not to get mad at the hurtful words. After all, he would have the same opinion about anything once belonging to a Weasley.

"She came home last week, but left again two days ago. It's a busy time of the year for her." Potter doesn't sound overly concerned and Draco is intrigued.

"Don't you miss her?"

Hearing the question, Potter's smile slowly disappears and he leans back in his seat, distancing himself once more. He takes a careful sip of tea before answering.

"Yes and no. To tell you the truth, Ginny and I have grown apart throughout the years. What happened just finished pushing us apart. Yeah, I do miss her, but as a friend I guess."

***


Draco is eighteen years old when he uses the word Mudblood for the last time, upon his mother's request. She says such words should be avoided in this post-war era. She says using such words could drag unwanted attention upon the Malfoys. She says they have to try and salvage their name and reputation. Draco wonders if it might not already be too late for that. He fully expects the Aurors to barge in any day now and arrest them all. Still, his mother might have a point and so, Draco listens to her. However, even though he knows such things don't make any sense, it will take a while before he stops being afraid of the germs Muggleborns might - or might not - carry.

He doesn't notice his father frowning in the background although he was clearly meant to.

***


Draco doesn't expect to find a lone figure sitting in the tall grass - he had thought to be alone. The war commemoration is still two weeks away and the weather is not particularly inviting. He understands better when he realises that the lone figure is in fact Potter.

He should leave the man alone. He has no right to question him outside of office hours, but instead of slowly retreating undetected, something compels him to move forward. He stops only a few steps short of the delicate marble white headstone standing next to Potter's parents' grave. Once upon a time, Potter would only have had eyes for the latter. Now, he only has eyes for the former.

Draco shuffles his feet to let his presence be known, which leads Potter to send a brief glance and a nod in his direction.

"Can we talk about your daughter now?"

"It's Sunday, Malfoy. You don't have to work overtime."

"Well, it turns out I have nothing better to do," he answers back. He sits on the ground next to Potter to make his point. It's rather uncomfortable. His black wool trousers and crisps outer robes will most certainly get wrinkled. The strong wind messes his hair, but he'll survive. "Besides, maybe I truly want to know."

"You know you are a pain in the arse?"

Potter nudges him in the knee and Draco is startled by the familiar gesture. Green eyes filled with uncertainty meet his. Potter is anxiously biting his lower lip, as if afraid of his reaction. Draco instinctively nudges back before remembering and straightening himself.

"What are you doing here exactly?" Potter cautiously asks after a moment spent in silence.

"The twentieth anniversary of Severus' death is coming in a few days."

"You were quite close, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so." Even after all of this time, some things are difficult to think or talk about and a lump forms in his throat preventing further acknowledgement.

"How do you expect me to answer your questions, if you cannot face reality yourself?" Potter barges in with no consideration whatsoever for the strong flow of emotions surging through him. For a brief moment, Draco gets a glimpse of what being in the patient chair can feel like.

"Snape looked out for me, like my father should have." Draco starts, competitive instinct taking over, "I never showed any appreciation while he was still alive and it is probably my biggest regret. Your turn," he ends defiantly.

"I - " Potter starts, but his voice breaks and falters. He clears his throat and takes off his glasses before making a new attempt. "Lily was a sweet girl. I cannot even express how much I miss her."

"Do you come here often?"

"Almost every day lately. I avoided the place like the plague at first, trying to forget," he answers, absentmindedly casting an Impervius charm above them when hit by a few raindrops before finally putting his glasses back on. "I threw myself into work instead and had everyone worry about me, although Kingsley was the only one who had to deal with me on a daily basis and hence the only one who truly realised what a mess I had become."

"What clued him in at first?"

"First and foremost I think that it was my new working habits. I have always been what others called overzealous, but even I can admit that after the accident, it reached new heights. Kingsley said that I should drop my people saving thing. He said that I didn't have to overcompensate for being unable to prevent what happened to Lily. Then, there probably was the fact that I was drinking more than usual and that I had become quite snappish."

"You've always been snappish. I know that first-hand." The words are out before Draco has time to think, but it seems that he doesn't need to worry much. Their dislike of each other seems to be a thing of the past.

"And I maintain that you have always been a pain in the arse, Malfoy," Potter sends the jibe back along with another nudge. The familiar gesture leaves Draco wondering for a long time that night about the things that could have been if Potter had accepted his hand in friendship that day.

***


Draco is eighteen years old when his father is sent back to Azkaban to complete his ten years sentence. Draco is almost glad. The man's presence inside of the manor's now sinister walls had been oppressing. Now, aside from himself, only his mother and a few house-elves can be found within these walls but Draco is not faring much better than he was before. Too many horrifying memories are associated with this place - memories still holding him down in fear, shame and regret. He may be free, yet this feels nothing like it.

Therefore, when the Hogwarts invitation arrives, he does not hesitate. In only a few hours, his trunk is packed and he is ready to Apparate to Hogsmeade. He feels endless guilt at the thought of leaving his mother behind, but anything is better than this life of isolation, even if the immediate future includes hordes of resentful and vengeful school children.

***


"You talked about your people saving thing the other day," Draco starts one day. Potter doesn't seem to expect the question and his tea-mug almost falls down from his right knee, where it has precariously been perched for the past fifteen minutes.

"I do not have a people saving thing. Kingsley says I do, but I don't. I'm just doing my job and I generally happen to be at the right place at the right time," he answers back, once the damage is under control.

"I disagree with you on that point."

Potter frowns and not for the first time that day, Draco wishes they were back outside where talking had seemed much easier than in his office's more formal setting. Potter seems out of place among the mahogany furniture with silver lining and plush velvet cushions. He seemed more at ease in a laidback setting. It's no wonder his gaze constantly gravitates towards the window.

"Of course you would disagree. Disagreeing with me has always been your favourite hobby."

"You also mentioned that Kingsley thought you felt guilty about being unable to prevent your daughter's death and overcompensated with throwing yourself into work," Draco continues without paying attention to the protest.

"Yeah." The answer is more subdued and Potter averts his gaze, biting his lower lip. Draco leans forward, studying Potter closely before finally finding the courage to truly speak his mind.

"I've listened closely to everything you said over the past few weeks, and I believe that Kingsley might have a point. There was this burden placed upon your shoulders at a very young age. You had to save the world. Nobody else could do it. People relied on you time and time again. It shaped you into what you are today."

"This is where you are mistaken. The need to help others is truly part of me -" Potter starts, but Draco cuts him short.

"I never said it wasn't part of you. I'm simply explaining how it came to be."

Something in the way Potter clenches his jaw indicates that he is still unconvinced by Draco's words. He is jittery and sitting still is apparently the last thing he wants to do. Draco can sense his inner turmoil and is forced to insist.

"You were told that only you could defeat the Dark Lord, that only you could stop the war. It is really fucked up when you think about it. No wonder you are a mess. No wonder you still think you have to help everyone. No wonder you feel the need to please everyone. No wonder you feel responsible for your daughter's death, even if you weren't there when the accident happened."

"There was a war going on, everyone did what they thought was best," Potter quietly states. He finally drinks down the last of his tea, and places the empty cup on the side table. Draco finally has his full attention.

"What was best for the Wizarding world, maybe, but I doubt that it was the best for you."

"Someone once said something very similar to me." The green orbs are now fixed on him, less reserved than they have ever been.

"Well, maybe that person also had a point." For his own peace of mind, Draco ads, "No child, and I mean it, no child should feel such an obligation. Take your eleven years old son, that mongrel Scorpius calls his friend for reasons past my understanding, as an example. Would you wish your son being raised with the same expectations you were raised with?"

"Of course not!" The words made Potter sit up outraged.

"Then why would you be different? There were adults around. They should have tried to alleviate your burden. They shouldn't have wanted you fighting."

"Mrs. Weasley didn't." The words are whispered and Draco barely hears them.

"Well, maybe she was on to something." Draco says, lips twitching into a weary smile.

***


Draco is nineteen years old when he finally sits down for his NEWTs. Younger, he would have been ecstatic at the mere thought, but now he only feels lost. Nothing awaits him aside from days spent lounging at the manor. Once upon a time, he might have hoped for a political career - it had even been expected - but this opportunity is long gone. People haven't been as hostile as he had expected, but they are definitely not ready to trust a Malfoy. The point has been made quite clear more than once by a few righteous students.

In the end, he buys a flat in London, near Diagon Alley. He invites his mother for tea, Pansy for gossips, Blaise for drinks and a string of lovers to fill the loneliest hours of the night. He tries not to think of Greg, rotting in Azkaban. He tries not to think of Vince's half-burnt body, rotting six feet under. He knows his mother disapproves of his choices, but she doesn't say anything. She knows he needs the distance. She knows he needs time to find himself again. He is grateful for that.

***


"Why do you blame yourself for your daughter's death?"

Draco doesn't really expect a straight answer to this question and therefore, Potter's simple shrug doesn't come as a surprise. They remain silent a few moments and before he knows it, Draco finds himself closely studying the man, something he is doing more and more often these days.

"I don't know. Maybe if I hadn't constantly raved about Quidditch and flying -" Deep in thought, Potter doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, he reaches up and scrubs the back of his hair.

Leaning forward, Draco is overwhelmed by the scent of sandalwood so strongly associated with Potter. He briefly presses his hand onto the other man's knee, "Hey, you cannot blame yourself for that. Everyone constantly raves about Quidditch. She would have tried to fly that broom whether you liked Quidditch or not."

"I'd like to believe you, but -"

"You cannot save everyone," Draco cuts short and goes on despite Potter's protest. "No, listen to me. You just can't." Draco pauses, letting the words sink in.

"I'd like to believe you, but I can't help myself," Potter says in an almost-whisper. "I wish there was a spell to lessen the guilt." The half-smile is unconvincing and softens Draco's heart.

"I'm afraid there is none. I can help you, guide you to the best of my abilities, but in the end, you'll have to deal with the situation and with your emotions. Once you understand, then you can start healing."

***


Draco is twenty-years old when he finds Pansy standing outside of his flat one day. He takes in her haggard look before letting her in. She bursts into tears and he takes her in his arms. She tells him of her brother and of his suicide attempt. She tells him of how he cannot live in this righteous world, how he cannot let go of the Dark Lord's schemes.

To lift up her mood, Draco takes her out dancing that night. Potter is there, sitting in a dark corner with his usual group of followers, the Weasel girl in his lap. Draco ignores the catcalls Finnigan sends his way and leads Pansy to the dance floor where they slowly sway to the music. Pansy has had too much to drink and she leans heavily on him, clinging desperately. He is aware of Potter's eyes on them, but he never quite finds the courage to look up.

***


"How did you figure out you were gay?" Even if Draco knows Potter has something on his mind that day - he has been absentmindedly toying with his tea-mug - the question comes as a surprise.

"What makes you think I'm gay?" Draco cannot help but ask defensively.

"Everyone says so," Potter replies with a shrug before taking a careful sip. The green eyes, partially hidden by the mug, are peering at him.

"Ah, I see. If everyone says so, it must be true then." Draco relaxes in his seat. He can deal with mere curiosity. "After all, everyone used to say you were the heir of Salazar Slytherin and look how that turned out."

"Just answer the question already."

"On some level, I've always known, even though I tried to ignore the truth for a while."

The affirmation catches Potter attention. A frown now mare his features and confusion is written in his eyes. "But you used to date Pansy Parkinson back in Hogwarts and you married Astoria Greengrass."

"Pansy was my way of trying to be like everyone else. It didn't work out, but I kept her as a girlfriend for a while anyway. With all the pureblood crap going on back then, being gay was barely tolerated in the circles my family frequented. I was scared shitless of people finding out I was not the perfect Malfoy heir I was supposed to be."

"And Astoria?"

Draco cannot help but quietly smile at the name. He may have never loved Astoria the way a man loves a woman but she has been dear to his heart, even through their struggles. She has even become a close friend lately, distance strangely bringing them closer than when they lived under the same roof. He lifts a hand and rubs at his face, not missing the puzzled look Potter sends him, even if his mind is far away.

"My parents wanted a Malfoy heir, I wanted kids and I wasn't seriously involved with anyone at the time. I liked Astoria well enough, she was everything I would have wished for in a spouse and she knew I was gay. I don't regret the years we spent together. Scorpius is everything to me and Astoria remains a dear friend."

"But you do -"

"Date men?" Draco cuts short, sensing Potter's embarrassment. He raises an eyebrow, while a soft smirk graces his lips. "I've never been opposed to a quick fuck, even in my later years in Hogwarts."

By now, Potter is blushing furiously and Draco can only taunt him for it.

"Were you, perhaps, trying to tell me something with these questions?"

"Maybe, I don't know."

***


Draco is twenty years old when he comes back home one afternoon to find his latest conquest, Marcello, sharing their bed with a pure stranger. He quickly throws them out of the apartment before changing the wards and sending an Incendio towards the bed in a fit of rage. There are days when he is utterly tired of this. There are days when he wishes for something significant to happen. His life has slowly, but surely, become an endless succession of meaningless events. There are days when he would give anything to be one of those righteous Gryffindors who can seize any opportunity they want. Instead, he is shunned in most circles - politely, but deliberately ignored - forever tainted in the eyes of many. Last he heard, even Longbottom was faring better than him these days.

When the owl comes, bearing his mother's seal and relaying news of various job openings at St. Mungo's for anyone willing to enter and complete their training program, Draco has his doubts. He isn't sure he is fit for such a job. However, his mother carefully chose her words, speaking of the need to help others in order to rebuild the Malfoy name, appeal to his common sense. But most of all, Draco thinks a job could help him feel useful once more. He finally makes up his mind a fortnight later. As he watches the owl carrying his application letter, he wonders what unexpected twist the future still holds for him.

***


Potter's questions and all that time spent alone together slowly make Draco notice things that, as the man's Mind Healer, he has no right to notice. The way Potter clenches his jaw when agitated, the way his hair falls on his forehead and the way his Adam's apple bobs under strong emotions already hold no secrets for him. However, his quiet observations aren't limited to those platonic details anymore. He is more and more entranced by Potter's bright knowing eyes, his long sinewy forearms and his lean, but strong, body. He had thought Potter related fantasies had died long ago, buried under blood and grief in a Hogwarts bathroom. He had been wrong.

Every now and then, he thinks he sees Potter sending a longing glance his way. He tells himself that it certainly is a fragment of his imagination. He tells himself that it definitely is hopeful thinking on his part; a mere coincidence. However, he cannot help but wonder what Potter's words meant. He cannot help but wonder about Potter's loveless marriage. He cannot help but wonder if Potter might have overlooked his own sexuality, eager to wed the girl everyone expected him to fall I love with. He cannot help but wonder if Potter might feel something for him. There have always been strong emotions involved between them, why not lust?

Now, every time he catches the other man's eyes, Draco can feel his heartbeat quickening. Now, every time he sees the other man smile, Draco can feel desire coursing in his veins. He hates himself for it, but cannot stop.

***


Draco is twenty-two years old when his mother brings Astoria Greengrass along with her to his flat for their weekly Saturday afternoon tea. He knows what she is trying to do. She has dropped numerous hints lately about his familial obligations and about the importance of having an heir. She knows he is gay - she would have to be quite oblivious not to notice - but it changes nothing to his responsibilities as head of the family and he knows it.

As much as he dislikes the unannounced gesture, Draco has to admit that Astoria is truly refined, charming and perfectly aware of purebloods traditions and etiquette. She probably knows that he is gay if she paid any attention to his behaviour within the Slytherin dungeon walls during those last few years at Hogwarts. Yet, she does not seem to mind. His mother truly knows what she is doing. In the end, he agrees to another meeting. He would put up more resistance if the two years of training he has left at St. Mungo's didn't offer him a reprieve from any serious wedding planning. He is grateful for those two years. They will give him enough time to get used to the idea of life with Astoria.

***


Draco first becomes aware of the other man's presence when a shadow obscures the doorway to his office and he is forced to squint to finish revising his notes. He fully intends to make the unexpected visitor wait, until waves of uncontrolled magic start shattering his office, pressing on his skin. Alerted, he reaches for his wand, glances up and only relaxes slightly at the sight that greets him.

"Harry, what's wrong?" he asks, first name naturally coming out of his lips at the sight of the tears on his patient's face.

"She lied to me! She fucking lied to me, the whole time!" The answer is punctuated with a punch that leaves a dent into the wall and Draco feels another shimmer of magic against his skin.

"Harry," Draco tries again while getting up. "As much as I appreciate you destroying my office, why don't you sit down and explain what this is about."

"Sorry, it's just that -" Potter doesn't finish his sentence, anger quickly turning into despair. He waves his right hand around, as if the gesture encompasses everything Draco needs to know. It does not.

"Tell me," Draco demands, closing the distance between them and loosely grabbing the other man by the wrist before leading him to his usual seat. He brings his own chair next to it, instead of taking his usual spot. "Tell me," he repeats gently when Potter remains silent.

"It's Ginny," there was a pause during which Potter struggles with himself. He runs a hand into his hair, turning the birds' nest into an even more elaborated mess. "She lied about the events leading to Lily's death."

Potter is getting riled up once more and takes a deep breath to steady himself. It takes everything Draco has not to press for details. They will eventually come.

"That day -" Potter finally starts, before pausing again. "Lily never escaped Ginny's watch to steal a broom. Curiosity and inexperience is not what killed her. When the accident happened, Lily was on Ginny's broom, with Ginny. She fell off the broom when they were fifty feet above the ground."

A silent tear rolls on Potter's right cheek and Draco moves his chair even closer, offering support. For the first time in his life, he is left speechless.

"I know it was an accident, but - she lied to me. She lied about my daughter's death and it's probably the worst form of betrayal I've ever experienced."

"Did she say why she kept quiet about it?" Draco dares asking after a long while.

"She said something about guilt and about being unable to face the truth. The worst thing is that I can understand it. Hell, if it had been me, I certainly wouldn't be able to face it."

"What will you do now?"

The question is met with a shrug before Potter reflects, "I haven't thought much about it, but I know I can't face Ginny right now. I'll probably get angry and say things I'll soon regret."

"Just let me know if you need to talk outside of our already scheduled appointments, I can always make some room for you."

"I wouldn't want to intrude."

Right then, Draco knows that Potter would never intrude. In fact, he wishes he could do more for the man. He wishes their time together was not limited to a few sessions here and there. He has come to care for him.

Draco puts a reassuring hand on Potter's knee. "Harry, I mean it, just contact me anytime you need."

"I will."

***


Draco is twenty-four years old when he is finally given an office at St. Mungo's. It's small, nothing fancy and something is definitely wrong with the furniture. His desk drawers keep bursting open every now and then, hitting him in the knee. He believes the floor supervisor chose these surroundings on purpose. The job is nothing to write home about either. He is mostly picking up benign cases to alleviate his colleagues' workload. Surprisingly he doesn't mind much. He could do with new furniture, but the job is his. He worked hard to get here and he fully earned it.

His father thinks otherwise. He has made his distaste for menial work perfectly clear when Draco visited him last in Azkaban. He had stated that Draco should pursue higher learning and try to climb the St. Mungo's managerial ladder. Draco had wholeheartedly disagreed with him at first. He sometimes was envious of the Weasleys, perfectly happy living in their hovel, no one expecting anything more from them. But then he thought of Astoria, of their impeding wedding and of their future children. For them, he could make one last effort. He doesn't really want his family to live in a hovel. He doesn't want to become father Weasley, mocked for his tiny office and lack of ambition. However, he never returns to Azkaban, no matter how much his father pleads him to in his letters.

***


Potter skips their next session and Draco cannot help but worry. It's the first time he misses one of their meetings. He's afraid he might have said something wrong and pushed the other man away, even though he knows he didn't and even though he knows circumstances could explain his absence. No owls are sent and no Floo calls are made to explain the situation and therefore, Draco is left wondering for days.

When time for the next session comes, Draco feels great relief when the familiar mop of dark hair takes a cautious peek into his pristine office. An unknowing smile forms on Potter lips at the sight of Draco sitting in his usual spot and he takes a few steps inside at the cue of the pale eyebrow raising. However, he doesn't immediately take a seat, nervously shuffling his feet instead.

"I'm sorry, I should have warned you, but Ginny was upset and I -" Potter yanks his hair in frustration and Draco's heart goes out to him "I moved out after our talk the other day. I'm staying with Ron and Hermione for a few days while I figure things out."

Draco remains impassive even if there is a flutter in his stomach and his pulse quickens at the news. Foolish hope courses through his veins once more. Yet, he simply stares at Potter while the man slouches down in his usual seat.

"It fucking sucks!" The tone is angry, but Draco knows it isn't directed at anyone. He learned first thing how divorces can be, even if his own has been quite amicable.

"How do you feel about Ginevra?"

"I don't blame her, but I feel betrayed by her silence; like I woke up one morning having no idea of whom I was married to. I've filed for a divorce."

"Are you sure it's wise?" Draco almost beats himself up for asking. It's his role as a Mind Healer, but wishes he didn't have to.

"What do you mean?" The green eyes are trusting and unguarded. Draco is entranced and has to look away before he wills himself to answer.

"I just do not want you to take a rush decision. Right now, you want a divorce. But will you still feel the same way in a few months? Divorces can become messy and I do not want you come to regret it."

"I understand." For a moment, it looks like Potter might be reconsidering his move and Draco's heart sinks. "But I'm pretty sure that this is the right thing to do. The rush decision probably was marrying Ginny as soon as she got out of Hogwarts. I longed for a normal life and didn't take the time to think things through. Years later, we woke up in a marriage devoid of passion. Ginny is dear to my heart, but I think that I deserve true love. We both do."

***


Draco is twenty-six years old the day Scorpius is born. A few acquaintances already have children and they told him that holding his son for the first time will change his life. He understood the concept, but hadn't realised how fundamental that change would be until Scorpius is delicately put in his trembling arms. The child is protesting rather loudly, wailing and turning a deeper shade of red with every passing second. However, if anyone asks, Draco would proclaim that Scorpius is nothing but beautiful. He can't take his eyes off of him and only after long minutes spent gazing does he send a smile towards Astoria who faintly smiles back.

On that day, Draco swears that no harm will ever be done to Scorpius. He'll protect his son with his own life if it ever comes down to it. No Dark Lord will threaten him.

***


"I saw you the other day at the restaurant with Pansy Parkinson. You are still friends with her?"

Draco had been aware of Potter's clear gaze on him during the whole evening. Pansy had noticed as well and hasn't refrained from commenting. Therefore, he is not overly surprised by the question. "Of course, we've always been close."

"I've never truly liked her, you know."

"I know." Draco has heard of Pansy's actions during the final battle, and even though he loves the woman to death, he cannot blame Potter for holding a grudge. "She regrets trying to sell you out, if it's any consolation."

Potter looks surprised and takes a careful sip before cautiously asking, "She does?"

"People change." Draco simply states, crossing his long legs. He does not wish to elaborate on Pansy's psyche. It's not his place. "We used to dislike each other. If we had been locked in a room like this, twenty-five years ago, I'm not sure both of us would have come out alive."

A smile forms on Potter's lips and he glances away nervously before he finds the courage to say, "I don't dislike you anymore. I haven't for quite a while in fact."

"I know." The words are quietly spoken and Draco is almost afraid Potter didn't hear them until their eyes lock. "I haven't either."

***


Draco is twenty-seven years old when his father is released from Azkaban. His mother organizes a welcome home gathering even if they are the only guests, along with Astoria and Scorpius. Lucius is barely a shell of the man they remember and Draco doesn't believe the party is such a good idea, but he indulges his mother.

Draco loves him very much, yet he cannot help but shudder every time his father's eyes land on Scorpius. He cannot help but think of the things his father taught him and of the things his father might teach Scorpius. Somewhere, deep down, he wishes that his father hadn't left Azkaban.

***


"I've been thinking," Potter absentmindedly starts one day, his right hand tracing patterns on the armrest of his chair.

"Should I be worried?"

"Shut up, Malfoy," Potter replies, hiding a smile. "I've actually been giving a lot of thought to what you said. I think you were right. I've never really taken important decisions based on what I wanted. It was always about what was expected, what others wanted out of me."

There are a lot of things Draco could say, a lot of things he could ask. Once, he would have gloated hearing Potter admit he had been right all along. Yet, he chooses to remain silent and let the other man explain his line of thinking without interruption. He only feels proud of his patient's accomplishments. Potter has come a long way in only a few months.

"I'm tired of it, you know. I'm tired of having to live up to people's expectations. I never complained, but there were times in the past few years when I would have gladly curled up in a corner and slept it all off. But I couldn't. Someone had to chase the latest bad guys, someone had to solve the latest family issue and I always thought it had to be me."

"It didn't have to."

"I'm aware of that now." The green eyes meet his for a brief second, before turning towards the window. "I have to thank you for that."

"I've merely been doing my job," Draco awkwardly states, re-crossing his legs before changing the topic. "What do you want from life now?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Potter hesitates, biting his lower lip. "Probably find my own place. I've already imposed on Ron and Hermione long enough. I would also enjoy getting back to work. I do love my job, and I'll try not to make the same mistakes again. For the rest, we'll see."

Potter eyes linger on him, expectant, and Draco's heart flutters.

***


Draco is thirty-one years old the day he realises that Astoria has been cheating on him for a while. He doesn't really blame her. He hasn't taken her to his bed since the night they conceived Scorpius. Hell, Draco would have taken a lover of his own long ago if work and his son weren't so time consuming. He only wishes Astoria had found the courage to be honest about her indiscretions instead of being told by Pansy. For a while, he doesn't say anything, merely observing his wife, looking for the signs he had missed. He realises there are many. He must have truly neglected Astoria to have been this blind.

On a quiet November evening, he finally brings up the issue. Astoria is startled by his words and fear is obvious in each of her delicate features. He has never shown her cruelty, only kindness and understanding. He wonders about her reaction until he remembers his last name, his family and the Dark Mark marring his left forearm. He might have wished to forget about these things, but people haven't. His words of reassurance soothe her, but not entirely. She keeps watching over her shoulder for days.

***


That night, Draco wakes up from a Potter induced dream, sheets sticky with his come, desire still coursing through his veins. In his dream, he hadn't merely fucked Potter. He had made love to him, kissed him, cherished his body and shared his soul. In his dream, he had vowed to protect the man and his well-being. Words of love had been exchanged. He groans, knowing that he is truly and entirely fucked. He has always entertained fantasies about various men, but this is different. This is more involved. Every day, more and more feelings are getting in the way.

Potter has always meant trouble. He is a patient and there is a line Draco knows he can't cross. Hell, there is a line he has already crossed and he has to backtrack. He has a career and a reputation to protect. He has worked hard to get where he is today and he does not wish to see his life crumble under Potter's feet, no matter his newfound feelings for the man.

That night, Draco makes up his mind. He cannot be Potter's Mind Healer anymore. He feels guilty for letting his patient down, but he cannot help it. Going on would only mean slipping even further into forbidden territory. Professionally distancing himself is the best decision he can take, but it hurts. Chances are that they will not meet again once this is over. Potter will have better things to do. He wishes things were different. He longs for it.

***


Draco is thirty-four years old when he learns of his father's death. Tragedy had always struck other families and he had almost come to believe that Malfoys were invincible. He holds Scorpius close to his chest during the funeral, clinging to the next generation as the former is put to rest. He half expects tears, but they do not come. For years, he had mixed feelings about the man, even if he never stopped loving him. He knows that his father loved him back. He just has never been good at it.

For the first time in his life, he realises that life is truly fragile. Later that night, he has a talk with Astoria. They had been pretending for years, carefully circling around one another. It's time to truly start living and therefore, he sets her free.

***


There is no easy way to break out the news and Draco knows it. In the end, he makes up his mind and picks the kindest - yet non-committal - approach. However, it doesn't entirely soften the blow as Potter's expression hints.

"Why?" Potter asks after a long moment spent in silence, eyes wide and mouth agape. Strangely, it doesn't render him any less attractive.

"It's because I've become too involved in this. I'll refer you to another Mind Healer if you want me to." It's the best he can do, and Draco hates himself for it. Even if they made progress, there are still so many things Potter needs to sort and they have barely breached the subject of his daughter.

"I do not want another Mind Healer!" Potter half-shouts, outraged, and Draco cannot blame him. Potter straightens, before leaning towards Draco, the sudden movement nearly knocking his constant tea-mug over. "And what do you mean, you can't? When has being involved in something become a problem?"

There are things Draco is not willing to say, there are things he is not allowed to say even if he wished otherwise. He doesn't wish to lie either. He can only stare at Potter, helpless.

"Oh, you mean -" Potter starts, interpreting correctly. He quickly looks away nervously biting his lower lips and Draco doesn't know what to think of it.

"I'm truly sorry. I wish I could have seen this therapy through."

"So this is it?" Potter looks up, both in anger and defeat. He is yanking his hair again, his increasingly dishevelled state making him look wild and carefree, and Draco loves him even more for it.

"I'm afraid it is," he states instead of the thousand things he could have said.

"And what if I wanted to see you again?" Potter blushes but keeps his gaze on Draco and his intentions cannot be mistaken. Draco can only stare back at him in astonishment. He had hoped, he had wished, but he had never truly believed. "I kind of like you, you know. We could try and be - friends."

Friends; the word is awkward and reminds Draco of how innocent Potter truly is. He has never fucked a man and has never been fucked by one. He is the Golden Boy who can do no harm. He probably never even thought about gay sex before their time spent together. He probably isn't even gay and has just become reliant on Draco.

"You don't really want to." Potter sends him a puzzled look hearing those words. Draco sighs and berates himself again for being righteous. "Sometimes patients develop a crush on their Healers as a result of the close bound we form during the healing process. But change the setting and things would be quite different."

"I never said it was a crush," Potter mumbles, staring at his trainers. "Well, maybe it is. But it is not the mere result of this therapy. You've always managed to get under my skin like no one else. I'd like to see where this could lead us." Potter closes his mouth, as though ashamed of his moment of candour, and silence stretch between them.

"I can't. You're my patient. Besides, it doesn't make any sense. Think about it, we are Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter," Draco finally answers, clinging to the rational part of his brain. Tossing his objections aside would be too easy.

"I'm not your patient anymore. You dismissed me. And maybe I want this exactly because we are Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter," Potter quickly replies, agitated. The tea-mug is dancing dangerously on his knee.

"You're insane." Draco has to fight to keep his composure.

"Really? You're the one who taught me to reach out for what I really wanted. Well, it's exactly what I am doing right now." Tea finally spills over the floor under the outburst. Draco knows he should worry about his rug, but somehow, it's the last thing on his mind.

"You're not gay." Draco is quickly running out of arguments and Potter knows it.

"I might be. I'll never know if we don't try this."

For a moment, Draco wishes he could simply throw caution to the wind. Younger, he would have. His mouth would already have been on Potter's, hands curling in his wild hair. He would have bit into the sensitive flesh, hips thrusting forward, eyes fluttering shut. His hands would have crept downward to seek their prize and he would have been outrageously hard. His long fingers would have stroked the bulge straining the fabric of Potter's trousers and it would have been ecstasy. It would have been carefree, it would have been pure bliss and it would have been everything he wanted and more. Yet, he isn't young anymore and he isn't carefree.

"Go home. Take the time to think about all of this. We'll talk once you've cleared your head."

***


At thirty-five, Draco experiences the best year of his life. He cuts back his working hours to spend more time with Scorpius, his mother and Pansy. He is grateful for everything that he has. He is grateful for his mother's unwavering love and support and he is grateful for his son. He is grateful for his constant friendship with Pansy, even if she regularly manages to grate on his nerves. Younger, he had thought that happiness could be found in money and power. Now, he knows the truth.

Everything is not perfect however. He often feels the strains of solitude and loneliness. No one keeps him warm at night, no one shares his hopes and dreams and no one shares his worries. He shared his bed with a handful of lovers during the past year, but none manage to catch his attention. Sometimes, he wishes things were different. Sometimes, he wishes he had someone to hold his hand.

***


Days go by without news. Draco waits for a while, almost expecting Potter to come back, before he admits the man probably came to his senses and moved on. He throws a few things around in anger, but still dutifully sends references of colleagues he could trust with Potter's therapy via Clarice. Then, he closes the file with regret.

He goes on with his life, meeting with patients, discussing new cases with colleagues, chatting with his mother and planning Scorpius' summer vacations. However, his heart is not in it. He's going through all the right motions, but his mind is far away, focused on a dark haired wizard. He misses the other man. He misses his unguarded smiles. He misses the flicker in his eyes. He daydreams of nights filled with passion and quiet days spent together. He knows his mother is starting to worry about his vacant expression. He knows Scorpius suspects something is wrong. He knows his colleagues are starting to whisper. He doesn't care.

He sometimes wishes he had made another decision. He sometimes wishes he hadn't pushed Potter away. He has never longed with such intensity for another human being's presence, for Potter's presence, with all of his flaws and all of his emotional clumsiness. He is in love and it hurts.

***


Draco is thirty-seven years old when Scorpius leaves for Hogwarts. The day has been coming for years, coming closer and closer with every step his son took, every word he spoke and every movement he made. Scorpius is a bright child. He has many friends and is well-liked. He would easily adapt to Hogwarts. He is not worried for his son. It's himself he is mostly worried about. Scorpius has been the focal point of his life for eleven years. Now he has to learn to live without his ever constant presence.

They are standing on Platform nine and three-quarters when he notices Potter saying goodbye to his own children. The man is undoubtedly proud of them, yet there is sadness in the depth of his eyes. Draco can only relate and when they share a look, he sends a short nod his way.

***


Draco is playing a game of wizard's chess with Scorpius when the owl comes. He does not expect it and can only stare at the scroll for an absurdly long time before regaining his senses. By the time he does, Scorpius is long gone and he is alone with the letter. He deliberates whether he should open it or not, before taking his decision and tearing the seal open with trembling hands.

Draco,

I can't help thinking about everything you said the other day. You think I might be confused and that I shouldn't jump into this. I do not think you were correct in your assessment. I know that what I feel for you won't simply go away. As I've said, you've always been and always will be under my skin. However, I do not think you were entirely wrong either.

This is confusing. I never thought of myself as being gay, I never even suspected I might be before these past few weeks, and here I am at thirty-seven, suddenly realising why my life with Ginny might have always felt so awkward. So, while I will not change my mind about you, I agree that I might need time and a bit of space to sort myself out before jumping into a new relationship. I'll keep in touch.

Love,
Harry.

Draco reads the message more than once before he reverently folds it. He can understand how Harry feels. He remembers the insecurities quite well.

Besides, even if he has to wait, this is much more than he ever hoped for. Two decades ago he had been silently longing from afar. A few months ago, he had been hoping for a kind of dialogue. A few weeks ago, he had been bashfully fantasizing while discovering friendship could have been possible all along. A few days ago, he had gone through despair. But now, words of love are conveyed on a piece of paper and Draco is elated.

He can certainly give Potter some breathing space. He could give him much more than that if asked. He is ready to wait.

***


Draco is thirty-eight years old when he discovers love for the first time. He discovers he enjoys spending a quiet evening with Harry, kissing and discussing their lives. He discovers he cherishes his body and revels in showing him new pleasures. He discovers he enjoys the taste of him, the look of him when he is on the bridge of orgasm. He discovers there is nothing like the moments after sex, spent languorously kissing and whispering sweet nothings.

Draco had never  imagined such strong feelings could exist. He had seen other couples fall in love. He had noticed the early struggles, the elation, the excitement and the puppy eyes. He had thought it was greatly exaggerated and uncalled for. Now, he knows how wrong he was.