1  Confession Is Good For the Soul

Part 1/2

Monday

When did Harry Bloody Potter become so gorgeous? And shaggable? And so very, very clueless?

All right, that last wasn't a valid question, Draco admitted to himself. He'd always been clueless. But the gorgeous and shaggable parts hadn't been there at Hogwarts, Draco was sure of it. They hadn't even been there when he had first started working with Harry last year. Had they?

He blew out his breath in annoyance as Harry and the two clinic mediwitches continued their mindless chatter in the lunch room, conveniently placed right next to his cubicle. Normally he didn't mind the location - Trainee Healers were expected to settle for what office space they could get, and in a clinic this small he was lucky to get anything approaching privacy - but today he'd been trying to write up a report on a batch of defective Farsight Potion for an hour, and hearing the mediwizards avidly discussing last night's match between the Kenmare Kestrels and Montrose Magpies was not helping his concentration at all.

"No, I'm telling you, their Keeper's really good," Harry was saying. "He was just off because of that Bludger he took last match."

"Distracted by yer bonnie ex, he was," one of the women teased.

Harry chuckled. "You don't know Ginny. She's hell-bent on getting the Cup this year; if he let himself get distracted by her, he wouldn't live to see the next match. She's a fair player in the air, but trust me, she's not above playing dirty off the pitch to get what she wants."

The others laughed knowingly and Draco swore under his breath as he blotted the parchment. He tossed out his quill and replaced it with a new one, quickly cleaning the mess.

There was no reason for it, he thought. Harry's new shaggability, that is. He had grown up, of course, and gained some rather nice muscles, but he still had the same messy hair, same scar, same glasses, plus a very slight limp from a knee injury during the war. The atrocious clothing was gone, and there was nothing shudderable about his attire now, but it was still fairly uninspired. It seemed Girl Weasley had worked with him on wardrobe, but not gone much farther than unsquirmworthy before skipping off on him last year.

And Draco was making up far too many words. Not a good sign.

Maybe that's all it was. Maybe Draco was only interested because Harry was single again. And Draco saw him every day, and they worked together, and Draco's training was long and difficult, and he worked in a minuscule clinic on a tiny island in Shetland, and it was only natural that he would start having feelings for the only person he saw on a regular basis who wasn't sick, married, a hundred years old, or a sheep. Perfectly natural that those feelings would start to manifest themselves as embarrassing distraction during the day, and rather lurid dreams at night. And it was a good thing that Harry was clueless, because Draco sure as hell didn't want to damage their working relationship by revealing his inconvenient attraction to the man.

And thank Merlin the business with the Sorting Hat was a one-time thing only, because putting on that dratted thing right now would surely result in the "Only Malfoy Ever Sorted to Hufflepuff," which was not a title Draco had ever aspired to.

He blew his hair off his forehead. He had to finish this damned report before going home, where he belonged. In his own house, his own bedroom, sleeping in his own bed and not in the call room of the clinic the way he had for most of this week.

He wondered idly if Jessica had missed him at all this week. If she'd even noticed he wasn't there.

Of course she had. Cold and distant his wife might be, but she was neither blind nor stupid. She probably didn't care, though.

"Help!" an old woman stumbled out of the Floo, babbling about a splinched grandson, and Draco automatically tuned her out. Regular splinching, nothing life-threatening, a simple mediwizard job that wouldn't require his skills.

"No, it's all right, ma'am, let me get my bag and I'll be right behind you," Harry told the old woman reassuringly. "Happens all the time, he'll be fine." He quickly passed Draco's desk on his way to his own. "Draco, go home," he said absently. "You look like tripe warmed over and Jessica's probably forgotten your name by now."

"You won't need me?" Draco asked.

"For a leg-splinch? Please, I could teach you how to do one of these. In fact, I did teach you, just last month, didn't I?"

"Ha ha. Have fun, and don't forget to share with the rest of us if she gives you a fairyberry pie as thanks."

Harry chuckled, hurrying back to the distraught old woman and following her through to the Floo, and Draco did not turn to watch him leave because he wasn't that pathetic. Yet.

He ran his hand over his hair as the brief excitement died down and the Quidditch conversation picked up again. Lovely. He was no closer to finishing the report, which he really should before tomorrow, but his motivation to work had completely evaporated and he just wanted to leave. Which had nothing to do with wanting to return to his home and decorously falling-apart marriage, and much more to do with the fact it was past quitting time and Harry was most probably going to Apparate straight home after the splinch job.

Draco sighed and put away his report. Tomorrow was soon enough; his supervisor Helga knew how hard he'd been working lately. And hopefully, his darling wife would be off in London again so he could have a Butterbeer, read a good book, and go to sleep without having to deal with her. And without worrying that she'd overhear him talking in his sleep during one of his more... interesting dreams about Harry.

oooooo

Tuesday

"Draco, did you ever see anything like this when you were at St. Mungo's?" Harry said the next day, resting a hip against Draco's desk and showing him a scroll.

"What is it?" Draco asked, not bothering to put down his Beast Ailment Potions text. "Another botched sheep laxative potion?"

"Curb your enthusiasm, this one's actually interesting. It's from the Sandsay Clinic in Orkney. They think it's a new curse and they can't figure it out."

Draco skimmed Harry's scroll, noting and immediately ignoring the scent of ginger biscuits that Harry seemed to always carry with him. "Patient says she doesn't feel any different?"

"No. She swears she's acting normally and there's nothing wrong with her, but everyone around her is suddenly scared to death of her."

Draco skimmed along farther, gave a low whistle. "Family refusing to be in the same room as her? Ooh, and they got Aurors in too."

"Nearly got her shipped to Azkaban before somebody pointed out she hadn't actually done anything wrong. Apparently the first Auror called in swore she was up to no good, but couldn't pin down what exactly she'd done. Thank god the back-up he called spotted the difficulty, or she'd be warming a cell right now. For no reason."

"And she's otherwise unaffected."

"Feels fine. Other than she can't understand why everybody around her is terrified of her."

"Hm. She's probably just premenstrual," Draco said, and ducked to avoid a flying gob of fairyberry pie.

"Brave man," Harry said dryly, and Draco chuckled.

"Brave or foolish," said Helga. "Good thing I know ye don't mean it, or that pudding would've burst into flame."

"You're just pissed because you ran out of your potion last month," Draco quipped.

"Shut your gob, brat," Helga said gruffly. "Ye're not done your training yet."

Draco smirked at her. "St. Mungo's doesn't appear to care," he said. "I've already been offered a post there when I'm done here."

"That'll thrill Jessica, I'm sure," commented Brian, the other Healer on staff. "More than good old Shetland, anyway. So, no ideas on it? Didn't see anything like it at St. Mungo's during your training?"

"No. Though I didn't spend a lot of time in the Spell Damage wards. You may want to owl them."

"Well, Sandsay's probably sending her there anyway, if they can't figure it out soon. They've been at it for three days with no improvement."

"Harry!" Pepper poked her head in. "Cauldron explosion at Clett Apothecary on Whalsey, you're up!"

"How long were you at St. Mungo's anyway?" asked Brian after Harry had left, taking his ginger biscuit smell with him.

"Ten months," Draco said. Must remember to buy ginger biscuits next time I go shopping, he caught himself thinking. Swiftly followed by You don't even like ginger biscuits and You hopeless twit.

"Jessica wants to move back to London, doesn't she?"

"Yeah, she does," Draco said absently, still studying the scroll from Sandsay and not thinking of ginger biscuits.

"And you?"

"I'd rather stay here."

"In Shetland?" Brian grimaced. "Whyever for?"

Draco shrugged. "It's a nice enough place. And I get to see a bigger variety of cases; at a larger clinic I'd have to specialize and only ever see one kind of problem."

"Yeah, fascinating variety; half our patients are animals," Brian shook his head, and Draco shrugged again. "God, why would anybody want to be here, when they could be there?"

Draco glanced at him and raised an eyebrow, and Brian had the grace to look a bit sheepish. It wasn't that nobody at Muckle Roe Clinic knew about him and his past; they just didn't always connect him to the name in the Prophet. Muckle Roe was remote enough that the entire Second Voldemort Rising had been little more than articles in the newspaper to them, and Draco's own role in it not particularly well known. Which was precisely why he had come here. Probably why Harry had come here too; even the Boy Who Lived Twice didn't attract much attention here, except as a Southerner.

Draco still found the irony of it amusing. Muckle Roe had seemed perfect, when he was looking for a place to finish his training. A small clinic with two Healers and three mediwizards, none of whom he knew, and a large but scattered wizarding population who mostly kept to themselves. Almost no contact with Muggles. Far, far away from Wiltshire and London. Hopefully nobody who knew much about him, for good or bad.

Then he'd arrived, and on his first day he'd met the people he was going to be working with fairly closely for the next three years. Chief Healer Helga Smith, Healer Brian Bulstrode (no relation to Millicent; he'd checked), Mediwizards Gwen Sigrudsdattir, Pepper Unst, and Harry...

"Potter," he'd said, keeping his voice even. "The staff list said Evans."

Lovely, he'd thought. Just perfect. And had been pleasantly surprised when Harry merely smiled wryly and said, "Mother's maiden name. I use it on official papers so nobody will track me down, but I still go by Potter in person." He'd held out his hand. "Hello, nice meeting you for the very first time ever."

Draco had laughed, taken off guard, and shaken his hand, and the others had looked at Harry with surprise.

"Ye ken the new lad, then?" Gwen had asked.

"Yeah, I know him. We were in the same year at Hogwarts."

"Old friends?"

"Not exactly," Harry chuckled, but didn't elaborate. "Welcome aboard, Malfoy. How far along are you in your training?"

"I still have three years to go. I didn't know you'd become a mediwizard."

"It's a living," Harry had said easily. "I've been here two years. Which gives me seniority over you, until you're done your training." He grinned. "At which point you can begin acting superior, and I'll probably start looking for another job."

Draco had smiled as the rest of the team welcomed him, evidently deciding that if Harry could tease him, the new lad must be all right. Yes, it had been almost eight years since Hogwarts, they'd been civil to each other the few times they'd been in contact since then, and Draco had been pardoned for his actions before the war and honoured for his work during the war, but it had still been rather generous of Harry to ease Draco's way into the clinic. Once, such magnanimousness would've galled Draco, infuriated him. He'd grown up enough since then to be grateful instead.

And he'd gradually gotten to know Harry as he was now: a competent, dedicated mediwizard, and a pleasant and decent man; nothing like the boorish, angry boy he'd once been. They'd worked well together, and Draco had slowly come to regard him with respect and friendship.

It was just too bloody bad that all this had coincided with him and Jessica cooling towards each other, so that eventually he'd found himself first intrigued, then interested, then inexorably straying into lovesick puppy mode around Harry. Even occasionally seeing him in his dreams. Happily he'd yet to toss off to thoughts of him, because he very carefully kept his thoughts on faceless people. Because the day he was wanking over thoughts of Harry Bloody Potter would be the day he checked himself into St. Mungo's and got to know Gilderoy Lockhart a little better.

Making a mental note to never think of tossing off and Gilderoy Lockhart in the same sentence again, Draco shuddered and buried himself once more in his textbook, trying with all his might to make sheep gestation potions hold his interest.

oooooo

Wednesday

"Oh my g-"

"Stop - dinna come closer!"

"Wha-"

"STOP!"

"Brian, what th-"

"GET BACK!"

Draco rushed into the Floo room, completely unprepared for the sight that greeted him. Harry, somewhat dusty from the Floo, was holding his wand before him. Ringed around him were Brian, Gwen and Pepper, all pointing their own wands at him menacingly.

"What the fuck?" Draco said.

"He's dangerous!" Pepper shouted frantically. "He - keep yer wand on him!"

Draco grabbed his wand and pointed it at Harry. What the hell? Polyjuice, Imperio, what the hell was going on in Middle of Nowhere, Muckle Roe?

"What did he do?" he asked the others, fighting down panic.

"What d'ye mean? We're not about to let him do anything!"

"Why are you holding your wands on him?"

The others spared him quick, incredulous stares. "What's the matterwi' ye?" said Gwen.

Draco blinked and turned to Harry. "All right, what happened?"

"N-nothing!" Harry burst out, deeply shaken. "I just got back from a splinch call in Orkney, I stepped out of the Floo and they went mental on me!"

Draco glanced at the others. "Is that what happened?"

"Look," said Brian agitatedly, "you can't let him fool you, he's dangerous-"

"How do you know that?"

"Look at him!" yelled Brian. "He'll Avada Kedavra us as soon as look at us!"

Draco put his wand down. "All right, tell me what I'm supposed to be seeing," he said, forcing his voice into a calmness he didn't feel. Bugger it all, they were supposed to be done with this shite. The war was over. He was supposed to be dealing with spot-removing charms gone wrong, not whatever the hell this was.

"He's dangerous! Canna ye feel it?" Pepper asked, her voice rising hysterically. Draco met Harry's eyes and saw only bafflement and fear.

"Did you do anything-"

"No! Bugger it, I told you, I just stepped out of the bloody Floo and they-" Harry waved his wand in the direction of the other three.

"Duina daar me, mellishon!" Gwen suddenly shouted at Harry, almost hysterical, lapsing into broad Shetlandic in her panic.

"I'mnot threatening you, I was just-"

"Put down your wand," said Draco.

"Are you daft?" Harry said, incredulous. "They'll kill me!"

"No they won't. I won't let them." Draco thought as quickly as he could. "Listen," he said urgently to the others, bringing his wand back up. "I'm keeping my wand on him. He won't do anything. I need you to lower your wands, then he'll do the same, and then... then we can call some Aurors in. All right? They'll deal with him."

"Aurors!"

"Harry! Shut up!" Draco snapped. "Trust me, for god's sake. Lower your wand and they'll lower theirs."

Harry stared at him, swallowing nervously, then hesitantly lowered his wand a fraction - only to snap it back up when Gwen drew hers back for a hex.

"GWEN!" Draco shouted. "FREEZE! Everybody! Freeze!"

There was a brief moment of silence and he took a deep breath.

Right. Bloody hell, he had to call the Aurors. He'd been trained to do this for out-of-control patients, but he never thought he'd have to do it for his own colleagues. He took a deep breath and said the incantation, focusing on the spell as well as he could while trying to maintain the fragile peace in the room.

Bugger it all, if the Aurors got here and also went mental on him, they might be in a bigger mess than before. Trained Dark Wizard catchers, turning on Harry Potter for no particular reason other than 'knowing' he was dangerous.

Well, he'd deal with that if he had to. He just needed to keep everybody calm until then.

"Look. Please trust me. Everybody, put your wands down on the ground. Now. Then step away. I'll put him in a body-bind till the Aurors get here - to keep you bloody well safe, Harry," he snapped, "before your colleagues hex you down to a stain on the floor."

Harry's breathing was very rapid and he stared at Draco for a long moment before slowly putting his wand down on the ground.

"All right. Come on," Draco said shakily. "Everybody put your wands down. Harry, sit so you don't fall down when I do the bind. Everybody, let's just... let's just relax and wait for the Aurors to show up, shall we?"

And please, let's everybody just try not to hex one another, because it would be embarrassing as hell to have to get St. Mungo's to treat this cosy little rural medical family.

"I'm not putting my wand down!" Brian exclaimed. "The bastard can do wandless magic, you know that!"

"Right. Well then, don't put your wand down," Draco said soothingly, maintaining eye contact with Harry and willing him to go along. "Hold it on him, very, very steadily. If he tries any wandless magic, I'll need you to be ready to follow my lead, right? I can take him down, but I can't have you throwing your own hexes at him without me knowing what they are, or they might cancel each other out. All right?"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the other three nodding grimly, and let out his breath in relief.

oooooo

"What?" Draco exclaimed in dismay a few hours later. "Why me? And why there?"

"It's a cottage we use for quarantine cases," said Helga. "And you're the natural choice to try to treat this; ye aren't affected by it."

"But we don't even know why that is, I could start getting paranoid any moment and we'd be away from everybody else and-"

"Matter of fact, we do know why that is. That Sandsay case was transferred to St. Mungo's yesterday and they've been working on it." She took out a long scroll with the words "St. Mungo's Mysterious Dark Illnesses Research Division" across the top.

"Near as they can tell, it's potion-based," she began. "From a batch of Death Eater potions hidden somewhere in the Orkneys. Harry took that splinch call in Orkney today because their clinic was still backed up from trying to deal with their case of it from the other day and a new one yesterday. The Aurors've quarantined most of Orkney till they figure out how Harry came into contact with it and where the rest of the batch is." Helga pursed her lips. "The potion was probably designed to instill fear and submission in others, but it went a wee bit far with the fear."

Draco sighed. How many years since the war, and they were still dealing with its aftermath. In the Orkney and Shetland Islands, for Merlin's sake.

"St. Mungo's says the victim's Extrarius magical aura becomes 'falsely tinged with malice,'" read Helga. "It breaks past other people's mental shields just like Legilimens does, and scares holy hell out o' them. But a good Occlumens is immune. Enter Trainee Healer Draco Malfoy."

"And if my Occlumency cracks, we'll be in very deep shit. Alone. In a hut in the wilderness of Shetland, with me thinking he's about to kill me."

"Is that really why you're reluctant to do this?" Helga narrowed her eyes as Draco pressed his lips together. "Or do ye have another reason?"

"Look, the reason I don't want to is..." he trailed off, totally at a loss for what to say.

"...something pretty damned important, something important enough to make ye want to ignore a patient in need," Helga said coldly.

"Can't somebody else-"

"Nobody else trusts him. You're impervious to the curse. St. Mungo's is too busy dealing with their own cases, and I've a clinic to run."

"But - this isn't - no. This isn't Trainee Healer work."

"You're not an ordinary Trainee Healer. You can handle it."

And if you had any idea just how much this Trainee Healer wants to 'handle' this particular patient, you wouldn't be so eager to send them off alone together. For a brief, horrified moment, Draco wondered if he'd said that out loud, before he gave himself a small shake and set his jaw. "I'm not going to do it. I can't."

"Don't insult my intelligence. This has nothing to do with 'can't'. Your technical competence is above reproach. I think this is more like 'won't.'"

"All right," Draco said tightly. "I won't."

Helga appraised him coolly for a long moment, then leaned back in her chair and spoke slowly and thoughtfully. "I'm sure ye can understand that there were many people who doubted that someone with your... background and history would ever be able to put the needs of a patient ahead of his own. But so far ye've never given me cause to doubt my decision to take ye on as a Trainee."

Draco gritted his teeth. "But I will if I don't take on this assignment," he finished for her evenly.

Here they were, and he should have known this would come up sooner or later. Nights spent staying up with patients, or studying, or sleeping next to a critical patient's bed in case they woke up flashed before his eyes, and wilted under Helga's cool gaze.

"I won't say ye have to. I'll leave it to your conscience."

Draco clenched his jaw. "Do you know," he said, maintaining the same even tone, "my father used to do the same thing. Giving a choice without giving a choice."

Helga had the grace to drop her eyes and blush slightly at his mention of a man nobody at Muckle Roe Clinic had mentioned until now.

She cleared her throat. "Look, it's not just... not just proving your trustworthiness," she said, a little too loudly. "It's - this is a wonderful professional opportunity. Ye were a Slytherin, ambitious, weren't ye? The chance to solve this case is one I would think ye'd be happy to take. Particularly with Harry Potter as a patient."

If I were really that bloody ambitious, I wouldn't be here in Muckle Fucking Roe, would I? Draco wanted to hurl back at her. And if Harry wanted to be famous as a patient or as anything else, he probably wouldn't be here and using his mother's maiden name, would he?

And none of that would matter to Helga. All she saw was a patient in need, and a Trainee Healer who could help him, and whatever she needed to do to get that patient help, she would do. Consummate Healer. Would've made a good Slytherin, too.

And his own selfish reasons for not wanting to be around Harry probably wouldn't impress her in the least.

He nodded tightly. "Fine. Arrange it and I'll go." He left her office before he could say anything he would regret.

oooooo

"Erm... where the hell are we?" was the first thing Harry asked as soon as the two rather skittish Aurors had signed him over to Draco's care and hastily Apparated away.

Draco frowned. "Did nobody tell you?"

"Nobody's said much since I stepped out of the Floo. Other than Get away, or Move and I'll kill you." Harry's smile was dry, but Draco could read the tension in his voice. "I suppose being convinced they're an inch away from death puts a bit of a damper on their conversational skills."

"Ah. Well, we're at the Muckle Roe quarantine cottage near Burki Taing. We're here until I solve this, or St. Mungo's does." Or until I go mental and leap into your lap in the middle of an examination. Best not say that last bit out loud though.

"Quarantine? I'm not contagious, am I?"

Draco's eyebrows drew together. "No. Did nobody even ask you if you wanted to be treated at the clinic or not?"

Harry shrugged. "No. I suppose it does make sense, though. I didn't particularly want to stay at the clinic either." He wandered over to the window. "I've been having the oddest flashbacks; it's almost like I'm back at school."

Draco looked at him in surprise. That was something that hadn't come up between them in the year that he'd been at the clinic. They chatted about patients, Quidditch, the news, and the truly vile curry house in Lerwick's Market Street. They had never broached the topic of Hogwarts.

"Really? Why?"

Harry smiled grimly. "Let's see, in second year I was the Heir of Slytherin, in fourth I'd gotten into the Triwizard Tournament through foul play out of a pathological need for attention, and in fifth year I was a half-mad liar with delusions of grandeur. Yeah, I'd say I've got the role of wrongfully mistrusted down fairly well."

Draco didn't know what to say to that.

"So, do you have any ideas?" Harry asked.

"I have a lot of ideas. The two cases in St. Mungo's have the Healers baffled, but they've sent us their notes."

"Two? And they still haven't solved it?"

"No. But I don't think they were making it a big priority until this morning - you know there was that Felix Felicis gone bad, they've been working round the clock on that one for weeks, pulled all the good Healers into it. The patients with this aren't dying; they're just going through some discomfort."

Harry raised an eyebrow.

Draco backtracked hastily. "Damn. Sorry, I don't mean to minimize your problem," he said, and inwardly smacked himself. Oh now that didn't make him sound like a prat, giving Harry the standard rote comment to patients, which Harry had probably said a hundred times himself.

"And you will do your utmost to help me through this regardless of whether it's life-threatening or not, I know," Harry said impatiently. He waved that aside. "So, what ideas do you have?"

Draco shook his head. "Listen, you're here as a patient. Don't try to heal yourself."

"I know, a Healer who heals himself has a fool for a patient. I'm not a Healer, I'm a mediwizard."

"Close enough."

"No it isn't. We're not trained to believe we're the final authority on medical care," Harry grinned at him. "So, do share. First off, do they even know what the hell this is?"

"Yeah, it's a bad batch of Death Eater potion," Draco said, noting with approval that his voice didn't betray, at all, the embarrassing flip his stomach always performed in reaction to Harry's grin these days. "Your Extrarius aura has a false tinge of malice."

"My what has a what?"

"Your Extrarius aura. The force of your... 'outward' magic, used for spells that affects other people's minds, like Legilimency. Yours has been tinged with malice, so that wizards and witches near you become convinced that you're out to harm them."

"So if I'm around Muggles, it's not a problem?"

"Shouldn't be. That's part of why they're not that worried about the cases at St. Mungo's right now; if the Healers can't cure it, the patients can just live in the Muggle world until its effects wear off."

"That's not much of a solution."

Draco shrugged. "The two cases they've got are both half-bloods. Shouldn't be that difficult for them."

Harry gave him an unreadable glance and went back to the scroll. "So my magical aura is 'tinged with malice'. God, it sounds like I'm being seduced by the Dark Side of the Force."

"The what?"

Harry shook his head. "Muggle thing, never mind. What have they tried so far?"

"Well, apparently St. Mungo's tried truthspell charms so that others could see she was telling the truth when she said she wasn't going to hurt them. That backfired; they started to think she was a master manipulator because she sounded so honest. They tried cheering charms for the people around her, which just made them very happy that she'd been taken into custody. Then they tried calming potions for everyone, but the only dose strong enough to knock out the paranoia made two of the subjects lose bladder control." Harry chuckled, and Draco skimmed through the rest of the scroll from St. Mungo's. "They've tried reverse Obliviates, implanting false memories to convince people of what a good person she is; no effect. They also tried some trust spells to wear down the aura of malice-"

"Trust spells? What are those?"

"Variation of an Unbreakable Vow, actually," Draco said, and felt himself unexpectedly blushing as Harry raised his eyebrows.

Damn. Few things unsettled him as much as reminders of his own past, and here was a big one, the memory of sixth year and Snape's Unbreakable Vow to his mother floating between him and Harry now, as tangible as a Hogwarts ghost and as difficult to ignore.

Bad enough he was out here because of his bloody past, because Helga had thrown it in his face. Bad enough that he was with somebody who had been there for so much of that past. Whoever directed his life had a miserable sense of humour, because that same person had gorgeous green eyes that were gazing at Draco steadily and distracting the hell out of him even as he struggled to keep his damned past firmly in the past, where it belonged.

He cleared his throat and pressed on. "An Unbreakable Vow basically sets up trust between the person making the Vow and the recipient of the Vow. It requires honesty from the caster, and that honesty is felt in the magical aura of the caster, and affects the magical aura of the person to whom the Vow is made."

"Right, yeah, I remember hearing that before. But how does this help now?"

"Well, basically, the casters - the Healers - have been trying to use a Trust Spell in the same way. They cast the spell and then divulge personal information, showing that they trust the recipient - the patient - to not use their information against them, to not act with malice against them. Hoping to wear down the false appearance of malice in the patient's aura."

"That... doesn't make much sense to me."

There was a time, too long ago, when watching Harry get confused would've made Draco positively cackle with glee. Now he found it endearing.Kill me now, he thought wistfully. "Well, most of the solutions don't make much sense, when you think about it. They're just trying whatever sounds like it might possibly work."

"And does it work?"

"No, not really. But at least it hasn't backfired, like almost everything else."

"So are you going to try to do that?"

"I think I'd like to try a couple of the potions first, with some changes."

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Then, we'll go to the Trust Spells."

"Why would they work for you and not for St. Mungo's?"

"For one, I don't think the variation of the Trust Spell they used was the right one. It's always tricky, using spells to fight potions and vice versa. And for another, none of the Healers know their patients, so I doubt it would require much trust to say anything to them. If I were to tell a random patient something like, oh, I don't know, I adore pink plaid, I don't think it would mean much. Telling you would involve a fair bit of trust."

"Pink plaid?" Harry snickered. "I'd take the mickey out of you for that."

"That doesn't make me eager to share. But you get the point."

"Erm... yeah, I suppose so. Though I would've thought a Trust Spell would be less likely to work if it was coming from you. I mean, you're not cringing away from me like everybody else."

"That's only because I'm an Occlumens. The important point is that the Trust Spell, along with actual trust, will wear down the malice emanating from your aura. I don't think it'll matter that I don't actually feel afraid of you."

Harry nodded, still a bit doubtful. "All right, if you say so. Whatever works."

"So, tomorrow potions. Hopefully that'll work. If not, the next day we'll go on to Trust Spells."

"Fair enough. I take it we're not going to do anything tonight?"

Draco automatically suppressed any reaction to Harry's innocent question and shook his head. "You may as well settle in and go to bed. I'll check that we've got everything we need for tomorrow, then I'll go to bed myself."

And please, let the potions work, thought Draco as Harry said goodnight and headed off to his room. Because even thinking of the kinds of things he could confess to Harry...

He sighed as he went to bed, the potions ingredients dutifully checked. This had been a terrible idea. He shouldn't have come here; he should've insisted Harry be sent to St. Mungo's. No matter what Helga said, she knew he was a dedicated Healer. He'd spent the last four years proving that, to himself and to everybody around him. To everybody who'd assumed he would end up a useless, idle rich boy, living on the tattered remnants of his family's wealth and power and trying to hang on to a way of life that had gone down in flames with Voldemort. To every single person who'd smiled to his face and congratulated him for his contribution to the war while making snide remarks behind his back about what Malfoy money could and couldn't buy. He had shown them, and he'd shown Helga, and letting her essentially bully him into this situation was...

This was pointless. He turned over in bed, blowing out his breath in frustration. He'd long ago learned to avoid this kind of brooding, because it never went anywhere.

Unfortunately, what he usually distracted himself with... might not be such a good idea right now. A good one off at the wrist would undoubtedly distract him and send him right off to sleep, but...

No, probably not a good idea. Not with Harry right here, separated by only a very thin wall, maybe even touching himself as well right now - AUGH! He very quickly blocked that thought off. He was notgoing down that path, or he'd go mental.

All right then. He quickly ran over his options. One: toss and turn through the night, trying not to think of Harry right next door. Unacceptable. Two: sleeping spell. Invariably left him groggy and cross the next day. Next: wank himself to sleep. Which probably wasn't wise either, but seemed rather more workable than the first two options.

So. How to do this without compromising whatever laughable smidgen of detachment he still had with respect to Harry. Let's see... the new Keeper for the Kestrels was quite fit. Male, though. Erm... there was that spokeswoman for SleekEasy, whom Jessica had introduced him to last month. Vapid and vacant, but quite lovely. With long black hair that... would probably look better if it was a little... messier...

Bloody hell.

All right, not the SleekEasy spokeswoman, then. Back to the Kestrels Keeper. Tall, stocky, graceful, large square hands that Draco could just imagine holding him, threading through his hair, coming to rest on the back of his neck...

He sighed and turned over, reaching down. Most nights he preferred to let arousing images build until he was itching to touch himself, but tonight he just wanted this over as soon as possible.

Most nights. Rather a sad statement, he reflected. Having a nightly masturbatory routine when he was married. When was the last time he and Jessica had bothered to touch each other?

Damn. Predictably, with thoughts of his wife, his vague arousal was dispelled. Better than saltpeter, Jessica was.

Right. Back to the... who was he supposedly fantasizing about?

Kestrels Keeper, right. Oh, bother that, he was in no mood to build a fantasy. He'd just have to go with nameless and faceless, and hope that none of the images would remind him of Harry.

Yes, hands touching him, gliding over his chest, pulling him in firmly, feeling a lean body against his - let's give that body breasts, breasts were an excellent idea - and he sighed, touching himself and imagining a mouth ghosting over his neck. Hands moving his head to the side, lips nibbling on his earlobe, a warm wet mouth slowly going lower... he sped up his own movements, imagining that mouth curving in a smile as it reached its destination, and bright green eyes looked up at him-

Bugger!

No. Not acceptable. He was in a very small house, with a colleague right next door; a colleague with whom he not only had to maintain a good working relationship, but for whom he also had to try to fix a condition that might very well require him to reveal rather personal things. Like, say, this.

He sat up. A shower. Tossing off in the shower was easy. No fantasy required, the physical stimulus of the water itself was pleasant enough to get him going. He picked up his towel and headed down the hall.

"Oh! Sorry-" Harry said as Draco stepped back to avoid being hit by the washroom door. "Sorry, I thought you were already asleep."

"W-what?" Draco stammered, totally off-balance from the sight of Harry's rosy cheeks, his freshly showered scent, his skin radiating heat and his green eyes a little unfocussed without glasses. "No. No, I was still awake. I was just, erm, going to..." stop talking, he told himself, and hoped that Harry's eyesight was bad enough that he wouldn't be able to see Draco's flustered blush.

Come to think of it, he knew Harry's eyesight was that bad. Helga had had him practice eyesight test charms on all his colleagues. Thank you, Helga. And Harry was talking.

"...still enough hot water in there," he was saying, a bit apologetically, and Draco wasn't wishing he could gaze at Harry's flat stomach, barely visible from under the towel Harry had thrown over his shoulder, pants riding low underneath. "Sorry, I didn't know if you showered in the morning or at night."

"Morn - erm, actually, both," Draco mumbled, closing the door behind him. And no, he was decidedly not going to wonder whether Harry had just used the shower for the same purpose he was about to.

oooooo

Thursday

"Why are we here, anyway?" Harry asked the next morning as they prepared a large batch of potions from St. Mungo's instructions. "I would've thought they'd transfer me to St. Mungo's."

"Helga considered it. Decided she'd rather keep you here."

"Why did you agree to it though? Don't you have exams next month?"

Because among my many other failings, I'm apparently also a masochistic idiot, Draco thought to himself as he gave the blue potion one final counterclockwise stir and firmly forced his eyes to stay on the cauldron and not on Harry's hands and arms, the sleeves of his casual green shirt pushed up to his elbows as he worked on the potions.

"Did she force you to?" Harry frowned as he started to slice a dried mandrake. "She's not allowed to do that. Trainee or not, you have a right to refuse to take on an extra assignment like this. Especially when you have exams coming up."

"She didn't... really force me to." Draco cleared his throat and poured the potion into a flask. "I'm here because... because I am who I am."

"What?"

"Because I told Helga that I didn't want to, for reasons of my own, and she said she hadn't yet had a chance to regret taking me on as a Trainee before now..."

Harry's eyebrows drew together and he paused mid-slice. "But now she did? Why?"

"Because of who I am. Basically, I need to prove myself. Prove that I can put a patient's needs above my own. Despite my... history."

"Your - you mean-" Harry's eyes widened slightly. "Oh." His eyebrows drew together. "Wait, after a year at the clinic, all of a sudden this comes up?"

"You'd be surprised about when these things come up. Slice the mandrake thinner," he said, and started chopping dried Seena Leaf.

"It's happened before?" Harry asked, resuming his work.

"Of course it has," Draco said irritably.

"But you were given an Order of Merlin-"

"I was given a Dark Mark before that."

"You were sixteen!"

"You were fifteen when you led an attack on the Department of Mysteries and won."

Their knives cutting were the only sounds for a while. "That was a long time ago," Harry finally said quietly.

"Not long enough."

"So... she wants you to prove yourself," Harry said, his voice neutral. "And you're trying to do that."

"Which is stupid."

"Yeah, it is. Your record is clear. You're a good Healer, she should know that."

Draco let the warm glow from Harry's words sit for a brief moment before squashing it. "It's not Helga who's stupid," he said brusquely, adding Harry's sliced mandrake to one of the cauldrons and his chopped Seena Leaf to another. "I'm stupid for letting her get to me and ending up here."

"What?"

"Because I can't prove myself. I can't - there is nothing I can do in this lifetime that'll mean I'm done proving myself. The Dark Mark will never come off, and no matter what I do, there will always be doubt. Until the day I die, somebody will want me to prove myself." And you can really stop babbling any time now, his brain suggested helpfully, and he firmly closed his mouth.

Harry was silent as they started to pour the remaining potions into their flasks. "So why are you here, then?" he finally asked.

"She also pointed out that I could advance my career by solving this."

Harry raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"No, I didn't think so either. If that's what was important to me, I wouldn't be in Muckle Roe, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't." Harry started to write labels for their potions as Draco cast cleaning spells on the cauldrons. "So... why are you here?" he repeated.

"I don't know," Draco shrugged irately. "Maybe to prove myself to me."

"And why didn't you want to be here?"

"That's private," he snapped, and Harry's eyebrows went up slightly. Draco cleared his throat awkwardly and finished the cleaning spells. "In any case, I shouldn't waste any confessions, just in case the potions don't work, right?"

"Right." Harry cleared his throat. "All right, so. I'm supposed to try all of these..." he pulled a face at the counter full of neatly labeled flasks. "And how will we know if they work?"

"I'm reading up on how to make your Extrarius aura visible." Draco ran his hand through his hair. "I wasn't supposed to have to learn that until near the end of my training, so it may take a while to get it right. Until I can figure it out, we'll just have to Floo back and forth to the clinic."

"Won't that be a bit disruptive for them?"

"They've sealed off the Floo room from the main clinic for now."

"Erm... I don't particularly want to try this with other people. It's a bit unnerving, having friends pointing their wands at me."

Draco chewed on his lip thoughtfully.

"Why not try magical beasts?" Harry suggested. "There are always owls and kneazles and other animals around the clinic."

"Good idea. All right, then, I'll try to decipher how exactly I'm supposed to make your Extrarius aura visible. You start in on those potions."

Harry grimaced as he looked at the long range of flasks emitting mostly foul vapours on the counter. "Lucky, lucky me."

oooooo

Friday

"I take it bright pulsing purple is bad," Harry said the next day, a little cross-eyed as he tried to peer at his own aura.

"It's not good," Draco agreed. "St. Mungo's said it's normally supposed to be 'glowing softly, somewhere between blue to green.'"

"Not a lot of green here," Harry commented. "Funny, I really don't feel like I'm being hostile."

"You're not," Draco said automatically, concentrating on the aura. "It's just the potion, you know that."

"I really thought that last orange potion yesterday would help," Harry said. "It certainly made me feel different."

"Before or after you threw it up?"

"Right after I drank it. I thought maybe it had reversed the effect, because I really thought you were trying to kill me."

"Ha ha."

"So I take it we're starting confession time?" Harry said as Draco put his wand down and checked his notes.

"Let me set up the Trust Spell first," he said distractedly, reading over the scroll.

"I'm all aquiver now. D'you really like plaid?"

Draco gave him a quelling glare.

"Sorry. I probably shouldn't joke about it, should I?"

"I don't think it'll make that much difference," Draco admitted. "Might make this easier, even. Now hush for a moment."

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, reached for the mental space the scroll from St. Mungo's had suggested. "Confidotuom," he said carefully, and a light grew out of his wand, slowly enveloping Harry.

He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry for how I acted towards you in school."

"What?"

"I had a lot to do with how people saw you back then. What you said, about people suspecting you of all those things. And I regret that, now."

Harry looked nonplussed. "That's your confession?"

"It seems a good place to start. And it's not that personal."

"Then why use it as a confession?"

"Because I have to start with something, to see if it helps at all to do the spell slightly differently. And I don't know how powerful the confessions are supposed to be, and I'd really rather not tell you all that much. No offence."

"None taken."

Draco ended the Confidotuom spell and waved his wand over Harry again, and the pulsing purple aura appeared around him.

Harry shook his head. "No change."

Draco squinted a bit, concentrating. "Not much... but it's very slightly less red-tinged. I think." He blew out his breath and jotted down a few notes.

"Are you really?" Harry asked.

"Really what?" Draco asked distractedly, trying to describe the very minute change he'd seen. Knowing that he'd need to keep very careful notes if he was to make any headway towards solving this.

"Sorry."

"What?" Draco glanced up.

"Sorry about what you did at Hogwarts."

"I just said I was." Harry nodded, but looked somewhat skeptical. "Why would I lie about something like that?"

"No, it's not that I thought you were lying, just..." He paused. "I suppose I thought you'd think everything you did back then was justified. That maybe I was as much a wanker to you as you were to me."

"You were. I'm just sorry for what I did."

"Oh."

Draco went back to his notes.

"Erm... do you need me here for this?" Harry asked hesitantly after a moment.

"What? Oh - erm, no, I don't think so. You're free to wander off if you want."

"Will you be doing another one soon?"

"Not soon," Draco said, skimming his notes. "The St. Mungo's Healers recommended waiting a few hours between spells. Personally I don't think it's necessary, but I'm willing to go along with their recommendation for now."

"Good thing Helga sent us a chess set this morning, then."

"Yeah, good thing," Draco agreed, not looking up. Very good thing.

From bright pulsing reddish purple to... only slightly less bright pulsing reddish purple. The fact that there was a change was encouraging. The fact that the change had been almost imperceptible...

Draco suppressed a groan. The confession hadn't taken much out of him; it was the kind of thing that would've probably come out over a Butterbeer after a long shift at some point in their working relationship, if he didn't still have a smidgen of Malfoy pride left to cling to. Apologizing for a stupid adolescence was something probably about 95 per cent of adults - including Harry - should do at some point.

But the change had been so depressingly minuscule...

oooooo

"All right, it looks like there was a minute change," he said a few hours later. "It's not much, but then again, the confession wasn't much either. So. Let's try again."

Harry smiled. "This is where I get to hear your secret fashion faux pas."

"No.Confidotuom. This is where you get to hear that I was the one who told Rita Skeeter half the stuff she wrote about in our fourth year."

Harry looked taken aback, then started to laugh.

"What?"

"I already knew that."

"What?"

"I knew. Hermione figured it out. She saw you talking to Skeeter in beetle form once, figured it out, and told Skeeter she'd be exposed as an unregistered Animagus if she didn't stop writing about me."

Draco sat back, stunned. Good god.

"Sorry," said Harry, still laughing. "God, your face..." He suddenly frowned. "So does that mean the confession has no power?"

"What? Oh! The confession. No, it should still work; I didn't know you knew, so I had to trust you in order to tell you." Draco waved his wand to end the Trust Spell and illuminate the aura. "Yeah, there it is. The colour's the same, but the emanation of malice isn't pulsing as intensely."

"Hm." Harry peered at his aura. "That's fascinating." He grinned at Draco. "So, my evil is only throbbing gently now. How very... un-reassuring."

You will not react to the word "throbbing," Draco told himself sternly as he occupied himself writing, making a deliberate blot with his quill in order to be able to busy himself cleaning it up.

"I don't think I like the term 'emanation of malice' though," said Harry thoughtfully. "I think I prefer Aura of Malevolence. Or Pulse of Wickedness. Could you call it my Pulse of Wickedness?"

Draco chuckled, still writing. "So you knew I talked to Skeeter," he said as he wrote. "That's how you caught her. I'd wondered about that. I thought Granger had maybe caught her going into Animagus form or something."

"No, not hardly."

"That's... that's interesting." Draco paused, then looked at Harry suspiciously.

"It's interesting to watch your face make the next connection," Harry smirked. "You just remembered that Skeeter wrote a very nice interview with me in the Quibbler in fifth year, didn't you?"

Draco nodded slowly.

"Yeah, well, we blackmailed her," Harry said, laughing again as Draco's eyebrows shot up.

"Good god. Fifteen years old and blackmailing journalists. Resourceful little tykes, weren't you?"

"Very."

Draco shook his head and took out a fresh parchment, beginning a report to send to St. Mungo's.

Damn it, this wasn't fair. Somebody had a rotten sense of humour, sticking him into this situation where he was pretty much compelled to tell Harry all sorts of pathetic secrets of his own while at the same time sitting and wondering what he wasn't hearing from Harry. Harry Potter, whose known exploits were legendary but who had most probably done a great many other things that had never made it into the papers, and that most people would love to hear.

Not fair at all. Especially with this exasperating crush of his, which even on normal days made him wonder all sorts of things about Harry. What was he like outside the clinic, what had he really been like those years that they'd gone to school together without really knowing each other at all, what was his home like, what did he think or feel about all sorts of things... what was he thinking right now, as he gazed thoughtfully out the window across the table from Draco while Draco wrote his clinical observations...

And talking to him about personal things was playing hell on Draco's ability to stay detached and see him only as a patient or even as a co-worker. It was excruciating, and probably going to get much, much worse before this was over.

This was ridiculous. He had to figure out some way of making this livable.

Well, for one thing, he could try to figure out what kinds of things he could reveal that would require him to show trust in Harry, without making him feel so horribly off-balance and vulnerable or increase his totally inappropriate attraction.

All right, then, no more confessions about school. School was where they'd known each other before the clinic, where his confessions were more likely to result in exchanges that might disturb his already less than stable emotional control. He had plenty of things he didn't particularly want to share that had nothing to do with school, nothing to do with Slytherin-Gryffindor and House points and Quidditch rivalries, nothing to do with Harry whatsoever.

He should figure out exactly what he was going to say. And how much he would elaborate. And how he was going to make sure his emotions stayed within safe professional limits.

But first, he was going to finish off his report to St. Mungo's, make some flimsy excuse to leave the room, and quite possibly go take another shower.

oooooo

Saturday

"All right," Draco said the next day. "St. Mungo's thinks I'm on the right track with the variation of the Trust Spell I'm using, and in how I'm doing the confessions. By their calculation, another four or five will do it. Lucky, lucky me."

"What about by your calculation?"

"I'm very much hoping they're right on this, because by my figures..." he trailed off with a grimace.

Harry looked like he was about to apologize, but thought better of it. "So... erm, what do I get to hear next?"

"Confidotuom." Draco took a deep breath. "I haven't spoken to my father in years."

Harry blinked. Clearly he hadn't been expecting anything like that. "Oh. How... how many years?" he asked hesitantly.

"Since fifth year."

Harry's eyes widened. "Fifth - you mean, before he went to Azkaban?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't you ever visit him there?"

"No. He wouldn't allow it. He let Mother see him, but not me. I think he didn't want me to see him in that place." He leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands together. "I wrote to him. I couldn't tell him what was going on with the... with the task I'd been given in sixth year - I knew they read all our letters - but I wrote to him that I hoped he'd get out some day. I told him what I was doing at school - school things, not the - the other thing." He stopped, reminding himself he'd decided to use this confession because it - mostly - didn't involve Hogwarts. "He never wrote back. He wrote to my mother; not to me. Mother said he didn't want to write to me about his cell being cold or the guards insulting him with impunity, and he had nothing else to write about." He smiled slightly. "I wouldn't have cared."

"And he's never changed his mind?"

"Never. I asked... after everything was over, I asked if I could see him. I didn't have Mother to speak through any more, didn't have her to tell me how he was, or let him know how I was doing, and as far as I know he didn't really have any other links to the outside world. Most of our family and friends were either in Azkaban or dead. I thought, maybe... everything was over and..." He shook his head. "He never answered any of my letters. I told him everything that had happened, told him why I'd made all the decisions I'd made, told him I just wanted to... to see him. I was a bloody hero of the war, on paper at least; he would've been able to visit in private, which he never got with Mother; there were always two guards and Aurors present." He sighed. "He never did."

"Did he give any explanation?"

"No."

"When was the last time you wrote to him?"

"Last year. I still write, every Christmas. Telling him what's going on in my life. I don't know whether he reads my letters or not."

There was a long moment of silence, then Draco picked up his wand to end the Trust Spell.

"Anything?"

"Yeah, well, it's working," Draco said with a grimace as the aura lit up again.

Harry nodded. "What's wrong?"

"Working bloody slowly. At this rate, you may be able to go back to civilized society only if I confess to having indecently propositioned a pumpkin or something."

Harry chuckled.

"Seriously, I'll have to make something up. Here, you wait here, I'll Floo back to my place and go hex a few of the Muggle brats at the day care next to my house, then I'll come back and confess to you about it."

Harry ran his hand through his hair ruefully. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, well."

"I am, you know. And I'm sorry... I'm sorry your father won't talk to you."

Draco looked up in surprise.

"Were you close before he... was arrested?" Draco looked at him quizzically. "I mean, I know he was your father and you always talked about all the things he bought for you, but were you - did you have a good relationship with him?"

"I thought I did," Draco said after a moment. "Yeah, I think so. He wasn't the most affectionate person in the world, but... he was a good father. Mostly." He cleared his throat. "I can look back now and see that he made a lot of mistakes. And a lot of what he taught me was pure rubbish, I know that now. But overall..." he shrugged. "I thought he was a good father. He made me feel I was important to him. That he cared about me..." he trailed off uncomfortably and bent back over his notes.

Harry gazed thoughtfully out the window. "I never... obviously, I didn't know that side of him. He always looked like he didn't like you very much, whenever I saw him with you."

Draco drew in his breath, stung, and Harry looked back at him, puzzled, then winced and clapped a hand over his mouth. "Oh, shite, that was tactless, wasn't it? I - I didn't mean it the way it came out. God." He closed his eyes and shook his head, blushing darkly. "That came out completely wrong. Bloody hell, you tell me you miss your father and I tell you he was a wanker who didn't like you anyway." He cleared his throat. "Fuck."

Draco bit his lip, torn between hurt, anger, and amusement at Harry's mortification. He kept his face expressionless as Harry put his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on his clasped hands.

"I really didn't mean it that way," Harry said apologetically, his voice muffled. "I mean - bloody hell, he probably always looked annoyed at you when I saw him because I was there. I didn't put him in a wonderful mood, I'm sure."

Draco shrugged, not particularly wanting to keep this conversation going, but not particularly wanting to pardon Harry's insensitive comment, either.

"I'm-"

"Yeah. You're sorry. Apology accepted, let's move on, shall we?" he said brusquely, and Harry swallowed and nodded.

There was a long silence as he wrote his observations in the log and checked up on the latest scroll from St. Mungo's. Burying himself in the intellectual puzzle of trying to figure this out, see the differences between what he was doing and what they were doing at St. Mungo's, pleased with himself that the Healers there had implemented a few of his suggestions, to good effect. He looked up as Harry cleared his throat.

"Yes? You don't have to be here, you know."

"I know." Harry was still looking discomfited by his gaffe, and Draco finally took pity on him and gave him a small smile, indicating no hard feelings, before turning back to his work.

"I... I haven't talked to Ron in a long time either," Harry suddenly blurted, and Draco paused, his quill still poised over the parchment.

"Weasley?"

"Yeah."

"You two had a falling out?"

"Not... exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"We never... we never had a big fight. There wasn't an end to our friendship. We just sort of... drifted apart."

"When?"

"During the war. Especially near the end." Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "I... I had to do a lot of stuff during the war. Before, and during. And... it wasn't any one thing, that drove us apart. We fought, a lot - he didn't agree with a lot of what I did, and I didn't tell him everything I was doing, and he hated that I kept secrets from him. Then the war ended, and there was all that publicity... and Ron didn't much like the fact that he hardly got any credit for any of what happened. Which wasn't fair, because he'd done a hell of a lot. Then he started to... embellish some of what he'd done. But no matter what he said, people still wanted to hear metalk about it, even though I didn't want to." He smiled bitterly. "It... gnawed at him, I think. We tried - well, I tried, to get past it, but it just... gnawed at him." Harry took a deep breath. "Then of course there was the whole nightmare with Hermione, with me staying friends with her after their divorce... and then Ginny." Harry sighed deeply. "He's never understood what's between me and Ginny, even when we were together. And now... I'm still friends with her, but Ron..."

"What did happen with Weasley? Ginny, that is?" Draco asked curiously.

Harry started to shake his head, then tilted it to the side and looked at him. "You know, this might make things a little less painful for you if I reciprocate."

"Beg pardon?"

"Won't it? I mean, you're spilling your guts to me; if I confide in you, won't that help the strength of your own confessions become a little stronger? Who knows, it might keep the Muggle kids near your house safe. Not to mention your vegetable garden."

"Then please don't, I'd love an excuse to put them out of my misery," Draco said dryly. "Besides, I've always wanted to get up close and personal with a potato." He thought for a moment, then started to shake his head. No, with the type of spell he was weaving it really wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference if Harry reciprocated or not.

Then again, it wouldn't hurt. And what the hell, this was painful enough for him; he might as well get something out of it.

"Yeah, that might help," he said slowly. "Tit for tat?"

"Right." Harry suddenly grinned. "And even if it doesn't help, somewhere inside you is a Slytherin who's happy to be getting something out of this deal, right?"

"That's a little cynical of you, isn't it?" Draco said disapprovingly. "So, you were about to tell me about Girl Weasley."

Harry laughed. "Unfortunately there's not that much to confess there. We just didn't work out. Good friend, but not really my type. Ron's never really understood that; he took it as a personal rejection of his whole family."

"Why wasn't she your type?"

"Oh god, a lot of reasons. At the end what clinched it was I fell for a friend of hers. She knew; I told her about it, and we were open and honest and all of that and in the end, she pointed out that the kind of attraction I felt for Robin was what I'd felt for her, way back in sixth year. She pointed out that what we had wasn't really all that different from what I had with other good friends. We didn't even live together, and it wasn't because she was away with her team all the time. All we really had was friendship, with sex as an afterthought. Almost by obligation. From both of us."

"Ah."

"So she left. Or rather, she stopped visiting me so often. And I stopped visiting her. She's dating her team's Keeper now."

"Yeah, I read that."

"It still hurts, though. Not what happened with Ginny; what happened with Ron. He was the first friend I ever had; somehow I thought we'd stay friends till we were old." Harry shrugged. "All right, it doesn't compare to losing your father. But it's the closest I can come. Losing somebody I thought of as a brother." He sighed. "Still do think of him that way. But he's still got four real brothers. I doubt he thinks of me much any more."

Draco nodded in sympathy.

"So that's my match-up for the confession about your father," said Harry. "And I think I reciprocated your confession about Rita Skeeter yesterday with one of my own, about blackmailing her." He leaned back. "As for your first confession, about being sorry you made things tough for me at Hogwarts, and while we're on the subject of Ron..." He grinned suddenly, eyes bright. "Here's one of my Hogwarts indiscretions: Ron and me went into your common room once."

"What? How'd you find it?"

"You showed us where it was."

"You followed me?"

"Yeah."

"Under your famous Invisibility Cloak?"

"Oh, no, you led us right to it. Talking to us the whole time."

Draco frowned. "You've lost me."

"Second year, Christmas. You led us to your common room, let us in, and told us all sorts of things about the Chamber of Secrets."

Draco gaped. "I did not!"

"Oh, you did," Harry said, grinning widely. "Not only that, you told us that your family kept Dark objects in a secret vault under your drawing room."

"I did not!" he said, aghast. "What did you do, put me under Imperio?"

"Didn't have to. You told us of your own free will."

"Good lord. My father always wondered how the Aurors knew exactly where to look. D'you know they almost found his Necklace of Agony? He could've landed in Azkaban years early!"

Harry sobered a bit, but couldn't manage to keep the smile off his face.

"Go on, you tosser. Explain how the hell you did it, and how you learned to Obliviate so bloody well, because obviously I've no memory of it at all."

"Didn't need to Obliviate you. You thought we were Crabbe and Goyle."

Draco gaped again.

"You're very funny when you're flummoxed," Harry said cheerfully. "We Polyjuiced ourselves. Drugged Crabbe and Goyle, hid them away in a broom closet, became them, and waited for you to find us and lead us to your common room."

Draco sat back, stunned.

"Polyjuice?" he finally said weakly. "Second year - we were twelve! How thefuck did you get your hands on Polyjuice?"

"Hermione brewed it."

"Oh, god. No bloody wonder you won the war, with her on your side. Brewing Polyjuice at age twelve. God." He shook his head. "And Crabbe and Goyle never said anything. Probably didn't notice they'd been knocked out; they never used their brains much when they were conscious anyway. And of course I wouldn't have said anything to them, if I didn't notice there was anything off about them." He shook his head, laughed ruefully. "God, that's brilliant."

"Yeah."

"Why, though?"

"We thought you knew about the Chamber of Secrets."

"I wish."

"Actually, we thought you were the Heir of Slytherin."

"Again, I wish. Well... I don't, any more. But I did back then."

"I know."

"All right, you've now successfully made me rethink this as an interesting exercise in mutual blackmail material and not just an emotional Crucio. Good job, Harry."

"No problem." Harry stood up and stretched, and Draco swallowed hard as Harry's shirt untucked itself from his trousers and rolled up a bit, showing a peek of his stomach. "Well, we've got a few hours before the next one. D'you want to go take a walk and look at those cliffs at South Ham that are supposed to be so pretty?"

Yes! Walk! Cliffs! Pretty! Draco's stomach-dazed id gibbered automatically before he reined it and gave it a slap. "No thanks, I've seen them already," he said, pleased to hear his voice coming out casual instead of breathless. "There's a few more suggestions just in from St. Mungo's, and Brian sent some ideas I need to read through. You go ahead, though."

"I'll see you at lunch, then," Harry said, and walked out.

Draco put his head on the table for a moment, then sat up and wearily unrolled the scrolls from Brian.

Mutual confessions. Harry was right, the Slytherin in him was cheering at the prospect. The Trainee Healer, however, was popping up to tell him this was probably a very, very bad idea, emotionally and professionally.

And the part of him that kept sneaking glances at Harry's hands and shoulders and stomach and arse when Harry wasn't looking was torn between wanting to congratulate him for this turn of events, and wanting to throttle him. He did not need to feel even more of an emotional connection to Harry.

Well, he'd been on Healer mode for years now. Perhaps he should allow himself Slytherin mode once in a while too; there really was such a thing as overcompensating for his past. And as for the part of him that was thinking about Harry's arse right now...

... yeeah, this was a bad idea.

All right, then. No more really personal confessions. Nothing related to school or his family. And actually, maybe he really should go and do something obscene with a vegetable, just to get this over with as soon as humanly possible.

Cursing himself for ten different kinds of an idiot, Draco buried himself in Brian's scroll.

Part 2/2

Sunday

"Confidotuom. I wanted to play professional Quidditch after school. After the war was over."

"Really?"

"Yeah. My father had a friend, Seeker for Puddlemere, Gary Astons-"

"Not the one who was killed by Aurors on the Hogsmeade raid, was it?"

"Yeah, that one. Anyway, he'd told me that I had a lot of talent and potential – maybe not enough for first string on a really good team right away, but definitely good enough for the Wasps, as an alternate. I held on to that, repeated it to myself during a lot of the time I was in hiding. And I practiced whenever I could do it safely. It was something to aspire to, you know? Trying out was going to be one of the first things I did, once my name was cleared."

"So what happened?"

Draco shrugged. "I lost my nerve."

"In the try-outs?"

"Never even got there. I'd circled the dates on my calendar; there were five try-outs scheduled right after the trials, when I was finally exonerated. Two of them were after I got the Order of Merlin."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Why didn't you go?"

He shook his head. "I pictured being in front of all those people, doing my best and failing, or doing my best and getting in but having people say I'd got in on my name or my fame. Or doing my best and succeeding, but still not being picked for security reasons or for political reasons... and I just never went."

Harry was gazing at him seriously. Too seriously, and Draco had to look away from the sympathy in his face. "Probably doesn't count as all that earth-shattering, I know. But it... was hard. Watching those dates go by, finally realizing I was never going to go. I never even told anyone I was thinking of trying out. Didn't want to talk about it, have them ask how I did, anything like that."

Harry nodded. Draco picked up his wand and did the necessary spells. Definitely a marked reduction in the aura. He started to write down his observations as Harry got up and went to get them both tea.

"D'you think your dad would've been proud of you if you'd made it?" he asked as he sat back down.

"Probably not," Draco said absently, nodding his thanks for the tea and continuing to write. "He didn't think Quidditch was a suitable occupation for a Malfoy. Then again, by that time his main occupation for the last four years had been growing his hair, so his opinion might have changed. Or not. Don't suppose I'll ever know."

Harry nodded thoughtfully, resting his chin on his hand as he slowly stirred his tea. "I wanted to play Quidditch too," he said quietly. "After everything was done, I mean. I didn't have the choice," he made a vague gesture at his leg. "But I'd also wanted to be an Auror, since before leaving Hogwarts. After the war, it didn't sound all that attractive. I'd pretty much already been an Auror forever; I wanted to do something with my magic other than use it to track and fight Dark wizards. Besides, I figured after Voldemort, hunting down old men smuggling flying carpets into the country probably wouldn't hold much appeal."

"No, I suppose not."

"And I was... tired. And..." he trailed off, observing the swirls of brown and white in his cup, his eyes distant as he seemed to try to find the right words. "And scared."

"Scared?" Draco repeated after a long pause.

"Yeah, scared."

"After everything you went through?"

"I survived a lot of horrible stuff. I fought incredibly powerful people and won, time after time. And every time I looked back and saw how narrowly I'd escaped, I knew it was mostly luck."

"That's rubbish."

"No, really," Harry took a sip of his tea. "Luck and a prophecy."

"The prophecy didn't say which one of you would be killed; it just said one of you would kill the other."

"Which means that every time I survived against Voldemort I could tell myself it was because of my skills or strength, but every time I survived against somebody else – Quirrel, or your father, or Bellatrix – I probably could've defended myself with a limp quill and still got away. Because they couldn't kill me, because of the bloody prophecy."

"Rubbish," Draco repeated bluntly. "If nothing else, they could've left you incapacitated and easy for Voldemort to finish off. That would've satisfied the prophecy just as well."

"Maybe." Harry sighed. "But I'd had a lot of narrow escapes. I didn't want any more. I wanted a job where I could go to work and be pretty sure I'd come home at the end of the day."

Draco nodded. "So you became a mediwizard."

"Yeah. About as far from dealing with Dark Wizards as possible."

"Why didn't you do Healer training?"

"Two years studying, plus another three of apprenticeship? And getting an E in Potions NEWTs? You're dreaming."

Draco smiled and made one final notation on his report before taking a sip of his own tea.

"It's not that I regret what I didn't do," Harry said quietly. "I like being a mediwizard."

"Yeah, it's not a bad career."

"Just wish I'd chosen to do this only because I wanted to, and not because I couldn't play Quidditch and I was too scared of being an Auror."

"Yeah, that's the problem," Draco nodded. "Neither of us has a bad job, but... they're still not what either of us ever planned to do with our lives, are they?"

"No, they're not." Harry shrugged. "Could've been worse, though. We both could've ended up hating the jobs we ended up doing."

"I suppose so."

"Did you ever think you'd be a Healer, when you were growing up?" Harry asked.

"No. I always thought I'd follow in my father's footsteps." Draco smiled wryly. "This is better."

"Yeah, I suppose so." Harry toyed with his spoon thoughtfully. "You know, I wouldn't have guessed in a million years that you'd ever go into Healing. I didn't know what to think when I found out you were coming to Muckle Roe."

Draco hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Actually, I've always wanted to ask... why did you welcome me into the clinic like you did? I would've though that would've been the perfect opportunity to get back at me for a lot of things."

Harry's eyebrows went up. "Why would you think that? I didn't make things difficult for you during the war, did I?"

"We were in contact a grand total of three times," Draco pointed out. "And the situations weren't exactly conducive to working out any old grudges, for either of us."

"The war was over," Harry said simply. He hesitated, then went on. "Actually... to be honest, I did a bit of digging on you before you got here. Found out you'd done really well in Healer School. Got nothing but praise from your teachers and your supervisors at St. Mungo's. It looked like you were really trying to get past your... well, your past. I was trying to do the same thing." Harry shrugged. "I didn't see any reason to make things unpleasant for you."

Draco nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of his tea. This wasn't the right time to tell Harry that he was still grateful for that. There was no need, and he certainly didn't want the warm glow that Harry's smile would give him if he said anything of the sort.

In fact, it had been a bad idea to ask the question in the first place, because hearing that Harry had taken the time to look up Draco's record instead of just assuming he was the same person he'd known before the war... that he'd understood what it was like to want to start over...

And all of that on top of knowing now that Harry also knew what it was like to have to leave behind childhood dreams, and settle for just doing the best you could with what was left of you...

Damn it to hell, this was even worse than thinking of how fit Harry was, how green his eyes were and how nicely he filled his jeans. Now he was just feeling warm and... understood. Basking in Harry's approval like the pathetic lovesick idiot he was turning into.

He sighed deeply as he glanced at his report and realized the last sentence he'd written was gibberish, and picked up his quill once more.

Harry stood up. "Here, you finish up your notes, I'll get us some breakfast."

"All right. Thanks," he said, and tried to take comfort in the fact that the confession he planned for noon should have little or no unwanted emotional consequence whatsoever.

oooooo

"Confidotuom. I went Muggle for about six months, after the war."

"What?" Harry's teacup rattled and spilled a bit as he put it down.

Draco smirked at the shock on Harry's face. "I did. I was living in London and one day I wandered out of the wizarding areas. Started getting to know Muggle London and decided to see if I could live there."

"Why in buggery would you want to do that?"

Draco laughed at Harry's complete bewilderment. "Why wouldn't I?"

"They're...Muggles," Harry said, and Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Weren't you raised by Muggles?" Harry looked at him askance and Draco chuckled. "Sorry. I've heard about your relatives. Still, you've been friends with Muggle-borns all your life, surely youaren't prejudiced against them?"

"That's Muggle-borns. Not Muggles."

Draco tilted his head quizzically.

"I'm not saying Muggles are inferior or anything," said Harry defensively, mopping up his spilled tea. "Just... why would you want to live with them?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry looked at him, at a total loss, and Draco took pity on him. "I... I was tired of the looks, the idea that anybody who looked at me knew who I was. I was tired of the Howlers and the marriage proposals and knowing that half the wizarding world thought they knew me, just because they'd read all sorts of rubbish about me, for good or bad. I wanted to see what it was like to not have anybody recognize me."

"You could've gone somewhere else in the wizarding world, then. America, the continent... even here."

"Not the same. I'd always be spotted as a foreigner, by my accent if nothing else. In Muggle England I could be just a regular person."

"Did it work?"

"Oh yeah."

"What was it like?"

"Horrible."

Harry laughed. "I can imagine."

"I've no idea how those people survive entire lifetimes without magic. I mean, it was a fascinating challenge in its own way, I suppose, but god, so bloody inconvenient. No Impervious, no Apparition, no Accio. It rains and you get wet, unless you've got an umbrella. You have to walk or drive everywhere. You have to go pick up things from across the room." He shook his head. "And can you imagine trying to live in Shetland as a Muggle? WithoutLumos, half the year you're almost always in pitch black, and right now without Nox Fabrico it's daytime for about four months."

Harry grimaced and nodded. "What I can't stand is how... deadeverything is in the Muggle world. Did you notice that? You walk into a home, and nothing moves. Nothing talks to you, nothing looks at you... it's like being in a bloody cemetery."

"At least cemeteries have statues you can talk to."

"Muggle ones don't."

"Oh. No, I suppose not." Draco tilted his head, puzzled at Harry's manner.

"What?"

"It's just surprising to hear you saying things like that about the Muggle world. I guess I thought you'd be at home in it."

"God, no. I hate it. Never go there if I can help it."

"It didn't tempt you to leave the wizarding world after the war?"

"I thought of leaving the country, but never going Muggle. For one thing, I'd be a cripple."

"You could still use the compensation spells."

"Too much trouble making sure they were hidden, or I didn't relax and let them drop," Harry pointed out. "So what happened? Why did you leave?"

"Oh, just got tired of it." Draco realized he'd been talking for a few minutes and started. "Bugger – Finite Incantatum," he said, ending the Trust Spell and lighting Harry's aura.

"Any improvement?"

"Mmhmm..." He squinted in concentration. "That one didn't do much, but overall you're getting better. I may not have to fellate any cucumbers after all."

Harry laughed. "So did you learn anything?"

Draco frowned, puzzled. "Yeah, you're better."

"No, I mean about Muggles. About yourself."

"About Muggles, yeah, I suppose so. They're bloody unfortunate sods who take five times as long to do half as much as we do. About myself..." he trailed off and mulled it over a bit, then shrugged. "Nothing that the war hadn't already taught me."

Harry gazed at him thoughtfully.

Draco looked away, not particularly wanting to go down the conversational path of his war experiences. There was a brief silence, broken only by the scratching of his quill as he wrote down the results of the latest confession.

"My turn," Harry said.

"Mm, yes. Do tell," Draco put his quill away and sat back with a smirk.

Harry rested his chin on his hand. "It's interesting, isn't it? Thinking about things you don't normally talk about. Asking yourself why not, why you keep them private. Wondering what it'll feel like after you've shared them with somebody. It's... interesting." He took a small sip of his tea.

Draco smirked. "Harry, if this doesn't lead up to a very interesting confession involving a selkie or a succubus, I'll be incredibly disappointed."

"No, it's not... it's not anything that strange... well. Maybe." Harry stirred his tea, and Draco could almost feel him tensing up slightly before he finally spoke. "I... I like speaking Parseltongue."

"What?"

"I like it. It's... it's interesting, talking to snakes. It's a very... unique language."

Draco blinked. Of all the...

"I know, you probably think it's quite bizarre to confess to that."

"It's a rare talent. Why wouldn't you like it?"

"See, I didn't know it was bad, the first time I used it in public. I didn't know Salazar Slytherin was a Parselmouth, let alone that Voldemort was. I didn't even know that when I spoke to snakes I was speaking a different language; I just thought it was something strange that I could do, that probably scores of other wizard folk could too."

"Erm, no."

"Well I found that out, didn't I? Everybody looked at me like I was Jack the Ripper. I got the impression that it wasn't something to be proud of."

"Ah. Yeah, I suppose it wouldn't be, to a lot of people. Especially that year." And Draco was absolutely not going to think about the first time he'd seen Harry speaking Parseltongue, because Harry had been twelve at the time and he was definitely not in any way shape or form going to think of that twelve year old child as hot. That speccy boy had nothing to do with the man Draco and Gwen had seen, not three weeks ago, softly speaking to one of the garden snakes near the clinics. With an absorbed, peaceful look on his face, and a tongue that was doing things that...

Augh, not so good to think of that tongue right now either. Draco's arousal had been shockingly sudden at the time; he'd had to discreetly adjust his trousers, and had the strangest flashback to that time when Marcus Flint had taught some of the younger Slytherin boys a spell to get rid of unwelcome erections, and Adrian Pucey had stepped in and said, "Don't bother, unless you're desperate. It'll hurt like a kick in your bollocks and probably make a mess in your pants. Just thank god for robes, or put a stack of books in front of yourself if you're out of uniform."

Well he wasn't wearing a robe right now, and he didn't have any books. Thank god for kitchen tables.

"So you're still self-conscious about it?" he asked, and Harry shrugged. "Is that why you looked so embarrassed the other day, when Gwen and I saw you speaking to that snake?"

Harry nodded. "It's... it's one of the only things Voldemort left me that I actually appreciate. And it's fascinating, what snakes speak about. D'you know they have insults?" He smiled to himself, gaze turned inwards. "The stripey one that lives under the blueberry bush hates the garter by the aconite, they're always competing for mice. The other day she called him a-" Draco had no time to brace himself before Harry hissed, strange syllables passing through his lips and leaving Draco unexpectedly hard as a rock and flustered as hell. "It means 'soft-shelled wet-skinned tadpole.' He got really angry. Called her a," and again with the hissing; Draco firmly clamped down on a whimper. "'Female so stupid she'll eat her own eggs.'" Harry's eyes were dancing with humour, and Draco returned his smile wanly. Harry pressed his lips together, his face going blank, clearly thinking he'd made Draco uncomfortable.

"Erm. Sorry." He ran his hand over his hair, and before Draco could figure out a way to let him know he wasn't put off by the Parseltongue – while still not encouraging Harry to say any more so he wouldn't come in his pants – Harry cleared his throat. "So, erm. Why did you leave the Muggle world? Did you mean to only stay six months?"

Draco blinked, off-balance. "No, I thought... to be honest I didn't put a time limit on it."

"What did you do?"

"Lived like a Muggle."

"How, though? Did you just go to their restaurants and clubs, or go to school, or what?"

Draco smiled. "Ah. No."

"What did you do?"

"This should count as a confession, actually. No, probably not."

"Oh, so it's something you haven't told people about, but it has no emotional weight for you to use as a confession?"

"Not now that I've told you I was a Muggle, no."

"Now I'm dying to know."

"I worked."

"Worked?" Harry's eyebrows shot up. "As what?"

"Lumberjack."

"What?"

"No, I'm joking. Exotic dancer."

"What?"

Draco laughed. "No, god. Taxi driver. And I'm serious this time."

Harry blinked. "You're taking the piss."

"I'm not. I already knew how to drive, didn't have to talk to people, got to spend a lot of time by myself or observing Muggles without having to interact with them, and I could very easily use magic to figure out where I was without anybody seeing me use it. It was perfect."

"You drove a taxi."

"Yeah."

"Bloody hell."

"Not a bad job, really. It was one thing I didn't mind at all about being a Muggle."

"So what did you mind? Computers, telephones? Light switches?"

"Oh, I mastered light switches just fine. Did pretty well with most of it, as a matter of fact. I managed to convert money into Muggle currency, and I rented a flat, and signed a lot of their weird little contracts. Had a bit of trouble with their bank machines, but really if you think of them as particularly stupid metal goblins, you're fine. Same with their internet – it's just a wireless on a flat piece of glass. Mice are just oddly shaped plastic wands that you move in a bizarre way, but it's just point and click instead of swish and flick, isn't it? Though it was a real bother remembering to contain my magic around electronics. I shorted out quite a few of those bloody boxes."

"So it wasn't the computers that did you in, then?"

"No. It actually was the bloody lights that finally did it for me. I mastered the switches, hadn't said Lumos in days, I came home, flicked the bloody thing in my front hallway – and it didn't work. I ignored it and just used Lumos spells, then another light went out. Then the one in the study went – and I couldn't do Lumos there because magic interfered with the computer and the telly. I tried everything. I was even thinking of moving out when my next door neighbour popped in. I guess I'd been swearing for a while, and she wanted to get some sleep."

"What did she do?"

"I'd gone on the internet, believe it or not. Asked what would make a light not work. Tried to figure out if the switch was broken, if the power was down, everything... and then this girl comes in, takes one look around, flicks the switch, asks me if I've changed the light bulb. Well of course I'd no bloody clue what she was talking about. So she looked at me like I was an idiot, went over to one of my lamps, took the light bulb out, screwed it into the broken light, and of course, there was light. I moved out the next day."

Harry laughed. "It's so funny, the things that trip you up, going from one world to the other. I still envy half-bloods sometimes."

Draco blinked. "You are a half-blood."

"No, I mean half-bloods who grew up knowing both worlds, like Seamus Finnigan. I was in the same boat as Hermione or any other Muggle-born when I first came to Hogwarts; the simplest things caught me by surprise. Still do, sometimes."

"She didn't seem to have much of a problem with any of it. It drove a lot of us in Slytherin crazy, that a Muggle-born could do so much better at school than us."

"I can imagine," Harry chuckled, and drained his teacup. "That's Hermione, though. Drives people mental wherever she goes." He stood up. "So, finished your notes?"

"Oh– oh, yeah, I am," said Draco, and carefully rolled up his scroll. "We should get lunch."

"Yeah I was just thinking that too," said Harry, and they got up to get themselves sandwiches.

"Actually, I suppose I did learn some things," said Draco, uncomfortable with silence as they worked and still somewhat uneasy over the whole Parseltongue experience. Though happily, he'd at least brought his body under control. "I learned a lot of self-discipline. Not that I bothered to do things the Muggle way when I was by myself, but it was a bit trying sometimes, remembering to not do magic in public. That discipline helped, later, in Healer training."

"Yeah, I suppose it would. Can I have the butter?"

Draco passed it over. "Did you ever want to go back to the Muggle world?"

"No. Nothing there I'd want. Other than computers. I mean, I grew up knowing about computers, but by the time I'd gone to Hogwarts, most people had computers but not so much internet access. So I do get curious about the internet. But otherwise, I've never thought about going back." He cut a few slices of tomatoes. "It would be nice to be anonymous, though. Not have anybody care who I am."

"Yeah, that was the best part for me."

"Although coming to Shetland does that pretty well too, doesn't it?" Harry said, spreading the tomatoes on top of the butter.

"Yeah, it's nice to be apart because you're a foreigner, not because of who you are."

"I haven't noticed the foreigner thing as much, to be honest."

"You've been here longer," Draco pointed out.

"Learned the language a fair bit, too."

"Really?"

"You should try it. It's not really that difficult."

"Oh... um. No, I don't..." Draco trailed off, reluctant to admit that he had indeed studied a bit of Shetlandic in his scarce spare time. It was nice, having some secrets. And he didn't particularly want to make a fool of himself telling anybody he understood or spoke Shetlandic, then getting things wrong. He cleared his throat and murmured a toasting spell at his bread, then started slicing into a piece of leftover mutton. "So it's just computers you miss, then?"

"Nothing else worth missing." Harry waved his wand at his sandwich to warm it up. "And I was definitely glad I was in the wizarding world when I was dating Robin. I mean, I didn't even think about being discreet, other than keeping out of the way of the Prophet. But right at the time we were dating, a Muggle man was beaten almost to death in London, just for being out in public with his boyfriend. Robin and I had been out walking down Diagon Alley at the exact same time." He shook his head somberly. "It was... it was a little sobering. That could've been us."

Draco stopped in mid-slice. "Could've... you mean Robin was-"

"A bloke, yeah," said Harry, heading back to the kitchen table with his sandwich. "I remember thinking at the time, I sometimes feel like I have to hide the scar or look like someone else in Diagon Alley, so I won't feel like people are watching me, but at least I never have to pretend to be a girl when I'm with a bloke, just to not get beaten to a pulp."

"So... Robin was male." A faint scent of smoke startled Draco and he looked down at the cinder that had been his toasting bread. "Shite,Finite Incantatum," he murmured, and tossed the bread into the trash.

"Yeah, I'm bi." Harry frowned, looking at Draco. "Oh. Sorry, thought you knew that. There's more bread in the-"

"Yeah, I've got it," Draco got himself another slice and decided not to risk the toasting spell again. "No, I didn't know."

"Oh. Damn, what a waste of a perfectly good confession, then," Harry grinned, taking another bite of his sandwich. "Except, not really, as I don't much care who knows that. Sorry, I really thought you knew."

"No."

Harry suddenly seemed to register Draco's unease, and his eyebrows drew together. "Erm... it doesn't bother you, does it?"

"What? No, no. It's just a bit of a surprise. I didn't know you dated men."

"I usually date women. Just not exclusively."

"Since when?"

"Since... erm... six, seven years ago? I was with Ginny on-and-off since Hogwarts, though, and we didn't see a lot of people other than each other. I've only dated..." he narrowed his eyes and appeared to be thinking. "Four blokes. I was with Robin the longest. Three months, give or take a bit."

"So, not at school, then."

"No, though I knew since fifth year."

Draco raised his eyebrows.

"Erm. I had a bit of an... incredibly stupid crush on a classmate," Harry smiled ruefully.

"Really? Who?" Draco asked despite himself.

"Oh god no," Harry laughed, blushing. "It was embarrassing." He took a large bite of his sandwich.

"Come on."

He swallowed. "As in, more embarrassing than Ron and Lavender Brown."

"Oh Merlin, it wasn't Longbottom, was it?"

Harry laughed. "God, no. I thought it was just the craziness of the year, but the craziness left and the attraction stayed. Nothing ever came of it, though." He took another bite. "Shouldn't you test-"

"Right." Draco took out his wand, taking refuge in automatic action and frowning as the aura came to light. "That didn't do as much as I'd hoped."

"Bugger."

"Yeah." Draco made himself keep his voice light and his eyes on his work. "Sorry, I'll have to go over... I must've done something wrong..."

"Right." Harry finished his lunch and stood up. "I know, never disturb a Healer in deep thought. I'm going for a walk. D'you want a warming charm on your lunch?"

"Yeah, thanks. I'll probably be a while."

Draco waited for Harry to leave the room and put his head on the kitchen table, barely stopping himself from banging it onto the hard surface in frustration.

Harry was bi. And he'd said it so casually. Didn't even think about it. Assumed Draco knew.

This was absolutely not fair. He was stuck, in Muckle Roe Quarantine House, with Harry Potter, who was single and gorgeous and who actually understood, deep down, so many things that Draco had resigned himself to never being able to tell another person, but found so easy – and pleasant – to talk to Harry about. Harry Potter, who also seemed to get more outrageously clueless by the minute, who had just hissed Draco into an erection he could've pitched a Quidditch Cup tent on, and then oh by the way, told him he was bisexual.

And Draco was running out of confessions almost as quickly as he was running out of sanity.

He headed for the loo, firmly shutting the door behind himself and noting ruefully that although he'd been able to dampen down his arousal enough to make it through lunch without embarrassing himself, the moment the bathroom door shut behind him, there he was again. Hard as a rock, and not even thinking of Jessica would make this go away.

Fuck. He touched himself through his trousers, swallowing back a moan and not even bothering to try to control the images his mind came up with. And, no surprise, there was Harry and some faceless man, walking down Diagon Alley, holding hands. Yes, gay wizards sometimes got annoyed stares from some of the older folk, but being openly gay in public was no more serious a social faux pas than snogging in public was for heterosexual couples, so there they were.

In his mind, Robin looked a great deal like the Kestrels Keeper. Ironic, seeing as how that's who was shagging Harry's ex-girlfriend, not Harry himself. But there were Robin and Harry, walking down Diagon Alley, and Harry was smiling and maybe leaning close to kiss him, and Draco cast a Silencio around himself automatically as he opened his trousers and finally felt some relief.

He closed his eyes. Image of Harry and Robin, smiling, maybe Harry whispering in Robin's ear, tongue appearing between his teeth as he whispered Parseltongue, and Draco breathed in deeply, guiltily allowing the image to build, what would it be like to hear that himself, Harry's mouth close to his own ear, and of course Robin was gone, he'd known that wouldn't last long no matter who he imagined Robin to look like, now it was Harry holding Draco, and putting his hand down Draco's trousers and whispering in his ear, and Oh god.

Hearing that tongue hissing incomprehensible syllables, imagining it hissing in a slightly more intimate setting no, do not think of Harry giving you a blow job, he's your co-worker for the love ofthere he was, kneeling before Draco, grinning up at him and taking Draco into his mouth, as Draco whimpered and felt pressure and pleasure building up almost maddeningly, and Harry pulled away long enough to hiss something at Draco and the feeling of his mouth and tongue and the sound and the sheer power of Harry's magic had Draco biting back a cry as-

Fuck, this was impossible, Draco thought as he panted, his knees feeling weak and his libido almost stretched to breaking. Damn it.

oooooo

"Confidotuom. Not sure how much this will help, but I'm bi too."

"Really?" Harry laughed. "So it really doesn't bother you, then."

"No, it really doesn't. I've known since around third or fourth year."

"Well it's not really that big a thing here, is it. Though I had no idea you were. Wait – wasn't there that rumour that you'd dated Justin Finch-Fletchley after the war? I just thought it was because he had a bit of a," he cleared his throat, "reputation."

"Just a bit. I didn't date him, though. We just went to a lot of the same parties."

"How many blokes have you dated?"

Draco paused, thinking. "Erm... five? Six? Depends on what you mean by dating, I suppose. Some were just one-nighters." He ended the Confidotuom spell, lit Harry's aura. "...and that really didn't help much."

"Blast. No change?"

"Almost none."

"That's too bad. It does seem to be getting better overall, though."

"Yeah, we could probably Floo back to the clinic and test it on a couple of the-"

"Erm, no, that Kneazle of Brian's nearly took my eye out last test. I'd rather wait till all the purple's gone, if it's all the same to you."

"Yeah, that's fine." Draco took a deep breath. "All right, well, I was hoping I wouldn't have to do this one, but here goes-"

"Wait, don't you have to wait-"

"Latest scroll from St. Mungo's said they've determined it doesn't make a difference if you do a new confession right after an ineffective confession." Draco smirked cynically. "Personally I think they made up the whole 'wait a few hours between confessions' because they just didn't have time to do one confession after another with the same patient, what with caring for quite a few people other than their aura patients. Then they got two new cases, put some Healers on it full time, and surprise surprise, they're now saying you probably don't have to wait."

Harry nodded and looked at him expectantly, and Draco took a breath to steady himself. Because damn, he really didn't want to do this one. Unfortunately, it really seemed that confessions with "little or no unwanted emotional consequences whatsoever" weren't going to do the trick – or at least, they weren't going to do it fast enough to keep Draco from going insane in this blasted quarantine house. And this was a big confession, and could quite possibly clear the last of the taint off Harry's aura. Certainly worth it if it got them out of here.

But damn it, he still really didn't want to do it.

"All right. Confidotuom." He took a deep breath. "I'm in the middle of getting a divorce."

There was a profound silence as Harry stared at Draco.

"Oh my god," he finally said softly. "You... I had no idea."

"Well, no. Nobody's supposed to. But it's happening. She's moving to London and I'm staying here. And I would very much appreciate it if you didn't say anything about this at work."

"No, no of course not," Harry said quickly. He paused for a minute, then spoke up hesitantly. "What happened?"

Draco smiled ruefully. What a simple question, and how complicated the answer had been to figure out.

"Did you know Muggles have this expression, 'men always marry their mothers'?" He shook his head. "First time I heard it, I thought, well, that explains a great deal of why the Muggle world is such a mess."

Harry chuckled. "And ours isn't?"

"Good point," Draco admitted. "Anyway, I thought it meant something, you know, rather disgusting, but no, they just believe that men often end up marrying women who remind them of their mother. Happens in our world too, obviously. Very common. Just not very smart, when your mother was Narcissa Malfoy."

"Y'know, I wondered about that. She's quite pretty, but every time I saw Jessica she looked... erm..."

"Like Shetland had a noxious odour that no amount of freshening charms could get rid of?"

"A bit, yeah," Harry chuckled. "I take it she didn't like Shetland, then."

"'Didn't like' doesn't do it justice. She's about as fond of Shetland as you were of Dolores Umbridge."

Harry frowned. "But you're only here for two more years."

"It's not just Shetland."

"What is it, then?"

"She... she wanted to marry the Malfoy heir. Live in the old purebred wizarding society the way it used to be before the war. I thought I did too, but..." he trailed off. It felt strange, saying this out loud, when he'd only really thought it to himself. Such a huge revelation, that had taken so long to be understood and accepted, and shaken his world and destroyed his marriage. And it could be expressed in so very few simple words. "I've no use for it any more. Even if I did, what's left of that world after the war doesn't have anything I want. I'm fine here. I like being a Healer, and I don't particularly want to try to re-create something that has no meaning any more."

"I see."

"So she's divorcing me. She's going back to London, then probably flitting off to the continent. She has connections in Marseilles; I'm sure she'll find some nice young heir over there and get what she wants out of life."

Draco firmly ignored the pity on Harry's face as he ended the Trust Spell and checked his aura, then grimaced in annoyance. "What a surprise, that helped a good deal."

"Why did you get married to her, anyway?" Harry asked curiously, as if Draco hadn't spoken.

Draco pressed his lips together as he started to write. "Why does anybody get married? Seemed the right thing to do at the time. We just realized too late that we really weren't looking for the same things out of life at all."

"When did you meet her?"

"The year before I went into Healer School."

"Didn't that give her a bit of a hint that maybe you weren't interested in the same things? I can't imagine too many Malfoys have gone into Healing."

"Oh no, she encouraged me to do that."

"Really? Why?"

"Well, it was Healer School or a Potions Master apprenticeship. Or doing nothing, but Jessica didn't want that any more than I did. I mean, I didn't have to work for a living, but I didn't want to just sit and spend what was left of my family's money. That wasn't going to get me accepted anywhere other than among other people who were doing the same thing. And they were rather... pathetic, really. All of these people, who used to have so much power and wealth, but now... far, far less wealth, and almost no power at all. Sitting around, still trying to pretend nothing had changed."

"Sounds depressing."

"It is. Neither of us wanted that, so we both decided to do something with our lives. She's an artist; rather highly regarded. I was leaning towards Potions Master, but she pointed out that if I did that, there would still be some doubt about me. Potions Masters may be highly respected, but even if I did nothing but make medical or cheering potions, there would probably still be rumours that I was making illegal potions on the side, or doing some kind of Dark magic. With Healing, that was far less likely. It's doing something for the public good, and it's difficult, and it's far less likely to result in anybody being suspicious of me."

"Is that why you went into it?"

"It's sound logic. I went into Healing and everything seemed to be working out relatively well." He sighed. "The problem is that we wanted different things from it. She was happy to come to Shetland for my training, at first. Said it would make my 'social rehabilitation' even more credible if I did a difficult apprenticeship in the middle of nowhere. Nobody could accuse me of partying in London and scraping through just by getting lost in the St. Mungo's shuffle."

"What changed her mind?"

"She started talking about our triumphant return to London, and I realized I didn't want to go back. I like it here."

"Really?"

"Really. It's small and dull sometimes, but it's still much better than London. I don't want to go back to the parties and Ministry functions and lord it over the poor sods who are still under suspicion and falling farther out of relevance every year. I don't even want to lord it over the new people in power who thought they were finally done with the Malfoys." He shrugged. "She does."

"Wow."

"So. She's off in London, getting ready to move back there. We're selling the house in Lerwick and I'm moving at the end of the month."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Sounds very... civilized. I thought divorces were a bit more dramatic."

"Tell me you can picture Jessica getting dramatic."

"Point. Where are you moving to?"

"Clett Head. I found an old house that's been abandoned since Gridenwald, but it's still a beautiful place. Almost no Muggles to be seen. If I ever get tired of it, I'll probably go back to Malfoy Manor, but for now, I'm happy to let that sit empty."

Harry shook his head. "I never would've pegged you to be the type to settle in Shetland."

"No, I wouldn't have either."

"Clett Head. There's some beautiful land out there. You can just go out there and breathe fresh air. It's so quiet you can hear yourself think. I was looking out there before I found my place at Benbridge."

Draco blinked, surprised. "That's on Papa Stour island, near what the Muggles call Kirstan's Hole, isn't it?" Harry nodded. "I've been there. Didn't see your house."

"No, it's Unplottable. I've always lived in Unplottable land."

"Ah. I'll probably make mine Unplottable too, once I've moved in."

Harry nodded. "Shetland's a beautiful place. Jessica doesn't know what she's missing."

"No. I don't much feel like telling her, either."

"Did you try?"

"Not very hard," Draco admitted.

"I love it here." Harry smiled as he spoke, and a dreamy, faraway expression crept over his face. Draco felt his heart give a little lurch. "And I love my place. It's mine. It's not somebody else's family home, or something I inherited from my parents or from Sirius, or a school where I'm only allowed to stay as long as I'm a teacher or a student. It's a place I made my own. It feels like putting down roots. My roots, nobody else's." He breathed deeply. "Feels clean."

Draco swallowed hard and looked down. Fuck. When did Harry get eloquent and thoughtful? When did he gain a link to Draco's mind and heart that let him say out loud what Draco only thought to himself?

He made himself smile at Harry and stand up. "It's almost dinner time. D'you want me to make it?"

"Oh, I already made sandwiches, I'll bring them out. And speaking of my place, I should go back to check on my plant-watering spell. D'you want to come with me? I'll show you around my land."

No. No, very bad idea. Watching Harry talk about his home was excruciating enough. Actually going there would be the height of stupidity.

"I'd love to," he said.

oooooo

Monday

Harry wandered into the kitchen sleepy-eyed.

"You're up. How long have you been up?" he said fuzzily.

"A while," Draco said into his coffee cup.

"Mm. Why?"

"ForgotNox Fabrico last night."

"Myeah, I hate that." Harry yawned. "Dunno how Muggles do it, sleeping through when it's always bright out. D'you want more coffee?"

"No thanks."

If only it was just the daylight that had woken him up, Draco thought as Harry puttered about getting himself breakfast. He was getting used to Shetland's endless summer days, and could usually just set the spell and go back to sleep. This morning, though...

He couldn't get Harry out of his mind. Thinking about his expression as he showed Draco around his land. The peaceful, contented smile, the brightness of his eyes. Thinking of how much he had ached to touch Harry, tell him how he felt, hear Harry tell him he felt the same way. Feeling so strongly drawn to him, and so painfully aware that Harry didn't feel the same way. Unless he was a bloody fantastic actor, which he wasn't; not when it came to romance, anyway. Draco had seen, back at school, what Harry looked like when he was attracted to somebody; the way his eyes lit up, the way he smiled. He couldn't hide it back then, and Draco doubted very much that he could hide it now.

And there was no hint of any of that in his eyes or face or body language with regard to Draco.

"Owl from St. Mungo's came in," Draco said quietly when Harry came back to the kitchen table. "They're doing everything I said for their patients, and it's working. Two of their patients are totally cured. And they said there's one thing that worked in both of their cases."

"What's that?"

"You know they switched to using one relative or close friend as Trust Spell caster for each patient, right? Well they got the Trust Spell casters to... never mind, it's technical and rather difficult to explain anyway." He sighed. "Let's just say they made it clear what I'd have to do in order to get us the hell out of here. And..." he trailed off. Cleared his throat. "I don't know if I can."

"And if you can't?"

"Your aura's pretty close to normal. The purple's nearly all gone and the pulsing has gone down drastically. Even if I don't do anything else, probably all that would happen is the staff at the clinic would just be very suspicious of you. And some patients might not want you treating them. But it's a potion; give it another two or three months and it'll probably wear off on its own."

"Two or three months. That's not terribly appealing."

"No. It's also likely that during that time, things might happen that would damage your relationship with the people you work with and treat, even after the potion's worn off. The Healers said if you can, you should take those months off."

Harry grimaced. "Wonderful. It's a good thing I don't need to work for a living either, but this is not when I wanted to take my holidays." He slumped back on his chair, hands clasped loosely around his coffee cup. "That's wonderful. I probably shouldn't go visit Hermione or Ginny or the twins either, should I?"

"I wouldn't recommend it. I also wouldn't recommend being around other wizards unless you absolutely have to."

"Wonderful. A two or three month vacation, when I least want it, by myself. Lovely." Harry pushed his chair back with a scrape, and went to the window.

Draco stared into his coffee, idly stirring it, wondering if he'd be able to see anything but the random play of light on the surface of the liquid if he'd taken Divination way back in school. Trying to avoid looking at Harry as he stood at the window, gazing at the rocky beach outside, the serenity he'd shown last night in his home replaced by resentment and resignation.

It wouldn't be that bad, Draco reminded himself wearily. Two or three months of solitude. That's all Harry would have to endure. Possibly less, if he went to St. Mungo's and they worked on him some more. Granted, the Healers had said that starting Draco's spells over with another caster didn't seem to help, but they didn't know why that was. If they did figure it out, maybe Harry could get Hermione Granger or Ginny Weasley or somebody to help him out of this.

And even if he didn't, this wasn't a tragedy. So he'd spend two or three months lonely and cut off from the wizarding world. He could go live in the Muggle world. He might hate it, but it wouldn't kill him. And Draco had done enough for him; he certainly didn't need to risk any more embarrassment just to spare Harry a bit of unpleasantness.

I'm sure ye can understand that there were many people who doubted that someone with your... background and history would ever be able to put the needs of a patient ahead of his own, Helga had said.

"I can try to get rid of it before that," he said slowly.

"How?"

"They said this has to be cleared by a big confession, something that really hurts to say."

"The problem is what," Harry said ruefully. "You've already told me a lot more than you've told most other people. Painful things, things you didn't want me to know... I mean just how many secrets can you possibly have?"

Draco gave him a wry smile. "You do recall a little something about being a follower of the Dark – of Voldemort, right?"

Harry blanched a bit. "Draco, that's... we have to work together, if there's anything from your days as a Death Eater that I don't know, I don't think I want to know-"

"No, I'm joking. Trying to, anyway," Draco said heavily. "There's nothing there that you don't already know."

"Good. Because that would be awkward. Not to mention I'm still under Ministry oath to reveal anything I hear about Voldemort or his followers."

"Yeah, I know. And my pardon was only for what I admitted to, not a free ride for everything I did. Don't worry, I don't have any more secrets there."

"Good."

Draco paused, delaying the moment. "If it weren't for the Ministry oath, would you still not want to know?"

"Not really, no. I'm done with all of that. Besides, we're colleagues. It would make things unbelievably difficult, I would think."

"Yeah, it would."

"So we're back to square one, unless you've got something awkward to tell me about your relationship with your vegetable garden. There's nothing else that-"

"Yes, there is."

"What?"

Draco took a deep breath, fixing his gaze on the floor. "I had a reason for not wanting to come here with you. It wasn't just that I didn't want to share very personal things with you, because remember, when we first got here we didn't know that would be the only cure." He paused.

"So why didn't you want to?"

Draco steeled himself and moved his wand. "Confidotuom. I didn't want to because... because I'm attracted to you."

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I'm attracted to you," Draco repeated, keeping his face averted and his voice flat and expressionless through sheer force of will. "I have been, for a while. It's why I didn't particularly want to take on this assignment; I thought it might make things hellishly awkward and I didn't need that at work. Home life has been bad enough in that respect; I did not need a stupid... crush on a co-worker to make the clinic damned uncomfortable too."

Harry made a sound in his throat and put his elbows on the table, leaning forward, and Draco could imagine what his face looked like right now, intent and serious and still somewhat shocked. He didn't raise his gaze from the table as he forced himself to continue. In for a Sickle, in for a Knut. There was no way he could do any more of these confessions if this one didn't finally clear Harry's aura.

"Besides, it's not just... it's not just a crush, which was bad enough. I think I've fallen in love with you. You – I hated you so much in school. And I resented you when you basically saved my arse by testifying on my behalf during the war. I never expected to see you after that, but then... here you were. And you've been decent to me, and you're... you're nothing like what you were at school. And... well, you're very fit, I'm sure you know that."

Harry took a breath to speak and Draco put up a hand. "Don't –don't, I just want to get this over with, all right?" He took another deep breath. "I can talk to you about things I don't talk to anybody else about. I know you feel the same way about a lot of things that are important to me. I haven't – ever since the war, I've been pretty much alone. Most of my friends either died or went to prison, and the few that didn't, hate me for turning on them. I thought Jessica... but she's the kind of girl I would've liked before all of that."

"Draco-"

"You're the only person I've got anything in common with at the clinic, and you're... pretty much everything I want in my life. So I've been slowly falling in love with you for almost a year, and this week hasn't made things any easier." He picked up his wand, still avoiding Harry's gaze, and ended the spell.

"Wait," Harry said quickly. "You're – you can't just drop this on me and then-"

"Hang on, let me see-"

"Wait, stop that," Harry said, batting away Draco's wand.

"Look, I don't particularly want to discuss this, right? The confession is made, I need to check its effect."

Harry sat back, quietly allowing Draco to examine his aura. Draco frowned.

"Did it work?"

"Quiet." Draco narrowed his eyes, glancing down at his notes from previous confessions and from St. Mungo's.

"It didn't work, did it?"

"I said be quiet," Draco snapped impatiently.

"Maybe it wasn't the truth?"

Draco smiled grimly. "Believe me, none of that was anything I'd be likely to say just for amusement." He sat back, finally forced himself to meet Harry's gaze.

"I think it worked. Do you feel up to taking a walk through the Floo?"

Harry hesitated. "Are you sure? I don't particularly want to go through what happened last time-"

"The other day there was still something wrong with your aura. There isn't now. There's nothing there."

Harry stared at him, his expression difficult to read. Finally he stood and they both stepped through the Floo.

"Oh, hello – Harry!" Pepper did a double take as she registered the fact that Harry was right in front of her and she wasn't cringing. "Harry! You're – oh my god! Brian! Gwen!" she turned and shouted. "Draco did it!"

There was a quick scraping of chairs from the next room and hurried footsteps and the rest of the staff burst into the Floo room, all talking over one another.

"Oh my god, congratulations!" Pepper and Gwen hugged both of them and Brian slapped Draco on the back while Helga beamed at them all, and a general jumping around celebration began. The one patient in the clinic peered at them curiously and asked Gwen something in Shetlandic that included the word 'Potter,' and from Gwen's happy babble Draco gathered that she was explaining. The old witch gave Draco a wide, toothless smile.

"God we've got to go out and – it's closing time anyway, let's go to the pub in Waddersta," Brian said enthusiastically. "Draco, free round on me!"

"What finally did it?" asked Helga.

"Trust spell," Draco said shortly.

"Did they no try that at St. Mungo's? I thought it didn't work," said Pepper.

"Had to use a slightly different spell, different personal dynamics. Different confessions."

"Huh," said Pepper.

"Ooh, different confessions? So what did he tell ye?" Gwen asked Harry.

"That's private," Harry said quickly.

"Och, Merlin, ye canna leave it at that," Pepper laughed, then seemed to take in their hesitancy. "Oh all right, never mind, I probably don't want to know. Ye wear plaid knickers, is it?"

Draco forced himself to give a small laugh and shook his head, heading back to the Floo.

"Wait–"Harry stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Aren't you going to stay and celebrate?"

"No, I'm going to write it up. Let the St. Mungo crew know what's happened."

"Come on lad, this is your moment!" said Helga. "You're a Trainee and ye helped St. Mungo's beat a bloody Death Eater poison!"

"No, it's all right. You go on ahead. I might join you later," he said, and stepped back into the Floo.

oooooo

Tuesday

Draco sighed wearily as he finished arranging three dozen vials of skin-ailment potions on the counter in the potions storage room, his textbook open, studying for his next examination. He and Harry had ended up having to Floo to St. Mungo's the day before, where Harry had been examined and formally cleared and Draco had shared with the other Healers the details of what he had done. Not the way he wanted to spend his time, when he still had another bloody exam in five days.

The blue vial had a spot-removing potion, he remembered, which would've been fascinating to study at Hogwarts; not so much right now. Not a lot of teenagers in Shetland; most of them were at Hogwarts most of the year. Rather a lot of sheep, though. Draco made a mental note to pay particular attention to sheep-related skin ailments as he tried to focus on the vials and clear his mind of extraneous thoughts.

'Extraneous thoughts'. What a nice euphemism. He pressed his lips together, pushing away thoughts of Harry, grimly reminding himself that there would be plenty of time to deal with him tomorrow, when they'd both be working together here again.

Hopefully things wouldn't be too awkward. He could be a professional about this situation, and surely Harry could be too. It would just be hellishly uncomfortable, but he'd get through it. He'd already dealt with it a bit yesterday, handling Harry's attempt to talk to him with equilibrium when Harry had cornered him in between his examinations and Draco's debriefing with the other Healers.

"I need to talk to you," Harry had said, drawing him into a small alcove.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say thanks. For... for everything."

"No problem," Draco had said tightly. "Just doing my job."

"No, you... you went above and beyond for me. You could've just let me get shipped here in the first place. They probably would've figured it out eventually."

Draco shrugged uncomfortably and there was an awkward silence.

"You could say you're welcome, you know."

"You're welcome," Draco said stiffly.

"And I... I'm sorry-"

"Don't worry about it," Draco had said. "I can't stay, I have to debrief with the other Healers." And he had escaped to the relative safety of the Healer's meeting, where he wouldn't have to try so damn hard to not show how vulnerable he felt in Harry's presence, and how much he was already mourning the end of the easy camaraderie they'd slipped into at the quarantine house. Where he wouldn't have to think about how hollow he felt. How empty.

The orange vial held an antidote to a lot of burns caused by potions ingredients, Draco thought. Except for doxy venom, powdered dragon skin, and dried nundu tongue. He checked the text, blowing out his breath with impatience as he realized he'd forgotten shrake spines. Closed his eyes and started to repeat the list to himself five times. Bit back a curse as he heard a soft cough at the door.

"Yes?" he said, and his stomach did an unpleasant flip as he saw Harry at the door. "What are you doing here? You're not on shift till tomorrow."

"Neither are you," Harry pointed out. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Harry, it's really not necessary-"

"It is." Harry stepped into the room and closed the door behind them, looking nervous but determined. "I, erm. I never gave you my confession back, at the end."

"It's all right, I didn't expect you to-"

"I know. But I want to anyway." Harry came closer, hitched himself up onto the counter next to Draco and sat, swinging his feet slightly, seeming to brace himself. "I've been thinking about what you said, all day. And." He swallowed hard. "I can't say I feel the same. You're a colleague. It's never occurred to me to think of you as anything else."

Draco spared a moment's thanks for the forethought that had made him turn away and start sorting potions as soon as Harry had started to talk. Firmly quashed down the part of him that felt devastated, despite all his efforts to keep himself grounded in reality on this topic. "No, I didn't expect you to," he said, his voice sounding hollow even to himself.

"Not to mention I thought you were married."

"Well, I am."

"Yeah, but..." Harry swallowed again. "I was attracted to you once. A long time ago."

Draco quickly grabbed for the vial that had just slipped out of his hand, catching it right before it rolled off the counter. "What?"

"Back in fifth year. I hated you more than I'd ever hated anybody before in my life, but I still - remember when I said I'd fancied another bloke in fifth year, and it was really embarrassing? That was you."

Draco firmly put the vial back in place and turned around. "Fifth year was the year I was on the Inquisitorial Squad."

"I know," Harry said sourly. "You've no idea how unpleasant you were. But you were... you were very attractive. You still are," he said, and a blush spread across his face.

"Erm. Right. Thanks," Draco said, also blushing deeply. "It's... erm, nice of you to say so," he said inanely, and wished the floor would swallow him up. Quickly headed off that thought – it had been known to happen that wizards and witches in great distress sometimes caused the floor to literally open up and swallow them, and the damage was hell to repair. Rather mortifying, too.

"Right. Well, thanks. That's... nice to know." He cleared his throat and picked up a vial again.

"No, I'm not done," Harry said, putting out a hand and taking the vial from his. "Like I said, I was attracted. Once."

"But you're not any more."

"Were you attracted to me, back then?"

"No, of course not."

"So, things can change," Harry said, giving him a small nervous smile.

Draco looked at him seriously. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I got to know you this last week. I mean, I knew you already, I knew you'd changed since Hogwarts, but I didn't know just how much. And," he pushed his glasses up awkwardly. "And I was thinking it was nice to finally have a friend in this place. I was thinking I've been alone for a long time, because Hermione and Ron and Ginny all have their own lives and I don't fit there any more, and I – I like being alone, but so do you, and it might be nice to get together outside of work in a way I can't get together with Brian or Pepper or Gwen or Helga because they have families and they're about a million years older than I am..." Harry paused as he seemed to run out of breath.

"And?"

"And... and if you'd like to...I mean, I'd still like that"

"Like what?"

"I..." Harry rubbed his hand over his hair nervously. "Look, I'm not good at this, right? I was rubbish at this back at school, and I haven't gotten much better, believe it or not." He took a deep breath. "I'm just saying I might... if you want... we could maybe go out for drinks. I was thinking we could, just as mates, but... erm... if you wanted to, as... erm..." he flushed and trailed off.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "Are you... asking me out on a date?" he said cautiously.

"Erm. I suppose so."

Draco felt an unexpected laugh bubbling up inside. "You're... you're asking your married colleague, who just treated you as a patient, out on a date?"

Harry chuckled. "When you put it like that it sounds a little sordid, doesn't it?"

"A little." Draco suddenly realized that Harry was smiling at him, his grin growing wider, and realized with shock that he was smiling too. "You know, Muggles believe you should never date your patients."

"Mugglesdon't even know how to make light without a working light bulb."

"Good point."

"So are you saying yes?"

"Oh. Oh, right, of course," Draco said quickly. "Yeah, that would... that would be good."

Harry grinned, slipped off the counter, and hesitantly moved closer to Draco.

"Erm... do you mind?" he asked, slowly putting a hand out and taking Draco's hand in his.

"I'msorrywhat?" Draco blinked and cursed himself for an incoherent idiot, and cleared his throat. "Mind? No, go ahead." Warm. Harry's hand was warm, and dry, and he had small calluses, probably from a broom handle.

"'Sfunny, I wanted to do this so much in school," Harry said, bemused, and Draco reminded himself to breathe. "Two bloody years – off and on – I wanted you, and I hated you for it. D'you know Ron and Hermione used to say I was obsessed with you? 'Course, we all thought it was because I hated you so much."

"I take it they never knew there was anything more to it than that."

"Actually I told Hermione a few years ago, when Fred Weasley came out to his parents. I said something like, I didn't know what my parents would've thought if I'd come out to them, and we ended up talking about a lot of things. I'd almost forgotten about it, by that point."

Draco nodded, having a little difficulty following Harry's words with the distraction of Harry's hand warm in his, Harry's thumb slowly rubbing a small circle on the back of Draco's hand.

"I'm remembering it now, though," Harry said, his voice pitched low.

"Yeah?" Draco said, and damn, he was breathless, but it didn't matter at all.

"Yeah. You're still rather fit. Only now you don't cover it up by being an obnoxious git."

Draco started to laugh, the tension easing a bit.

"I'm remembering a lot, Draco," Harry said. "I remember I wanted to touch you – mostly to hit you, I'll admit, but sometimes I also wanted to..." Harry touched Draco's face, then drew him closer, and Draco fleetingly wondered if there was time for him to attempt Marcus Flint's charm wandlessly before Harry realized that he was rather excited about all of this.

Harry cleared his throat nervously. "Can I?" he said, looking down at Draco's lips.

"Oh. Yeah, sure," Draco said, his voice coming out as a whisper, and Harry gave him a gentle kiss that did nothing to stop Draco's trembling.

"Mm. That's nice," Harry murmured, and leaned in for another one, and Draco felt something break free inside him as he reached up and carefully drew Harry closer, part of him still not quite believing he wouldn't wake up any moment now, and the rest of him not caring, as long as he could kiss Harry back.

"This could work out better than going out to a pub," Harry said with a smile, and their lips met again.

Oh... that was so very, very good... Draco firmly quashed the urge to whimper but gave up trying to keep his breathing steady or dampen down his arousal. Harry was a mediwizard, just as well-versed as Draco in the ways of human bodies, and from what Draco knew of him, not terribly prudish anyway. He allowed Harry to bring them closer, smiling into Harry's lips as their bodies came into full contact and he sensed Harry's arousal as well.

"Erm, yeah, that's – I've been thinking a lot since yesterday," Harry said a little sheepishly. "I mean I didn't know if, you know, you'd want to even if I did, what with still being married and-"

"Harry," Draco stopped his words with a kiss. "Stop talking," he pulled away long enough to say, then came back to Harry's mouth.

"OK," Harry sighed and moved his lips to Draco's cheek, making his way to his ear. "Why didn't you say anything sooner? What," he bit Draco's earlobe gently and Draco closed his eyes, "did you think I would do? Run screaming?"

"You're," Draco drew in his breath sharply as Harry moved down to his neck, "straight. I thought. And we work together. And," he moaned, god Harry was good at that, "you never seemed to like me in school."

"We're not at school any more."

"We also work together," Draco repeated breathlessly.

"And this is a problem because...?"

"Office romances-"

"We live in Shetland. You could fit the entire wizarding population into the Great Hall and still have room for a troll or two." He broke off and Draco lost the plot a bit as Harry nibbled his earlobe. "D'you really think anybody's going to disapprove of any two people dating, if they're lucky enough to find someone they like here?" He chuckled. "You haven't lived in Shetland long enough, mate," he said, and captured Draco's lips with his own again.

"And what - mm - what if this doesn't work out?"

"Cross that bridge if we get to it," Harry said, and pressed himself against Draco.

"Right," Draco gasped. "You're very persuasive." Draco gasped as a hand stole down and touched his waist, slowing down, almost as if asking for permission.

"Can I...?"

I've tossed off to the thought of you going down on me more times that I can count in the last few days, Draco wanted to say. I think I'm all right with your hand on my arse. He settled for simply nodding.

"Hang on," Harry hurriedly waved his hand towards the potions storage room door and it swung shut, the lock clicking.

"Impressive."

"Just in case you're about to slap my face if I, erm..." Harry slowly started to move his hand to the front of Draco's trousers until Draco, impatient, grabbed it and placed it right where it would do the most good.

"Does that – oh – answer your question?"

"Excellent. Oh!" Harry sucked his breath in as Draco's hand found its way to the front of his own trousers. "God! Don't stop!" he hissed.

Draco swallowed hard. "Erm, don't do the Parseltongue thing," he said hurriedly.

"I– I wasn't," Harry said, pulling back a bit, his voice a tad annoyed. "I thought you said you didn't have a problem with-"

"Erm, I don't, it just... erm. It's a bit more arousing than I'd like, all right?"

Harry's eyes widened slightly. "You're... joking." He seemed taken aback. "It's – you find that hot?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," he said, seeking out Harry's lips again.

"You're joking," Harry said, breaking off their kiss with an amused smirk. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

"Not at work, please," said Draco hurriedly, and grasped him more firmly through his trousers.

Harry gasped. "God, that's-" he groaned and buried his head on Draco's shoulder, resumed his own stroking movements, then put a finger in the waistband of Draco's trousers and waited a half-second for Draco to nod enthusiastically before slipping a hand inside.

This was going to kill him, thought Draco vaguely. After so bloody long with no better company than his right hand and fantasies of people who very definitely did not remind him of Harry, followed by fantasies that very vividly did remind him of Harry, and the roller-coaster of emotions he'd gone through in the last few days –hell, in the last few minutes – this was going to do him in.

What a perfect way to go, though. He groaned as Harry caressed his aching erection, closed his eyes in delight as Harry responded to Draco's own movements eagerly and bit down on his lip, and by god he was about to come blindingly hard in the potions storage room at the clinic and this was probably neither the time or place for this kind of thing but he wouldn't have wanted to stop it for all the-

The door rattled.

He and Harry froze, Draco suppressing a vehement curse and both of them pulling back slightly, staring at the door handle.

"Bloody hell," Gwen's voice muttered, and Draco barely had time to realize that she was most probably taking out her wand to open the door when Harry spoke.

"Gwen, don't open the door!" he said, his voice steady despite the fact that he was panting and flushed.

"Harry? Why's it locked? Ye all right lad?"

"We're all right, just spilled some, erm, asafoetida," said Harry quickly, grabbing a vial and upending it. "We're just trying to clean it up!"

"Ugh. Who's we? Is Draco in there?"

"Yeah, we'll be out in a minute!" called out Draco, his eyes starting to water as the foul stuff wafted through the small room.

"Take your time," said Gwen. "Don't want that smelling up the whole clinic." Her footsteps receded down the hall.

"Ugh, that's quite-" Draco began, and Harry chuckled.

"Foul, isn't it? Here," he flicked his wand and muttered a spell and the noxious odour seemed to clear itself miraculously.

Draco took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, then laughed.

"What?"

"All right, that probably wasn't the most professional thing I've ever done, but what a way for it to stop."

Harry pulled him back into his arms. "I know," he said with a kiss. "We'll have time enough to continue this later, though." He gently pushed Draco away and they both straightened up. "Tonight? Dinner in Brae?"

Draco grinned at Harry's eager, shy expression, the flush on his cheeks and lips, the brightness of his eyes.

I did that, he thought, a little floored. And: Miserable Anonymous Death Eaters who brewed that foul potion? Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

"I'd love to," he said.

End

2 Cool Has Left the Building

6 hours later....

Harry ran a hand through his hair and did not look at the clock.

Dinner menu. It would be a good idea to read a dinner menu before Draco got here. Draco had probably already been to this restaurant, so he would be familiar with the menu, and Harry didn't particularly want to order something foul just because he was so nervous about their first date that he ended up just pointing at the menu at random. Nor did he wish to look like an idiot by ordering bread sticks or breath mints. He checked to make sure his fly was done up.

The cod should be good. Maybe he could ask Draco; Draco might know what was good here, and that might get conversation flowing.

Harry blew out his breath impatiently. You'd think he'd never been on a first date before. This had a dreadful air of Cho Chang to it. He glanced around the restaurant furtively, almost expecting to see Madam Puddifoot beaming at him from behind a cluster of floating hearts.

This was ridiculous. This wasn't Cho Chang. He knew Draco very well, had talked with him plenty in the year that he'd been working in Shetland, and never felt nervous about holding up his end of a conversation. And he'd been on plenty of dates between Cho and now - granted, most of them had been with Ginny, but he'd dated other people too, and hadn't made too much of a dolt of himself.

Breathe in, breathe out. It's just a date with a friend and colleague who has the potential to become more. He checked his hair in the reflection on the window. Winced and firmly turned away.

Ah, but Draco wasn't just a friend or colleague any more, was he? They knew each other much too well for that. And yet they didn't know each other all that well at all; he didn't know, for example, whether Draco had actually ever been to this particular restaurant in Brae.

He took off his tie. He looked stupid with a tie; this wasn't a job interview.

Besides, this wasn't just any first date. Happily, the usual jitter of "does he like me" wasn't there, but in its place was "he likes me... a lot." Draco had said he was in love with him. And that was a hell of a piece of baggage to bring into a first date.

He put his tie back on.

God, how could he have missed that? How could he have been so clueless? And bloody hell, where was Hermione when he needed her the most? He had a desperate urge to talk to her, or Ginny. But Hermione was an Unspeakable and Ginny was in training in Mercia, and even if Harry had been able to reach either of them, he had no clue how he would bring up this particular topic.

Hermione, remember Malfoy? Of course you remember him, he introduced you to the word Mudblood. Well, you know we're working together, and well the thing is, he says he's in love with me and I can't wait to get into his pants.

No, no that was awful.

All right then: Ginny, remember Malfoy? Not the one who almost got you killed with Tom Riddle's diary, the other one - his son, the one who always called you Girl Weasley and The Weaselette and wrote songs mocking your brother. Yeah, that's the one. It turns out he's not only a great Healer, like I told you, he's also quite fit and he's in love with me and I'm thinking this might be a chance to find true love, or at least a lot of snogging and sex up against the wall, you know how much that turns me on. Oh - and I almost got off with him in the potions cupboard at the clinic too.

OK, maybe not.

The twins? He quickly dismissed that thought with a shudder. The twins would be in hysterics within minutes and would probably be sending him strobing, anatomically correct, jingle-shrieking sex aids at the Clinic for weeks.

Times like this, he missed Ron more than he could express. Not that he would've gone into his feelings much with Ron, but it might have been comforting to be able to share this with somebody as clueless about romantic relationships as Harry himself. Provided, of course, that Ron didn't immediately die of apoplexy upon hearing it was Draco Malfoy Harry was hoping to engage in a romantic relationship.

Harry covered his eyes with his hands and almost missed the sound of a soft pop of Apparition.

"Sorry, have you been waiting long?" Draco asked, looking somewhat nervous.

All right, how exactly had he worked with Draco for over a year and missed how fit he was? True, normally he saw him wearing Healer's robes and in the middle of Splinchings, vomit, and unsightly skin conditions, and not in a blue shirt that complemented the colour of his eyes, and black trousers that showed off the shape of his rather attractive - but still.

"No, no, just got here," he said, pleased that his voice sounded perfectly nonchalant. "Shall we?" He indicated the dining room.

They entered the tiny restaurant and found an empty table, and Draco took a seat, eying the menu appreciatively. "I've never come here. Do you know what's good?"

"Really? You've never been? Neither have I, but the cod looks like it could be good."

"Oh good - I must admit, it's good to love fish when you live here, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Harry chuckled, "fish and mutton."

And just like that, it wasn't awkward at all. It was just dinner, with a friend who was interesting and charming and with whom he had an easy banter shaped by a year of a good working relationship and six days of close contact in the quarantine house.

Just dinner. Nothing awkward about that. Just exciting, and fun, and very very good for his ego.

And so easy. They were soon chatting comfortably, and it could've been any lunch break at the Clinic if not for their lack of work robes and the ambiance, and he felt a bit silly over his initial nervousness. They were talking about their patients, funny cases they'd seen since they'd settled on their careers, poking gentle fun at the other Clinic staff, and it was totally casual except for little tiny hints of something, here and there. A gaze that lingered just a bit too long. A smile that was a bit wider than it would've been at the Clinic.

A realization that this was a very good-looking man he was sharing dinner with. A sense of butterflies taking flight in his stomach when Draco smiled, when Draco laughed, when Draco deftly speared a piece of his cod fillet with his fork.

OK, that was probably getting a bit sappy, and possibly creepy, but still. It felt good. Very good.

He poured them both a second glass of wine, watched the clean line of Draco's throat as he drank, found himself wondering what it would taste like to run his lips down to the hollow at its base--

"... and then Brian said, 'No, that's only for panda bears.'"

"You're joking!" he said, fairly certain that fit with whatever it was that Draco had just said. God, how embarrassing; he was totally thrown off and flustered and clueless as to what the hell his date was talking about. Happily, he appeared to have guessed right, as Draco was smiling instead of puzzled by a non-sequitur.

"You didn't know much about the Shetlands either before moving here, did you?" Draco asked, and Harry vaguely wondered what that had to do with panda bears - other than as a sign that he should probably pay more attention to the conversation, and get his mind off Draco's throat.

"Erm, no, not really. Ginny and I went flying through the Orkneys the summer between my first and second years as apprentice mediwizard. Saw the opening here when it came up and figured I'd try it out, see how it compared to the Orkneys."

"It's funny, people either love it or hate it when they get here. Brian counts the days till he can get a real job down south; Helga came here for her apprenticeship about a million years ago, and never left."

"Same with people born here. Pepper and Gwen wouldn't leave it for the world, but I'm told the mediwitch I replaced loathed it almost from birth."

"That's too bad."

"It's gorgeous. I look out my window and I see the cliffs off Papa Stour. Can't imagine a better sight to wake up to. Ron's older brother Bill and his wife used to live at a place called Shell Cottage; beautiful spot, too, but here, it's also so far away from... well, everything you don't want."

"So, d'you think you'll be staying for good, then?" Draco asked, spearing another bite of fish.

"Well, that's hard to say in the long term, but in the short term, I can't imagine going anywhere else. This is home." He smiled, thinking of the place he'd made his own, glanced at Draco and for a moment would've sworn Draco's pupils were dilating.

Because of him. Because of whatever he'd said or done just now. It felt intensely flattering, but a little overwhelming, that he'd been unintentionally making Draco feel this way for who knew how long.

Draco cleared his throat and looked away, and Harry glanced around. They were almost alone in the restaurant; only one other couple here, deeply engrossed in their own conversation. He casually rested his hand against Draco's for a moment, smiled, and felt a little swoop in his stomach as Draco smiled back at him before they both drew back again.

This was so much better than fifth year. Harry remembered, vividly, being inexplicably drawn to the sneering blond prat who had made his life hell, noting that it was really rather unfair how his hair was always perfect, how everything about him was polished, how he almost never looked nervous or off-balance or sloppy in any way. How he seemed to rule over the other Slytherins effortlessly, seemed to always get laughs and smiles and approval.

And he suddenly remembered, vividly, the first time he'd woken up from a dream in which Draco had ended up pulling him off in a niche next to a knight's armor, and--

He cleared his throat and hastily purged that particular image from his mind. "So what about your place? Are you moved in at all yet?"

"No, not really." Draco took a sip of his wine. "I've brought a few of my things over, but I don't actually take possession until--"

"Draco?"

Harry looked up and nearly choked. Oh shit. Jessica Malfoy.

"Draco, so glad I found you," she said pleasantly, tucking an artfully stray lock of ash-blond hair behind her ear. "Pepper and Gwen said you might be here. And Harry, how nice to see you too."

Draco half-rose from his chair, frowning slightly. "Jessica? What's--"

"Oh please, don't trouble yourself," she said, gesturing to him to sit back down again. "I only came to let you know that the house deal is done. The buyers just signed."

"Oh," Draco said, obviously at a loss as to why she had tracked him down to tell him. "Erm, thank you."

"And to congratulate you, of course."

Draco blinked.

She laughed charmingly. "Your medical triumph yesterday. It's being talked about. You should be proud," she said, smiling warmly at him before turning her dazzling smile towards Harry. "Harry, how are you feeling?'

"Oh. Erm. All right. All right. I mean, good, thank you. Fine." Stop babbling now, he told himself, you sound like an idiot. Though there was probably no set of syllables that wouldn't sound completely asinine when babbled at the wife of a man you were having a romantic dinner with.

Jessica touched Draco's shoulder lightly. "Why didn't you say anything? Your colleagues couldn't wait to tell me all about it when I firecalled you at the Clinic; they didn't realize you'd not told me a thing."

"Were you home yesterday after I came back from St. Mungo's?" Draco said, confused.

"Yes, of course. In my studio."

"I thought you were still on tour in Cornwall."

"Heavens, no." She rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Typical dedicated Healer," she said, smiling at Harry. "Forgets the rest of the world most of the time."

Harry smiled uncomfortably.

"They said the case may even be published in Healer's Annual. Considering the difficulty of the procedure, and all the other... circumstances of the case."

Harry grimaced. A previously undiscovered Death Eater poison, affecting famous Harry Potter, and requiring innovative Healing from a mere Trainee Healer, who just happened to be a former Death Eater as well. Bloody hell.

Draco's pained expression seemed to echo Harry's thoughts. "Healer's Annual? Merlin, I hope not," he said with a grimace.

Jessica's eyes lost their charming twinkle. "Of course." She sighed. "Well, do let me know when you sign the papers."

"I will."

"Go back to your dinner. Good to see you, Harry."

"Right. Erm, you too."

She left, her perfect blond hair swinging alluringly, even the door of the restaurant looking posh and elegant as it swung gracefully shut behind her.

There was a hideously uncomfortable pause.

"Well. That was." Draco swallowed. "That was awkward."

"Quite."

"Don't suppose a date can get much worse than a soon-to-be-ex-spouse showing up to see if there's anything left in the marriage."

"Is that what that was?" Harry asked, still somewhat unnerved.

"Pretty much, I'd say. Jessica loves the limelight. Drives her mental that I don't any more."

"And your reaction to the news that people were talking about you..."

Draco shrugged. "I'd say that was probably not what she was hoping for."

"Right." Harry poured them both another glass. "Let's drink to the lack of limelight, then," he said, and Draco's lips curved into a smile.

"To being far away from everything you don't want," he said, and Harry clinked their glasses together with a grin.

ooo000ooo

They were at the pudding - very nice gelato - when Harry finally realized he would not be able to win his internal struggle to not ask the stupidest of stupid questions.

"Why me?" he blurted.

"Pardon?"

"I just... why me? Why would you want me?" Damn, but that sounded even stupider out loud than it had in his head. And to make things worse, he could remember the tone of Draco's voice as he'd told him why, just the day before yesterday; how he'd been impressed by Harry's ability to let bygones be bygones, how he'd noticed that they felt the same way about so many things, how he'd slowly (and against his will) fallen in love with Harry over a year - though he'd probably changed his mind by now, because for some bizarre reason Harry's ease and confidence around Draco had completely taken their leave of him, and left him a blithering, insecure mess. And an insensitive idiot, to boot.

Draco flushed deeply and dropped his eyes, and Harry wanted to slap himself.

"I'm sorry. I... bugger. That wasn't exactly... erm." He looked down at his gelato and realized he was probably being a little overenthusiastic in his swirling of the orange and chocolate together, and any minute now the whole thing would whirl right out of its little bowl and splat against the wall. Fantastic. "I'll stop talking now. Unless you'd like me to change the subject, in which case I'll ask you what was the most disgusting thing you saw during your time at St. Mungo's."

Draco was startled into a laugh. "What?"

"Subject change. So I don't feel like a complete arse."

"So you want me to tell you the most disgusting thing I've seen while we're eating?"

"I'm a mediwizard, remember? I can't be disgusted."

Draco laughed. "God, medical talk during dinner, that's one thing Jessica's always hated."

There was a deep silence.

"All right, my turn to feel like an arse," Draco muttered.

"That's... all right," Harry said.

More silence.

"Do you--" "I was just--" they said at the same time.

"Sorry," said Harry, chuckling. "Go on."

"Oh, no, you go on."

"Nothing, nothing, I was just going to say, do you mind talking about her?"

"Who - Jessica?" Draco blinked. "No, not really. I thought you would... especially after, well..."

"Mind? No." Harry frowned. "Although... just how... erm." He cleared his throat. "I'm not sure how to ask this, but how close are you to, you know..."

"Ending it?" Harry nodded. "We haven't signed the papers or done the divorcing spell yet, but that's all scheduled. For Tuesday the fifth."

Harry shook his head, bemused, and took another spoonful of gelato.

"What?"

"Sorry, just - I don't really have any first-hand experience with it, but from what I saw from Hermione and Ron, it seems like divorce should be more... I don't know, something that couldn't really be hidden from your co-workers. Let alone something where the soon-to-be ex can show up in the middle of a date and it's not a spectacular disaster all around."

Draco smiled wryly. "You might be surprised. I don't know anything about Granger and Weasley's split, but with us it really hasn't been that big a strain keeping it discreet. It's been unpleasant, but hardly dramatic. She just said that she was moving to London, and I said that I didn't want to, and that was... that, really."

"Really?"

"I take it Granger and Weasley didn't end like that."

"God, no." Harry grimaced. "Oh, God, no. Not a pleasant topic, believe me," he said, shaking his head. It wasn't just that this wasn't his story to tell; he just preferred to forget it as much as possible. Screaming fights and weeping and recriminations and resentment that had drawn everyone around them into the bitterness, until he'd longed for the happy, carefree days of Ron and Lavender and Hermione's tiny bird battalion. Their friends and family had heaved a huge, weary sigh of relief when they'd finally split for good.

"Do either of them know that we work together?" Draco asked.

"Oh yeah, it came up with Hermione. She was pretty interested. She looked you up, told me you were all right--" Harry bit his lip. Ah, what a charming thing to share. Tactful, too.

"Good for her," Draco said, seeming a bit surprised.

"What, for not trusting you, or for agreeing with me that I should give you a chance?"

"Both," Draco smiled. "So, what does Granger do these days?"

"I can't talk about that. Neither can she. She's an Unspeakable."

"Really?" Draco grinned. "So's Millicent Bulstrode. Frustrating, isn't it? You ask how's work and they give you this prissy little 'I could tell you but then I'd have to kill you' look. D'you know Millie didn't even want to answer me when I asked if she had time for lunch one day?"

"You still keep in touch with her, then?" Harry asked, going for a casual tone and trying to ignore the way his heart was fluttering as he scooped up the last of his gelato and their date neared its natural end. The waiter was giving them a bit of an impatient look, and, this being Shetland, they could probably count on him coming over and telling them to shove off any moment now.

It was ridiculous. His heart was actually fluttering, like he was sixteen or something. But this was... this was important. This could really be something. This wasn't Robin, or Bruce, or Thomas, who had all been exciting and unknown and, in Thomas's case, a little dangerous. Or Lianna, the girl he'd dated in between one bout of Ginny and another...

This was somebody who knew him, knew him for good and bad, and someone he knew well too. This was Draco, with whom he could quite possibly fall in love. It almost felt like he was halfway there already.

He swallowed hard, realizing Draco had just finished talking about Millicent Bulstrode and Harry hadn't made any kind of response, and now he couldn't, because he had no idea what the hell Draco had said. "So, erm... d'you want to go back to my place after we're done here?"

Draco's eyebrows went up, and Harry felt his cheeks heating in mild embarrassment. Once again, his cool appeared to have left the building.

"Sorry - I don't mean that in a crass way, I just..." He cleared his throat. "I... want to see where this goes. I mean, I want to get to know you better. I also really want to stop saying things that come out sounding this asinine after they're out of my mouth."

Draco laughed. "Right, then." They called for the bill and prepared to Apparate. And it wasn't until they were at his doorstep that Harry had the presence of mind to wince as he remembered how he'd left the place.

This was ridiculous. He was unbelievably nervous, in a way he certainly hadn't been when he'd shown Draco his place on Sunday. It was different though, showing a home to a friend and colleague and showing it to... whatever it was that Draco was right now. He began to wish he hadn't stopped himself from tidying overmuch, because it was quite obvious that he'd done something. The kitchen was gleaming to an almost Aunt Petunia-like degree. Everything put away, surfaces sparkling, spices alphabetized. The living room was equally clinically pristine. The entryway and the dining room, by contrast, still had the same messy piles of books and papers Draco had seen last Tuesday, and oh, very nice, there was a basket of dirty laundry left sitting on the landing, halfway down the stairs.

"Erm." He flicked his wand at the basket, sending it down to the laundry room and wincing as a pair of shorts fell out and lay proudly splayed across the stairs.

Of course it was the shorts with brightly glowing pink Snitches that Ginny had bought him as a gag gift. He swished his wand a bit harder than he meant to and sent the shorts flying down the stairs, leaving a trailing glowing pink afterimage burned into his retinas. He turned, hoping Draco hadn't seen them.

No such luck; Draco was blinking rapidly as though partly blinded, and pressing his lips together. "I like what you've done with the place," he finally said, and Harry couldn't help it, he started laughing, and Draco joined in.

"Erm. Yeah. Sorry about that." He cleared his throat. "Can I get you anything?"

"Coffee?"

"Sure, yeah, I've got some. I think." He rummaged through his cupboard, noting the way its messiness contrasted with the rest of the kitchen.

"Berthold Biscuits?" Draco said, nodding at a tin on the counter.

"D'you want any? They were Ginny's, but she probably won't be around for a while."

"You two are still friendly, then, I take it," said Draco.

"Yeah, of course." He smiled, thinking of Ginny. Wondering if she would ever in a million years believe who was in his kitchen right now. "She's... well I won't say she's like a sister to me, because that would imply all sorts of uncomfortable things about what I think of sibling relationships, but she's like family. A... cousin, maybe. D'you want any Bertholds?"

Draco nodded. "Yeah, I'll have one. Haven't in a long time. They don't sell them in Lerwick."

Harry cast a floating spell on the tin of biscuits and the two cups and guided them into the living room. He waved his wand at the window, dimming the light a bit, realizing only after he'd done so that that it probably looked like he was trying for a romantic atmosphere or something. Blew out his breath impatiently, because that wasn't it at all; it was just that having a noonday sun glaring in through your window this late at night got irritating sometimes. Though apparently many of the Muggles got used to it. Not that they had much of a choice.

He settled their biscuits and coffees on to the coffee table, congratulating himself on being a good host despite the unfortunate underwear incident. Immediately reminded himself that he didn't have to play host. Draco knew him.

Well... he knew him as a colleague, and patient. There was always a possibility that Draco might take a closer look at his slobbish home environment and troll-like manners and find his romantic interest waning dramatically.

Except Draco wasn't looking at Harry's slobbish home environment. He was at the living room window, gazing at the spectacular view of the stacks off Papa Stour , with the waves frothing around down at the bottom, seaspray reaching up to the sky.

And he was gazing at the view with the same rapt attention Harry still gave it, even after three years living here. Like the flames of a fire, the sea was endlessly fascinating, by turns playful and peaceful and angry and turbulent, and never the same. Sunlight was glinting off the waves right now, and Harry had a sudden image of a bed of jewels twinkling in a dragon's lair.

It was everything he loved about this place; life and nature and solitude.

... almost solitude. Harry joined Draco at the window.

"It's gorgeous," Draco said softly. "And there's almost nobody here to see it."

"Makes it even more gorgeous," Harry replied, his voice hushed.

Draco nodded slowly. "You get the feeling you're the only person in the world sometimes, out here."

Harry smiled. "On Papa Stour especially. There's only about twenty Muggles on the whole island."

"How many wizards?"

"Five, I think. We don't get together much. My place is unplottable, so it's hard for people to drop in."

"Funny how that doesn't seem to matter out here. This is a fantastic place for people who don't mind their own company."

Harry nodded. That was one of the best things about Shetland: its immense solitude and peace. The way you could feel one with the place itself, with the rocks and the sea and the birds, with few humans around to draw a line between yourself and nature.

"Fantastic place for people who like feeling like they belong to the place itself," he said. "And not just to the group of people who live there."

Draco was gazing at the sea. "It feels like you belong here, more than ever anywhere else, doesn't it? Which is odd, if you're not actually from here."

"The wizarding population's pretty good about that, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Lots of Shetland wizards just don't like other people much. They won't shun you just because you're an outsider; they'll shun you because they shun everybody. One social event a month is more than enough for them."

Draco chuckled. "Wonder if the Shetland Muggles do the same thing."

Harry shrugged. Funny that it had never occurred to him to wonder.

"Did... did Ginny like it here?"

"Oh yeah," Harry smiled. "She loved visiting. Didn't spend a lot of time here, though. Not just because of her career - she just needed to be around her family and friends." He turned, catching a look of... what was that? Relief? Some complicated expression across Draco's face.

Harry glanced at their biscuits and coffee, and suddenly realized he had no interest in them whatsoever. And Draco probably didn't either, judging from the way he was looking at Harry. Harry moved closer slowly, and felt their easy camaraderie once again take flight, as the butterflies in Harry's stomach went into a frenzied whirl of activity.

And he'd probably have to make the first move here, he realized, because odds were, Draco was even more nervous than he was. He felt a small glow of pride for having figured that out all by himself - no Hermione or Ginny to help him - and he slowly came closer, put a hand on the nape of Draco's neck, gave him a slight tug, and they moved into each other's arms.

The kiss was gentle, at first. Like the kiss this morning in the Potions room. And just like the kiss in the Potions room, it made Harry hard in an instant, and he went from nervous-aroused to fully ready for anything and everything so fast it made him dizzy.

Ah, lovely; welcome back to age fifteen. At this rate he'd be lucky if he didn't come in his pants the moment there was a hint of tongue.

He forced himself to not shove Draco up against the wall and start frotting against him right away. Men generally didn't need as much build-up time as women, he'd found, but there was still a modicum of restraint expected, no matter the gender. Immediately grabbing at Draco's privates might not go over well. Besides, he'd already done that in the Potions room this morning; no need to repeat the performance right now.

He ran a hand through Draco's hair, concentrating on the silky feel, the velvet of his tongue, the warmth of his mouth. The moan of pleasure Draco made as his eyes closed in delight. Their bodies pressed together and he felt his heart skip a beat as Draco leaned back against the wall next to the window and pulled him closer. Nobody was going to come in, nobody was going to interrupt them - but before he could tell himself to slow down and enjoy the moment, they were caressing fiercely, Draco's right hand cupping his jaw and his left running down to Harry's waist.

Merlin, that felt fantastic. Draco's hair smelled like sea-breeze, and his mouth tasted like red wine.

And they were running their hands over each other, and it was even hotter than this morning, because he'd been wound so bloody tight all day, anticipating this, replaying their encounter in the Potions room over and over again and he was probably never going to be able to go into that room again without getting an instant hard-on.

Draco's fingers were warm against the back of his neck and Harry gasped, catching his breath as Draco's lips and tongue moved down his throat and he licked the hollow at the base. He brought their lips together again and took Draco's mouth fiercely, red wine and seabreeze filling his senses as the pressure built and they groaned together, and the hell with restraint, he nudged one foot in between Draco's and felt a swoop in his stomach as Draco immediately parted his thighs slightly and shifted so that they were pressed together, then thrust against him slowly.

"Oh fuck," he whispered. "Yeah, oh yeah..." he pushed back against Draco, the hardness he felt setting him on fire.

Then Draco slipped a hand down to his trousers and he gripped Draco's arms as Draco undid his fly, gasping as Draco reached in and wrapped his hand around Harry, his grip firm and sure and oh, fuck.

For a moment it felt like they were suspended in time, Draco's hand cupping him, Draco's mouth and his own panting against each other.

Then Draco's hand went down and then up, his grip firm and sure, sending sparks racing through Harry, pulling a groan from deep inside him. Fuck, fuck, this was better than anything he'd felt in so long, this was a thousand times better than that dream he'd had so long ago about Draco doing exactly this, he was helpless before it and vaguely thought he should probably do something for Draco as well but he couldn't really focus enough to figure out how, as Draco's talented hand went up and down, no teasing, just strength and grace and fuck, so fucking hot--

He shuddered and, with superhuman effort, forced himself to place a hand over Draco's, stilling him, and made himself concentrate long enough to undo Draco's fly. Reached in and wrapped his own shaking hand around Draco, feeling Draco's entire body go taut and a strangled cry die in Draco's throat. Then Draco was pressing himself into Harry's hand urgently, and they were rutting against each other, muscles flexing, they were giving each other all they had, heaving breaths growing harsher, rhythm speeding up, and then--

Oh, God...

God, nothing was like this in the world. Not jerking off, not fantasies, not dirty dreams, nothing.

They were panting, come cooling on their stomachs, their chests heaving. Draco resting his head against the wall behind him, slowly loosening his grip, a hesitant hand rising up to cup Harry's cheek, and Harry leaned into it with a contented sigh.

This felt so different from other first times he'd had. Hot, yes, and exciting, but now it also felt tender and comforting and all right, maybe he was already falling pretty hard. He was starting to get the feeling he didn't stand a chance at the whole "take this slowly and see where it goes" thing.

"Fuck. That was..." he trailed off, and Draco chuckled weakly.

"That was brilliant," he said.

He covered Draco's hand with his own, and felt an incredible sort of... closeness? Warmth? No, that wasn't strong enough. Whatever it was couldn't be described, and it felt very odd. He hadn't even been thinking of Draco this way before yesterday morning, and yet it seemed like they'd been together much, much longer.

"That was bloody amazing," he said, and his voice sounded sleepy. Draco laughed quietly.

"Brilliant."

"Yeah."

Well, that had to be one of the most inane conversations he'd ever had. Not that post-sex was the most witty time in anybody's life, but...

He pulled back, his hand still covering Draco's. "D'you want to..." he glanced over at his bedroom door hesitantly.

"Anything," Draco breathed, nibbling his way up Harry's neck, and Harry moaned as a tingling began spreading through him again.

"God, I hadn't even asked..."

"Anything," Draco murmured again into the hollow behind his ear.

Harry closed his eyes, his mind happily skipping several steps ahead, to a time - hopefully very soon - when his body would be recovered enough to go again, and they'd be in his bed, and there would be less clothing - yes, far less clothing, that would be brilliant - and maybe there could be more skin and more of those talented fingers on him, pulling him off, getting sticky(er) together, and all sorts of wonderful possibilities...

...and did he still have Robin's lube, that honey-scented stuff--

Robin. Oh hell, there better not be any other embarrassing items in his bedroom. He mentally flicked through the various small joke gifts he and Robin had exchanged, and briefly wondered if Draco would like that too, and would it be all right to exchange gifts while Draco was still technically married, and if Draco could keep doing what he was doing with his mouth on Harry's throat, there might be a need for lube far earlier than he'd supposed...

Although something wasn't... quite... right.

He started to pull back - no, it was fine. They were going to go to Harry's bedroom, and that was fine; unlike Jessica, Robin was fully gone from Harry's life, it wasn't like they had ever even lived together, not like Draco and Jessica - argh!

He pulled back slightly, resting his forehead against Draco's for a moment, at a complete loss as to what to say. Draco touched his chin, bringing their mouths together again, the taste of his lips making Harry dizzy again and drawing a moan from him in response before he pulled back again.

"Wait."

Draco pulled back and stared at him for a moment, and Harry started to realize that putting on the brakes had been a really, really bad idea, because the lack of Draco's lips on his was allowing Harry to think more clearly, and that wasn't necessarily a good thing. Because thinking more clearly was absolutely no substitute for Draco's lips.

"What is it?" asked Draco. And now Harry had to explain himself. Nice going, Potter.

"Erm." He paused. "I'm, erm, not sure about this..."

"About... what?" Draco's brow furrowed.

"Erm... I mean..." Harry ran a hand through his hair, suddenly acutely conscious of just how disheveled they both were.

"Look," Draco said, a bit stiffly. "You... you know how I'm feeling here." He sounded a little irate, too, and Harry really couldn't blame him. "Are you having second thoughts now?"

"Yeah, no, it's not that, it's just--"

"If you don't want--"

"No, I, God, it's not that I don't want." He ran an agitated hand through his hair. "Fuck, it's not that I don't want," he repeated, and something in his tone of voice seemed to lessen Draco's sudden wariness.

"Then what is it?"

"I'm certifiable," Harry muttered. "I want, so fucking badly it's--" he closed his mouth before he could say 'pathetic.'

Draco waited, puzzled, and Harry tried to put his thoughts in order.

"I know, you're getting a divorce. And... it's stupid, I know, I can't believe I'm saying this and I think I'll probably kick myself particularly hard if you agree with me, but see, I don't want this to go too fast. Not right now. I don't just want a quick fuck up against the wall - all right, obviously I do want exactly that, a lot, but I also want, erm." Full stop before his mouth declared complete sovereignty from his will and common sense. He took a deep breath. "And the problem is, you're married."

Draco stared at him. "So, is it that you... you don't want to do anything else 'til my divorce is official?" he asked slowly.

"It's stupid. Isn't it." Harry sighed. "You're right. No, it's ridiculous--"

"Erm." Draco blinked a few times. "It's... it's not ridiculous," he finally said, then laughed quietly. "Sorry, I haven't really thought of myself as married for - God, too pathetically long, but." He sighed. "But I am. And if it's important to you... well, the divorce spell appointment's in two weeks. I've, er," he gave Harry a half-smile. "I've waited a year... two weeks longer doesn't seem that long."

"Really?" Suddenly Harry felt like kissing him, but felt too awkward to do so - which was also a bit odd, considering they still hadn't even tucked themselves in yet - but it was all right, because Draco looked amused and a bit disappointed, but not angry or impatient.

"So." Draco took a deep breath and pushed off the wall, glanced at his watch, then did a small double-take. "Oh shit." He glanced back at Harry. "I hate to, erm, come and go, but--"

"You're on shift tomorrow," Harry suddenly remembered. "Bloody early shift too, aren't you?" He winced. "Damn, I forgot completely."

"So did I," Draco said sheepishly.

Harry smiled. Not that hard to forget, when you were enjoying yourself as enthusiastically as they had been, just moments ago. And he had little doubt that if they'd continued their recent activities, neither one would've remembered or cared about the lateness of the hour or the fact that Draco had to get up early tomorrow. But when all that faced them was the prospect of more talking... "Right. Sorry. We should go to bed. Erm, separately."

Draco chuckled as Harry pulled him close again, taking his lips in another kiss.

"I'm mental, I think," Harry murmured as they drew apart again, and Draco laughed. "Think we can coordinate being off on the same day, after your divorce goes through?"

"We can probably manage that."

Harry nodded. "Which does bring up something else. Work? I mean, it's up to you what people get told or not told; I'm not the one still doing an apprenticeship. Or still technically married."

Draco shrugged. "Don't care much," he said.

"Pepper and Gwen will be able to spot this a mile away."

"Probably."

"D'you mind?"

Draco thought for a moment. "No. Do you?"

"No." Harry grinned at him. "Good. I'm pants at keeping secrets these days."

Draco drew back, running his hand through his hair. Harry picked up his wand and murmured a cleaning spell over both of them, and tried not to stare as they tucked themselves in, zipping up.

"What is it?" Draco asked, and Harry looked up at him, a bit startled.

"What?"

"You're blushing," Draco said, his lips curving into a grin.

"Am I?" said Harry, suddenly realizing that his face was indeed feeling rather warm.

"Rather darkly," Draco said.

Harry chuckled sheepishly. "Right." He rubbed a hand over his hair. "Erm. Well. That was..." oh all right, after what they'd just done this wasn't such a big deal. "You know, what just happened? Was pretty close to a couple... thoughts I had. A long time ago." He cleared his throat. "You know when I told you I had a bit of a crush on you in fifth year?"

"Yeah?"

"That was one of the things I thought about. You and me, and, erm, this." He made a vague gesture that, on second thought, was a bit more graphic than strictly necessary. "In an alcove, at school."

Draco's eyebrows went up. "You're joking."

"Must say this was about a thousand times better. What with not, you know, hating you with every fiber of my being and all."

Draco laughed again. "Yeah, that would've put a bit of a damper on things."

"And what with feeling like a complete perv for fantasizing about somebody I hated."

"Try fantasizing about somebody you're working with all the time," said Draco wryly. "While married."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You didn't hate me, though."

"I thought you were straight!" Draco protested.

"Doesn't even come close--"

"And then you were my patient."

"-all right, maybe a little close."

"Although I did try very very hard not to have any fantasies about you," said Draco.

"Yeah? How'd that go?"

"Ah. Erm, not well."

"So... what did..." Harry trailed off as Draco gave him an amused smirk.

"D'you want to hear them right now?"

Harry's pulse sped up a bit. "Would that be a not very bright idea?"

"Probably," Draco said seriously. "They mostly involved showers and--"

"Right, yeah, stop there," Harry said hastily, and Draco laughed at him. "See you tomorrow, then," Harry said at the door, and they shared one more scorching kiss.

"You're on too?"

"Yeah, at noon."

"Oh poor baby," Draco teased. "You'll have less than ten hours of sleep."

"Shut it," Harry said, grinning. Body still zinging with endorphins, he leaned against his doorjamb, his eyes a bit dazed in the bright sunlight.

"See you tomorrow," Draco said, and gave him a final smile before turning on the spot and Disapparating.

Harry leaned against his door for another moment, gazing at the sea stacks at the entrance to Kirstan's Hole, where they'd gone walking the day he'd shown Draco his place. The waves were lapping gently against the rocks, the breeze soft and refreshing.

He went back inside, picking up the biscuit tin and the cups of coffee, and cleaned up a bit. He felt incredibly restless, and it had nothing to do with the sun shining into his home at the ungodly hour of... whatever time it was.

What he wouldn't have given to have Ron here, to talk to, to hear him - once he'd got used to the idea - say something like, "Listen mate, you want him, why not just go for him?" Telling him what he wanted to hear, instead of Hermione's voice of his conscience, all well-meaning righteousness. Or Ginny's sly teasing.

He sighed. Sat at his desk, savouring their date, the dinner, the activities against the wall... even savouring the idea of being alone with Draco in two weeks' time, after two weeks of working together and anticipating when they could be together without his stupid conscience pricking at him. Idly he pulled a piece of parchment close, doodled on it absently.

Thought for a moment, then wrote

Dear Ginny:

He stopped, scratched it out.

Dear Hermione:

No, no no no. That would be even worse than Ginny.

Why, though? Wouldn't Ginny and Hermione want to know? And didn't he want to share this with somebody who might understand? Somebody who might be happy for him, all teasing and preaching aside?

Dear... all right, I've no idea which one of you this will get to first. Doesn't matter.

You are seriously never going to believe this. He paused, then grinned as he started to write.

- end.

3 Estranged

Two years later...

Ron approached the St. Mungo's help desk. "I'm here to see Harry Potter," he said briskly, and was met by a startled stare and quick blush.

"Erm. I'm afraid we don't have a patient by that name here," the Welcome Witch said, and Ron gave her a fairly low-level Auror glare.

"Look, I'm a friend of his. I was told he was here-"

"Sir, we don't have authorization," she began, and Ron rolled his eyes.

"Here's my badge, I already know he's here-"

"Auror, ah, Weasley," she said, glancing at his identification. "Please-"

"It's all right, let him in," said a voice behind Ron, and Ron tensed automatically and barely stopped himself from pulling his wand as he turned.

"Malfoy."

"Weasley."

Ron blew out his breath. Figured. Hadn't seen Harry in three years, and the first time he came to see him, the only way to do so was throughMalfoy, sod him.

"Are you sure, Healer?" the Welcome Witch said, and Ron was puzzled for a moment before he realized she was probably addressing Malfoy. Malfoy nodded, his expression blank as he met Ron's stare.

"Thanks... Malfoy," Ron said tightly. "I heard you work with him now. I suppose you're here treating him?"

Malfoy gave him an odd look. "No, of course not. Come on, I'll take you upstairs."

"How is he?" Ron said as they entered the lift.

"He'll be perfectly all right in another three or four days," Malfoy said. "He's just in a bit of pain and discomfort right now. Nothing to worry about."

"Ginny told me he'd been poisoned."

"Technically he overdosed, but close enough. Bad batch of Ferritin Potion. The idiot apothecary made it five times as potent as it should've been. We called the local Aurors on her; the woman's a menace."

"How did he overdose?"

"He was about to give the potion to a patient with anemia but he noticed something was off about it. Poured a bit into a cup and sniffed it and nearly passed out." Malfoy shook his head grimly. "Maybe he'll finally learn to test bad potions with his wand instead of his senses."

"He didn't do it on purpose!" Ron bristled.

"Obviously not," Malfoy said impatiently. "And we're damned lucky he noticed something was off because the potion would've killed the patient. Still, he ought to know better. Bloody typical mediwizard; careful with everybody's health but his own."

"Oh." Ron suppressed a sigh of relief as the lift doors opened on the third floor and Malfoy led them out. Not that Malfoy was being unpleasant at all, but it was disconcerting to be so calmly discussing Harry's health with a man he'd only ever interacted with in hostile terms, except for three extremely brief business-only contacts during the war.

"Here we are," Malfoy said, pushing open a door to reveal a small waiting area leading to five patient rooms. Ron smiled as his sister looked up from the book she was reading and closed it, standing up.

"Ron, finally," she said as he approached her chair and she hugged him. Malfoy made his way to a chair with a small desk before it and settled himself into it, taking out a long scroll. Ron noted blankets, three empty mugs, the remains of some toast, and various scrolls piled next to the chair.

"How are you?" he hugged Ginny back, murmuring into her hair. "Is he all right? Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, yeah, and Harry'll be fine," Ginny said and grinned reassuringly as she pulled back. "It was touch and go for a bit, but he's all right. He's only allowed one visitor at a time right now though, so the rest of us wait out here."

"Is Malfoy working here now? Thought he was still in Shetland."

"He is."

"Why's he here, then?"

"To be with Harry," Ginny said, a bit puzzled. Ron frowned - and then his own curiosity was forgotten as the door to Harry's room opened and the person he least wanted to see came out, stopping short as she caught sight of him.

There was a heavy, frozen silence.

"Hermione."

"Ronald."

Ron felt Ginny give a small sigh next to him. "How is he doing?" she asked his ex-wife.

"He said he's getting disoriented, seeing too many colours. Actually, he said he can almost hear them. Is that normal?" she asked Malfoy, apparently deciding to ignore Ron.

"Not really, but then when has Harry ever been normal?" Malfoy said, and Hermione and Ginny smiled. "Hypersensitivity to colours is an unusual reaction to the potions he's on right now, but it's not dangerous. Just charm your clothes beige when you go into his room. And your hair'll probably make him cry right now," he said to Ginny. Ron almost felt insulted when she laughed.

"I suppose you think I shouldn't go in either, then?" Ron said a bit snidely, and didn't miss the way Ginny and Hermione both tensed again.

"Suit yourself," Malfoy said neutrally.

"We learn colour charms in Auror training, you know."

"Good for you."

Ron pressed his lips together. "Right, then. I'll go in next." He turned to the door, only to be stopped by a person in Healer's robes coming out of Harry's room. She frowned as she took in his Auror's robes.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Evans isn't to be disturbed, he's already given his statement-"

"It's all right, he's here as a friend," Ginny said.

The Healer nodded. "Oh all right, then. You'll have to give him a few minutes though, we're doing some examinations." She hurried off.

"Evans?" Ron frowned at Ginny.

"Harry uses an alias when he's in England," Malfoy said.

"Thank you," Ron said, rather politely, he thought. "I knew that. I just didn't think he'd use one at the hospital."

"He uses it everywhere but Shetland."

"I see."

There was a brief silence.

"So... how long has he been here?" he asked Ginny.

"Two days."

"Why didn't you owl me earlier?"

"Draco only contacted me yesterday," Ginny said, frowning. "And I sent you an owl last night."

Ron frowned back at her. "I was on a stake-out. Came back home and found your owl - it sounded like he was practically at death's door."

"It - he wasn't, but we were rather worried-"

"And you didn't think to try harder to reach me?"

His ex made a sound halfway between disgust and impatience, which did nothing to soothe Ron's temper. Ginny pursed her lips, rather obviously counting to ten before answering.

"I knew you were on an important case. I didn't think you'd appreciate-"

"I would've got here earlier," he interrupted her. "I don't much appreciate being contacted after everything's all done."

Ginny narrowed her eyes. "I'll remember that for next time, then," she said.

"Fine."

There was another uncomfortable silence, broken, oddly enough, by Malfoy. "Erm, so did you give him an earful over proper potion testing procedure?" he asked Hermione.

Hermione smiled. "Of course. I'm not sure whether the colour complaint was real or just his way of cutting short my lecture." Ginny and Malfoy chuckled as Ron pressed his lips together and looked away. Of course they could laugh, not having much firsthand appreciation of the delights of Hermione Granger's lectures. Harry wouldn't have laughed.

Scratch that, Ron corrected himself bitterly. He probably would have.

"Well I'll have to thank you, if it works," Malfoy said. "He doesn't listen to me worth a damn."

"You could pull rank on him now that your training is done, couldn't you?"

"If I don't mind being hexed in my sleep," he said dryly, and Hermione and Ginny chuckled.

Another silence. "Erm, has Mum been in?" Ron asked Ginny.

"Of course," Ginny said. "She was here this morning, before going to Fred's to babysit."

"Oh, how are Fred's twins?" Hermione asked. "I haven't seen them in ages."

"Jacob's a dear, but Billy's a holy terror, I swear. Fred can't stop apologizing to Mum every time he sees her. Says he doesn't know how he and George got past age two without Mum and Dad drowning them both."

Hermione laughed and Ron crossed his arms and looked away, fighting down irritation. This was so bloody typical; even after their divorce, after everything he and his ex had said and done to each other, the Weasleys still treated her like part of the family. His bloody family.

He should've known she'd be here. And he should've known that Ginny would act like everything was just fine, wouldn't think to show Ron any kind of support, would band together with Hermione to not-so-subtly let Ron know what they thought of him getting to Harry's side rather late, never mind that she hadn't bothered to make a real effort to reach him.

And Malfoy was here too, also on their side. How nice.

This had been a mistake. Harry was fine, certainly didn't need him, and Ron didn't need to be around his ex-wife or his school nemesis, neither of whom looked likely to clear off anytime soon.

The brief conversation about Fred's twins had petered off and the silence was once more growing awkward, and Ron had enough. "Well." He cleared his throat. "Tell Harry I came by, would you, Gin?"

"Tell him yourself," Ginny said. "He'd like to see you, Ron."

"Did he say so?"

"Ron-"

"Didn't think so. Well, it looks like he's got all the... visitors he wants. Certainly doesn't need me around to add to the crowd." Hm. That last bit had come out a bit more bitter than he'd meant it to. Oh well.

"Of course," Hermione muttered, and exchanged a look with Malfoy, who shook his head slightly. Of all people, Draco Malfoy, exchanging a look of shared annoyance with the woman he'd once called a Mudblood - the woman for whom Ron had accidentally hexed himself to defend against Malfoy, as a matter of fact - and Ron felt the hostility in the room battering him. Well, the hell with them all, then. He turned on his heel and pushed the door of the little room open.

"Ron, you're a real prat," Ginny said softly.

"What?" he said defensively.

"He'd like to see you."

"Oh, really. Could've fooled me."

"He would."

"Though God knows why," Malfoy muttered.

"All right, what the hell is your problem, Malfoy?" Ron snapped. "And since when do you know anything about what Harry wants? For that matter, since when is he even 'Harry' to you?"

Hermione bit her lip and choked back a laugh, as Malfoy smirked at her, like they were sharing a joke. At his expense.

"God, Ron, just when I think you can't possibly put your foot in it any deeper, you go and prove me wrong," Ginny said sadly.

"What?"

"I think she may be trying to tell you Harry and I have been involved for about two years, Weasley," said Malfoy.

There was a profound silence, as Ron waited for his brain to fully process the words and for his sister and his ex to deny what Malfoy had just said.

"What?" he finally said weakly, when neither of them looked likely to do any such thing.

"Two years, I said. We live together. I'm listed as his next of kin on the patient record."

Ron glanced at Ginny, who shrugged. He swallowed hard. "Harry... never said anything," he said slowly.

"You never bloody well asked," Ginny shot back. "We both knew."

"Right," he said grimly. "Of course." And why not. "Well, that's lovely. I'll be going now." He pushed the door open into the hall.

"Not a moment too soon," Malfoy muttered as the door closed behind Ron. "I certainly hope it was something I said." And to add insult to injury, Ron heard the unmistakable sound of his ex's uncharacteristic giggle.

Bloody. Hell.

Harry? And the ferret? And Harry hadn't said a bloody word about it - to Ron, anyway - but of course Ron's little sister and Ron's ex-wife were privy to this marvelous new development in Harry's life?

The hell with him, then.

Ron strode down the hall and punched the lift button, his numbness giving way to anger as he waited impatiently for the bloody thing to arrive.

Finally. He stepped in and reached for the ground floor button, but automatically put a hand out to stop the doors from closing instead as someone called out "Hold!" Too late, he identified the voice.

"Oh good, I caught you." Malfoy hurried into the lift, his expression of distaste completely at odds with his words. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to follow you back to whatever charming hovel you inhabit these days." He abruptly stopped himself and cleared his throat. "Erm." Briefly, he looked a bit uncomfortable. "Listen, erm, Weasley-"

"What do you want?" Ron crossed his arms belligerently, staring at Malfoy and quite gratified when Malfoy dropped his gaze.

"Weasley... go see him."

"What?"

"Ginny's right. He'd like to see you."

"Oh really."

"He would."

"Good for him. He doesn't seem to be lacking people to visit him. You all seem to be having a marvelous cosy time bonding together around his bedside."

"He'd like it if you were there too. Look, god knows I can't explain it, but he cares about you. And he misses you."

"He's got plenty of-"

"It was one of the first personal things he ever said to me," Malfoy spoke over him. "That he missed you, and that you'd stopped talking to him."

Ron sucked in his breath, stung. "I-"

"Look, you git, it's not like it was his fault he was more famous. And in any case, he's not, not any more. Besides, we're not kids any more."

Ron turned away.

"It's not like you're still just the sixth son of a poor family and he's still outshining you as the Boy Who Lived. He's - he's just Mediwizard Evans, from Muckle Row, Shetland-"

"Like you'd know anything about being 'outshined', you prat-"

"I'm not the Malfoy heir any more either. I'm just a country Healer. We're not kids any more, Weasley," Malfoy repeated. "Get over yourself."

Ron glared at him.

"Look, I know a lot of unpleasant stuff happened among all of you, but... Merlin, let go of the past, already. Not even your ex-wife deserves to have you holding it over her forever, and Harry certainly doesn't."

"Let go of the past? Maybe he can let go, or you can. I have a bit more trouble with it. And you're a fine one to talk about the past." Ron glared at Malfoy, who returned his glare with impatient condescension that made Ron itch to draw his wand again and make him eat slugs properly this time. "D'you know why Fred's oldest is named Billy?" he asked instead. "Four years ago our brother Bill - remember him? - died, a few weeks after his wife finally left him. Got blind drunk one night and tried to Apparate to her. Splinched himself. She'd got fed up after five miscarriages; side-effect of carrying children of a not-quite werewolf." Ron sneered as Malfoy paled. "Yeah, I suppose Ginny didn't mention any of that while you two were bonding over Harry; probably figured it might make things a bit awkward. Maybe you can walk away from your past easily. Not all of us can."

Malfoy swallowed hard and dropped his eyes. "I... I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "And I'm sorry to have wasted your time. I shouldn't have said anything." He turned around and headed back down the hall, the door to the waiting room swinging shut behind him.

Ron stared at the lift door as it closed, and continued to stare as the lift went up - blast, he'd forgotten to punch the ground floor button. A mediwitch got on at the fourth floor, carrying a tiny house elf with its arm in a sling, talking to it soothingly.

How many times had he been to this damned place? So many times. Too many times, visiting his dad, his brothers, Fleur, Ginny, Hermione, Harry himself...

The lift doors opened on the fifth floor and the mediwitch and house elf got out and were replaced by three Healers and two visitors, all of them chattering animatedly.

The first time he'd visited had probably been for Charlie. Charlie had... what had he done? Quidditch injury at school? Ron would've been about seven or so. Then there had been Percy's accidental poisoning in second year Potions, Dad's snakebite, Bill's werewolf injuries, Fleur's miscarriages, Hermione's Incendio burns during the war, Harry's gashed-up leg from the same battle, Ginny's Bludger accident with the Falcons...

The Healers got out at the first floor and were replaced by a man carrying a small child with a bandage over half of its face.

"Now you heard the Healers," the man was saying. "Baby lindwurms are not pets, right? It's nice to be proud of being a Parselmouth, but you mustn't try to make friends with creatures like that, I don't care how cute they are."

"But Da-"

"Not even Harry Potter himself would've been able to make friends with a lindwurm. And you are not Harry Potter," said the father as they reached the ground floor. "I certainly hope you'll remember this the next time you-" he trailed off as they left the lift.

Ron leaned his head back against the wall as the doors closed again and the lift started back up. He got off on the third floor again, heading back down the hallway and pausing for a long time before pushing open the door to the small sitting room.

Hermione and Ginny were speaking together in hushed voices, but Malfoy was nowhere to be seen. They stopped when they saw him and Ron pressed his lips together.

"Is Malfoy in there?" he asked Ginny, motioning to Harry's door. She nodded, her brown eyes guarded.

He took a deep breath and pushed open the door slowly. Malfoy was sitting on Harry's bed, his back to the door and leaning over Harry, kissing him deeply. As Ron watched, they broke apart and Malfoy murmured something.

"Yeah, no, it's not that bad any more," Harry said. "Bloody disorienting though. Remind me never to snap at a patient who complains of hearing colours again."

Malfoy laughed. "I will." He ran a hand through Harry's hair. "Merlin, you gave us a scare," he said softly.

"I-I know. I'm sorry. I just... I wasn't thinking. I will, from now on, I promise." He drew Malfoy back and kissed him, caressing the back of Malfoy's neck, and Malfoy made a soft sound in his throat before pulling back and resting his forehead against Harry's.

"No, you won't. But I appreciate the sentiment." He sat back, and Harry glimpsed Ron over Malfoy's shoulder and his eyes widened.

"Ron?" Harry said, and Malfoy turned around quickly. "What are you doing here?"

Ron licked his lips, suddenly nervous. His eyes met Malfoy's, taking in the way he drew closer to Harry protectively.

Ron cleared his throat and entered the room. "I came to see how you were doing. Say hello. I... just wanted to see if you were all right."

Harry nodded, glancing at Malfoy curiously. Malfoy's eyes didn't leave Ron's face.

"D'you want to sit down?" Malfoy asked neutrally after a long pause.

Ron let out his breath. "Yeah. Thanks."

Malfoy gave Harry a quick look and squeezed his hand, then got to his feet. "I'll, erm, just be outside if you need me," he said to Harry, who looked a bit nervous, but squeezed his hand back and nodded.

"Malfoy?" Ron said quickly as he walked past.

"Yes?"

"Erm. Thanks."

Malfoy's eyes widened slightly, but he nodded and left the room. There was a long silence and Ron closed his eyes briefly, calling upon his Auror training to navigate through a difficult situation.

"Right. So, you and Malfoy."

Harry tensed. "Yeah. Me and Draco."

"You never said anything."

"You never asked," Harry answered evenly.

Ron rubbed his forehead and nodded. "Fair enough." He took a deep breath. "Listen, mate, before I say anything, just let me know... is there any other big news you haven't told me about while... while I've been acting like a complete hippogryff's arse?"

And Harry smiled.

- End.