AN: I've had this story brewing in there for a little while now. Draco became a therapist after the war and Harry--being Harry--needs some help and Draco--being Draco--needs some too. :P I hope you likey!!!!!!!!

Professional

chapter one

Draco had been called many things over the years but indolent was never one of them. He had worked hard from the day the war ended all the way to the present moment in order to get his life on track and despite whoever's poor sense of humor was interfering in his relative peace now, he would continue working.

He was a responsible adult. He could put aside childish resentment and treat Harry Potter like any other patient to slink into his office. In fact seeing him didn't bother Draco the way he thought it would. It was different. The jealousy, resentment, attraction and all the other mixed feelings were still there, but as a distant echo, more nostalgic than anything else. It took him back much as a familiar perfume would, to a time when Harry Potter was the extent of his worries. Harry Potter, his transfiguration marks, Quidditch.... Surprisingly, seeing Harry Potter before him was making him smile.

He cleared his throat gently to wipe the expression off of his face. While Potter was sulkily staring at the floor was probably not the most appropriate time to be dreamily reminiscing. Harry Potter looked much the same as he had years ago, his hair still an untidy mess of jet black, clothes still unflatteringly dull colours although now they fit. Little things were different though. His body looked a bit more sturdy, more muscular under the greyish sweater, his glasses were frame-less and less distracting than the round ones he'd become known for and his dark lashes against his cheek made his skin seem more delicate and pale. He hadn't looked up since he'd entered the room twenty minutes ago and he definitely hadn't bothered answering or even acknowledging the basic questions, but again; Draco could handle it. He was a professional.

"So where shall we start?" he asked softly. He knew he had a nice voice and used it as his main weapon. Coaxing patients into talking had become a personal triumph for him–and for a therapist that was a handy talent.

Potter didn't grace him with a glance.

"How about we discuss why you're here today," he suggested.

Potter simply sighed softly and sank slightly into his seat which Draco assumed was a sign that he'd given in to having an hour of his life thrown away.

"You don't want to be here, I see." Potter snorted. "Well, many people don't at first," Draco said. "Unfortunately for you these sessions are court ordered and I have plenty of time."

Finally the brunette shot him a glare. Clearly Draco's presence didn't have quite the same effect on Potter as his did on him. He swallowed and looked down at his notebook. He'd half forgotten what it was like to be on the receiving end of those fiery eyes. For some reason that striking green was a perfect conveyance of anger. He doodled a quick squiggle, trying to compose himself and clear his head.

"The sooner we begin to talk, the sooner–."

"Stop," Potter whispered.

Draco hadn't been ready for the rough tone. He waited in silence while the man across from him tugged the loose strings on his sleeve. Finally he looked up at Draco, his eyes just as fiery but not as angry. He was frustrated, confused.

"How can you act like this," he asked, "like I don't even know you–like we're strangers?" He took one staggering breath and was on his feet. "After everything–," he bit his lip and Draco found himself staring at the act before Potter spun around and was out the door.

Draco cursed himself quietly enough for the secretary not to hear and was on his feet. In any other circumstances–with any other patients–he would follow.

He caught the heavy door before it fully swung shut.

"Which way?" he asked.

Helen, simply pointed and he bolted for the emergency stair well. He just wanted to catch him before he made it off the grounds and disapparated away but when he swung the heavy metal door open only the autumn wind greeted him. He looked around quickly but Harry Potter was no where to be seen.

He sighed and knocked his head lightly against the door frame before turning to find Potter leaning against the wall staring at him oddly.

Draco felt his cheeks begin to tingle.

"I thought you left," he muttered.

Potter looked away with a shrug.

"I didn't think you would follow me."

"Ah."

This was a good sign. As unthreateningly as he could, he eased himself closer to him.

"You were right of course," he said. At that, Potter looked at him again. "It was stupid of me to treat you like you were anyone else. I just thought that would be the most professional thing to do."

He snorted.

"You–and me–." He hadn't thought this through. "We–." He sighed. "Why don't you come back upstairs and we can discuss it?"

"Not a chance," Potter said at once. He spared Draco half a glance more before stepping past him and out the door.

Draco watched it drift shut and with a groan sank onto a step. Well that had been a disaster. He hadn't heard himself stutter like that since he'd been a child.

It took a long moment to realize that his heart was skipping and he had another moment of Deja Vu. That had always happened with Potter, hadn't it? The quickened breath and pounding heart. After every discussion, altercation, sometimes even just when their eyes met.

Draco pushed himself to his feet and began to climb back up the stairs, dusting off his suit as he went.

If he was going to be Potter's therapist there were certain things that he had to do differently.

Potter was right. They weren't strangers. He couldn't pretend that the brunette's presence in his life was meaningless, because when he was honest with himself he knew that wasn't true. Harry Potter was always an important factor in Draco's life.

He made it back behind his desk before wanting to bang his head against something.

He would have to change a few things in order for Potter to open up to him. First and foremost calling him Harry would probably help, and also–he would have to open up to him.

The very thought sent a little chill up Draco's spine. At least now he knew what Harry was feeling.

*

Harry could barely contain the array of emotions washing through him as he waited.

Draco Malfoy. God damn Draco Malfoy.

No matter how much he repeated it in his head it still seemed no less ridiculous.

The door opened and Hermione entered the living room, Ron close behind her.

She nearly dropped the bag of groceries she was carrying.

"Harry–."

"Get me a new doctor," he said.

"That bad, eh?" Ron asked dropping the bag he carried onto the coffee table.

"I'm not going to dignify that with an answer," Harry said. "It was Draco Malfoy trying to talk to me. About feelings."

Ron, being a good friend tried valiantly to hold back his laughter.

"Oh Harry, I'm sure it wasn't that bad," Hermione said, walking past him into the kitchen.

Harry jumped to his feet following her.

"Not that bad?!" he demanded. "Maybe you've forgotten the six years of school we spent with the guy, the name calling, the rumours... Dumbledor."

She dropped the bag onto the counter and looked at him.

"Malfoy didn't kill Dumbledor," she said. "Snape did, and I was under the impression that you've forgiven him already."

Harry sighed.

"I know but–I don't want to do this at all and having a Malfoy as a therapist really isn't helping matters."

She frowned.

"I know that, but I'm not going to switch the recommendation."

Harry groaned.

"Why not?"

"Because," she began, "I was specifically requested to make you an appointment with the best doctor that wizarding Britain can offer for the Harry Potter. It's your fault any way–." Harry sighed as she began her tirade. "If you had just done what any other wizard would do and defended yourself–."

"Hey Harry," Ron said from the door. "Wanna go for a drink?"

"Yes please," he said at once.

He Gave Hermione a peck on the cheek and was out the door with Ron close behind him.

"She's gonna have my balls for that," Ron muttered.

Harry grinned.

"It's much appreciated," he said, "believe me."

The red head clapped him on the shoulder.

"I would do it again," he said dramatically.

They apparated together to the Blue Moon, a somewhat dodgy pub on the edge of town where the drinks were always half priced and took their usual seats at a booth by the wall.

Ron bought the first round and spent a minute blowing at the foam on top of his drink before he looked at Harry.

"So is Malfoy still a slimy git?"

"He–." Actually, he looked perfectly and infuriatingly pulled together from what Harry could tell. Malfoy had always worn the nice clothes and sat up straight but before it was clear that his demeanor was a paltry cover for what lay beneath. "He's better at hiding it now," he said.

"Huh." Ron took a sip of his drink. "He's had plenty of time to practice."

Harry grimaced. That was true enough.

"What's Ginny been up to?" Ron asked. "Haven't seen her in a while."

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Truth be told they hadn't been seeing much of one another lately.

"Busy with training," he said. "She takes her Quidditch very seriously."

That was true enough.

"Hm. What about you?" Ron asked suddenly with a grin. "When are you going in for tryouts?"

"Er... I don't know yet."

Somehow drinks with Ron wasn't as relaxing as he was hoping it would be. He bit his lip.

A hand squeezed his shoulder gently and he looked at Ron, surprised.

"Have you heard about that splinching case in Amsterdam?" his friend asked.

Harry felt a surge of gratitude toward him and smiled, a real, genuine smile. Only Ron could do that.

"No I haven't," he said. "Tell me all about it."

*

Harry was already seated by the time that Draco entered the room. It was better than waiting as far as he was concerned.

"Hello Harry, how are you doing?" he asked as he glided to his seat. He had been practising that and the name on his tongue felt surprisingly natural now.

He sat down and looked at Harry, caught off by the annoyed expression that was being aimed at him.

"Is it alright if I call you Harry?" he asked.

"Not at all," Harry said politely.

Well he hadn't expected this to be easy.

"Alright–."

"Listen," Harry began. "I'm being forced to be here, but no one's forcing me to talk." He grit his teeth a little trying to keep his emotions in check. "I would appreciate it if we spent the hour in amicable silence."

Looks like Draco wasn't the only one practising.

He took a moment to process and then nodded. This could still work out nicely–well, as nicely as possible.

"Alright," he said. Harry's eyes widened. "You don't have to talk unless you want to, but I'm going to."

The brunette's shoulders drooped a little.

"I was thinking about every thing that happened last week." Harry was biting his lips. "And I think the main issue here is trust. You don't trust me–."

"Big surprise."

"And I–well, I haven't given you much reason to, have I?"

Harry's brilliant eyes met his, surprised by the admission.

Draco's cheeks began to heat uncomfortably but he pressed on.

"I'd like to remedy that problem," he said. "I'm going to tell you a few things about myself, even if you don't want to know, I still think you should listen. You can interrupt and ask me anything you want." His heart was practically cracking his ribs just from the nerves.

What if it made no difference to Harry? What if he shard himself and then the boy who lived just got up and walked away and told his friends and laughed about it? He ran a hand through his hair, pushing back the anxieties he'd felt all week leading up to this.

"I–I was born in Wiltshire on June fifth, I'm a Gemini if that matters at all to you." He shrugged awkwardly when Harry made no response. "I had a fairly sheltered childhood. I didn't have many friends, only those who my parents didn't mind associating with. Mostly it was just me and my mom and dad–and I loved them a lot."

Harry looked away and Draco found himself staring at the strong silhouette an array of memories flooded him. Some where useless to talk about considering that Harry had been there. Where was he going with this again?

"I sort of blindly followed what they told me. I didn't think they could be wrong and even if they were, I wanted to stand by them." He realized that he was tapping his foot nervously. He took a deep breath and stopped it. "After everything...." He looked at Harry and found the green eyes glued to him, enthralled more than anything else. He looked away.

He couldn't do this after all.

"Why are you telling me this?" Harry whispered.

"Because I want you to trust me."

Draco looked away, trying to compose himself. It was hard while Harry was in the room. It was always hard.

"I became a therapist because after the war–everyone was so different–there was no one there for us. No one really cared and–when I tried to help," he shrugged, "listening was all I could do."

He faced Harry square on, his chin lifting a little of it's own accord. Being honest was always a hard thing to do, but this part of his life at least he was proud of.

"Despite what anyone thinks, I believe that it makes a difference. I've worked really hard to make a name for myself."

Harry's eyes bore into his own and for a moment Draco was sure that he could see all the way into him before Harry turned away.

A long silence ensued and then finally Harry's tense demeanor faded a little.

"Where did you go to school?" he asked casually.

"A wizarding college in France," Draco replied casually. "The program taught basic muggle psychology paired with some little magical techniques to help. It was a good program."

"Why France?" he asked.

"I like France... and I wanted to get away."

Harry didn't look at him but he nodded.

"I can understand that," he said.

Draco's breath hitched a little. He wasn't sure he'd ever heard such a regular tone, directed from those pink lips to his person.

"It wasn't so easy to be a Malfoy after the war," he admitted.

Harry smiled a little.

"Or a Potter."

That was an understatement.

"I think I'm going to go now," Harry said suddenly.

"What?" Draco looked at the clock. "Your hour isn't up yet."

"I don't care." He stood up.

"Potter," he said carefully. Harry paused and looked at him. "I could read as many papers as I want to know what happened, but I don't want to." He hadn't left yet. Good sign. "What happened to bring you here?"

"Nothing happened. I just got attacked and didn't fight back."

Oh was that all?

"Did you have your wand?" Draco asked.

Harry gave him an almost incredulous look.

"I always have my wand," he said.

"Was he too fast?" Draco asked ignoring the tone. Not likely, but still he had to ask.

"No–." Harry frowned deeply a delicate crease deepening between his brows.

Clearly he had reached his limit.

"Okay," Draco said.

As Harry turned to leave Draco found himself on his feet.

"Wait," he said. Harry turned to look at him wearily. "You really don't want me to call you Harry?"

He bit his lip slowly and then shrugged.

"Call me whatever you want to call me," he finally said.

Draco stifled the urge to jump up and whoop loudly as the door swung shut behind the boy.

Considering their combined history it was a miracle that Harry had shown up for another session, let alone the fact that no wands had been removed and no hexes cast.

Despite the bizarre mix of emotions coursing through his blood Draco had a good feeling about this.