Malfoy was thin, far too thin. His shoulder blades threatened to poke out of his back and Harry swore he could count each of his ribs. His white blonde hair flopped over his face, and his body was covered in bruises, some of the blue and purple, others that had faded to green and yellow.

He had stopped screaming and was now just staring at the sun, squinting as if the sheer force of his will would make the light burn through his eyes and fill them with all the things he could not see.

Harry tried to reconcile this with his school memories of Malfoy, impeccably groomed, perpetually sneering and regal and his brain collapsed.

"Is everything alright?" Selena whispered. "You're gaping. I did warn you that he's a bit difficult. We haven't been able to persuade any of the other assistants to stay for more than a few hours. Not that that should dissuade you…"

"Erm," Harry said as he tried to come with an excellent excuse for why he absolutely could not take this job. Why hadn't anyone mentioned that Soames Grandfrey and Draco Malfoy were one and the same? Suddenly, Grandfrey's media shyness made sense, the wizarding world still hadn't forgiven former Death Eaters, but surely someone had to know who Malfoy was. Did Selena? The Malfoys had a high profile name, but they weren't celebrities. Draco's pictures had never been in the papers and probably the average person on the street wouldn't think to connect Malfoy's face with his name.

"Soames, I've brought your new assistant," Selana said confirming Harry's thought process. "This is—"

"Jerry Evans," Harry's mouth said before his brain could process anything.

Selena looked at him oddly. "Well…Jerry."

Draco turned around.

Harry was not prepared. Malfoy had grown into his face. His cheekbones were high and curved down into a pointed chin. His nose was thin and aristocratic, but his lips were full and pink. His hair was a bit too long and it swept softly over his forehead. His eyes—but Harry couldn't see his eyes because Malfoy was wearing thin dark glasses that obscured them.

Stupid, sentimental comparisons about archangels and gods popped into Harry's mind and he suddenly remembered it had been a very long time since he'd last gotten laid.

"Get the hell out of here," the archangel said, and Harry's thoughts cleared again. Music be damned, he was still Draco Malfoy the git who'd made him miserable at school. Somehow, Harry couldn't scare up the proper amount of anger though. Too much had happened, too many of his schoolmates had died. It was good to see someone from Hogwarts alive and well. Er, if screaming half naked at the sun could be considered well.

Selena continued on unperturbed. "He'll be living in the spare room and looking after you. We've also arranged for a mediwitch to check in on you regularly. Now, don't complain we've made all sorts of arrangements to protect your identity. Jerry will stay with you until you recover."

"And if I don't?"

"Now, Soames," Selena said bracingly. "Alright then, Jerry, I'm going to be off. Owl me if you have any problems. All the information you need about Soames should be in this docket." She handed over a thick pile of papers and Apparated out of the garden.

Harry looked at Malfoy. "Well, how are you then?" he said and then felt like a complete idiot.

"How do you think I am?" Malfoy hissed.

Harry did not need this. Harry was going home, music be damned. Some other good Samaritan could clean up this mess. Harry had done enough for a lifetime.

Only Malfoy, the utter prat, beat him to leaving.

It was awful watching Draco walk. He shuffled slowly spreading his hands in front of him. A few times he walked into the flowers and had to babystep himself out. He turned and looked around. It was clear he had no idea where the house actually was. He stretched out a hand and started off in the wrong direction.

"It's the other way," Harry said.

Malfoy ignored him and kept going forward. Then he tripped and pitched forward.

Harry leapt across the garden but it was too late, Malfoy lay sprawled across the ground, grass stains across his arms. He'd scraped his cheek against a rock and it was bleeding slightly. Harry was sure there would be a bruise in the morning. Malfoy's skin looked sensitive.

"C'mon," Harry said. He grabbed Malfoy by the arm, hauled him up, and slung one arm over his shoulder. Malfoy's skin was unexpectedly soft, and his arm was far too light. He needed a good feed.

For a moment Draco froze and then his muscles tensed as he shifted his weight into Harry. Harry snaked his arm around Malfoy's waist.

"Don't even think about shoving me over, you prat," he hissed into Malfoy's ear. "We're going inside." He'd see Malfoy safely into his room and then leave.

Malfoy didn't move. Harry squeezed Malfoy's waist and tugged. Malfoy yelped and started moving forward.

Malfoy's hair smelled rank, and his cheeks were rough with stubble. His pants were covered in grass stains. His skin felt filmy as if he hadn't been using soap to wash up or hadn't been washing up regularly period. He looked like he'd been living in the bushes for the past few months.

"You need a bath," Harry said.

Malfoy flushed. Harry remembered how back in the day Draco had a reputation for spending hours dressing.

"Fuck off."

That was the best he could do? Malfoy was really in a bad state. "Trust me, I don't want to be here either. I'm going to take you to your room and then I'm leaving. No, don't," Harry said and shot his other arm out as Malfoy tried to break free from his grip.

Malfoy squirmed half-heartedly against Harry's hip for a few more minutes but finally gave in and let himself be led up the stairs and into his room without further comment.

"Alright," Harry said. "I've put you in front of the bathroom. I'll contact Selena and she'll send you a new assistant in the morning, and you can have the pleasure of shredding him into little bits too."

Harry left Malfoy standing in front of the bathroom and went down the stairs. Half way down he paused. He couldn't hear the sound of a shower turning on. He stood and waited. I'll leave after I hear him turn on the shower, he promised himself.

Harry had to wonder how Malfoy had intended to do if he and Selena hadn't stopped by. Harry shuddered wondering how many times Draco had gotten lost, how long it had taken him to come back inside and how many bruises he'd collected along the way.

The shower still wasn't running. It was none of his business, but—Harry went back up the stairs.

Malfoy was sitting in front of the bathroom, his shoulders hunched over in a position of utter defeat. It was the defeat that killed Harry. He was so used to seeing Malfoy arrogant.

Harry tapped Malfoy on the shoulder. "Come on."

He stepped inside the bathroom. Even for a person who could see it was an obstacle course. Bottles had been knocked off of shelves. Malfoy must be ridiculously vain, Harry thought. He'd never seen so many beauty products in a bathroom before, not even in Ginny's, back when they were dating, back before Harry realized he was gay. Half of the bottles were broken and oozing liquids. On their own they wouldn't have been too bad, but the smell mixed together was overpowering.

Harry peered into the shower. The soap was gone and the shampoo bottle had been knocked to the floor. Instead a half opened lotion bottle lay in the shower. Harry snapped it shut, moved it to the cabinet, rummaged through the cabinet until he found some body wash and moved the shampoo bottle back into the shower where it would be within easy reach. He turned on the shower and went back out to find Malfoy.

"Alright, shower's on." Harry held out his hand tugged on Malfoy's sleeve.

As expected, Malfoy ignored him.

"Look there's a water shortage in the world. Each drop of wasted water in the world means a baby whale dies. Do you really want that on your conscience?"

Malfoy shot him a horrified look and then got up and shuffled into the bathroom.

"Shampoo is on your right, body wash on your left," Harry called and shut the door behind him as he tried to process the fact that Malfoy had a soft spot for baby whales.

Harry went into the closet. There weren't many clean clothes left, but he managed to find a soft button down cotton shirt that smelled relatively clean, silky pajama pants and black silk boxers. Malfoy seemed to have a thing for silk. The boxers were smooth and cool under his fingertips, and touching them made Harry feel strangely warm. Harry wrapped them in the pants and dropped them on the bed as quickly as possible.

The shower ran for a good hour or so, apparently Malfoy didn't care about the baby whales once he was in the shower, then it shut off and Malfoy did not come out.

Harry waited. A good fifteen minutes passed. No one came out. "What's wrong?" he called out.

"There's no towel," Malfoy said sulkily.

Right. Harry pulled a towel out of the closet, went into the bathroom. "I'm leaving it on the toilet lid." He was uncomfortably aware of the fact that only a thin shower curtain separated him from Malfoy's wet body.

"Alright, I'll be leaving now," Harry cried and shot out of the bathroom before his treacherous imagination could continue further down that path.

A few minutes later Malfoy emerged toweling his hair off. He smelled like lemon and ginger and he was humming. He still had the dark glasses on, but his hair stuck up in odd wet clumps and his shirt was buttoned crookedly. He must have tried to shave because some of the patches of hair were gone, but he'd done an awful job of it and a few still remained. A droplet of water followed the curve of his neck. The pants hugged his slim waist, and though he moved slowly, he moved fluidly and gracefully.

Malfoy raised his wrist to his nose and sniffed happily. Then he stroked the skin on his arm and grinned.

"Clean clean clean, I'm finally clean…" he sang. His voice was pure and even the nonsense song had a faintly sensuous undertone.

Harry realized that Malfoy thought he'd left already.

Harry gulped and looked away. He was leaving. He was going to leave right now—

Malfoy's stomach rumbled loudly.

Okay, he was leaving after he'd seen to Malfoy's dinner. As quietly as possible he backed out of the room and went down to the kitchen.

Harry wasn't much of a cook, and his favorite kitchen appliance was the telephone for deliveries. It didn't help matters that he had to do things the muggle way, but finally he found a clean pot in Malfoy's wreck of a kitchen and boiled up some pasta and covered it with sauce.

He knocked on Malfoy's door and walked in. "I come bearing dinner."

Malfoy was sitting at his dressing table running a comb through his hair. He jumped at the sound of Harry's voice. "What are you still doing here?" he snarled. "Leave. I don't need your sympathy" He hurled the comb at Harry and then patted the table searching for other things to hurl at Harry.

Harry caught the comb and set it down with the plate in front of Malfoy. "Alright, pasta is on the table and here's your comb."

He side stepped the punch Malfoy threw at him and made a great show of banging the door shut behind him and stomping down the hall. Then he tiptoed back down the hallway and cracked open the door.

Malfoy stared at the pasta. He pushed it away. Then he pulled it back to himself. He took a bite and then he slurped the rest of it down. He ate quickly, spilling sauce on his chin and at times he couldn't aim the fork into his mouth and ended up jabbing his cheeks and chin. His face was smeared over in sauce by the time he was done.

"Hot food, hot fuuud, passsta, pastarrr," Malfoy sang.

Harry chuckled. He couldn't help himself.

Malfoy's features froze over. "Who's there?" he cried, raising a hand to cover his face. He wiped his chin on his shirt and then fingered the dirty sleeve sadly.

Belatedly, Harry realized he should have given Malfoy a napkin. It hurt Harry somehow to see Malfoy looking so sad over a stained shirt.

Malfoy must have decided it was nothing because he set the bowl down and stood up. He made his way past the table, and then he was in the middle of the room with nothing to hold on to, and he lost his fluidity and grace. Instead he held his arms out in front of him again and moved with a stiff-legged walk as if bracing himself for a fall that would come any minute. He walked like this until he reached a wall, then he placed his palm against the wall and moved slowly to the doorway.

Harry jumped backwards before Malfoy's fingertips could brush his body. He watched as Malfoy followed the wall to the stairwell, and then sat down at the edge of the stairs and slid down until he reached the bottom.

Harry followed noiselessly behind him. Malfoy was in the great empty foyer now, and there was very little to guide him except for a center table with a broken vase next to it. Harry wanted to grab Malfoy's wrist and guide him wherever he wanted to go in the worst way possible, but he held back.

Malfoy stretched his arms out again, and shuffled slowly to the middle of the hallway until he reached the table. He was only inches away from the glass and Harry was afraid he would cut himself, but Malfoy missed the glass by a few inches and kept going.

Malfoy's face was furrowed and his shoulders were tense. He relaxed minutely when he bumped into the wall again. He followed it until he ended up in the kitchen.

The kitchen?

Malfoy backed out of the kitchen, frowning and went down another hallway. Apparently that was not what he wanted either, because he came back, and then he went down another hallway and he was in the great room that held the piano.

It was about three steps from the wall to the piano bench and Harry was afraid Malfoy would fall over the piano bench and crash into the piano. Malfoy must have done that before, or maybe he cared too much about his piano, because he got down on his hands and knees and crawled until he bumped into the piano bench. Then he clambered up on the bench and finally, his face relaxed.

Malfoy sat quietly for a few minutes, his hands loose over the white keys, breathing in and out as if he was entirely at peace with the world.

Harry looked at his watch. The whole thing had taken Malfoy twenty minutes. How on earth had he managed to live alone? What kind of godawful management did Malfoy have? He would write to Selena as soon as he got home and insist they send an assistant over as soon as possible. He'd even offer to top up the salary with his own funds.

Harry turned to go.

Malfoy lifted his hands and began to play.

The music washed over Harry in a thundering roar. This was better than a CD, it was better than a live concert, this was like be surrounded by music, like being swallowed alive. The music rushed on and on, carrying Harry with it, it lifted him up to wheel among the stars, then it swooped downwards, falling and finally spontaneously combusted in a grand crescendo.

Harry stood rooted to the spot. He knew one thing. He wasn't leaving Malfoy. He couldn't.