Chapter Two: October

By the time October rolled around, Harry had learned three very important facts about Draco Malfoy: he should never be spoken to before his first coffee of the day; he cannot tolerate idleness and; he intensely detests talking about himself.

The first two facts Harry could live with - the third fact was a lot harder to handle, especially seeing as how part of Harry's role was to, in fact, get the blond to delve into his deepest and darkest emotions.

"I don't know what you want me to say Potter," Malfoy said scornfully, "I was never abused by my family. Do you want me to make up pretty little lies so that I'll neatly fit into your therapist box of textbook mental cases?"

Harry barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes as he absently tucked one leg underneath himself. They were currently in the ground floor study, sitting across from one another in the large overstuffed green armchairs, surrounded by tall shelves filled with row upon row of dusty old tomes. This was only their fourth session together. Things had still been so stilted and tense between the two of them that Harry thought it best to start with just one session a week until the tension had eased and Malfoy felt more open to communicate. The coffee lesson had gone smoothly enough but ever since then Malfoy had retreated back into himself, only speaking when spoken to and never initiating any sort of contact or discussion with Harry.

Harry allowed the other man his space, knowing that he was going to have to tailor this case to best suit Malfoy's needs. He knew it wasn't healthy but silence was a lot easier to cope with than intense quarrelling.

For now.

"I don't want you to say anything other than the truth," Harry replied. "There's no such thing as textbook Draco; there are parallels that can be drawn from similar histories of mistreatment that attribute to present day emotional manifestations but that's all."

"Stunning memorisation skills Potter," he sneered.

Harry forced a tight smile. "Actually I came up with that all by myself."

"Oh well, bravo."

Harry employed his method of counting to five as he glanced down at his notepad and took a deep breath. Every session so far had been the same; try to draw Malfoy into a meaningful conversation and the Slytherin would avoid, avoid, avoid or attack Harry with disparaging remarks about his career or his personality. Harry noted that, other than his first night there, Malfoy had avoided mentioning Hogwarts or their shared past at all costs.

"You know there are other types of abuse rather than just the physical right?" Harry continued calmly, looking back up at him.

Malfoy sighed as he crossed one leg over the other, but Harry saw the slight clenching of those long fingers on the arms of his chair. "You are far too green for this Potter; all you know are textbook platitudes. You can't honestly say that this rubbish has worked on any of the people who have sat in this chair, can you?"

Harry cocked his head to one side, absently chewing the end of his pencil. "Yeah it has - every single one of them in fact."

"Then they were fools, or they were lying to you," came the sharp reply.

Harry licked his lips and decided to change his approach. He dropped his notepad and pencil to the floor and drew his other leg up to sit cross-legged on the wide chair, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "Alright then, what will work for you?" he asked bluntly. "What can I do to make you forget who I am and get you to open up to me about what it is that's going on in your head?"

Grey eyes widened ever so slightly and a small burst of triumph flared in Harry's chest. Alright, so the blond responded to uncompromising honesty and the unexpected.

"Polyjuice?" Malfoy quipped, quickly recovering his act of indifference.

Harry shook his head. "Not going to happen."

Malfoy stared at him a moment, deliberating. "How about you agree to stop calling me by my first name?"

Harry instantly detected the gravity behind the suggestion. "Done," he swiftly agreed.

"Good." Malfoy nodded, looking faintly relieved.

"Anything else?" Harry asked, leaning back in his chair and pushing his glasses back up on his nose.

The sombre blond dropped his gaze and absently plucked at some non-existent lint on his trousers. "Give me something to do," he said quietly.

"What?"

He looked up to meet Harry's questioning gaze. "Give me something to do - a task - or I shall go mad Potter."

Understanding dawned on Harry's face. "Yes, of course, I've noticed how you've er… cleaned your room and the kitchen. Thanks," he added awkwardly as an afterthought. "Uh… actually I've been thinking about what you said before, about how this place could use a little… fixing up, and I thought maybe I could start renovating it. Make it a little more modern and…"

"Liveable?"

Harry glanced up but Malfoy's expression wasn't mocking. "Yeah, so maybe you'd like to help or offer some suggestions?" he continued smoothly.

Malfoy clasped his hands together on his lap and his expression was almost serene as he appeared to become lost in thought. "I suppose I could lend my talents to this… hovel," he finally drawled.

Harry's answering smile was tentative but inside he was leaping for joy; this was the first time Malfoy had actually looked somewhat relaxed since coming to Grimmauld Place. "Great!" He leaned down and plucked his notepad and pencil from the floor. "Where do you want to start?"

Malfoy raised a brow in surprise. "Right now? What about the rest of my head examining session?"

Harry grinned and pushed himself out of his chair. "We can pick it up again another time, come on."

"What did I say about being chirpy Potter?" Malfoy muttered as he uncrossed long legs and got to his feet.

Harry thought he heard a hint of teasing in the Slytherin's dry tone and wondered if perhaps Malfoy was feeling a little brighter at the prospect of a tangible project to do. Harry couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner; it seemed like the perfect solution.

Harry led the way out of the library into the entrance foyer and stopped. He looked around the dim and gloomy space with a furrowed brow, wondering just where to begin with such a monumental task. He glanced at Malfoy. "I have no idea what I'm doing so… where do you start?"

"And you think I do?" Malfoy replied, crossing his arms over his chest and returning Harry's gaze with an arched brow.

Harry's eyes flicked over the blond's impeccable appearance before he replied. "Well yeah, you're all… put together, and stuff."

Malfoy's lips twitched with perhaps the first hint of a smile that Harry had witnessed. "Very eloquent Potter."

Harry just smiled and raised his notepad and pencil. "Alright, so… new wallpaper?"

Malfoy gazed at him a moment; clearly torn between undertaking something that would help Harry and welcoming something to occupy his time. He turned away and looked around the dismal entryway, eyes narrowing in thought. He slowly turned a full circle, arms still crossed over his chest, as he took in everything from the peeling wallpaper to the threadbare carpet. "I would replace the wallpaper with paint and perhaps some decorative wood paneling-" he finally said reflectively.

Harry began to scribble everything down.

"-and rip up the carpet to see what sort of boards are underneath. You may be able to polish up the existing if it they're acceptable."

Harry nodded and continued to write, his pencil furiously scratching across the white lined notepaper.

"The wooden handrail is fairly decent so it would just need a good clean," Malfoy continued with a discerning eye. "That chandelier needs to be removed completely, but I would keep the gas lights, they have a certain charm to them that's probably worth keeping. That hideous umbrella stand that looks like it's part of the decaying body of a mountain troll, absolutely needs to go. And what, pray tell, are all those blast marks from?"

Harry looked up from his writing with a confused frown until he caught sight of the burn marks that decorated the walls. "Er… I had to remove a large screaming portrait and, um, a bunch of plaques that held decapitated house-elf heads." Harry stopped and smiled uneasily. "The Blacks weren't exactly a family of saints."

"Yes, I am well acquainted with the Black family tree Potter," Malfoy replied shortly.

Harry winced inwardly at the sharpness in Malfoy's tone but didn't let it show. "I suppose you would be," he replied blithely. "Okay, so I will go out this afternoon to collect some paint samples, and I guess we can get started on removing the wallpaper right now."

Malfoy sighed heavily. "Do you know how difficult it will be to remove wallpaper without magic Potter?"

"No idea, but all we've got is time, eh Malfoy?" Harry replied, trying to ignore the Slytherin's relentless whinging.

The blond narrowed his eyes but remained silent.

Harry absently blew his fringe out of his eyes as he lifted his notepad once more to jot down some supplies that he would need to pick up later. "All right, there are probably some tools down in the basement that could work for scraping off this old stuff."

Malfoy turned and headed back into the study without another word, obviously expecting Harry to do the 'fetching.'

Harry clenched his jaw and wondered if it would be worth the bother of forcing Malfoy to help or not. In the end he decided to just go by himself and avoid the aggravation.

Harry used the time alone to gather his thoughts and will his emotions back under control as he rummaged through the pile of junk in the basement. He finally selected two metal tools that appeared to be for scraping, a couple of thick cloths, a large black bucket - which he filled with hot soapy water - and a large cream-coloured sheet that was covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs.

He had to take two trips up and down the basement stairs to haul it all up and then collapsed against the wall to catch his breath. He was just about to call for Malfoy when he realised that the Slytherin would have heard him return and he hadn't yet materialised.

"Fine," Harry muttered under his breath, "if that's how you want to play then you can just sit in there and be bored, mister I-can't-stand-to-be-jobless."

Harry took a deep breath and exhaled steadily before setting to work; dipping one of the cloths into the hot water and soaking the wall as much as possible before pushing the edge of the scraper blade into the cracked and peeling wallpaper and pushing upwards. The wallpaper was coming off but not in the nice neat strips that Harry had been anticipating; it was coming off in small random patches.

"Potter, what the fuck are you doing?"

Harry looked over his shoulder to see Malfoy standing behind him. "What? Am I not doing it right?" Harry replied crossly. He was clearly at the end of his tether and allowing his frayed nerves to get the better of him. "And how would you know Malfoy? You haven't done a day's work your whole life!"

Malfoy stared back at him, grey eyes beginning to shine with some emotion Harry couldn't identify - until he caught sight of the corners of the blond's mouth twitching.

Harry blinked, irritation immediately evaporating in the wake of his astonishment. "Are you… laughing at me?" he said incredulously.

Malfoy clearly couldn't hold it in any longer and his eyes crinkled as he began to laugh outright.

Harry turned around fully, his scraper dripping soapy water onto the floor at his feet. "What?" he demanded.

"Do you have any idea what that thing in your hand is?" Malfoy finally asked with an arrogant smirk.

Harry glanced down with a frown. "No…"

"You are so naïve Potter," Malfoy snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "That's a weapon, a Katar to be exact."

Harry lifted the light metal object and at once saw that it did indeed look like some sort of large medieval dagger. There were even some rust coloured stains just visible within the tiny crevices. "Oh… well, it works as a wallpaper scraper too," he finally replied, looking back up at Malfoy. He couldn't stop the smile that was slowly breaking out on his face as the ludicrousness of the situation struck him.

Malfoy ducked his head, hiding an answering grin as he examined the other Katar with feigned interest.

Harry turned around with a satisfied smile and returned to the job at hand. "Are you going to help or not?" he finally said aloud.

He heard a heavy sigh then nothing.

Harry peeked out of the corner of his eye to see Malfoy busily rolling up his shirtsleeves to his elbows. He smiled and turned back to the wall, pushing his soaped up medieval dagger against the wallpaper with renewed enthusiasm. He wanted to ask just how Malfoy knew what a Katar was but thought that it might not be the safest of subjects.

Harry continued to scratch off the old wallpaper in small ineffectual bits for another minute until Malfoy was suddenly there next to him, silently mirroring Harry's movements with the other dagger.

The Slytherin paused and looked around the large entryway. "This is going to take days," he concluded wearily.

Harry just smiled. Malfoy's tone lacked his usual bite, so he knew the arrogant prat wasn't too upset at the prospect. "Yes, it's probably going to take up all of your free time. Hope you don't mind."

Malfoy rolled his eyes at the Gryffindor's blatant reminder that he asked to be kept busy. "I suppose I can put up with this menial work for the next few months," he finally replied, pale hands working the metal weapon against the wallpaper in smooth, even strokes.

Harry tried not to stare; the blond's movements were so precise and methodical that just watching him was almost lulling Harry into a tranquil stupor. He shook his head and turned back to his own choppy movements. They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, with just the sound of their makeshift scrapers being dunked into hot water and then pressed against the wall.

"What are you going to do when you run out of Death Eater spawn?" Malfoy suddenly asked; his tone a study in affected nonchalance.

Harry paused to flick some water droplets off of his glasses. "I will move on to non-Death Eater related people," he replied easily. "I'm only doing this because I wanted to make sure that things were done right in the fallout from the war before I leave it all behind for good."

"Leave it behind?" Malfoy questioned, forgetting his act of indifference.

"Yeah, I don't want anything to do with the war, or fighting bad guys or looking for bad guys… I've had enough of that for one lifetime. That's why I didn't want to become an Auror."

"Are you going to work in the Muggle world then?"

Harry shook his head, glancing sideways at Malfoy and getting caught up in those mesmerising strokes once more. "No, I'll just open up my own little office somewhere and treat any witch or wizard who wants to see me. I would never leave the Wizarding World behind, it saved my life when I was eleven."

There was silence for a few minutes until, "saved your life?"

Harry smiled to himself, happy to have captured the Slytherin's attention in some form. "Yeah, I had no idea I was a wizard until Hagrid told me on my eleventh birthday. I had no idea there was this other world full of magical goings on - where everybody knew about me - and it gave me hope that my life wasn't going to be this sad pathetic existence in which the only family I had hated me intensely."

Malfoy paused and turned to stare at him with a raised brow. "Have you ever examined your own head Potter?"

Harry let out a laugh and shook his head. "Everybody has their issues," he replied matter-of-factly.

Malfoy turned away to dip his scraper back in the bucket. "And what are mine?" he asked.

Harry gazed at him, considering. "I don't know yet. I can take a guess at what they could be based on what I know of your history, but it would just be a guess."

"And what, pray tell, is your guess?"

Harry smiled and leaned sideways against the wall. "I believe your issues would most likely stem from your father." Malfoy levelled him with such a heated look of derision that Harry quickly held up a hand to curtail any verbal mocking. "Not in the way you think though. I think your issues would be based on being an inherently good person trapped in a bad situation, forced to maybe do things or see things that you would rather not, but had to pretend that you did."

Malfoy merely snorted dismissively in response.

"And any son who comes to the conclusion that their father may not be a man to look up to has to be affected by that in some way," Harry added pensively.

"How would you know?"

Harry ignored the stinging remark, knowing that the more defensive Malfoy got, the closer Harry was to the truth. He was easy to read in that respect. "By drawing on past cases and common sense I suppose."

There was silence for a while and Harry pretended not to notice when Malfoy stopped working to stare silently into space.

Then, in an emotionally raw voice Harry would never have thought possible from Draco Malfoy, the blond quietly uttered, "I have no love for my father Potter."

Harry slowly lowered his dagger from the wall, the water running in warm rivulets down his bare forearms. "You know, it would be all right if you did," he replied gently.

Malfoy was still staring blankly at the wall in front of him without really seeing it.

"He made some poor choices but… did he make those choices in order to protect his family? Maybe he was doing what he thought would be for the best," Harry offered.

Malfoy blinked then began to push his dagger against the wall more vigorously than before. "No, he didn't. He made those choices in order to gain power and that's all. That was my father's mission in life; to be as close to whoever was in charge, regardless of how it might affect his own fucking family."

Harry held his breath, astonished that Malfoy was venting to him, and terrified that he might say or do the wrong thing and cause him to fall silent again.

"I mean, what were the two outcomes going to be?" Malfoy snarled, knuckles whitening on his dagger as he continued to ruthlessly scrape up and down the wall in front of him. "Either we would live in fear, cowering to some twisted madman, or we would be exactly where we are now: in Azkaban or ridiculed for the rest of our fucking lives!"

Harry's eyes widened as Malfoy suddenly whirled around and threw the dagger against the opposite wall, the blade sinking into the drywall with a resounding thud.

Harry tore his shocked gaze from the dagger imbedded in the wall to stare at Malfoy; standing with hands clenched into fists and shoulders rising and falling rapidly with each laboured breath.

Harry chewed his lip, deliberating, before wordlessly holding out his dagger towards the other man.

Malfoy's fierce gaze darted to the weapon in Harry's open palm. Darkened grey eyes flicked up to Harry's face in surprise for a split second before he reached out and took the proffered weapon.

Malfoy turned back to the opposite wall and threw the second dagger with just as much force as the first, watching the blade sink into the wall with satisfaction.

Harry smiled. "Better?"

Malfoy exhaled and his unexpected rage seemed to drain away as quickly as it had come on. "A little." He glanced sideways at Harry. "I can't believe you handed me a weapon Potter."

"You looked like you needed it," Harry shrugged.

Malfoy shook his head in amused disbelief. "Thank you for not flinching," he added, sounding uncharacteristically genuine.

Harry paused, thinking back on his response with surprise. He hadn't recoiled at all when Malfoy had turned to throw the dagger. "Huh…" he said, not really sure what to say to that.

Malfoy arched a brow at him before walking over to the two weapons embedded in the wall. "Do you think we'll be able to get these out again?"

Harry joined him, absently scratching his scalp with one hand as he surveyed the two daggers. "Only one way to find out," he murmured as he reached for the hilt. He wrapped both hands around the horizontal hand grip and pulled back. The blasted thing wouldn't budge, and he felt some disused muscle twinge a little between his shoulder blades.

Harry swore under his breath as Malfoy stood back with a smug smirk. Harry readjusted his hands and placed one foot on the wall before hauling back once more with all his might - and pulled the dagger free. He stumbled back a step before turning to Malfoy with a grin of triumph. "Your turn," he goaded.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes, which were glinting with the accepted challenge. He promptly wrapped his hands around the other handle and - without placing a foot on the wall in an undignified way - he tightened his grip and pulled back.

Harry gave his head a shake when he found his gaze caught on the flexing muscles of Malfoy's pale forearms, and then promptly pursed his lips in disappointment when the dagger pulled free with what looked like little effort.

"Got it on the first go," Malfoy boasted proudly.

"Yeah well, you must have been angrier when you pitched this one," Harry replied defensively, holding his dagger aloft in illustration.

"Come on Potter," Malfoy responded, still smirking, "I'll make lunch."

Harry couldn't help but smile as he dropped his dagger back into the bucket of water and followed the Slytherin down the hall towards the kitchen.

. . . .

Harry closed the door to his bedroom and leaned back against it for a moment. He hadn't felt this physically exhausted in a very long time. The two of them had worked the rest of the afternoon scraping off wallpaper, and had even managed to completely remove it from the entire entryway. The most astounding part was that they were able to keep up the tentative truce that had started earlier and lasted all the way through dinner. After that, Malfoy had retired to his room to read a book that he had selected from the library and Harry had spent some time making notes about Malfoy's case in the study.

Harry supposed that after a month of near absolute silence, Malfoy had been ready to engage in conversation again - even if the only person he had to talk to was Harry Potter.

Harry walked over to his bed, nudged off his trainers, then collapsed onto his back on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. His mind began to turn over the surprising events of the day and, for the first time since this started, he allowed himself to think about the outcome. Could he confidently deem Draco Malfoy fit for wizarding society again?

Despite the seriousness of his thoughts, and quite without meaning to, Harry drifted off to sleep…

"Potter! POTTER!"

Harry's eyes flew open as a loud insistent voice broke into his dreams and jolted him awake. Breathing heavily and feeling the cool clamminess of sweat all over his body, Harry's gaze darted to his left to see Malfoy leaning over him, expression unreadable.

Harry bolted upright in an instant. "What… what's going on?" he managed to croak through a tender throat.

Malfoy frowned as he straightened up, taking a step back from Harry's bed. "You were screaming bloody murder in your sleep Potter."

Harry swallowed and ran a shaky hand through his hair, pushing his fringe damp with sweat back off of his forehead. "S-sorry," he replied. "I… I must have forgotten…"

Malfoy watched in silence as Harry climbed out of bed as though on autopilot and made his way over to a large wooden trunk at the foot of his bed. Harry lifted the heavy lid of the trunk and reached inside to collect a small glass bottle full of deep purple liquid. He let the lid fall closed again but not before Malfoy caught sight of just how many vials of potion were lined up within the cavity of the large chest.

"Do you take one of those every night?" Malfoy asked incredulously.

Harry unstoppered the vial and drank the potion in one gulp. "Only when a client is staying here," he replied uncomfortably. "Otherwise they would never get any sleep."

Malfoy's frown deepened as he watched Harry place the empty bottle on his nightstand. "You take one every night for six months at a time?" he couldn't help asking.

Harry finally met his gaze and shrugged. "Not every night, just the nights I need to get some sleep."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "The nights you need… Potter, are you telling me that you don't sleep every night and when you do you have to take a potion to do it?"

Harry frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes," he answered, feeling cross at how exposed the situation was making him feel. He didn't want his clients to see him like this, least of all Malfoy. "They are prescribed by a Healer," he added tersely.

"Not a very good one," Malfoy muttered in response.

"Says who?" Harry retorted indignantly.

Malfoy sighed and gazed at Harry pityingly. "Any decent Healer should know the effects of too much Dreamless Sleep Potion Potter. It's not a mild potion by any means and can lead to all sorts of side-effects, not to mention its addictive qualities."

Harry shifted uneasily, breaking eye contact. "How do you know this stuff?" he asked, gazing at dusty floorboards.

"I have an interest in it I suppose." Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest as he answered, both of them now standing in clearly defensive postures whilst feeling unaccountably exposed. "If you must know, I have an interest in Healer studies."

Harry's gaze flicked back to him. "Really? I didn't know that."

"Because I didn't tell you," Malfoy snapped.

Harry swallowed and sat on the edge of his bed. "Well… sorry to have woken you, I'll try not to forget the potion next time."

Malfoy let out a sigh and glared at him in annoyance. "Didn't you listen to a word I said Potter?"

Harry blinked, taken aback. "Why do you care?" he couldn't help asking, surprised by Malfoy's vehemence.

The tall blond merely stared at him a moment before replying, "You die, I die."

"Huh?"

"Anything happens to you while I'm still here then I will be trapped forever and starve to death, remember?" he retorted.

"Oh." Harry looked down at his hands. "The Aurors check in with me once a day so you wouldn't actually die Malfoy."

"Still…" Malfoy's annoyed expression smoothed into his usual mask of cool indifference. "You might be pleasanter to live with if you're getting a full night's rest and not hopped up on Dreamless Sleep."

Harry smiled a little; Malfoy bizarrely sounded like he was actually concerned. An idea suddenly struck him. "You have nightmares too, don't you?"

Grey eyes flared with emotion for only a split second but Harry caught it.

"Good night Potter."

Harry watched as Malfoy turned on his heel and strode out the door, closing it firmly behind him.

He lay back on his bed, feeling the drowsy warmth of the potion sweeping over him and dragging him under. His last thought was that perhaps he and Draco Malfoy weren't all that different after all.