Harry was happy. He couldn't deny the fact that he was happy, and that the cause of that happiness was being around Draco. It was cruel, in the long run, to expose himself to so much of the man's charms when he figured it couldn't last, but he couldn't stay away. Not when his heart wanted him near, and especially not when they were making such progress.

The repairs had started with the entrance hall, a fairly neutral area. Cleaning spells of various kinds make quick work of the floors and carpets; Harry caught Draco's brief triumphant smile as the frayed edges mended themselves at his command. Next came burnishing the lamps that hung from the ceilings and walls, which unfortunately had to be done by hand.

That did provide plenty more opportunities to talk, though, which Harry enjoyed immensely. The more he got to know Draco the more in love he became- see, he was even allowing himself to use that word without a guilty pang in his heart, without feeling like he was a traitor.

About three hours in, Draco had had to stop briefly because his wrist was getting sore. Harry chose to break, too, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "Whew! That's harder than it looks."

"It certainly is."

"It's going to look great once we're done, though."

"Yes..." said Draco sadly. "But not as great as before. We had vases and portraits and statues lining this hall. Right there-" he pointed to the spot next to the door- "there was always a bouquet of flowers, a different kind every day, that my father would conjure for Mother. She'd place them there in a little white vase and it would make her smile every time she walked past it." He sighed at the memory.

Harry grew thoughtful. "Wonder where those things got to..."

"You don't know?" Draco was surprised.

"No... should I?"

"I suppose not," he said evenly. "But I figured you did; you hadn't asked, and you ask an awful lot of questions."

"So I've been told," said Harry with a grin. "Do you, er, want to tell me? You don't have to, but I would like to know..."

He rolled his eyes fondly. "Of course you do." He suddenly grew sad again. "The Aurors took it all. Not the ones from your class- conflict of interest- but the older ones. They came in and carted it all away. Reparations," he elaborated on seeing Harry's confusion.

"Wow, Draco... I'm sorry..."

"Don't be. We picked the wrong side."

They sat in silence for a few moments, and then Harry spoke again, enthusiastic over some new plan. "I bet we could find someone to recreate the pieces! Or, I don't know, buy them back." The department had probably sold the non-Dark pieces at auction. "I'm sure for enough money..." he trailed off at seeing Draco's face. "What's wrong?"

"I don't exactly have 'enough money', per se." Merlin, it cost him a lot to admit that, having been taught from birth that money equalled status and the family fortune was what made them great. "The Ministry froze most of our assets."

Harry took a while to digest that. "They already took your stuff! What do they need to do that for?"

"Prevent a relapse, I suppose. They figure if they can keep the funds locked up, there's no chance of me using them to, I don't know, start up a neo-Death Eater training camp or something."

"That's ridiculous! You'd never do that!" Draco smiled at Harry defending him. After a pause, the green-eyed man spoke again. "That's what you've been doing since the trial, right? Trying to earn more money?" Draco nodded. "How?"

"Odd jobs here and there. People were quite reluctant to hire me... well, most people anyway." The things he'd done... he suppressed a shudder. But he'd been desperate to restore the family fortune and prestige, to restore its honor. Now he was beginning to wonder if they really were the same thing.

"I'm sorry," said Harry again; if he guessed what kind of people had hired him, he refrained from comment.

"So am I," he said, and picked up his lamp again.

xxxx xxxx

The days passed quickly as Harry continued to eat into the time Robards had given him, now including the two-week extension he'd been grudgingly granted. Even he knew better than to ask for any more. Luckily, they were making a good deal of progress with the repairs, going from room to room as Draco felt comfortable.

With considerable shock they had found six or seven peacocks loose in the kitchens; how they got there was a mystery; perhaps the fleeing house elves had thought it an interesting prank. Their pure white feathers littered every surface, along with a variety of less pleasant leavings.

Harry was amused by the birds and their movements, which in his opinion tended towards awkward rather than graceful. "Why are they all white?" he asked as one ran by his legs.

"Father thought they looked elegant, so he bought them this way."

"Right," he said, returning his attention to the birds. Maybe they were elegant, but they were certainly far too monochromatic for Harry's tastes. "What do you think of them?"

"They're alright, I suppose, though I do find them to be a bit boring, to be honest."

"Me too," said Harry, and he pulled out his wand. Aiming at the animal who was standing still, he cast a Color-Changing Charm, and the bird's feathers exploded in a palette of iridescent blues and greens. "That's better," he said.

Draco stood, amazed. "If my father would've seen that..." he said wonderingly, with a shake of his head. Then, with a glance at Harry for courage, he pointed his own wand at another bird and repeated the feat. This one turned out indigo and violet.

Harry let Draco take over the coloring from then on; he felt it was an important step, somehow, to making the Manor what he wanted it to be, to start a new legacy rather than continuing the one left by his ancestors. While Draco cast, Harry took charge of rounding up the dyed peacocks and herding them outside, where their bright colorations shone in the sun.

At last there was just one left, and when Harry returned for it, he found Draco standing there, staring intently at it as it paced nervously. "I don't know..." he said as Harry walked up behind him. "Should I leave this one alone? As a sort of momento?"

"That's up to you... what things do you want momentos of?"

Draco looked up at Harry; though he was considered tall, the raven-haired man beat him by an inch. He faced the peacock again and spoke the spell with earnest intensity. As the bird raised its head, a steady stream of green flowed over its plumage to create a glorious emerald coat. It paraded out of the open door of its own accord. Harry, awed, watched it go with eyes exactly the same shade as its feathers.

xxxx xxxx

Since Draco had been back at the Manor, his nightmares had become more frequent until he had them nearly as often as he did before Harry, sometimes multiple ones a night. They weren't as bad as the one from Grimmauld Place, thankfully, and he was able to control himself afterward. Still, Harry had taken to sleeping on the couch in Draco's bedroom, so that he'd be on hand to wake him when the dreams began. Nearly all of them took place in the unobtrusive little room off of the main hallway, whose door was firmly closed and locked- but Draco still avoided walking past it. Finally, they could avoid it no longer: they had to tackle the drawing room.

He stood at the threshold for an impossibly long time, it seemed, unable to raise his arm and open the door. Harry reached out and grabbed his hand and lightly tugged him around to meet his eyes, which were underscored with dark bags from nights of disrupted sleep. "You need to do this, to face the memories. It'll be okay; I'm right here."

Draco nodded, drinking in the sight of those emerald orbs, and before he had time to psych himself out pushed the door. It swung inward with an echoey creak. The first things he noticed were the shards of the chandelier, sharp as knives, scattered on the floor and reflecting the sunlight in all directions, little prisms, throwing odd shadows into sharp relief.

Harry nodded in encouragement, and the man's smile acted as a stimulant to Draco, giving him the impetus he needed to pick up his foot and then put it down again on the other side of the doorway. The room hadn't been used in so long that a cloud of dust rose up.

The curtains half-covering the windows swung fully open at the movement of Harry's wand, and suddenly every detail was visible. The rich carpet; Voldemort had paced it many times, him and his evil followers, twisted people... the mahogany table where they'd all sat, planning terrible acts... where he'd watched a teacher murdered right in front of him... Beyond it, in the garden, was where the Dark Lord had punished them all for letting Harry and his friends escape, was where he himself had been forced to do the same to others, people he knew, people who didn't deserve it... no one deserved that.

Draco felt Harry tense, too, upon entering the room. He must've been sure he would be killed, and his friends too. He knew enough to know how much it must have cost him to hear Hermione's screams, and be unable to do anything... and Draco had helped make that happen, had listened to Bellatrix's orders and had fought against the good guys, firing spell after spell in blind terror, too weak to stand up for what he knew was right...

It was too much, the memories, everything he'd done... he deserved no part of the kindness in Harry's eyes as he kneeled in front of where Draco had fallen to the floor, knees giving way... he deserved his miserable state... all the pain...

"Draco," pleaded Harry, but the blonde kept his tear-stained gaze on the floor. Gentle yet firm hands cupped his chin and brought his face up, forcing his eyes to lock with Harry's. "Draco..." All it took was his name, his first name spoken with so much feeling, and he lost control entirely, giving way to heart-wrenching sobs. Harry was far too good, far too kind, to have faced so much hardship... and so much of it had been caused by Draco... by his family and their choices...

Draco felt Harry pull him into his chest, arms wrapped tight around his shaking form. He rested his cheek against Draco's head, softly crooning "Shh... it's alright... shhh..." and Draco focused on the voice, and breathing, and the feel of Harry's warmth against him... slowly, achingly slowly, he was able to stem the tide of tears and sit up, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his robe. His mother would've had a fit, but she wasn't here, she was lonely in Azkaban... something else that was his fault...

"Hey..." said Harry softly. "Hey, now. It's all in the past, Draco. All in the past. You can start over, try again. You can let go."

He still stuttered from the aftermath of his fit. "N-no, I c-can-can't. They're ev-everywhere, the rem-reminders-s; I ca-can't- there's too m-many... too m-much... Ever-verything was t-tainted by him, H-Harry, no-nothing is l-left, I c-can't-t."

Harry pulled him into a hug again, his breath warm on Draco's ear as he whispered. "They haunt you, don't they? They still haunt you... oh Draco... we will make it better. I promise."

Somehow, because it was Harry saying it, with his voice so low and earnest, and because Potter always kept his word, somehow, Draco found he could almost believe that.