Author's Notes: Finally, chapter two! I'm hoping to get to a bit more excitement in the chapter that will follow. Sorry about the wait! I actually work on this for about an hour a week, writing on paper when I have the time before re-typing D:
Warnings: Some good old English swearing and a less-than-dressed Potter.
Other: I would love a nap right now. Or caramel corn that doesn't taste like Chinese food, anyway :x
Draco, after landing out of Apperation, was pleasantly surprised with the cottage that stood before him. It was true no home could hope to be anywhere near the grand beauty of Malfoy Manor but it had a quaint elegance to it that he could appreciate. It was put together with mortar and stones that alternated in shades of grey, ranging from dark as a summer storm to near-white. There was a stone path leading up to its front door in which Draco had landed on, midway between the cottage and the stone wall that started the defensive wards shimmering around the area. There were wards on the cottage itself, he noted, not all of which he recognized.
The front door opened just as Draco started towards the cottage and Potter stepped out, looking rather at home in the Muggle jeans and red button-up shirt he wore. "You made it," he said by way of greeting, stepping out past the front garden where vibrant purple and white flowers bobbed in a gentle breeze. The grass in the area inside of the wards had been cut low and Draco couldn't place his relief at that.
"Of course I did," Draco sniffed, moving to meet Potter with a pair of trunks floating obediently behind him. "Thought I would change my mind?"
The flush that flooded the Savior's cheeks was answer enough to that question, even without Potter tugging at his forelock a moment later. "It wouldn't have been the first time it's happened with a client," he muttered.
"Well, I'm not just any client," Draco snapped, back straightening. "I'm a Malfoy. That makes all the difference. Now do you plan to show me in or are we going to stand out here for the duration of my treatment?"
Strangely the flare of annoyance seemed to ground Potter. He let go of the helplessly mangled bang and nodded, turning to the cottage. "Of course. I'll show you to your room."
The inside, Draco saw, was done in warm colors and looked more like a house than the countryside cottage that it appeared to be on the outside. Wizard Space gave way to more rooms, walls done in cream with wooden boarders and flooring finished with a dark stain. "Feel free to make use of any room," Potter was saying, walking past an unlit fireplace. "There's a Floo for communication but it won't work for travel. Keep that in mind should you feel homesick." Potter paused before a closed door. "This is where I'll be when I'm not to be found around the house or outside. Needless to say you can come to me in an emergency but I'll ask you not to wander in at will."
"You said a moment ago that I could make use of any room that suits my fancy," Draco pointed out, a touch of smugness in his tone.
Potter turned again though this time it was to arch a brow at Draco in a way that made the blond think he'd been practicing in a mirror. "I'll only be using it for work, sometimes, and sleeping. Should I be worried about you stealing away into my bedroom in the wee hours of the night?"
Several such scenarios popped into Draco's mind at the words and he just managed to keep the flush, as well as his own horror, at bay. /Mind out of the gutter! It's Potter, for fuck's sake!/
I may have to make something up for just such an occasion," Draco replied instead, glad to hear his voice a lazy drawl. Rather than the scowl or flushed glare he was expecting Potter just rolled his eyes, moving on. Draco followed, contemplating.
"This is the master bath. I'll usually just use the other one for a shower. And this-" Potter went on, pushing the door next to the washroom open. "Will be your room."
As Draco entered the room to look around he was somewhat pleased to note the lines of tension in from the other out of the corner of his eye. /He cares about my opinion That or he's bracing himself for criticism./ Obviously Potter thought he would be measuring everything up to the Manor's standards. /As if I'd be so unreasonable. There's no place near as lovely as the Manor./
It was a simple room, done in the same cream-and-brown as the rest of the place. /No points for creativity./ The bed was queen-sized with a green and gold duvet that Draco wanted to sink into, the matching pillows fluffed and just as appealing. The rest of the furnishings consisted of a desk with a solid wooden chair, a pair of dark brown dressers, two nightstands with glass vases for fairylights and a rectangular carpet of a green two shades darker than that of the bed set at the food of the closet doors were closed as well as the drapes but the gauzy white material let in more light than it blocked out.
Walking over to the accordion doors of the closet Draco pulled them open, taking in the space of the walk-in with more room for hanging robes and placing shoes than he expected. "Acceptable," he said as he turned, wand out to march his trunks over and start unpacking. "I never thought you could be counted upon for good taste, if not creativity."
Draco wasn't looking at the other but he didn't have to be to catch the sigh, wand waving through the motions of unpacking. "I'll leave you to get settled in," Potter said and a moment later the door closed quietly behind him.
Alone in the room Draco took a deep breath, letting it out in a quiet puff. If Potter could still be controlled (somewhat) with barbed words then perhaps he'll get through the time spent together after all. If Draco was going to be exposing vulnerabilities he wanted to at least be able to hurt the one doing so, even if it was to help him.
Once unpacked he checked to see if the bed was as comfortable as it looked (it was) then set about making use of the parchment and quill to write his mother. Floo or not Draco wanted to keep his initial thoughts from Potter. Let the Golden Boy think what he will.
~.~.~.~.~
Harry gave his client (he had to repeat 'my client' in his mind over and over again as part of detaching himself from the situation and to not take anything the blond said that wasn't relevant to his healing too personally) the rest of the afternoon and evening to get comfortable with the house. Their first dinner together of baked salmon with garden salad and broth-made rice was meet with a cool look and a first delicate, tasting bite. Harry scolded himself even as his insides twisted anxiously until Malfoy took another bite, followed up with finishing his plate (and event that took much longer than Harry thought it should have. Really, how did someone enjoy food when having such tiny portions at a time?). Afterwards they parted ways, Harry telling the blond to be ready to work before breakfast.
"That's obscene," Malfoy replied with a delicate sniff. "Why before?"
"Because the last time we worked on this you got quite ill," Harry said, keeping his tone low and soothing. "Better to be on an empty stomach."
Malfoy nodded stiffly and turned to march off to his room, shutting the door firmly behind himself.
The following morning at precisely 7:30 the blond blew into the sitting room, immaculate from the ends of slicked-back hair to the hem of his robes, which were as blue as the deep ocean. Harry felt rather under dressed in his Muggle jeans and loose t-shirt.
"You don't have to dress so formally, you know," Harry said when the blond had settled into the plush armchair opposite from him.
Slate-colored eyes gave him a rather smug look, lashes dipping as he gave Harry a pointed once-over. A slight smirk pulled at Malfoy's lips a moment later. "I know."
Harry, thanks to his new morning routine, didn't snap at the blond. Instead he nodded and motioned to the parchment and quill set in an inkwell that was between them on the coffee table. "I want to start first by having you articulate exactly how and when your phobia began to manifest," he said, sitting back in the armchair. If you can't tell me outright, please write it down."
~.~.~.~.~
/He knows words like 'articulate'?/ It was on the tip of his tongue to put voice to his thoughts and Draco fought it down with effort. Aggravating Potter into a shouting match would make him feel better but it wouldn't help. The blond did allow himself an arched brow, pointedly taking up the quill. It had been difficult enough writing the letter to Potter in the first place with a steady hand. Draco would hate for his voice to crack or break.
Quill to parchment, he wrote.
In the duration of the Dark Lord's stay at the Manor-
Draco stopped, pressing his hand down more firmly against the sheet and table so as to hide the trembling and keep from blotting the page. It didn't mater. The quill's strands shuddered and bounced, each fiber catching ever tremble.
Slapping the betraying tool down Draco folded his hands together, sitting back. "I may as well say it outright," he said, the drawl coming out quieter than he intended. "You would want me to read them aloud to you next, if I'm not mistaken."
Potter tipped his head slightly in what could have been a nod. "Eventually. You need to be able to explain your fears; it's the first step to getting over them."
Draco's hands felt damp against his skin and he rubbed his fingers at the back of his hands, swallowing. Even with those ridiculous glasses Draco could see the deep green of his eyes, direct and unblinking. Shifting his own to the hands folded over his lap Draco sat back, taking a quiet, steadying breath. /Just get it out. Over and done with./
"In the duration of the Dark Lord's stay at the Manor," he began, eyes on the elegant words on the page. "The world was nothing but pain and terror. My nightmares are not always about - it." Swallowing Draco pushed on, the same way he pushed the memories trying to claw their way to the forefront of his mind away. "Sometimes I wake up in the dark, cold and covered with sweat, still thinking that the was isn't over. That when I get up there will be Death Eaters destroying priceless artwork in the halls, the screams of Muggleborns and half-bloods in the basement and him, set in my father's chair as if he were at home. That was one of the worst things, I think. Seeing our home defiled and used to hide unspeakable things and him at the center, my father a trembling shell in the background."
Potter kept silent for which Draco was glad for. No amount of pushing would keep the images from replaying themselves in his mind, the table with quill and parchment no longer seen by him. "He would bring people in," Draco continued, expression gone blank. "Muggles, half-bloods, Muggleborns - whoever he fancied at the time - and torture them. Or have one of us torture them, suggesting spells when one wasn't painful or bloody enough for his liking." Draco was unaware of the tremors running through his body, his own bouts of torturing recalling the fear and anguish and regret from the past. "He rarely killed them himself, though. When they were broken and battered and voices raw from screaming, he would send the s-snake after them." Closing his eyes didn't stop the memories from dancing across his mind's eye. When he spoke again, his voice was a whisper. "It would eat them alive."
And Draco could recall every face. Every man, woman and (thankfully rare but not nearly rare enough) child who were subjected to the treatment of the Dark Lord. He would command the beast with low, hissing words that were like nails scratching along the eardrum and then explain in the same calm, low tone to those in the area what was going to be done.
It always swallowed them from the feet-up to allow the panicked screaming to last as long as possible.
Somehow Draco found his voice again, body cold all over even with his layers and hands clenched so hard together his nails bit into the skin, knuckles gone white. "It wasn't always at his side in the Manor, not like when he went out," Draco said, distantly wondering who the almost strangled-sounding voice belonged to. "It would roam the Manor alone. When we were allowed to go for rest I would hear it, sometimes, sliding over the carpet in the hall outside of my room. I was afraid that one day I would wake up and it would be halfway down its throat, up to my wrists. Too late to do anything to help myself but not so late as to escape the pain."
The fear was still there, long after the Dark Lord's defeat and Nagini's death. It was as if his subconscious still thought that he was in the war, struggling to stay alive and as unnoticeable as possible. Which was never possible. "Once," Draco continued, the words dragging themselves from out of him. "He had it drape over me and bare its fangs. I could see the dripping venom and into the mouth - down its throat when it hissed." Draco could feel the prickles of sweat across his forehead but it was an absently noted thing, like noting the color of the sky. "He said that if I failed the mission given to me he would not only ki - kill my parents, but bind my limbs and leave me as a 'gift' for that thing."
That was worse than the threat of death or torture outright. The idea of being made helpless in the grip of a massive snake such as the Dark Lord's struck a cord of terror in Draco he never wanted to face.
"That's enough."
Jerking out of his own memories Draco blinked to find Potter sitting back, as if he had started to rise but then thought against it. There was a glass of water set on the table that hadn't been there before and Draco took several moments to steady his breathing before reaching for it with hands that shook only slightly. "You've done brilliantly so far. We'll pause for now and come back to things closer to lunch. Alright?"
Draco could only nod, not trusting his voice. Since he started speaking it felt as if a cord had slowly but constantly tightened around his throat and he didn't want to make a fool of himself anymore than he already had.
Potter nodded, rising to his feet and collecting the stationary before heading out of the room. Both weary and thankful Draco was able to rise his feet on unsteady legs, taking several steps before he was able to move somewhat normally. He would have another bath to rid himself of the smell and feel of sweat over his skin, change into something more comfortable than his formal robes and go down to pick at the breakfast Potter would make. It wasn't as if he would be hungry anytime soon.
~.~.~.~.~
Breakfast consisted of easy to eat items, mainly fruit and oatmeal. Draco appreciated it; with the intensely churning emotions hi's mind had been put through it made his insides want to rebel. The mildly sweet cantaloupe, tender honeydew and juicy watermelon were gentle enough for the blond to have half a bowl with a steaming mug of tea. Potter didn't seem inclined to make conversation which the blond was also thankful for. He thought anything that wasn't related to the reason Draco was there for would be awkward and forced, at best.
Draco didn't realize how hard it would be just putting voice to his fears. His parents and Pureblood society had always put emphasis on showing as little emotion as possible, working anger and frustration down to cool, even looks and pleasure to minor tilts of the head, a lightening of the eyes if one was truly pleased. There was no room for fear or indecision.
The late morning lead to more discussion of what had happened with Nagini while the Dark Lord was under his roof, leading into the War itself. Though each sentence seemed to zap bits of strength from him by the time Potter called an end to their day an hour before dinner Draco felt as if he had shed weight he didn't realize he was carrying.
Day by day, piece by piece, the weight was shifted off of his shoulders. By the end of the first week Draco was able to talk about the nightmares and fears he had in a steady voice. Be it the honest green eyes or the open expression on Potter's face, Draco found himself admitting to things he was barely able to admit to himself.
The underlying tension between them eased with time, as well. Potter seemed to turn off his 'work mode' like a switch and never mentioned anything of Draco's vulnerabilities outside of those hours.
At night, Draco found he had little to no trouble going to sleep. The first night he had doused himself with Dreamless Sleep potion, knowing that he would toss and turn all night worrying about what the morning would bring or wake up with his throat raw from screaming, surrounded with the still-smoldering pile of debris that was once Potter's home. Talking to the man seemed to be a soothing balm in itself - that or it left him so mentally exhausted that his mind couldn't be bothered to come up with new gruesome and painful ways for Nagini to kill him.
When they weren't in session together, Draco participated in what was becoming a quickly growing pastime; Potter-watching.
Unlike the blond, Potter didn't care how he looked. The dark-haired wizard would stumble out of his room, hair even more of a mess than usual, bleary-eyed and half-dressed to make his way to the shower (this usually involved several trips as Potter always forgot something be needed, usually fresh pants or his glasses). When he'd finally get it enough together to have his shower and get dressed the man who emerged would be the polar opposite of the one that went in, bright-eyed and alert, ready to begin the day.
Though he would make breakfast, Potter tended to have just toast or poached eggs in the morning with strong tea or water. Lunch was a bigger affair with Potter taking twice as much of whatever was made then Draco had. Dinner, a more normal portion.
Potter's smiles were quiet but his laughs full and loud. He was utterly useless in the morning before his shower. He took criticism with surprising grace and looked at Draco with none of the old hatted that had hung between them in their schoolboy days. During sessions he let Draco get off subject but would steer the conversation back on track with a few careful questions or mild words.
/I am not obsessing. Not again./
Draco's thoughts were starting to take a dangerous turn just midway through the second week of his stay. How much worse would his infatuation get by the third week? A month?
It was with that thought in mind that Draco marched to Potter's bedroom that morning, rapping sharply on the door. It was almost time for the brunet to make his zombie-like stumbling to the shower, anyway. A few minutes earlier wouldn't hurt. With the Silencing Charm in place the blond couldn't tell if the other was up yet or not but after a few moments he raised his hand to knock again when the door was pulled open and Draco's throat went dry.
Potter, in his usual form, was still in the loose blue and yellow plaid (Merlin, why was he allowed to dress himself?) pajama bottoms. His feet and chest were bare, not even the trademark glasses having made an appearance. Hopelessly deep green eyes fixed sleepily on the blond through a forest of sooty lashes, face flushed and hair rattier than a bird's nest and full lips slightly parted. One tanned hand was resting on the door frame and as Draco's gaze dropped he found the other rubbing at a surprisingly fit abdomen, just above his bellybutton. "Malfoy?"
The deep, sleep-roughened voice made Draco's gaze snap back up to Potter's face, refusing to let his cheeks heat. "Morning, Potter," he greeted, pleased to find his voice normal. "I just wanted to let you know that I want to have some actual progress happen today. No more sitting around and having me vent as it has done all it's able to help."
As he spoke awareness begun to seep into the half-dressed male's gaze, lips turning down into a frown. "Malfoy, your case is-"
"Bollocks!" Draco snapped, making the other blink. "I've spend near two weeks just talking and haven't had a nightmare since arriving. That should be plenty of time to have gotten through whatever invisible barriers you've been waiting for me to go through. I want results, Potter, not just to sit stagnate until I'm an old man and my bank account's wrung dry."
Potter's jaw clenched, evident from the way the muscle jumped. He seemed to be having an internal debate with himself but whatever it was, the dark-haired male nodded. "Fine. Let me get dressed and we'll move on to the next step."
The blond shook his head. "No more baby steps, Potter. As lovely as it is here I don't plan on staying forever." With a final quick once-over Draco turned away, starting for the kitchen. "Hurry along. I'd like to have breakfast before we get started." He turned down the hall at that, ignoring what felt like a dozen butterflies taking residence in his stomach and deciding that he could, in the least, make his own tea. It would help settle his nerves and give him something to focus on besides the sight of Potter's bare skin.
~.~.~.~.~
Harry regretted agreeing almost as soon as he was alone in the shower.
/Damn Malfoy,/ he thought as his hair was soaked through under the warm spray, reaching blindly for the shampoo. He wouldn't have been pushed so easily into giving in to the prat's unrealistic demands if he'd been more awake - something Harry was sure the other knew and had used to his advantage. While the progress Malfoy had made was fairly good in that he hadn't relapsed it wasn't as much as the blond seemed to think. As for the lack of nightmares, Harry knew that it was due more to the Sleep Stones set under the guest bed than the relaxation of Malfoy's own mind.
/I should go out and explain./ The thought was washed away like the shampoo and the dark haired male sighed. He'd seen that expression on Malfoy's face enough to know that anything set to try and deter him from the path he wanted to take would be met with harsh words and even more determination to keep on at it. Harry didn't want them to start that again. The weeks of close contact had given Harry a better understanding of the other and he grasped things about Malfoy's thinking and lifestyle that he never would have otherwise.
Going through the mechanics of his shower Harry allowed another thought to slip in. /He's braver than I've ever known. Not as robotic, either./ The time together had allowed him to see more than overwhelming pride, anger and fear from the blond. Malfoy held a slight smile when reading letters from his mother, warmth seeping into those grey eyes. During their sessions, pale and dotted with perspiration, the blond would push doggedly on, seeming to think that if only he could get the words out his problems would be solved.
And in the early mornings when Harry was at his worse and Malfoy didn't realize Harry wasn't entirely blind without his glasses the former hero had caught the blond watching him with an expression Harry was all too familiar with.
Interest.
The blond had ogled him that morning like he was a wizard on the cover of Witch Weekly. Harry had no one to blame bt himself, of course. He hadn't thought that he would be appealing in any way to the blond, both due to his gender and the heated history between them. Obviously that was not the case.
Cutting off the shower and any chance to indulge the growing interest of his body Harry Summoned a towel, roughly scrubbing at his skin. Liar. You like it when he watches you./
He might have made the excuse of being tired for his multiple trips back and forth in the mornings but in truth he liked those pale eyes on him in a way he didn't enjoy the hungry gaze of the public. The populace in general wanted to consume him completely; not Harry the man but Harry Potter, The Boy-Who-Lived. Malfoy wasn't interested in that (though perhaps he could be, by way of making a better name for himself in association). Malfoy seemed to... want him.
/And no more of that now!/ Ripping the towel away Harry winced as he pulled some hairs with it, pushing thoughts of the tall blond away. He would be seeing him in the flesh soon enough. /He probably won't want anything to do with me after today, anyway. Perhaps this will be good for the both of us./
~.~.~.~.~
They were outside, standing behind the gate that held the wards that surrounded the property. Potter's expression was more troubled than Draco had ever seen it and he knew what was going to come out before the man said, "Are you sure about this?"
"For the hundredth time I'm sure," Draco snapped, though the pounding of his heart said otherwise. "Think of it was a quiz. How can you truly determine how I've progressed without testing me?"
The tousled-haired male studied Draco for so long he thought Potter would change his mind. Instead the nodded, once, sharply. "Alright," Potter said quietly, the vivid green eyes dulled by the glasses. "I wasn't going to, but maybe a bit of shock treatment is due." He turned and stepped beyond the wards then, Draco a step behind him.
The area beyond the wards wasn't much different. The grass grew wild, thick and looked as plush as Potter's hair looked and the birds became slightly louder. Draco didn't see anything out of the ordinary from the fallen log covered in moss or the trees that reached for the heavens twenty feet off or so. Draco's gaze flickered from the grass to Potter, who's head jerked as if he'd been watching Draco and hadn't wanted to be caught staring, eyes fixed on something in the distance. /As if I couldn't see you out of the corner of my eye./ Potter opened his mouth and it was on the tip of the blond's tongue to warn him not to ask if Draco was sure again when he heard a sound that turned his blood cold, heart seeming to stop in his chest.
Hissing.
~.~.~.~.~
'Brothers and sisters, we greet you with welcome. Come and join us.'
Were he with another patient who had a snake phobia Harry would have taken them, for their final, to Dean's shop for a one-on-one confrontation. As it was Harry was glad he had told Malfoy to leave his wand, doing the same with his own just in case the other thought it to be a was no telling how the blond would react but Harry didn't want him to have the ability to kill any of the snakes that heard his call or hurt either of them. As it was Harry had asked that they not come by for an unexpected visit him so long as Malfoy was there, even going so far as to add wards that would act as a barrier to the more stubborn ones.
In moments, there was a shifting in the grass that wasn't caused but the slight breeze, tall stems parting in perhaps a dozen places. There had been just four when Harry had last visited but one of the females had her brood since. The green and black grass snakes were only just visible and even then only in flashes as the tall grass hid their bodies well, even as it outlined the meter-length of the adults.
A high, sharp sound drew Harry's gaze away from the approaching progression and to Malfoy, alarm jolting through Harry. If Malfoy was pale before he was white as a ghost at the moment, pupils dilated so far Harry would have thought him to be high on some illegal potion if he hadn't known better. Harry raised a hand, taking a step towards the blond. "Malfoy? Are you-"
It was only due to his watching that Harry saw the slight flutter of blond lashes just before grey orbs rolled back. With a startled cry he dove, catching Malfoy as his legs gave from underneath him, the dead weight of the blond's body knocking Harry to the grass.