A/N: I really don't have an infinite number of chapters backed up to be able to keep doing the twice- weekly update thing. But I do have enough backed up to do it every now and then.
This whole story is still unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine. I do, however, have a pre- reader who is telling me to hurry up with the smut. She's on your side, apparently.

Chapter 9- The Noble and Most Ancient Art of Palmistry

The few hours of work that Harry had done at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes had helped to clear his head; it was a much needed distraction as well as a chance to get out of the house. While Draco recovered at home he could surround himself with children and mischievous young adults, spending his time laughing and enjoying the company of others rather than listening to his housemate's complaints. Draco was not a very patient patient.

He arrived back in his living room with a tired ache in his muscles earned from stacking shelves with decoy detonators and exploding toilet seats (a new range, for the Winter Collection). Sprawled on the floor in front of the fire, Draco had several potions books propped up against various objects and was scribbling frantically with his good hand.

"Harry!" he said excitedly, scrambling to his feet. "Why didn't you tell me about the library? I could have done with some of these books weeks ago."

Harry shook his head. "I wasn't aware of a library here."

Draco frowned, disbelieving.

"I promise," Harry continued. "Same as I didn't know about the basement, or the garden…" He stopped, contemplating all the changes that had happened to the house since Draco moved in. The doors banging to wake Harry up during Draco's nightmare, but mysteriously not disturbing the baby. How Draco's room had repaired itself.

"What?" Draco demanded.

"Draco," Harry said slowly. "How would you feel about talking to the portrait of Sirius' mother?"

Draco shrugged. "Okay. But I thought you said she was crazy."

"She is. But something tells me that she would like you."

He decided on taking all precautions and retrieved his Invisibility Cloak from the bottom of his trunk where it had lived since he had returned to London. He sat at the top of the stairs, unseen from both Walburga Black and Draco as the latter gently tugged back the curtains covering the old lady's portrait.

"Mrs Black?" Draco said tentatively, and Harry thought that it wasn't going to work as the wild woman came into view: her hair a mess, as always, eyes rolling, tongue lolling, preparing to scream and he covered his ears, waiting for a wail that never came.

"You're a pure blood," were the first sane words from the woman's mouth.

Draco nodded politely. "Yes, ma'am. My name is Draco Malfoy. My mother is Narcissa Malfoy, née Black."

"Ah," she said knowingly. "One of mine."

"Yes, ma'am," he said again. "May I call you Great Aunt?"

"You may," the old woman replied haughtily, adjusting her dress around her knees.

Harry sat, and watched, gobsmacked.

"Where is that awful ruffian currently inhabiting my family home?" Mrs Black continued.

"Mr Potter is here somewhere," Draco answered. He kept his hands folded behind his back, held low to push his broad shoulders out and chin up. He'd changed into another set of ridiculously expensive dress robes, to make a good impression, Harry decided.

"Oh," Mrs Black sounded disappointed. "I hoped you would have killed him. Or thrown him out."

"I'm afraid not, Great Aunt," Draco said. "Unfortunately the law does not recognise me as legally entitled to the house."

"Ah, but the house does," said Mrs Black mischievously.

"It does," Draco said, tilting his head to the side and Harry was screaming at him in his head to elaborate, but the blond man was clearly ignoring him.

"Certain areas of the house will only reveal themselves to a worthy owner," Mrs Black continued. "My son was shut out from many rooms after I disinherited him. But the house knows, boy. The house knows."

"The basement? And the library?"

"You've inherited my father's talent for Potions," Mrs Black said. "He was a great Potions Maker, he owned the largest Apothecary and Potions Emporium on Diagon Alley, and another on Knockturn. It's a dying art, boy. Do not let your talent go to waste."

"I shan't," Draco agreed.

"The house will continue to help you. Treat it well, and it will reciprocate."

"Of course, Great Aunt."

"I'm tired, now," Mrs Black said, smoothing down her skirts again. "Come talk to me again, boy. I like you. And I haven't liked anybody in a long, long time."

"Farewell, Great Aunt," Draco said in what Harry thought was his poshest of posh voices and carefully tugged the curtains back across the expanse of canvas.

Harry pulled the cloak from around his shoulders. "Bloody hell."

"Well, that explains a lot," Draco said sarcastically, pulling at the neck of his robes.

"The conversation?"

"No. The fact that you own a bloody invisibility cloak."

Harry smirked. "I thought the conversation was rather enlightening, myself."

"You would," Draco said. "Hang on, let me get out of these awful things. I'll meet you in the living room in a minute."

It was more like half an hour later, after Harry had been to collect Bear from Molly's and settled him down in his squashy chair with a cracker to play with and chew on with toothless gums. Draco refused to let him gather up all of the books from the library, insisting that Harry would just put them back in the wrong places. So Harry was forced to wait.

"I want a run down of every dirty and deprived thing you've ever done in that cloak," Draco said as he re-entered the room in loose sweatpants and his ever present long sleeved t- shirt.

"It's a very short list," Harry admitted.

"I was afraid of that," Draco said with a dramatic sigh, flopping into his armchair and holding his left arm out for Harry to fix the dressings on it.

Harry rolled his eyes but pulled the now tattered white paper bag out from under the coffee table.

"Would be easier if you took your shirt off," he commented casually, as he did every night while rolling the long sleeve up to Draco's elbow.

"Nope," Draco responded. As he did every night.

"You can't keep this up forever," Harry said, a variation of which he said every night.

"Yes I can. Get on with it."

Unwrapping the bandages took longer than anything else; the wound was still not completely healed meaning Harry had to carefully peel fabric from skin to avoid pulling and damaging it more. He was only half successful in his attempts, although he was getting better, but Draco griped and moaned through most of the procedure.

"Wanna look at it?" Harry asked as he gently cleaned the scabby, mauled flesh with a stream of warm water from his wand.

Draco sighed heavily. "You sound more and more like Miranda every day."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Harry said, smirking.

"It wasn't meant as one."

Harry pretended not to notice as Draco gently tugged his wrist from Harry's gentle grip.

"Oh my god, that's disgusting," he gasped.

"It looks a lot better than it did a couple of days ago," Harry said reasonably.

"Well I'm glad I didn't look at it a couple of days ago, then," he snapped. His voice softened: "Please cover it up."

"I think it's going to scar, you know." Harry's voice was gentle as he broke the news.

"You don't say," Draco said sarcastically.

"It'll heal up soon enough."

"And it's not like I'm not covered in scars anyway."

"What I meant…" Harry's voice faltered. "Is that I think, maybe, when it scars, you won't be able to see the Mark any more."

Draco was very still, and very silent as he thought about this.

"Really?" he asked eventually.

"I don't know for sure," Harry said in a rush. "I might be wrong."

"Can you – can you see it at the moment?"

"No," he said honestly. "It's hidden under all of the scabbing." Harry worked with the easy efficiency borne of doing the task over and over.

"I really want it gone," Draco admitted in a whisper.

"I know," Harry said, knowing how much this admission would have cost the other man. He finished tying the bandage tightly around Draco's wrist, not too tight that it cut his circulation off though (he'd learnt that lesson very early on). After rolling his sleeve back down, Harry took Draco's hand in between both of his own, absently tracing the soft grooves in his palm.

"Don't bother," Draco said in a low voice. "You were crap at Divination."

Harry jerked his hand away, blushing. He felt very much like a small child, sat cross legged on the floor at the feet of a much wiser man who smiled at him and took his hand in the same manner, holding it so the light fell on the palm.

"You really do have an uncommonly short life line," Draco said, tracing it with a blunt fingertip.

"Wrong subject," Harry laughed. "That's History of Magic, not Divination."

Draco snorted. "I don't think Binns teaches anything that happened less than two hundred years ago."

"It's all cold reading, anyway."

"True," Draco acquiesced.

"Tell me about my heart line," Harry said, then regretted it immediately.

Draco carefully folded the fingers back around Harry's palm, making a fist which he passed back to the other man, shaking his head.

"You tell me."

"Despite what you may have heard, it doesn't hold many stories."

"Is that changing?" Draco asked in the first reference he'd made to the thing between them.

"Yeah," Harry said, looking up to meet Draco's gaze. "I think it might be."

xXx

Having recently discovered his voice, Bear seemed to think that any moment not spent using it was a moment wasted, so feeding him was an artful business of trying to shove a spoon in his mouth when it was open. Not that Bear was particularly inclined to close his mouth once food was in it. They had learned, quickly, that there was no point in getting the baby dressed before he'd had his breakfast.

"Alright, we're done here," Harry decided, wiping the excess mush from the baby's face with a soft cloth and hoisting him out of the high chair and on to his hip.

He crossed Draco in the hall, who had dressed in a painfully stylish combination of dark jeans and soft grey jumper. Harry spared him a smile as Bear started singing to himself again, then carried on up to the nursery.

"You," Harry told the baby, lying him down on the changing table, "are trouble."

Bear gurgled as Harry tickled his tummy.

Harry had a fair idea of what Draco's routine with the baby consisted of as he watched it most mornings through the conspectus charm. They did things differently, of course, but Bear never seemed to mind who it was who got the delightful job of morning activities.

Once he was once again clean and free from food mush, Harry lifted the baby down on to the floor where he sat, back against the wall with his legs in a wide V shape, Bear sat between them. They had amassed a huge collection of 'learning' toys, but Bear was just as satisfied with a long, involved game of peek-a-boo, or Harry's truly awful attempts of singing nursery rhymes. It was also Harry's way of checking that Bear was hitting what Molly called his 'milestones'; that he was sitting unaided and making his first attempts to crawl.

A loud knock at the door made Bear look up in shock, although Harry was no longer concerned about the screaming portrait in the hallway. Since Draco's first interaction with Mrs Black the old woman seemed much more placid than she was previously. Repeated conversations with the 'true Black heir' seemed to pacify her and she no longer screamed at every intruder. She still screamed at some, of course, just not all of them.

"Wonder who that is, hmm?" Harry said and stood, lifting Bear back on to his hip again.

As he jogged back down the stairs he caught Draco's panicked eyes as he lead two women through. Harry's heart dropped to his stomach.

"Madame O'Connell," Harry said, searching for the name of the witch who'd lead Bear's custody hearing. He smiled at Ruth, the nurse with whom they had regular check-ups on Bear's growth and development.

"Mr Potter," she said courteously.

Draco fussed around with formal introductions and offers of tea, then threw Harry to the wolves and left him alone with the two women to lead them up to the living room as he disappeared into the kitchen.

"Sorry about the mess," Harry apologised sheepishly as he tried to find a place for everyone to sit. "We weren't expecting company."

He strapped Bear into his squashy chair and gave him a few brightly coloured toys to play with, then sat on the edge of Draco's arm chair. He let the women take the sofa, and he wasn't about to sit on the floor.

Draco strode into the room, his back ramrod straight and looking for all the world like the pureblood heir that he had been trained to be, even without his dark robes. He placed the tea on the table and stood back.

"Apologies for the delay, ladies. We do not own an elf."

"Mr Malfoy," Ruth said softly, putting her hand on his shoulder. Draco jerked back in surprise. "You're not in trouble. As well as scheduled home visits we often call on parents and guardians unexpectedly to get a better idea of your regular, day to day routine."

Draco nodded, his eyes still wide and untrusting as the women reached for their tea. He looked around at the mess in the room, then crossed his arms over his body and threw them out to the sides again, wandlessly sending everything back to its proper place. Seemingly satisfied, he grabbed his own teacup and sat down next to Harry.

Only then did he notice the look of utter shock on both women's faces.

"What? Did I do something wrong?"

Madame O'Connell seemed to pull herself together first.

"That was some very powerful magic, Mr Malfoy."

Draco just shrugged. "I don't like mess."

Harry rolled his eyes where Draco couldn't see them and addressed his unexpected guests. "Really. Apologies about the house. With Draco studying for his NEWTs and all of Bear's stuff, this room gets a little cluttered at times."

"This is your main living space?" Madame O'Connell asked, looking around.

"Yes," Harry agreed. He was rather proud of the room he'd redecorated; warm, sage green walls and white trimming were both elegant and masculine. Draco's armchair was deep brown leather, of course, and dark wood furniture dominated the space with a Welsh dresser and small bookcase. The carpets were stone coloured - a decision that was made long before he knew there would be an infant living with him.

"It's lovely in here," Ruth said with a small smile.

"Thanks."

"So," Madame O'Connell said brusquely. "How do you feel you're coping?"

Harry felt Draco shiver next to him, and laid a surreptitious hand on the middle of the other man's back for half a second.

"I think we've settled into a routine," Harry started hesitantly. Ruth nodded encouragingly and he continued, emboldened. "Bear seems to be doing well, he's happy."

"Are you happy, Mr Potter?"

The question caught him off guard. "I'm getting there," he said. "It's not easy. But I love my godson very much."

"And you, Mr Malfoy?"

"I am in good health, thank you."

Harry got the impression that Draco was falling back on old habits, pureblood training and etiquette that had been drilled into him since his childhood. He hadn't seen the other man so uptight and formal since the first few days that they'd been living together.

"Well," Madame O'Connell said. "I have reports here from Dr Stevenson…"

"Miranda," Draco mouthed up at Harry, who nodded. Madame O'Connell produced a large folder from her bag which she thumbed through absently as she spoke.

"She feels that this situation is extremely beneficial to your progress and mental health. Teddy has given you an outlet in which to explore your emotions in a safe environment and your relationship with Mr Potter is an opportunity for a safe and healthy friendship where you will not be tempted into any Dark activity."

Harry couldn't help but feel incredibly uncomfortable as Draco was analysed like this - like he wasn't there, listening to her every word.

"I want to talk about your connection to the Auror office, Mr Malfoy."

Draco nodded. "I found myself in a position where I was able to help the Ministry on a case. In return for my services I negotiated with a senior in that office for reduced sentences for both my parents."

"You were injured in the course of that assignment," Ruth added softly.

Draco nodded again and extended his left arm. "I found myself on the receiving end of a traitor's curse," he said grimly. "I understand very few have survived; it is rare for a person cursed in this way to be given immediate medical assistance. I owe my life to the swift action of your colleagues, Ruth."

Madame O'Connell nodded at this. "Do you anticipate being called on again in the future?"

"No," Draco said, his tone closing the subject. Madame O'Connell nodded again.

"Could we talk about babysitters?"

Harry decided this was his arena. "We don't ask anyone to watch him very often. If we do it would normally be Molly or George Weasley."

"And they're friends of the family?"

Harry shook his head. "They're family."

After a tour of the house to show how much renovation had been done, Madame O'Connell and Ruth left with warm, comforting smiles. Bear was starting to look sleepy so Draco summoned one of his bottles from the kitchen and the three of them curled up on the sofa together.

"I was scared that they were going to take him away from us," Draco said softly.

"You worry too much."

"It's nice, in a way, though."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked, scratching the back of his neck absently.

"I've got someone to worry about again."

xXx

A light, tentative knock on his door woke Harry in the middle of the night.

"Yeah?" he croaked and snuggled into the warm spot beneath his sheets.

The door opened and a form he recognised as Draco even in the dark, and without his glasses on, stepped into the room and closed the door with a quiet click. Harry blinked a few times as Draco put his back to the door and slid down it to wrap his arms around his knees.

"Draco? You alright?"

"Nightmare," was all Draco said in a haunted whisper.

Harry hesitated then threw back the duvet to make room for the other man. He was too far away, and his eyesight was too poor to judge Draco's reaction, but Harry wasn't about to let him sit on the damn floor all night and he was still tired and wanted to go back to sleep.

For long seconds it looked like Draco was going to ignore his silent offer, then he scrambled into the warm bed, although as far away from Harry as was physically possible.

"Do you ever take this thing off?" Harry asked, tugging at the t- shirt.

Draco shook his head, hiding behind blonde hair that was starting to get too long again.

"Want to talk about it?"

"I really don't."

He curled up into a tight ball, folding in on himself. Harry left him alone for a few moments until Draco started to shake again. Then he reached out a tentative hand, taking Draco's undamaged arm and tugging on it, pulling him into his chest. Draco resisted, almost violently pulling back.

"Come here," Harry insisted. Draco shook his head. "Please? I can't watch you like this."

He expected some of Draco's usual bile in response, but got none, just a tentative arm sneaking around his waist. Harry huffed in annoyance.

"If you can't bring the mountain to Mohammed," he muttered.

"Who?"

"You need to brush up on your Muggle sayings." Harry wrapped both of his arms around Draco's chest, and the other man snuggled in, tucking his head under Harry's chin and breathing deeply. "If you can't bring the mountain to Mohammed, then Mohammed must go to the mountain. Or something like that."

"Oh. Okay. Why don't you wear a t- shirt in bed?" a small voice asked.

Harry smiled into soft, nice smelling blonde hair. "I never have."

"Even at school?"

"No."

"Oh."

Silence. "I don't like wearing clothes in bed at all, really, but it's cold at the moment," he elaborated without further prompting, explaining his long pyjama bottoms. Draco insinuated his cold feet between Harry's warm ones, making the latter hiss in annoyance.

"It is winter," Draco said.

"I'd noticed."

More silence.

A soft voice: "Take it off, Draco."

"No."

"It's the middle of the night and I haven't got my glasses on. I can't see a bloody thing. Take it off."

Slowly, incredibly slowly, the arm around Harry's waist moved, he rolled away then sat up, reaching behind his head to grab the back of the t- shirt then carefully folding it before setting it down on Harry's bedside table. When he laid down again Harry was treated to the feel of bare skin next to his own bare skin; new and all the more terrifying for whose skin it was.

"What do we do now?" Draco whispered.

"Go to sleep?"

Sleep was the very last thing on his mind.

"I don't think so."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. Feeling like he was the one who needed to take the initiative here (he had told Draco to take his t- shirt off, after all), he rolled Draco on to his back and shifted to hover just over the pale body beneath him, his weight balanced on his forearm.

"Is this okay?" Harry whispered.

Draco regarded him with dark eyes, nodding almost imperceptibly, then leaned up to steal Harry's kiss. Soft, tentative, and all too brief.

"Did you really have a nightmare?" Harry whispered.

"Yes." The word wasn't petulant, or spat out in harsh tones like Harry was expecting. It was a sole, scared word, a twist in the gut admission of weakness. Harry was going to ask what about, then Draco answered the question for him. A cold hand laced over the top of his warm one and it moved from the relatively safe space created by the curve of Draco's spine to the jutting angle of his hip.

"She broke this," Draco explained, pushing Harry's fingers into the lumpy, broken bone. He knew instinctively who 'she' was, and was furious that the miserable bitch was dead, and that Harry wouldn't be able to take the vindictive pleasure of killing her himself. "And these," Draco continued. Harry's hand was moved up to the xylophone arches of rib bones and could feel, here too, bones left to heal without any medical intervention.

"Draco, I-"

"Don't say it. Don't pity me, please."

"Okay."

"Would you kiss me again?"

Harry smiled and leaned in to fit his mouth to Draco's. There was a reason why they did this when they were drunk, or fighting, or in the dark; it was much, much easier to hide whatever else either of them might be feeling. Like the little knot of something that had lodged itself up under Harry's ribcage. He was scared that might translate on to his face, so it was for the best that Draco couldn't see him.

Draco whimpered into the kiss and his hand reached up to tentatively wrap around Harry's back. Harry responded instinctively, arching into the touch and flicking his tongue out to find out what Draco's lips tasted of tonight.

Mint. And smoke.

It was okay when Draco rolled Harry over and pressed him into the mattress, forcing the evidence of their combined arousal to the forefront of this kissing experiment. There was a choice - to back off and leave this for another time, or to follow it through to its climatic conclusion.

Draco's fingers danced over the waistband of Harry's pyjama bottoms, asking permission for the next step; the fabric had already slipped too low on his hipbones. Harry rolled his hips in what must have been acquiescence because suddenly he was bare to his knees and a warm hand had enclosed his already throbbing cock.

Their kisses became punctuated with cries for more, gasps of pleasure and deep, guttural groans as Draco worked his cock in short, hard bursts and thrust his own erection against Harry's thigh. It was dirty and messy and stolen; nothing belonged to either of them, it didn't fit or make sense, but somehow it did and that was just them.

Harry's back arched off the bed as he came, soaking Draco's hand in wet, sticky fluid that was smeared down his length for more gentle pulls that blurred his vision and painted white spots behind his eyes. Teeth on his shoulder and wet fabric pressed against his thigh and a hot, sweaty, shivering body above him was all the proof he needed that Draco had come too.

As his heart thundered in his ribcage Harry pressed his lips to Draco's forehead while the other man cast a cleaning spell that made him shiver against the cold. With an arm anchoring Draco to his chest, Harry pulled the duvet up over them both and hoped that the other man would join him in a sated, dreamless sleep.