Road to Recovery

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1

A/N: Thanks for the reviews and to my betas!!!

V.

It was obvious that Harry was well on his way to a healthy recovery by the afternoon Draco was to meet with his friends. He and Lydia had moved on to individual sessions, which allowed Draco to return to the clinic with a scaled-down schedule. He only handled long-standing cases now, including that of Melissa Gregory, who had received the first of her new round of treatments and was responding positively, boosting Draco’s spirits on days when he felt he wasn’t really a help to Harry at all. Not that those days were frequent, but a few times he worried that he was enabling an unhealthy co-dependency that would hurt Harry in the long run. He wasn’t sure how to define their relationship, not lovers, but more than mere friends, exchanging loving touches and quick chaste kisses, longing and desire smouldering in their eyes when each thought the other wasn’t looking. They hadn’t really discussed their break-up, and Draco was well aware that in this it was he, not Harry, who’d been reticent.

He spoke about it with Lydia as he readied his flat for guests. “A Malfoy isn’t afraid of anything,” he said affectedly, poking fun at himself and his father’s dictates, then shook his head, “but I’m afraid of this.”

“What, exactly?” Lydia asked pouring herself a cup of tea.

Draco ran his thumb against his fingers nervously, “I’m afraid to let my guard down again, to trust him.” He tipped his head back, blinking rapidly, “I-I want him to need me, but I’m afraid if I let myself get too close, let myself need him in return, that he’ll hurt me again. And I am so fucked because as much as I tell myself I’ve kept that distance, I know it’s only physical” he spat yanking his hands through his fine hair. “I’ve already let him in and need him as much as I ever did before.”

The aging mind-healer hummed, “Be honest with yourself, Draco. About what you really want, about why you’re trying to create distance between you, about your fears, and how much you’ve been hurting. Don’t try to be stoic for Harry’s sake or your own. And talk to him about it. Let yourself show the vulnerability you’ve been trying to hide. It can only help you both be stronger for facing it all.” She fixed him with a stern look, “And do it soon. You’re hurting yourself by keeping it bottled up, and confusing Harry, adding an element to his own struggle that he doesn’t need. He wants you as his lover but he’s uncertain as to what your responses mean, and struggling with the idea that maybe, despite all you’ve said and done, you really do view him as damaged and unworthy of your affection.”

Draco’s head shot forward; he blinked, “How could he think that? I’m doing everything I possibly can to reassure him that--”

Lydia held up her hand, forestalling further argument, “He is recovering from a violent sexual assault, those kinds of feelings and thoughts are not unusual in survivors trying to re-establish their relationships with their partners. It’s more complicated for Harry because while you weren’t together when he began recovery, he still views you as his romantic partner, and you’ve been engaging in activities that couples do, kisses, long walks, holding hands, that sort of thing, but when you back away or pull away from him, it feeds his doubt.” The grey-haired witch sighed, “It’s a delicate balance you’re both trying to maintain. I believe it would be best for you to begin addressing repairing your romantic relationship and reclaim as much normalcy in that arena as you can as soon as possible. The sexual aspect of your relationship is another--” she paused as Draco shook his head.

“Too much, Lydia. I’m not ready to dissect our non-existent sex-life yet.”

She smirked, “Oh, I think you’re both probably more ready that you let on, at least for some activities. You’ll work out what you need to in order to prevent Harry from experiencing further trauma. Of course, I’m willing to discuss any concerns the two of you may have, but I’ve found that generally it’s best to let a couple discover how to resume an intimate relationship on their own. Just remember that common sense and communication are most important, but,” she smiled as Draco reddened and looked ready to interrupt again. “I won’t say anymore for now. Just know that if you need to talk about it. I’m willing to listen. There may come a time in future, where we’ll need to resume joint sessions, and not just for Harry’s benefit.”

Draco nodded, but said nothing as he crossed the room to unlock the Floo. Harry’s friends, and some of his too, would be arriving soon.

Harry had decided he didn’t want to attend this gathering, and looking into the assembled faces each bearing expressions of horror, condescending pity, wrenching sorrow, and blank disbelief, after Lydia’s initial speech, Draco understood why.

“So…how do we…how can we help, our poor Harry now?” sniffed a tearful Molly Weasley.

Lydia frowned, “First, by not referring to him as ‘poor Harry,’” she said curtly. “His is the victim of a violent assault, not some helpless, hapless puppy who needs coddling and pity. If that’s all you can offer him, then it’s best you leave him alone for awhile. Harry is a strong, capable young man, who’s undergone a horrible ordeal. However, it does not define him. He is more than just a victim. Treating him as though you think he’s going to break at any moment, that he’s too emotionally fragile or scarred to resume his life and normal activities will only hinder him and reinforce guilt and self-doubt. Or worse, will force Harry into performing for you, putting on a show that he’s happy and healthy when he’s hurting. It’s that sort of behaviour which led to his alcoholism. None of you saw anything wrong because Harry didn’t want to worry you, didn’t want you to think badly of him, he let you see what you wanted when privately he was self-destructing. What Harry needs is your open, honest support. Your encouragement and caring without pity, or judgments.”

“I’m sure we’re all ready to commit to that,” Remus said smoothly, easing the tension. “Most of us though, we haven’t any idea how to handle interacting with an abused person, especially not a male victim. Abuse is so rare in the wizarding world, and rape…well, it hardly ever happens. Can you make suggestions to things we should and shouldn’t do around Harry?”

The frown lines between Healer Marsh’s brows deepened, “Your assumptions are in dire need of correction. I doubt there is a single person in this room who hasn’t known a person, other than Harry, who has suffered abuse, verbal, physical, sexual, emotional, or magical, either domestic or at the hands of a stranger. The Wizarding populace is just as guilty of hiding these crimes as Muggles, perhaps moreso as we seem to have a collective talent for vanishing unpleasant aspects of our history and culture with a wave of the wand. And because we are a smaller community, the numbers of people assaulted are sometimes higher among us. One of the most difficult things we face, is that abuse and assault frequently go unreported, particularly in the case of child abuse, and sexual assault against men.

“Discussing or exposing child abuse is taboo since we like to think ourselves rather reverential toward our children, precisely because we are such a small population. And male rape victims, male victims of any sort of abuse face the stigma of threatened masculinity, the disbelief of their peers and families, hostility and scepticism from law enforcement’s investigators, and a whole host of other factors that make reporting less likely, nearly impossible.

“You each need to challenge your own attitudes and assumptions about who gets abused, who can be a victim, if you’re to be positive influences in Harry’s life. Anyone can be a victim of assault, just as anyone can be a victim of abuse. There is nothing the victim does to encourage this behaviour or the attacks they’ve suffered. It is not Harry’s, nor any victim’s fault.

“Each of you is here because Harry trusts and loves you. He needs the support and belief of his family and friends. Be yourselves, but be attentive, make sure you listen, that you’re open to what Harry needs from you. Don’t consider ‘handling’ him, he is not some dangerous wild creature, or delicate heirloom china.

“Harry may struggle with feeling fearful, humiliated, angry, or confused. He has a tendency to feel guilt about many things, and this assault is another circumstance that has added to those feelings. He may sometimes feel numb. He has suffered an act of violence and violation that took away his control; so as he rebuilds his feelings of safety, trust, control and self-worth, what you must understand is that his recovery is an individual process, it will happen at its own pace, though and it is very important is that he be allowed and able to experience his feelings without fearing they will be dismissed.

“You need to respect and understand Harry’s needs, do not assume you know best, or try to speed his healing by forcing your opinions on him. Your responses can help or hinder Harry’s healing.

“You can reassure him that you will respect the time he needs to work through his emotions. That you’ll listen when he’s reedy to talk, do not think you’ll help him by forcing him to communicate. Harry has been forced enough. Do not add to his trauma that way, pushing him to open up to you when he’s not ready may cause him flashbacks or other forms of distress, he may push himself to tell things because he wants to please you, assure you of his emotional investment in your relationship.

“Pressuring him into anything he doesn’t feel ready for is selfish and harmful, no matter how well-meaning you are. Harry will come to you when he’s ready. Or he may not,” she shrugged.

“We rely on our friends for different things, each relationship is unique, Harry may not seek your emotional support with regard to his rape. You may be the one he turns to in order to re-involve himself in Quidditch instead, don’t assume that because you aren’t the one he’s turned to for a specific kind of support, that he doesn’t need or value you. It is his choice who he goes to for his differing needs. And if you think his needs aren’t being met, ask him. It’s not uncommon for a victim’s loved ones, to become overprotective, or smothering, trying to make decisions for the victim, when they themselves are distressed. It helps them to feel like they’re doing something tangible to resolve the victim’s pain; really, it can be frustrating and belittling. So ask, don’t just decide.

“In general, just be the kind considerate, caring people Harry has grown to love. Let Harry come to you, listen to him, and encourage him to do what is comfortable. And don’t feel as though you are alone in feeling confused or conflicted as you support Harry; be sure to seek support for yourselves if you’re having difficulties, either from your other friends and family, or a mind healer.”

As Lydia finished, Draco again surveyed the room, feeling more charitable than he had earlier. Thoughtful faces, not pitying ones, were what he found this time and he was relieved. He waved his wand, sending the teapot over to refill Pansy’s cup and said evenly, “Harry asked me to tell all of you that he’ll be in touch over the next few weeks, for now he’s not accepting owls or firecalls, and he asks that no one visit the cottage.”

“Why you, Malfoy? We all know you’re not together anymore, why are you even involved in any of this? How do we even know that Harry’s alright? That you’re not keeping him from us, when he should be with people who love him?” Ginny asked through narrowed eyes.

“That attitude is not helpful Miss Weasley,” Lydia snapped, before Draco could even think a response. “I understand from both Harry and Draco, that there is some long-standing animosity between some members of their friends. If you are truly interested in Harry’s well-being, it would be best to put that animosity aside.”

Draco laid a hand on Lydia’s arm. “It’s an issue of jealousy with Miss Weasley, Lydia,” he said, bringing the long-unspoken issue into the open. “You may not trust me Ginerva, but Harry does, and that’s what’s important here. What’s more, Harry and I are reconciled, so I suggest that you, and anyone else who has a problem with me,” he shot a quick glare at Ron, “get used to the idea that I am a permanent fixture in Harry’s life.” Well, it wasn’t exactly the truth, but he was a Slytherin, well-versed in how and when to use a little obfuscation when it served his purposes; besides, having given a lot of thought to his earlier conversation with the older healer, he knew it would be the absolute truth soon enough.

It was enough to stop Ginny’s mouth, and Remus, and several others nodded their approval. Healer Marsh gathered her things in the awkward silence that followed. “Well,” she said finally, “I’m off. You all know how to contact me at St. Mungo’s if you’ve need of me. Draco,” she looked to the blank-faced blond, “you and Harry have a good night and tell him I’ll see him in the morning at our usual time.” She smiled a little smugly, having very solidly established that the two were again living together, and that Draco and Harry’s relationship had her professional approval.

Draco bit back a snicker at her tactics, and wondered for a moment which was Healer Marsh’s House at Hogwarts, that little manoeuvre was certainly worth of a Slytherin. He clapped his hands, “Well, that’s it then. I’m not taking any questions, anything that could be said, has been by Healer Marsh. I will not speak for Harry beyond anything he’s directly told me to share. Anything you wish to ask him or say to him, expressly will have to wait until he’s decided to contact you, which as I said earlier, should be over the next few weeks. There is one thing,” Draco sighed internally, he’d been dreading this moment from the time Harry asked him to make the announcement knowing he’d be pounced no matter the disclaimers. “Harry requested, and was granted a year’s leave from the Ministry. He plans to make full use of that year and will not consider any requests for him to return early, especially considering that once his leave ends he may decide to leave the Auror service altogether.”

Draco steeled himself.

“What? You can’t be serious, Malfoy! Harry loves being an Auror. It’s what he’s always wanted, since he was 13 years old!” Ron hollered.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley, sit down! How dare you raise your voice to our host?” Molly shouted and wagged her finger, as her son slowly sank back into his seat, flushing a bright red.

Draco cleared his throat, to stifle the threatening grin, “Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” he said graciously. “Actually, Harry was worried about that kind of response, which is why he asked me to deliver the news. He and Healer Marsh agreed that he wasn’t ready to handle violent outbursts and aggressively accusatory reactions,” he shot a look at Ron who was looking thoroughly chastened, and who had an obviously irate wife just waiting for a private moment to let loose on him. “But it was Harry’s choice to request the leave, just as it will be Harry’s choice to return to his Auror career or not. This is a time of change for Harry. Not only is he focused on healing and recovery, he’ll also be exploring what other things he may be professionally suited to and enjoy. It is his right.”

“And we’ll support him in whatever he decides,” Hermione said firmly. “Won’t we Ron?” Draco could see her nails gauging her husband’s forearm.

“Of course, Mione,” the burly redhead said meekly.

Ginger-haired twins snickered from the room’s opposite corner. “Ickle Ronniekins is in for the bollocking of his life,” Fred or George chuckled; turning away at the sharp look they received from their mother for teasing their brother. “Sorry, mum.”

The flat emptied eventually, despite announcing he wouldn’t take questions Draco was approached by every member of the slowly thinning crowd as he picked up discarded cups and saucers; Dietty had stayed at the cottage to see to Harry. Mr. and Mrs Weasley, the younger, were the last to leave. “He’s much better, Bookworm,” Draco sighed, rising the last of the plates. “Really, don’t fret so. That’s just the sort of thing Lydia was talking about, over-worry, over-protectiveness. He’s doing very well with the mind-healing, and he’s putting on weight. He’ll be fine.”

Hermione scraped a half-eaten scone into the bin and handed Draco the dish. “I can’t help worrying, Draco, you know how I am. But I’ll try. Really, I will. Are you sure there’s nothing we can do in the meantime? Do you have everything you need at the cottage?”

Draco shook his head at the perpetual mother-hen, “We’re fine,” he said firmly, but his slight smile was kind. “We don’t need much, Dietty does all the housekeeping, I can’t get into the kitchen to make a sandwich let alone cook anything.” He shrugged, “Harry’ll have better luck with her when he’s feeling up to cooking, you know how he loves to be in his own kitchen.”

She smiled sadly, “I don’t understand why he loves it so much, after the Dursleys…”

He reached out a soapy hand and patted hers, “It’s reclamation, Mione. He took something that was frightening and painful, and made it safe and welcoming, instead.”

She nodded, “I just wish he’d let us come over, at least for a brief visit. Do you think you could…?”

He frowned and shook his head firmly, “No, I don’t. I won’t. Don’t push him, Hermione.” He said lowly, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Don’t pressure him.”

She bit her bottom lip as her eyes widened “I’m doing it again aren’t I?” She took a breath and wiped at her eyes. “He’ll owl us when he’s ready,” she sniffed, bolting her confidence and faith in place. “And we’ll wait. We’re his friends and we won’t pressure him to do what will make us feel better at the expense of his sense of safety and control.”

Draco dried his hands and nodded his approval. “We’re all having to make some adjustments, Bookworm, but I think we’ll be better friends, better people for it.”

“You’re right,” she hugged him. “I need to remember that others are capable. I’m the only one who thinks everyone should come to me for the right answers all the time.” Her smile was more than a bit self-depreciating, “I need to get over myself.”

He snorted as Hermione reached up pulled the band from his hair. “I’ve been saying so for years.”

She whapped him with the back of her hand and reached to drop the elastic in a container he kept by the sink. “Prat.”

He grinned shaking out his hair. “And this is news?”

Hermione ran her fingers through the fine platinum locks, settling them into place, knowing he’d only tied it back to keep from his face and getting wet while doing the dishes. She leaned back and admired her handiwork when done, not that it had taken much effort. “You are such a pest, Draco Malfoy. It’s a good thing I love you,” she stuck out her tongue.

Eyes stinging, Draco gathered her up in his arms, “I’ve missed you.” He kissed her cheek. “Thanks.”

Hermione pressed closer, her own eyes tearing, “I’m so sorry, Draco. I’m so sorry for not being a good friend. I do love you, and I was wrong to let anybody else’s feelings keep me from being in touch with you.”

“Mione, are you-- Oi! What’s going on here?” Ron demanded as he came through the kitchen doorway.

“What does it look like Weasley?” Draco snapped. “Obviously, I’m groping your wife. We’ve been carrying on behind your and Harry’s backs for the last year. I’m passionately in love with her and I was trying to convince her to run away with me when you so rudely interrupted.”

Hermione snorted, and slapped her hand against Draco’s chest. “Enough you!” she chuckled, “Don’t encourage him. And Ron, have a little faith in me, for Merlin’s sake!” She went up on her toes to kiss Draco’s cheek, “Let’s have lunch this week. Just for us, to catch up. You can tell me more about these new hybrid Muggle/Magical treatments you’re using. I want to know all about it.”

“I’ll have to check Harry’s schedule with Lydia, I’m not sure whether they’re working exclusively this week. And then my own calendar, but I think Thursday might be free.”

“Well, just firecall me when you know for sure,” she said, ignoring her purpling husband, standing shock-still in the doorway.

“MIONE!”

She snickered, hugged Draco, one last time and pulled away, “Ta!” She waved, slipping past her husband on her way to the Floo.

Draco sniggered as Ron’s incredulous outrage echoed through the flat. “L-Lunch? With him? Mione?”

He leaned over his crossed arms on the countertop and outright laughed with Hermione’s sharp retort. “Shut it, Ronald Weasley. I won’t stand for you dictating my company anymore. Draco is my friend, whether you like it or not. Live with it!”

They’d actually had a very enjoyable lunch that Thursday. Hermione cheerfully grilled Draco for details about the experimental treatments and he explained all about his successes with Melissa Gregory. He caught her up on the doings of other mutual friends like Pansy and Blaise who she’d lost contact with after the break-up. He’d also surprised her when he shared that he and Neville would sometimes go round to Muggle pubs after shifts; places where they were sure not meet other Gryffindor alumni. Hermione was saddened by the lengths they’d had to go to keep their friendship intact in the face of some Gryffindors disapproval. Realising just how juvenile it had been, she was more saddened and shamed that her husband was one of the biggest and loudest detractors.

All in all it had been a good week for both Harry and Draco. Harry was making good progress with Lydia and his intensive mind-healing. He was more able to talk about his experiences and see more clearly how and why his responses had developed in the way they had. He started to be able to identify the unhealthy patterns he’d fallen back on for so long, how guilt and self-blame truly plagued him and how in great part he was primed for that kind of reaction from his abusive childhood.

They’d started talking openly about their relationship as well. It couldn’t be helped when Draco detailed the Saturday gathering for Harry, but he felt it was something he wanted and was ready to do as well. More often than not, these talks would happen at night whilst they were in bed, as they were still sleeping together. And once they’d decided that they were back together neither saw any reason for them to try and force themselves to part in the evenings. Hand in hand they’d go upstairs and prepare for bed, then slip in and talk to each other in hushed and quiet tones, reassuring with a touch, emphasizing with a kiss, until they’d fallen asleep.

It had been Monday when Harry reached a tentative hand across the small space that separated them in the bed.

“Healer Marsh and I talked about Saturday’s gathering at your flat today,” Harry had said quietly.

Draco rubbed his thumb over Harry’s knuckles reassuring him, that he was listing and open to talking. “Really? Now there’s a surprise.” He smirked playfully as Harry took their joined hands and bumped them against his chest. “Alight, alright. So did she fill in all I left out yesterday?”

“I know you told me everything, so there, you great pillock. No, actually we talked more about people’s reactions. And we talked about what it means that you told everyone we were together again.”

Draco’s expression was strained though it was hard for Harry to see him clearly in the dimmed room. He sighed, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that. I spoke for you without your having a say, and we’ve skirted around it, but we’ve never out and out decided that our ‘separation’ has ended.”

Harry smiled faintly. “I’m saying now. Our ‘separation’ is officially over. If you agree that is.”

“I agree. I never wanted to be apart from you to begin with, Harry.”

Harry feathered his fingers across Draco’s cheek, “I know. I’m sorry, Draco. I should’ve told you what was happening to me. I shouldn’t have taken out my fear and anger on you. I-I said some horrible things. But I didn’t mean it. I swear I didn’t.”

Draco moved closer to him on the bed. “I know that now, but that doesn’t make it hurt less. I don’t blame you for being in pain, Harry. You were trying to deal with something horrible. And I don’t want you to feel guilty; I just want you to understand why it hurt so much.” He waited until Harry seemed to nod, and continued, “You cut at me in the worst possible way. You said things that made me feel as though what we had between us was a lie. That I’d been an idiot to believe you could have ever loved me thinking about me, about us, that way.”

“But I did love you--I do love you!” Harry protested.

Draco shook his head, “You said things that made it seem you were ashamed of me, Harry. That I should be ashamed of myself. That there was something wrong, hideously distorted, in a fundamental part of myself. That being gay, that being myself, was wrong and disgusting. Lucius made me feel that way sometimes, that there was a fundamental flaw in me. After his trial I swore to myself that I’d never let anybody treat me that way again. It took me a long time to really believe in myself. I don’t mean the spoiled brat posturing and entitlement I projected in school. I mean really believe that I was a good and capable person. That I had something to offer the world that came just from me, not my family’s name or money. In a few sentences you shook that belief; my love for you gave you that much influence over my sense of self.”

“Draco,” came Harry’s pained whisper. “I--”

“No, Harry,” he reached out and laid his fingers delicately across Harry’s lips, “let me say this.” He paused, and broke it after with a short sharp exhalation. “You hurt me, Harry. You hurt me deep. We both understand why it happened now. You’re learning to deal with your pain, and so am I, and we do better together. But I won’t let you hurt me like that again. This isn’t an ultimatum, it’s a not warning meant to intimidate or pressure you. It’s just something I want you to keep in mind so you stop and think before you let something cruel fly. I won’t be hurt like that again. I’ll love you forever. I love you more than anything. And I love you enough to keep you from wounding your soul and mine, by being abusive. I love you enough to walk for good, Harry,” he said softly, but the surety of his words was undeniable.

Harry’s mouth slid against Draco’s face, nuzzling, searching, “Draco,” he whispered, when he’d reached soft full lips, “Draco. Never again. I promise. I know now. Never again. I love you,” he said finally, holding his mouth open and willing against his lover’s.

“I believe you,” Draco breathed into Harry’s mouth. He parted his lips further and slid his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

Epilogue

“You look lovely, Bookworm,” Draco smiled as Hermione twirled in her cornflower blue evening gown.

“Thank you. You were right, it’s a great colour on me and Ron both. Have you seen him in the dress robes I picked up?”

Draco shook his head snickering, “I haven’t. I’m sure he looks fine, though you’d best not let him hear that I was the one who suggested them when we were out shopping.”

She rolled her eyes, “I know. I know. He’s still such a prat about it. Oh look there’s Harry with Miss Gregory!” she pointed excitedly. “They both look wonderful. You should be proud, Draco.”

He smiled and followed her extended fingers through the hotel’s grand ballroom. Melissa Gregory did look absolutely beautiful. The girl glowed with vitality. Her cheeks were pink with health and laughter, the sable locks falling to her shoulders in curly waves were thick and lustrous, she stood straight and tall, no evidence of the ravages her body had endured. It was hard to believe that nearly two years ago she’d been so sick, her thin skin had hung from her tiny wasted frame, and what little hair she had was dry, brittle, and incredibly thin, much of it having fallen out leaving patches of her scalp exposed. Now she was healthy, and had been without any signs of the virus returning for a whole year.

Draco had pronounced her officially cured earlier in the week. And he was proud that his hard work and willingness to look for non-traditional treatments had had such a positive result. Not only for Melissa, but for several other witches and wizards who’d contracted the virus. But mostly, he was proud of Melissa, for never giving up hope, for fighting for herself, and believing in him. He beamed widely at his charge and his lover.

“I am proud--of them, Hermione. They’re the ones who did all the really hard work.” He gaze softened as he admired the man laughing at something Melissa said. Tall, and well-formed, he filled out his green trimmed black robes, deliciously. His tanned skin, glowing under the prismatic chandeliers, his green eyes, jewel-bright and sparkling. Harry was a vision. It had been a long road for Harry as well, healing from his rape and earlier childhood abuse, recovering from his resultant alcoholism.

He and Draco had gone slowly but surely, each determined not to lose the other as they worked through wounds from their own individual pasts and build a life together. It hadn’t been easy, flashbacks, and anger, frustration, shame, and guilt had to be worked through, understood, and dispersed. Needing safety had meant Harry had isolated himself for a while, becoming too dependent on Draco to be his shield from the outside world. Solving the problem of total social withdrawal and co-dependency had been some of the most difficult months in the last years. Eventually though Harry had reached out to his friends, who reached back enthusiastically, lovingly, and gently, letting Harry set the pace of their healing relationships so as not to be too overwhelmed.

He’d regained his physical health much sooner than his emotional equilibrium, and started working out at a Muggle gym. Kickboxing gave him a healthy outlet for some of his aggression, particularly when he’d had to deal with a few overly arrogant and insensitive students at the Auror academy, where he was now an instructor. It also gave him a musculature that was the envy of nearly every wizard in the room and had drawn more than a few appreciative looks from witches and wizards alike.

Draco smiled when Harry caught his eye and beckoned him over. He kissed Hermione’s cheek who giggled and mentioned something about the temperature in the room having shot up, then made his way over.

Harry slipped him arm around Draco slender waist and drew him closer when he’d reached the pair. “You’re the man of the hour, you can’t hide in a corner with Mione all night” he teased in greeting and kissed Draco’s cheek gently.

The healer smirked, “I most certainly am not. Malfoys don’t hide behind women. And besides none of these pompous windbags or simpering sycophants are here to brush elbows with me, they’re here in hopes that miracle girl will touch them and grace them with good health.” He winked at his young patient, “Honestly, Harry. Haven’t you seen them rubbing on Melissa like she’s a good luck charm all evening.”

Harry laughed, his eyes glittering, “They have, but we’ve set them straight. It seems most are too intimidated by the beefy Saviour of the Wizarding world to approach her while we’re together. So she’s going to stick with me until her dad makes the presentation.”

Draco smiled, “Oh I see, throwing your reputation around again. Some things never change, Potter. And you,” he wagged a teasing finger at the thirteen-year-old. You should know better than to associate with a man willing to do such a thing.”

Melissa giggled, her dark curls bouncing. “I’m not hiding behind his reputation, Healer Draco, just his bulk!”

Draco laughed, tossing his head back to show pearly teeth, and the long line of his neck. Harry swooped in and placed a kiss at its centre. Which made Melissa giggle harder. When he’d calmed he’d sent Harry a warning glare.

“I couldn’t help myself,” his lover shrugged. “You have the most alluring neck.”

Draco raised a brow, a small smile played against his lips. “Behave, Harry, young impressionable children are present.”

The broader man was about to respond when Melissa’s father, Pomponius Gregory, a wealthy businessman who’d left his wife and daughter penniless early during Melissa’s illness and returned to reconcile with his family, once the success of the treatments made international news, sidled up and draped his fleshy arm over his daughter’s shoulders. “I’ll be making the presentation now. Melissa, come with me. You too Marco. Director Chetford and Healer Jaggedhease will surely want you in the pictures.

Inwardly Draco cringed at the Mr. Gregory’s butchering of his boss’ name. But tactfully he said nothing as the inscrutable Malfoy mask fell into place. Cordial but cool, he nodded and gracefully slipped a tense and uncomfortable Melissa from under her father’s arm, placing her hand on his crooked elbow. “I would be honoured to escort you and Miss Gregory to the presentation stage, Mr. Gregory.”

Harry followed with narrowed eyes, as the sweaty, priggish little man, puffed out his chest and attempted to suck in his protruding belly. He’d grown fond of Melissa and her shy, quiet mother, Margaret. It rankled that this cowardly self-interested excuse of a man would use Melissa’s recovery to launch himself as a “man dedicated to family and the future,” in hopes of developing enough of a public following for a successful political career.

They reached the base of the stage, and Draco introduced Melissa to the officials from St. Mungo’s gathered there. “Melissa, my supervisor, Healer Jagadheesan. She’s Head Healer at the Wellness and Family Care Clinic. And this gentleman is Director Chetford who runs all of St. Mungo’s.”

Melissa dropped a small curtsey, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Healer Jagadheesan, a cheerful and intuitive woman, smiled kindly, her brown eyes warm and friendly. “It’s nice to finally meet you as well, Melissa. Though I’ve heard so much about you from Draco and Muriel. I feel like I know you already.”

Melissa smiled, “They talk a lot. I hope they said good things.”

“Of course, they said good things,” her father said smoothly, his unctuous voice dripping slimy sincerity, “who wouldn’t about such a sweet and cherubic little girl like you.”

Healer Jagadheesan subtly raised her brow, an expression that only Draco and Harry caught. Clearly she was unimpressed and Draco was again reminded how well his boss understood people and why he was glad to be working for her. Harry sniggered slightly and Draco gently elbowed him in the stomach, before he could break out chuckling. The exchange did not go unnoticed by Healer Jagadheesan, who rolled her eyes and smiled genuinely at them both, before removing Melissa from her father’s posturing. “Let’s start the presentation shall we?”

The presentation was much longer than it needed to be, but of course Pomponius Gregory wasn’t about to let this press-opportunity pass him by. With a script that read as though it had been penned by Rita Skeeter, he went on about his daughter’s ‘desperate struggle against this nefarious disease,’ and their family being shaken by the poor prognosis given by her healers. He blathered about his endless search for the best available medical resources and the pain of being separated from his wife and ailing daughter while on his quest. Harry couldn’t help but snort at that, though he covered with a cough and an apologetic look at Draco. Finally he thanked Director Chetford for making St. Mungo’s ‘a place of hope and healing.’ He also thanked Healer Jagadheesan, though he mangled her name again, and the dedicated staff of the Wellness and Family Care Clinic, including “Marco Dralfory, whose creative application of healing techniques saved my precious little girl.” He pulled out a handkerchief with a flourish and dabbed at his dry eyes. There was a snickering through the crowd, but people settled down soon enough when Director Chetford cleared his throat firmly and gave his own speech in response. Finally, Mr. Gregory handed over an enlarged cheque made out to St. Mungo’s for the establishment of the Gregory Experimental Medicine and Holistic Healing ward. Everyone on the stage was shoved closer as photographers from The Prophet and other media outlets snapped dozens of pictures. Finally Melissa was bundled off to the small flat where she and her mother been living since Pomponius had ejected them from their suburban home.

“It’s long past her bedtime you know,” her quiet mother who’d avoided the evening’s spotlight, said as she excused them. Pomponius, of course, would stay to schmooze before retiring to the large manor house he’d purchased on his return from his “quest to save Melissa” though he hadn’t yet convinced his wife or daughter to reside there, and if Draco had his way, the slick politician never would.

“That odious little man, I should--” Draco fumed until Harry stopped his mouth with a long and passionate kiss.

“He is. And you should. But you won’t because it wouldn’t befit the Head Healer of the Experimental Medicine and Holistic Healing ward would it?” Harry smiled when they’d surfaced.

I suppose not. He glowered at the crowd that had formed around Mr. Gregory and Director Chetford. He huffed out a breath, “One little hex, Harry…”

His lover smiled, “No. C’mon. The night’s still young and I have plans for you.”

Draco’s brow raised, “Do you now, Potter?”

Harry pecked his cheek, “I do. And none of them involve pompous men with delusions of grandeur.” Entwining their fingers, Harry pulled them to the ballroom’s exit.

Hours later, they were sleepy, sweaty, sated and tangled in each other’s arms. “You deserve this you know. You’re an excellent healer,” Harry murmured against Draco’s sex-flushed skin.

Draco chuckled as Harry brushed damp stands of hair away from his face. “Thank you, but you just shagged my brains out, you expect me to make conversation about work now?”

He felt Harry smile against his neck. “No. I was just thinking about it. I’m proud of you, Angel” he said solemnly, losing his smile.

Draco pulled back, stoking his hand down Harry’s heavily-muscled arm, “Harry? What is it?”

“You saved Melissa, you healed me--”

“You healed you.” Draco said firmly. He snuggled down to press a kiss against Harry’s golden chest.

“I wouldn’t have if not you Angel. You saved me.” Harry insisted, carding his hands though Draco’s fine white blond hair.

“I didn’t save you Harry. You worked hard to be healthy on your own.”

He huffed as Draco trailed his long fine boned fingers, his steady healing hands, over Harry’s shoulders. “Fine, we healed me together. We did it together.”

“Together,” Draco agreed, as a familiar heat rose in him, rapidly burning away his earlier languidness.

“Together forever, Draco? Really and truly forever?” Harry asked, and just that suddenly the heat in Draco was banked.

He sat up and narrowed his eyes at the quiet uncertainty in Harry’s voice. “What are you asking me?”

Harry linked their hands and gazed on them studiously. He spoke quietly into the rising silence between them. “Marry me.”

“Wha-Harry!”

Harry raised his face, “I’m serious, Angel, never been more serious about anything in my life. I want you to marry me. Be mine forever.”

“You’re serious.” Draco repeated, but not because he doubted his lover’s sincerity. He could see Harry’s longing, his vulnerability, how desperately he wanted this in his deep soulful eyes.

“Yes, I am.”

Draco smiled slowly, holding Harry’s gaze with his own and letting all that he was be seen there, offering it all to his lover, his friend, his partner, his survivor, his Harry. “Then yes, I will.”

End.