Chapter One: September

In the depths of the Ministry of Magic Headquarters, Harry Potter leaned his flushed forehead against the large glass panel that overlooked Courtroom Ten below. The room behind him was small and barren; with just a few burgundy armchairs lined up along the viewing window and a couple of worn wooden tables bookending them. The previous trial had ended fifteen minutes ago and a small number of Wizengamot members in their distinct plum-coloured robes were still milling about; whispering in small clusters and shooting furtive glances up at the window above their heads.

Harry blinked and turned away; knowing they couldn't see him through the heavily tinted glass but feeling conspicuous none-the-less.

"Harry, are you sure this is the wisest course of action for you right now?"

The weary Gryffindor collapsed into the nearest armchair, his head falling back against the uncomfortably firm backing. "Why do you say right now?" he replied with closed eyes, voice heavy with exhaustion.

Arthur Weasley, sitting in the chair to his left, turned to face him with a look of concern on his face. "I just meant that you haven't stopped since defeating You-Know-Who. We're all very impressed by your fortitude Harry, but… don't you think it's time to take a break?"

Harry turned his head and opened one eye. "And why exactly are you encouraging me to take a break today of all days Mr. Weasley?"

Arthur smiled indulgently at the boy whom he would always think of as an unofficial son. "I can't pretend that today doesn't hold any significance in that respect Harry, but you look worn out. Truly you do."

Harry smiled derisively. "I am taking a break; I have the next six months to lay about the house."

Arthur pinned him with a pointed stare. "You know as well as I do that rehabilitating Death Eaters or their families is no easy task; it's hard work and takes constant patience and strength of will. And this is no ordinary case Harry; you have a history with Lucius' son."

Harry sighed and rubbed at tired eyes beneath his glasses. "I know, believe me, if any other willing volunteer had stepped forward, I would have happily passed Malfoy off to them, but no one wanted to take him on. You know as well as I do that Malfoy would not do well at the Centre, so it was either me or Azkaban."

"Then why not Azkaban?"

Harry looked at Mr. Weasley sharply but there was no malice in the familiar gaze, merely curiosity. Harry heaved another heavy sigh, knowing he was going to have to repeat his reasons more than once. "You know why not," he said quietly. "Any Death Eater or Voldemort supporter that hasn't knowingly or actively killed or severely injured another witch or wizard during the war has a chance at redemption. Malfoy and I did not exactly see eye to eye while we were at school together, and he's always been a right prat to me, but, as I said during the trial, I witnessed enough of what he's capable of to know that he doesn't belong in Azkaban with his father."

Mr. Weasley nodded thoughtfully. "Lucius most certainly made his fair share of unforgiveable choices, but his mother saved your life, didn't she?"

"Yes she did."

"And you're hoping that young Draco has enough of his mother in him to make this worth your while?"

"Fingers crossed," Harry replied with a weak smile.

"Well," Arthur exclaimed after a beat, slapping his hands on his knees and getting to his feet. "I wish you all the best Harry. If anyone can get through to him, I believe you can. You know you can visit me and Molly any time you need to get away from Grimmauld Place for a while."

"Of course, thanks Mr. Weasley," Harry said gratefully. Arthur gave his shoulder a quick squeeze before he walked out of the viewing room and headed back to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.

Harry exhaled and slid further down in his seat, dropping his head into his hands. It had been a particularly stressful day and the headache that had been steadily simmering between his temples for the past few hours had now burgeoned into a full-on migraine. He knew he should have drunk more water during the trial; the ordeal had been long and tense to say the least.

Harry opened his eyes and peered through his fingers, remembering the look on Malfoy's face when the Chief Warlock had informed him of what was going to happen to him: the Slytherin's expression had remained almost unchanged but for the slight paling of his face and the hardening of grey eyes. He'd half expected Malfoy to speak up and choose Azkaban instead but, in the end, the blond had simply nodded his head in silent acceptance, refusing to make eye contact with Harry.

Harry frowned, absently biting his lip as he began to think about what sort of approach was going to work with Malfoy. He knew he could expect icy silence, bitterness, name calling, and most definitely rage, probably violent outbursts as well, it was just a question of how best to react in order to facilitate Malfoy's eventual release into wizarding society again.

In the fourteen months since the fall of Voldemort and the end of the war, Harry had made a career of helping to rehabilitate the children of Death Eaters; whether the parents were locked away in Azkaban or not. His work entailed undoing years of brainwashing, which was no easy task.

Harry's frown deepened. While Malfoy was technically the son of a Death Eater, he also posed a risk of being a conflict of interest. Malfoy held him in contempt not only from what his parents brought him up to believe but also from his own personal experience. This wasn't just family beliefs and narrow-minded views passed on from parents that he was dealing with this time; this was going to take a lot more work to dispel. Moreover, he would have to set aside his own feelings and be completely professional with Malfoy; he literally held the Slytherin's life in his hands.

Harry shook his head with a muted groan, this was all so complicated. He knew the next six months were probably going to be the toughest and most trying of his new career.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry looked up to see Auror Bendle standing in the open doorway, one of two Aurors that always assisted him at the onset of a new case. "Hi Johannes, ready for me?" he asked, pushing himself to his feet with great effort and trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head.

"Are you alright?" Auror Bendle inquired as they strode down the corridor towards the spiral staircase that led back down to level ten.

Harry shot him a quick reassuring smile. "Yeah, long day, that's all."

"I don't imagine you're looking forward to this particular case," Johannes said, looking amused despite his best efforts at trying to maintain a professional exterior.

Harry snorted. "You imagine correctly."

He'd always liked Auror Bendle; the man was very good at his job but didn't take things too seriously. He was a tall wizard of German decent, with dark wavy hair, hazel eyes and never without a pair of unique black framed glasses. The fact that they were close in age also contributed to their easy camaraderie. Johannes' partner, Auror Hipwell, was also very good at his job but a little more introverted and didn't spend much time on idle chit-chat. Both of them treated Harry just like any other wizard though, which he was eternally grateful for.

Harry followed him into the little antechamber adjacent to Courtroom Ten. The small stone-walled room was empty save for a well-used fireplace blackened with soot which was connected to the Floo Network. Harry grabbed a handful of Floo powder, allowing some of the soft cool grains to slip through his fingers soothingly for a moment before stepping into the fireplace.

He took a deep breath, tried not to roll his eyes at Johanne's smirking face, then threw the powder into the flames while simultaneously calling out, "twelve Grimmauld Place!"

He was instantly whirled away in a rush of emerald green flames and deposited into the fireplace in the front drawing room of the old Black residence. He quickly stepped out into the gloomy room and dusted off his robes while waiting for Auror Bendle to appear. Only himself, his two Aurors, and now Malfoy, were keyed into the wards of Grimmauld Place. Even Ron and Hermione were banned from entering the dilapidated house when he had a client residing with him.

Auror Bendle appeared in the fireplace with a great whoosh of air just as Auror Hipwell peered around the doorframe from the entry hall.

"Ah you're here Mr. Potter," he said, looking relieved.

Harry raised his brow at the look of relief on the Auror's face. "Where is he?"

"Kitchen," he replied, inclining his head to the right.

Harry stepped past him and strode down the hall towards the narrow staircase that led down to the kitchen. He quickly clamped down on the anxiety that began to bloom in his gut at what lay ahead of him and forced himself to think of Malfoy as just another faceless wizard that needed his help - whether he wanted it or not.

He sensed rather than heard his two Aurors hot on his heels behind him as he descended the stairs and entered the large galley-style kitchen. His gaze quickly landed on the figure seated on the opposite side of the dusty table from him. Harry took in the stiff posture, crossed arms and furious expression in less than one second and instantly switched into 'psychoanalyst mode.'

"Hi Draco," he greeted quietly and without inflection. He had decided after the trial to address Malfoy by his first name as a means of distancing the present situation from their tumultuous Hogwarts relationship as much as possible. The name felt very strange on his tongue indeed.

Malfoy kept his steely gaze glued to Harry's face but made no move to speak or acknowledge him in any way.

Harry met his gaze unwaveringly for a moment before turning to the two silent Aurors behind him. His eyes widened slightly when he saw that both of them had their wands drawn and at the ready by their sides. "If you guys want to secure the house and set up the fields now, I think we'll be alright here."

They both nodded, eyes flicking to Malfoy for a lingering moment before turning to head back to the front entryway. Harry took a quick steadying breath before turning back around and stepping further into the room.

"Mind if I sit down?" Harry asked, pointing at the chair opposite his new charge.

The thinning of lips and flaring of nostrils was the only indication that Malfoy had even heard him.

"Or I can stand." Harry smiled benignly and rested his hands on the back of the chair. "Either way, we're going to make an attempt at conversation. There are a few things I need to tell you, and I'm sure you have loads of questions for me." Harry paused and he could practically hear Malfoy's teeth grinding together. "Things would go a lot smoother if you just accepted the situation and moved on," he added, hoping his words might provoke a reaction.

Grey eyes narrowed and Harry saw them flicker almost imperceptibly to the corridor over Harry's shoulder. He instantly knew that Malfoy was waiting for the Aurors to be out of earshot before venturing any sort of response.

Harry kept his smile firmly in place as he decided to drop into the chair uninvited. "They're going to be at it for a while so I might as well make myself comfortable and tell you a few things while we wait," he said calmly. The Slytherin's gaze instantly slid from Harry's face to stare fixedly at a point off to his left. Harry continued, unperturbed. "The Aurors are setting up some security measures that you should know about. Firstly, there will be a magical dampening field over the entire household. Meaning, neither you nor anyone else within the walls of this house will be able to perform magic. Everything must be done the Muggle way," he couldn't help adding. "The Floo will be disconnected from the Network shortly and the only way in and out will be the front door." Harry took a breath and plunged on. "The front door will not open for you. While I can come and go as I please, no one else may enter the house other than me and the two Aurors you saw earlier."

Harry paused and eyed Malfoy speculatively, allowing him time to speak if he so wished. He took a moment to look over Malfoy's appearance while the blond's gaze was diverted. He was dressed in finely tailored clothing; charcoal grey wool trousers, white button-up shirt and black overcoat that looked like it cost more than Harry's entire wardrobe put together. Malfoy's gleaming blond hair was neat and tidy but he couldn't hide the dark circles beneath those guarded grey eyes. His cheeks were also slightly hollower than Harry suspected they would be if the man was in perfect health.

Finally the blond head turned towards him, expression very carefully controlled. "What makes you qualified for this job Potter?" he asked, voice fraught with tension.

"Experience," Harry replied simply, watching him.

The slight lip curl of disdain instantly transported Harry back to their time at Hogwarts and he wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

"I'm also completing studies in Developmental Psychology," Harry added, a part of him wanting Malfoy to know that this wasn't just some hobby he was trying out for amusement.

The resulting flash of mingled fury and contempt in Malfoy's eyes was sharp and swift. Harry could have kicked himself for his idiocy; for mentioning the fact that he'd been free to follow a career and study while Malfoy had been stuck in limbo with the Ministry. He had to keep reminding himself that this was Malfoy, and that everything between the two of them was, and always had been, a competition.

Harry cleared his throat and the wooden chair beneath him creaked as he shifted uncomfortably. "So… any other questions?" he asked.

The contempt remained in the grey eyes as Malfoy glared at him. "Yes," he practically hissed, "where do I lodge a formal complaint?"

"What about?" Harry asked with a slight frown.

"About how the Ministry saw fit to put my life in the hands of Harry-fucking-Potter."

Harry swallowed and wished he had a headache potion to drown out the throbbing in his head; it was making it hard to concentrate, and keeping on his toes was imperative when dealing with Malfoy. "Look, I know this situation isn't ideal, I tried to get someone else to take your case but…" he trailed off, realising that there wasn't a way to finish that sentence without insulting him.

Malfoy's jaw clenched as he held Harry's gaze. "This is fucking absurd; the Ministry is letting you swan about pretending to be some sort of therapist just because you're the Boy-Who-Lived."

Harry dropped his pleasant let's-let-bygones-be-bygones attitude and decided to be straightforward. "Yeah, you're right. I would never have gotten this position so quickly if I wasn't Harry-fucking-Potter," he replied candidly. "But that doesn't mean that I don't know what I'm doing or that I don't care. The Ministry didn't force me into this, I asked for it. This is what I want to do."

"You want to help Death Eaters?" Draco replied with icy cynicism.

"I want to help innocent people, yes," Harry said with a shrug. "Is that so hard to believe?"

"Yes, it is," he returned tersely. "You didn't help my father."

"Your father…?" Harry's lips parted in surprise. "He wasn't innocent."

Malfoy's eyes flashed dangerously. "And I am?"

Harry frowned; he was much too exhausted for verbal sparring of this magnitude. "Yes I think you are," he informed him with stubborn conviction.

Grey eyes narrowed, calculating. "You do realise just how fucked up this is, don't you Potter?"

"How so?" Harry responded, just managing to hold back a weary sigh at Malfoy's dizzying changes in topics.

"You're allowing the Ministry to essentially lock me up against my will, no contact with the outside world, for six fucking months! How is that any more civilised than something the Dark Lord would do?"

Harry rubbed his temple absently, he suspected his brain was now trying to pound its way out of his skull. "You can have visitors at a later stage Malfoy," he replied, unconsciously slipping back to the use of his surname. "And with regards to your incarceration, as you put it, that was the only way the Ministry would allow any witch or wizard related to a Death Eater back into society while appeasing the general public at the same time. Some thought all Death Eaters and their families should've just been thrown into Azkaban, no questions asked. This way, while perhaps not the most humane, was the only way."

"And I should be grateful for it?" Malfoy snapped.

"Yeah you should," Harry couldn't help snapping back, and then he sighed and shook his head slightly. "How about I give you a tour of the place?" he said, attempting to regain his composure.

Malfoy glared at him and Harry watched as the angry heat in his eyes faded to cool indifference. "Just show me to my room," he finally replied.

"Please," Harry muttered under his breath as he got to his feet. How was it that Malfoy was able to provoke an emotional response out of him in less than five minutes? It was as though the last fourteen months of growth and experience had been suddenly and equivocally thrown out the window.

"This way." Harry quickly turned and headed up the stairs, not waiting to see if Malfoy was following him or not. He could feel his face flushing as he walked; this was not a good start. Regardless of the fact that Malfoy was asking to see his room, Harry knew that the Slytherin was in no way close to accepting the situation; the argument was clearly not over. Only one hundred and seventy-nine days to go, he thought sardonically.

He entered the front hallway to see his two Aurors finishing up some wand work on the front door. They both turned at Harry's entrance; eyes flicking from Harry's tense expression to something over his shoulder and he knew that Malfoy had indeed decided to follow him.

"Everything okay Mr. Potter?" Johannes asked, assessing Malfoy with a cool stare.

Harry forced a quick smile and nodded. "Just showing Mr. Malfoy his room," he explained.

"I'll accompany you." And Harry knew the statement brooked no argument.

Harry glanced behind him as he rounded the top of the staircase on the second floor. Malfoy was a few steps behind with Auror Bendle bringing up the rear; intense gaze trained to the back of Malfoy's head and wand in hand. A wry smile pulled at Harry's lips as he turned back around and proceeded to the third floor.

He pushed open the door of the master suite and glanced in at the worn furnishings, bracing himself for what was sure to be an onslaught of haughty disdain from Malfoy about the state of his lodgings.

The tall blond merely strode past, back straight, and slammed the door shut without so much as a backwards glance at either of them.

"Charming," Johannes concluded with a raised brow.

Harry removed his glasses to rub at dry eyes. "Yeah well, that's Malfoy for you; pureblood manners and all that rot."

Auror Bendle smiled in amusement and sheathed his wand as he turned away from the closed door. "We have more work to do, are you going to be alright?"

Harry nodded as he replaced his glasses back on his nose. "I think I'm going to have a quick lie down actually."

Johannes nodded and followed Harry back down to the second floor where Harry's bedroom was located, directly underneath the master suite; a simple, non-magical way to listen to what his charge was up to during the night.

"I'll let you know when we're finished," Johannes said as Harry paused in the open doorway of his room. "All of His Highness' belongings were brought up to his room so hopefully he won't grace us with his presence again today."

"You don't like him much do you?" Harry noted interestedly.

"I don't trust him," the Auror replied simply before turning away and heading back down the stairs to his partner.

Harry shut the door to his room and leaned back against it, exhaling heavily. After a minute of steady breathing with eyes shut, he pushed himself off of the door and strode over to his bed, removing his glasses as he went and dropping them to the small bedside table before flopping back onto his bed, the surface of which was a tangled mess of twisted sheets.

Harry threw an arm over his eyes and emitted a quiet moan as he replayed his conversation with Malfoy over again. How could things have fallen apart so quickly? He thought he'd been mentally prepared for Malfoy's attacks, and really, the man had some valid points. So why couldn't Harry have kept it together and calmly answered each question?

It was his job to re-educate Death Eater children about letting go of the past and opening up their minds to a different world than the one they thought they knew - and he couldn't even do it himself!

Harry removed his arm and looked up at the ceiling, listening to the muted creaking of the floorboards as Malfoy moved about his room. The Slytherin was obviously checking out his new accommodation as his footsteps meandered around the perimeter of the room and over to the window; which Harry knew for a fact was coated in grime and could barely be called a window any more. The footsteps retreated back to the centre of the room and Harry heard the distant sound of mattress springs squeaking as the man sat on the bed, then silence.

Harry rolled over onto his side and closed his eyes.

. . . .

Harry shut the front door behind his two Aurors and listened to the loud click and sudden humming of the security charms with satisfaction. Everything was now in place; all he had to do was live in this house with Draco Malfoy for the next six months and hope that they didn't kill each other.

After glancing at the empty stairway, Harry turned and wandered into the kitchen to find something for dinner. He began to feel a familiar sense of routine wash over him as he put together a sandwich, ears perked for any sounds that may come from above. Every first day always began the same: client was brought into the house, was angry, silent or just plain uncooperative, and then locked themselves away in their bedroom for as long as they could hold out for without food or drink. They were usually downstairs by morning.

Harry upended a bag of crisps onto his plate beside the ham sandwich and settled in at the long empty table to begin munching on his meal. He had thought about keeping a house-elf for extra help and protection at Grimmauld Place but had quickly discarded the idea. He liked that it was just the two of them, it felt fairer; as though he was putting himself on equal footing with his "guest." Some people, namely Hermione, thought he was foolish and taking unnecessary risks with his safety.

Harry paused in his chewing when he thought he heard a noise from the direction of the front hallway. Surely Malfoy wasn't venturing out of his room already?

He couldn't help but smirk when he heard the quick indrawn breath and quiet swearing, indicating that Malfoy had attempted to touch the front door.

Harry carefully smoothed his expression and continued to eat his meal nonchalantly, waiting for his charge to appear.

He didn't have to wait long.

Malfoy stalked into view around the doorframe, scowl firmly in place and one hand absently rubbing his right palm, which was no doubt still prickling from the attempted security breach. He stopped upon seeing Harry and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Hungry?" Harry asked, breaking the silence as he placed his sandwich back down on his plate.

Haughty grey eyes flicked to his paltry meal and Malfoy's mouth immediately sneered in distaste. "No."

"Suit yourself." Harry shrugged, but kept his eyes on the blond as he continued to stand, watching him eat.

With a much put-upon sigh, Malfoy entered the kitchen and slowly perched on one of the empty chairs on the opposite side of the table to Harry. The blond swallowed and seemed to be searching for the right words - or perhaps attempting to control his temper. Harry waited patiently, popping another salty crisp into his mouth and crunching.

"It would seem that I… have a few more questions," he began, sounding extremely reluctant and looking as though he was loathing every minute of being in Harry's company.

"Fire away," Harry replied.

Grey eyes immediately darted to his face. "It would help the situation if you stopped being so fucking chirpy Potter," he ground out.

Harry blinked in surprise. "Sorry," he replied, "I'll try to rein that in." He refused to give in to the smile that twitched at his lips.

Malfoy narrowed his eyes but refrained from further comment. "Since you and the Ministry are determined to keep me caged here for the next six months, I assume there will be some sort of schedule to follow?"

"Not really." Harry absently licked the salt from his fingers as he answered. "I will sit down with you at least once a day for a session but the rest of the time is yours to do with as you wish."

For some reason this only seemed to incense the Slytherin, and Harry thought he caught a flash of… panic?

"And you don't expect me to go mad?" Malfoy demanded.

"Mad with… too much free time?"

He sighed in irritation and ran an errant hand through his hair before looking back at Harry. "Yes, you nitwit, am I supposed to just sit and stare at the wall for the rest of the sixteen hours a day not filled with sleeping or sitting on your bloody therapy couch?"

"Well no," Harry replied with a frown. "There's a library full of books you're welcome to explore."

"And?"

Harry raised his brow and glanced around as though searching for inspiration.

Malfoy made a sound of impatience and clenched his hands around the edge of the worn table. "Well, what do you do here when you don't have patients Potter?" he asked as though speaking to a toddler.

"You're not a patient," Harry replied automatically. "I dunno, I… study and… eat."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Thrilling," he bit out.

Harry's answering smile was bitter. "I don't want thrilling in my life anymore."

Grey eyes stared at him intently for a moment then shifted away. "And what, pray tell, will my therapy sessions comprise of?" he asked instead.

Harry dusted his hands of crumbs and pushed his plate towards the centre of the table, leaving the rest of his crisps for Malfoy to take if he so wished, which he highly doubted.

"Talking," he replied vaguely, placing his forearms on the table and leaning on them. "I need to assess your mental state."

"You are going to assess my mental state?" he repeated caustically, bringing his gaze back to Harry's face with one finely arched brow. "The man who was connected to a psychotic madman, talked to snakes and had fits in the middle of class?"

"Yes, the very same," Harry quipped, holding his gaze.

"Fucking Ministry," Malfoy murmured under his breath, but not so quiet that Harry didn't catch it. "And if you deem me to be mentally unstable, what then?"

"It's not quite as simple as all that but, Azkaban. Essentially."

Malfoy's lips thinned, grey eyes darkening with condemnation. "You must love this Potter; holding my life in your hands."

"Actually I don't," Harry refuted swiftly. "I don't want you to go to Azkaban, I don't think you belong there Draco."

"Why do you keep saying that?"

"What? Your given name or that I think you're a good person?"

"Both!" he snapped.

Harry averted his gaze and took a breath, refusing to be caught up in Malfoy's emotional frustration this time. "I want to use your name because I never did at Hogwarts and I'm not the same person I was back then and neither are you." He paused as he lifted his steady gaze back to Malfoy's face. "And you are a good person; you couldn't murder a man, not even to save your own life."

Malfoy held his gaze, grey eyes full of too many emotions for Harry to pinpoint any single one. "Perhaps not, but you don't know half the things I did for him. Believe me, I am not a good person Potter."

Harry tilted his head to one side thoughtfully. "Why are you trying to convince me that you're evil? You already called Voldemort a psychotic madman, so I know you didn't believe in him or his cause. I imagine you did what was necessary to survive, just like dozens of others, just like Snape."

"What about what I did to you Potter?" he replied. "I broke your nose and left you for dead on the train, I tried to get you expelled and in trouble more times than I can count…"

Harry smiled grimly. "Sectumsempra," he countered simply.

The blond paused for only a fraction of a second and then, "I let Death Eaters into the castle; they could have killed you or taken you to the Dark Lord. Everything could have ended differently."

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes I suppose that's true but that wasn't your intent, it would've been an accident."

Malfoy roughly shoved a hand through his hair again, the loosened strands now falling around his strained expression.

Harry frowned, wondering why Malfoy was pushing the issue. Did he not think he was worthy of saving? Of being allowed to live a normal life once more? He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. "You went to trial Draco, the Wizengamot agreed that you were not an immediate threat and that you should have a chance at a normal life. Believe me when I say that the same courtesy is not granted to every witch or wizard who appears before them."

Malfoy lifted his face, grey eyes peering out at him from between strands of platinum blond. "And do you fight for all of them?" he asked, hostile tone slightly softened for the first time.

"No, just the ones I know are deserving of a second chance," Harry replied honestly.

"And how many of those have there been?" he asked pointedly.

"You're the second."

"And why didn't you send me to your Saviour Centre?" Malfoy pressed, unable to mask the interest in his tone even as he held tight to his expression of derision.

Harry surprised himself by chuckling. "You know, I actually prefer that name. It was the Minister's idea to use my bloody name in the title and I just went along with it so that they would be supportive of the project."

Malfoy sat back in his chair, absently pushing his hair back into place and looking slightly less tense.

"I prefer to just call it The Centre," Harry continued, "and I didn't recommend you for that facility because you don't belong there."

"Why?"

The Slytherin's tone was blatantly curious now and Harry was compelled to answer truthfully. "Because I didn't think that you would be treated fairly."

Malfoy frowned slightly, a tiny crease appearing between knitted brows. "How so?"

Harry shifted in his seat, his backside beginning to ache from sitting on such a hard surface for so long. "Because while the staff is a well-educated group, they are still human and prone to-"

"Prejudice?" he inserted perceptively.

Harry nodded. "For the most part they are completely impartial, but when it comes to some of the more well-known Death Eater families, I fear they fall a bit short of being completely neutral. Human nature, I suppose."

Grey eyes narrowed and the tension was back in an instant. "Wouldn't that mean their biased treatment would affect the patient's outcome?"

"It would if I let people at risk go there. That's why I run treatment out of my home as well," Harry explained and then sighed. "I know it's not a perfect system but it's all we have."

Malfoy fell into a thoughtful silence, a frown still marring his pale face. Harry subtly shifted in his seat once more, not wanting to end their first civil conversation just yet. Malfoy's willingness to talk to him was completely unexpected.

"Are you not human Potter?"

Harry blinked. "What?"

Malfoy looked up with narrowed eyes but Harry thought he saw a hint of a smirk in there somewhere. The Slytherin suddenly stood up, fingertips just brushing the top of the table as he stood looking down on Harry. "If it's human nature to succumb to bouts of prejudice, then why don't you?"

Harry watched as Malfoy turned and left the room without another word.

He shook his head, not quite able to comprehend what had just happened. He reached forward and pulled his plate back towards him along the dusty surface of the table, leaving a clear trail on the dark wood in its wake. He scooped the remainder of the crisps into one hand and munched on them as he replayed their conversation over again in his head, storing away the interesting and helpful tidbits that Malfoy had unwittingly divulged about himself for further dissection.

. . . .

Early the next morning, Harry was once more in the kitchen, finishing off his breakfast and downing a tall glass of orange juice. He hadn't heard a sound yet from Malfoy's room and he wondered if the blond was a late sleeper or if he had regressed back to spiteful avoidance.

Harry set his dirty dishes in the sink then wandered into the ground floor library to do some studying while he waited.

Two hours later and the Slytherin had yet to make his move. Harry flipped his textbook shut with a sigh and stretched his aching neck. Malfoy was either the most patient strategist he'd ever seen - or the most stubborn. Harry suspected it was the latter.

He decided to initiate first contact himself and rose from the table, heading straight to the third floor master suite and knocking on the door. The door could be locked from the inside but Harry always made a point of knocking and waiting, even though he had the key on a thin chain around his neck, hidden away under his jumper. The key was in fact a master key that would open any door at Grimmauld Place - bar the magically sealed front entrance.

"What?" came the irritated response.

"Everything alright?" Harry asked through the door, disappointed but not surprised that the Slytherin had reverted back to his defensive mechanisms. "Draco?" he called when there was no answer forthcoming.

"Yes Potter, everything is bloody rainbows and butterflies in here," he drawled witheringly.

Harry couldn't help but smile in amusement. He was used to anger and rage from his clients, not disparaging sarcasm. He wasn't so naive as to think that it was anything other than a cover for whatever emotions were lurking beneath, but it still made a refreshing change. "You must be starving, why don't you come get some breakfast?"

There was a pause and then the sound of the door unlocking. Sharp grey eyes peered out through a small crack in the door. "Do you have any decent coffee in this godforsaken place Potter?"

"Uhh… not sure, I'm more of a tea drinker," he replied with a shrug. "I can pick some up for you if you wish, just let me know what kind."

Malfoy sighed and opened the door a little further, keeping one hand on the doorframe.

"Have you been… cleaning?" Harry exclaimed, green eyes widening in shock behind his glasses as he took in the tidy bedroom behind the ill-tempered blond.

"Focus Potter!" Malfoy demanded, snapping his fingers in front of Harry's face.

Harry flinched and his startled gaze flew back to Malfoy's aggravated expression.

"Cof-fee," he said slowly. "TAP. Rathbone Place. Kiriaini blend."

"Am I meant to understand any part of that?" Harry finally replied when there was no further clarification.

Grey eyes flared with annoyance.

Harry sighed and withdrew a small notepad and pencil from his pocket. He paused with the pencil poised over the paper and waited silently, gaze flicking back to Malfoy's face expectantly.

The fractious Slytherin repeated himself through clenched teeth and Harry jotted it down in his messy scrawl.

"What is-" Harry began to ask but the door was promptly shut in his face and locked. He barely controlled the impulse to kick it and forced himself to turn away and walk down the stairs.

Harry slipped the notepad and pencil back into his pocket and grabbed his coat from next to the front door. He needed some air - and clearly Malfoy needed some caffeine.

Harry slipped through the front entrance, listening to the wards seal behind him as he walked up the footpath. He didn't normally like to leave a client alone in the house so early on in their treatment but it was clearly an emergency and he promised himself that he wouldn't be long. The security wards prevented self-harm, so he knew Malfoy couldn't get into too much mischief without him.

. . . .

"And then he just slammed the door in my face!"

Hermione bit back the 'I told you so' on the tip of her tongue and merely nodded. "What did you think was going to happen Harry?" she asked instead. "I mean, it's Malfoy. Did you really expect him to be amenable to the situation?"

Harry sighed and side-stepped the rather plump woman walking up the footpath in the opposite direction. After he'd left the house, he'd called in on Hermione at the Ministry to see if she felt like taking a walk with him. Thankfully she was able to interpret Malfoy's coded message and they were currently off to a coffee shop called TAP in central London for the blond's specialised coffee.

"No, not really," he replied. "Last night he seemed… willing to cooperate though. The potential was definitely there."

Hermione slipped her hands into the pockets of her moss-green Muggle coat to help ward off the early September chill in the air. "I just can't help thinking that there's too much bad blood between the two of you for this to work out," she said hesitantly. "You're brilliant at your job Harry, but…"

"It's Malfoy?" Harry supplied sourly.

She tucked a couple of wayward strands of curly hair behind her ear as she glanced sideways at her best friend. "You can't be offended Harry, he's not at all like any patient you've had so far."

"They're not patients," Harry corrected automatically. "He's still the son of a Death Eater who has an inborn hatred of all things Harry Potter, so in the grand scheme of things, it shouldn't be any different. I think the problem lies with me; I think I just need to find a way to forget that I ever knew him before yesterday."

"Good luck with that," Hermione said with a laugh.

Harry snorted at her amused expression and shook his head.

"Does he look the same?" she asked curiously after a few minutes of silence.

"Er… yes and no," he finally replied. "He still pulls the same irritating expressions, but he definitely looks older. And he's not quite as immature as he used to be, more controlled with his emotions. Which is probably a bad thing," he surmised despondently. He didn't mention the fact that Malfoy had a dark circles under his eyes or that he was a little bit on the thin side.

"I still can't believe you took him on," Hermione said, not for the first time, as they stepped into the warmth of TAP Coffee together.

Harry noted that all the other patrons wore the same sort of expensive clothing that Malfoy had been wearing last night and he wondered why he didn't fully appreciate earlier that it was of Muggle origin.

"I mean, you and Malfoy are going to be living together for six months," she emphasized as they joined the queue. "I'm worried about your safety Harry. Are you so sure he's not going to try something?"

Harry turned to her. "No I don't think he will, and if he does," he added as an after-thought, "then he doesn't deserve my help and he can rot in Azkaban with his father. But he does deserve a second chance. Even you have to admit that 'Mione."

Hermione pursed her lips and glanced up at the wooden menu board above their heads. "Yes, I suppose he does," she agreed grudgingly. "You'll never catch Ron admitting to that though."

Harry grinned at her as they stepped up to the register to place their order.

Twenty minutes later, Harry walked out of the café with a paper carrier bag full of ground Kiriaini coffee, a new shiny aluminum Cafetiere and a fancy milk frother.

"Know what the strangest part of this has been so far?" Harry asked as they walked back towards the Ministry building together.

"Hmm?"

"I decided to call him by his first name while we're living under the same roof and it's bloody awkward."

Hermione laughed. "I bet it really annoys him."

Harry chuckled. "Yeah I think it does, but I can't stop now, I'll look completely inept."

They both smiled as they fell into an easy silence as they maneuvered the busy London streets.

"Well, good luck Harry," Hermione said sincerely once they'd arrived back at the red phone box. "You know you can vent to me any time you need to." She paused, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth, loose strands of spiralled hair blowing across her face in the cool breeze. "I hope you realize how messy this is going to get," she said, suddenly solemn.

"Messy?" Harry repeated with a frown.

"Yes, messy," she stressed. "It's going to be emotional and challenging - and not just for Malfoy. I feel… I feel like this case is going to change you Harry."

Harry smiled fondly at his friend, tucking his free hand into his pocket. "Impossible, I won't ever change," he promised affably. "I know it's going to be difficult though, I'm not that deluded."

Hermione forced a smile and nodded. "Be careful," she stated simply before turning and walking into the old red phone box.

Harry waved her off before heading to the nearest Apparation Point.

"Draco?" Harry called out as he entered the house, paper carrier bag still clutched in one hand and the string beginning to press uncomfortably into his skin from the weight of it. "I've got your coffee."

He closed the door behind him and kicked off his grubby trainers, hoping the promise of caffeine would be enough to lure the Slytherin out of his room. He'd refused Hermione's lesson on how to make coffee with his fancy new equipment in order to leave the teaching to Malfoy; something he hoped would help slide the scale back towards middle ground between the two of them. If Malfoy could teach him a thing or two during his stay then maybe he wouldn't be so averse to allowing Harry to do the same in return.

He hoped.

"It's about time Potter."

Harry looked up to see Malfoy striding down the stairs towards him, glower firmly in place. "I wasn't even gone an hour," Harry replied, bemused. He pulled the bag in towards his body when Malfoy reached for it. "Mind showing me how to use this stuff?" he asked congenially.

Malfoy merely glared at him a moment, clearly waging some sort of internal struggle. "Fine," he finally said, jaw clenched as he held out his hand for the bag once more.

Harry handed it over and followed the tall blond down the hallway into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and watched as Malfoy grabbed a spare rag and wiped down the dusty counter before unpacking the carrier bag and methodically setting everything out on the cleaned surface.

"Why don't you have a house-elf?" Malfoy demanded impertinently.

"Don't need one," Harry replied with shrug.

Malfoy levelled him with a pointed stare before continuing to remove the packaging from the Cafetiere. "Yes you do Potter; you're an absolute slob and somehow you have no idea how disgusting this place is. It isn't fit for human habitation. I cannot believe you use this place as a business, let alone your home, and allow it to be this revolting."

Harry sunk his teeth into his bottom lip to keep from flinging back the defensive retort that was on the tip of his tongue.

Malfoy glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as he opened the ground coffee. "Why don't you say whatever it is you're thinking Potter?" he goaded.

Harry swallowed and counted to ten before replying. "How about you just show me how to make your pretentious coffee?"

The Slytherin made no response as he filled the bottom tank of the Cafetiere with water then measured out the finely ground coffee.

Harry had to count to ten again as Malfoy continued to work without giving Harry the benefit of any further instruction. "How much do you put in?" Harry finally asked stiffly.

He balled his hands into fists when there was no answer forthcoming. He could feel the angry flush working its way up his neck as he stood there staring at the smug blond, willing him to just fucking cooperate for once in his life.

"Oh for fuck's sake Malfoy!" he finally exploded, turning away from the counter and flinging his arms up in the air in a helpless gesture of defeat.

"Is there a problem Potter?" Malfoy asked with a smirk, calmly placing the shiny Cafetiere onto the hob and igniting the gas beneath it.

"I don't know if it's escaped your notice Malfoy," Harry retorted furiously, "but you have to spend the next six months in this house with me, so why the fuck would you make this more miserable than it has to be?"

Malfoy leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest, expression darkening. "What did you expect would happen Potter?" he replied coldly. "That I would show you how to brew espresso and then we would become best friends over a cuppa? What kind of therapist expects miracles in less than twenty-four hours?"

Harry's green eyes flashed dangerously. "One that holds your life in his hands."

Steel grey eyes widened in outrage and he took a step towards Harry before suddenly turning and striding from the room.

Harry let him go, collapsing back against the table as all the fight drained from his body. "I can't do this…" he muttered, shaking his head. Why did I ever think I could do this? Hermione was right; there is too much bad blood between us for this to work.

Harry startled out of his gloomy thoughts when the Cafetiere began to rattle threateningly. He quickly lifted it from the hob and shut off the gas.

He stood staring down at his distorted image in the shiny aluminium lid; inhaling the aroma of freshly brewed espresso and thinking hard.

I'm not a quitter. I'm better than this, I'm not going to let school yard rivalries interfere with giving a man his freedom, no matter who it is. Just because he's a royal pain in the arse and an absolute prat does not make him a bad person unworthy of a life of his own after the war.

Harry straightened his shoulders and grasped the Cafetiere in one hand before walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the third floor.

He took a steadying breath before knocking swiftly on Malfoy's bedroom door. He was surprised when it opened after the first knock and the blond stared warily out at him through the crack in the door.

"I'm sorry," Harry said in a rush, "I shouldn't have said that."

Malfoy merely stared at him impassively for a moment before dropping his gaze to the steaming Cafetiere in Harry's hand.

"You forgot your coffee," Harry stated needlessly.

Malfoy sighed and dragged his gaze back up to meet Harry's. "It's not coffee yet Potter," he finally said, and then opened his door further.

Harry smiled hesitantly and stepped aside, allowing Malfoy to lead the way back down to the kitchen to resume the lesson.