An Invitation
Draco conveniently forgot that he had a Mind-Healing appointment until he received an owl that reminded him in neat, formal handwriting that he was expected at 9am. It was 8:30. Right. Therapy had originally been a condition of his release and the Ministry had used it to keep an eye on him for the first year or so after the trials. Now, though, he went for himself.
It was still Ministry-funded which, if he was being honest, was the only reason he could even consider being able to afford it. He’d hated it at first but a year of ‘required’ therapy had forced him to build a relationship with the Mind Healer he’d been assigned. Healer Eleanor Russo was something else entirely.
She was smart, considerate, and far from ancient. In the beginning, Draco had given her hell. He’d been rude, uncooperative, and manipulative but she’d seen through all of it and refused to put up with his shit. ‘Healer Russo’ and ‘Eleanor’ felt far too formal so, gradually, Draco had caved and begun to call her the preferred title of ‘Elle’.
Elle was a brilliant Mind Healer. He liked her, though he’d never admit it, and it had taken three years of work but he’d learned to trust her. She knew more about him than any one person ever had. Because of her, Draco had managed to pull himself out of his holding cell and get his life together—or to whatever degree of ‘together’ it currently was, at least.
“Good morning, Draco. So, how have you been sleeping?”
Of course that was the first thing she would notice. He’d slept hard last night and, though it had only been for five hours or so, he was sure he looked more awake or at least different somehow. Draco sighed, aware that he was fiddling with his hands and that Elle could see it. She didn’t call attention to it, but she saw. She always saw.
“Aside from last night? Shitty, as usual.”
Elle marked that in her notebook, but Draco no longer cared what she wrote down about him. In the beginning, when Aurors had been combing through her notes after every single session, he’d been very careful about what he said and what she wrote. Now the Aurors rarely—if ever—checked what he’d said. He, apparently, was no longer useful to them and he was more than glad about it.
“What was different about last night?”
Draco shivered, looking down at his hands to avoid her eyes. He could lie. There was nothing stopping him and Elle might guess but she wouldn’t press him if he chose not to share. It also wouldn’t help him, though. Therapy only helped if he was honest and, unfortunately, Draco had not found a way out of that yet. Elle said there wasn’t one.
“Last night,” he relented. “I got home late and didn’t get to sleep until around 4am.”
Elle nodded, but just looked at him.
“That isn’t unusual for you, though. Why do you think it was different?”
“I had an acquaintance—two, actually—place new wards on my office. It wasn’t draining because I didn’t do any of the casting. One of them—the woman—kept me company most of the day so maybe not being alone helped. The man…”
Draco trailed off. He had vaguely talked about being submissive, but he’d never linked it to kink or power-exchange and he assumed Elle had attributed it to daddy issues. She was probably at least partially right, but there was more.
A deep, shame-filled part of himself urged him not to say anything. But, while he didn’t want to spend the entire session teaching her about kink, he knew he had to bring it up—if only to keep himself from worrying about it. If he kept his mouth shut, he would hold onto it and let it fester, which would only make it worse.
“The man… He goes by Mr. Doe but it’s not his real name so I guess there’s no harm in telling you that. After a lot of the wards were in place, we were just waiting around and Mr. Doe told me to go rest on a nearby settee.”
Elle nodded again, and Draco could have sworn he saw a small smile flicker across her face at the term. She enjoyed how particular he could be about ‘fancy terminology’.
“How did that affect you? Or did it affect you at all? I know you can be rather sensitive to male authority and especially being ordered to do something.”
She meant his father, the Ministry, and probably even the Dark Lord. He knew that, and yet there was an odd curiosity glinting in her eyes as she waited for him to answer.
“It didn’t make me angry or defensive. I was, however, what one might call ‘a bit petulant’.”
“And how did Mr. Doe react to that?”
His pulse picked up at the memory alone. Draco swallowed hard and felt Elle’s eyes catch on the movement and follow it.
“He didn’t take the bait, at first, or get angry. He told me to rest again. I didn’t say no or tell him to fuck off, I just kept sassing him and feigning ignorance.”
If Elle was surprised by that, she hid it well. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, waiting to see if he would continue on his own. When he didn’t, she prompted him.
“And how did he respond?”
“ Like a Dom… ” Draco mumbled, but he couldn’t tell if she’d heard him so he raised his voice to a normal volume and continued. “He tried to get me to back down, but not like a request or a boundary enforcement. When I didn’t, he grabbed my wrist and told me again to sit. It was no longer a request.”
She jotted something down at that, but made no comment about what it was. He searched her expression, trying to see if she was upset by this information or if he would have to try to further explain why Mr. Doe hadn’t been out of line. Should he describe how he’d pushed the man? How he’d been warned, and chose to ignore it? He’d practically asked the man to put him in his place and he’d kept pushing because he’d wanted to see how far the man would let it go.
Elle turned the page of her notebook, drawing him back to the present.
“How did you react to that?”
I almost fucking kneeled , Draco thought, and I’m pretty sure he wanted me to . Outloud, he offered a more tame response.
“I sat and rested.”
Elle raised her eyebrow in silent question. He couldn’t tell if she was questioning his obedience or if she was implying that there was more to that answer that needed to be said. Either way, he let a bit more slip out.
“And I relaxed.”
“Do you think that contributed to you sleeping better?”
He nodded. There was still no indication he could find of how she was going to react to this information. No pinch in her expression, no clicking of her tongue, and an unhelpfully neutral stance and body position. She was considering him very carefully.
For some, Draco’s sleeping better might have sounded like a dissociative reaction to a threat or like the exhaustion following a panic response. Elle had been working with him for almost four years now, though, and he was hoping that she knew him better than that.
“Am I right in assuming that you trust this man? You let him place wards on your office, which is undoubtedly a very big step, but perhaps you merely measured the risk vs the reward and decided it was worth it.”
Draco had to appreciate how accurate her analysis was. She’d evidently caught on to the fact that he did not trust easily and pragmatism was one of the only things that could override that. This situation had started that way, at least.
“Originally, I justified it for the increased security because there was an ‘incident’ in my workshop. I asked him why he wanted to place the wards… He said he wanted to be able to protect me, and I believed him. I still do. I don’t know why I trust him, but I do. Enough, at least, for him to have an ‘effect’ on me, to use your word.”
Elle made another note and took a sip from her water bottle. Draco had known her long enough now to know when it was genuine or when she was trying to give him a few seconds to let something settle in his brain. This time, it was the latter.
“Why do you think he did affect you, Draco?”
The man’s hand still weighed on his wrist, thumb over his pulse point. Even just thinking about it made his muscles unconsciously relax. He wanted the feeling back. It was grounding and calming and gave him something to focus on that was steadier than he’d ever been in his life. Draco knew exactly why the man had been able to ‘affect’ him so effortlessly.
“Because I wanted him to.”
That, evidently, was the answer Elle had been looking for. She smiled and set her pen down, steepling her fingers as she studied him.
“You are aware, then, that the only reason a Dom has power is because a submissive gives it to them?” Draco gaped at her. “That’s right, I heard you before. I just chose not to point it out because you chose not to point it out, Draco. But I am familiar with the kink community at least on a basic level. You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
Draco was embarrassed, though. His face was beet red and his palms were slick with sweat. It was ridiculous because it’d been four years and of course Elle had caught his little hints and remarks but… Still, he felt like he’d just admitted to something shameful. The Mind Healer arguably knew much worse things about him—for Merlin’s sake she’d listened to him describe casting the killing curse at Harry bloody Potter! If she was going to get angry or reject him, she would have already done it.
“There’s nothing wrong with kink or with being submissive, Draco. I just want to be sure that you’re safe while engaging with it.”
He nodded mechanically, noting her choice of ‘safe’ rather than ‘being safe’. She wasn’t assigning the responsibility entirely to him. Well, there was a first time for everything. She’d assumed he was submissive, rather than a switch, which was interesting as well even though it was correct. Maybe she’d already made her peace with the idea?
“Can we talk about something else?”
Elle’s face didn’t change, but Draco could have sworn she looked disappointed for a second. Maybe she thought he’d been ‘making progress’, whatever that meant. Or maybe she just didn’t like him dodging the subject. Either way, Draco knew he could direct their session however he wanted to and, suddenly, focusing on the man or the memory of the night before felt far too overwhelming.
“Of course. Did you have anything particular in mind?”
“I want to talk about my father.”
Harry stared at his desk and wished once again that Wide-Eye potions weren’t so frowned upon by the Auror department. Yes, he should have been well rested and yes , it was irresponsible to rely on a potion to keep you awake when you were on the job but he was doing bloody paperwork, not search and rescue. Worst case scenario, he twitched too abruptly and knocked over an ink well or something.
Briefly, Harry considered the sleeping draught that Draco had given him. He hadn’t had time to take it and sleep before his shift started even if he’d wanted to, but he also hadn’t felt too comfortable with it. What if Draco had laced it with some kind of itching powder? Or decided that this was his chance to finally get back at ‘the Gryffindor Golden boy’ for whatever petty grudge he still harbored?
Granted, Draco didn’t know it was him that he’d given the potion to. It would make no sense for the blond to drug a complete stranger—especially one that was paying him. Draco may have been an ass, but he was an intelligent ass.
He has a nice ass, too .
Harry rolled his eyes at himself and turned the vial over slowly in his hands, admiring the iridescent rainbow that shimmered on the liquid’s surface. It reminded him of the rainbow that would appear in the mist of a garden hose. Draco had become so Muggle-ified lately… Perhaps that had been his inspiration?
Grudgingly, Harry pocketed the vial and attempted to return his attention to the stack of files on his desk. It was review day—his least favorite day—and he chided himself for choosing the night before of all times to strengthen Draco’s wards. He could have done it on a Friday and then slept in. But, even as he thought it, Harry knew he wouldn’t have waited the extra two days because he’d wanted Draco to be safer as soon as possible.
After his last outburst about wanting Draco to be safe, Hermione had let the subject drop. She hadn’t made the trek down to the Auror department again to check on him or sent an interdepartmental memo asking how it had gone. Part of him knew she was just busy, but a larger part of his brain insisted that she was angry with him. Maybe because he’d practically admitted word for word to wanting to protect someone he had no right or responsibility to protect? Or because it was Malfoy he wanted to protect? Both were equally plausible.
She would tell him eventually if she was upset but he didn’t want to wait that long. He could already hear Kingsley’s voice in his head lecturing on the proper use of Ministry communication as he grabbed a slip of bright red memo paper and began to write.
‘Mione,
I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I know you’re busy but I thought you might want to know that everything went well. The wards are much stronger now and the potion worked wonderfully. Draco was great. Malfoy did it. We finished around 4am so Andrea and I went and got coffee before work. How did your big meeting go?
-Harry
He sent it and managed to only momentarily think about Kingsley’s irritation if he found out. Harry was far from disliked in the department and Kingsley wouldn’t actually be angry with him, of course, but he didn’t want another mandatory lecture about the proper use of Ministry tools. Hermione would pay far more attention to a memo than a personal owl, though.
An hour of checkmarks and date-checking later, Harry was rewarded by the appearance of a floating red envelope. He smiled at the pre-printed sender address—because of course Hermione sent enough memos to need a stamp for it—before touching his wand to the seal and prying it open.
Harold James Potter,
You’re obsessing again.
-Hermione
P.S. I’m glad it went well and that you didn’t send me that memo on St. Mungo’s stationary.
Harry glowered at the page. He’d just told her that Draco had managed to entirely recreate a recipe from just a list of ingredients and had done it successfully on the first try but her only response was that he was obsessing? Well, she had said she was glad it had worked. But was his obsession—or, more accurately, lack thereof—really the most important part?
He wasn’t obsessing. Draco had become an important part of his routine life because of his position in Teddy’s potion making. Maybe Harry was a bit intrigued by the blond, but who could blame him? This Draco was an entirely different creature from the bully they’d met at Hogwarts and he was something new and interesting that Harry wanted to understand.
Of course, he couldn’t expect Hermione to understand that. She’d been tolerant upon learning of his plan to go to Draco for the potion because she’d heard from her own sources that Draco was one of the best. But she hadn’t met this new Draco. And, naturally, she still despised the Draco that they’d known in their school days.
“You look thrilled to be an Auror.”
Harry jolted, having not heard the door, before he realized that his floo was glowing a bright green. He welcomed the distraction, though, so he cast a silencing charm and turned towards the fireplace. Ginny’s face poked out of the flames at him and she was studying his expression far too scrupulously with a look of insidious curiosity on her face. Damn, he’d been really involved in his brooding over Draco if he hadn’t even noticed he was getting a firecall...
“Ginerva Weasley, hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s not nice to sneak up on people?”
She laughed but did not look in the least bit chastised. Instead, her eyes flicked curiously to the memo in his hand and then back to his face as if she could make a connection or read some of the writing in the reflection of his glasses.
“Something got your knickers in a twist?”
Harry rolled his eyes at her. He’d already made the decision not to tell any of the Weasley’s about going to Draco because he was more than a little afraid of how they might react. Ginny would probably be the most open minded, but even she was unlikely to accept the blond right away.
“Auror business,” he lied. “Top secret, I’m afraid. Did you want something or did you just come to irritate me?”
Ginny stuck out her tongue at him and, for a second, Harry considered grabbing it. He’d done it before during their brief stint as boyfriend and girlfriend just to see how she would react. She’d bitten him in response. That had been the beginning of a small war between the two which involved many half-joking punches, casual hexes, unfair tickling (on Harry’s part), and a lot of nail scratching (on her part). Harry had learned that day that he wasn’t as resolutely opposed to pain as he’d thought he was.
Clearly, Ginny noticed the flick of his eyes to her tongue when she did, though, because she pulled it back in almost immediately despite it only being a firecall. Instead, she crossed her arms to demonstrate her disapproval.
“Now that’s hardly the way to greet your best friend, Harold.”
Harry snorted and threw a pencil into the fireplace, watching as it passed through her left cheek.
“Oh, sorry I didn’t know Ron was there. Bring him over and I’d be happy to greet him properly.”
Ginny narrowed her eyes into a glare, but it was mildly annoyed at best so Harry didn’t let himself worry. If whatever she wanted was worth seeking him out at work, then he knew she would tell him no matter how much he antagonized her.
“You’re lucky that Silvia is in the next room, otherwise I would threaten you with the response that that comment deserves.” She waited for him to retort and, when he didn’t, continued. “I went shopping this morning for some new kitchen stuff for Mum and got her that self-cleaning broiler pan she wanted. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you. I ran into someone while I was in Diagon Alley.”
Harry raised an eyebrow for her to continue and it struck him in that moment how similar he must look to Hermione. Poised in a large, intimidating Ministry office, surrounded by bookshelves (that he never read from) and trying to direct someone with a mere eyebrow raise. Hermione was much better at it apparently, though, because Ginny just rolled her eyes.
“Well, are you going to ask who I ran into?”
“Fine, Gin, I give up. Whomsoever did you happen upon in the great Diagon Alley?”
That earned him another glare, but he shook it off. Their dynamic had shifted and become far too sibling-like for him to take her anger seriously anymore. Rather than continue to feed the feigned animosity, though, Ginny let her face fall. She sighed, looking actually hesitant to explain.
“Drummond. He was in Flourish and Blotts skimming through a book on Muggle opioids.”
Harry sucked in a sharp breath. Aidan Drummond had been a figment of Harry’s past for almost two years now but the name still hurt. It had a lot of memories attached to it, even after months of therapy.
“What is he doing back? I thought he went off to Belize or somewhere around there to start his new winery?”
Ginny shrugged, but he could see the pained pinch of sympathy in the corners of her eyes. She’d never liked Aidan, but she knew that Harry had. Even when he and Harry had been dating, Ginny had always kept her distance from the man and had told Harry to be careful so many times he’d nearly stopped talking to her entirely. She’d been right, though, because of course she was.
“Maybe Belize isn’t great wine country. I didn’t stop to chat or ask what he was doing back in London but I thought you should know. I’m not sure if he’s planning on paying you a visit, but…”
Harry nodded. She didn’t need to continue or to tell him, of all people, how bad it could have been if Aidan had managed to catch him off guard. He would have, too. The man was many things—tall, dark, and handsome for one—but he could also be very manipulative and he was especially skilled at manipulating Harry.
“Yeah, I don’t blame you for not striking up a conversation. Thanks for the heads up, though, I appreciate it.”
He did appreciate it—immensely—and he hoped that Ginny saw that in his expression as he thanked her. It was not welcome news and he was not thrilled to hear it, but that didn’t mean he would have preferred to have been blindsided by the random appearance of his ex. Ginny just nodded.
“Let me know if he does show up and you want back up. I’ve got a new book of jinxes I’ve been wanting to try.”
He smiled, mumbling something about not wanting to have to arrest her, but he was distracted. She made an excuse about helping Molly with the house repairs and said a quick goodbye, but Harry wasn’t even sure he’d heard it properly. Aidan was back in London.
Rather than allow himself to go back down that rabbithole, Harry stood and grabbed his coat. He would take an early lunch, he decided. At the floo, he didn’t hesitate to call out Andromeda’s address but a small voice in the back of his mind wondered if he could find Draco’s address somehow. Not that he could just walk in on the blond, of course, but…
“Harry Harry Harry Harry! Grandma! Harry’s here!”
The little blue-haired child ran and launched himself into Harry’s arms, nearly knocking him to his feet. Harry laughed and spun him around the way he knew the boy expected. On their second spin, he began to tickle.
“Harry! Harry ‘top it! You’re being so mean to me!”
Harry just laughed and released the squirming child as Andromeda rounded the corner. Her face softened when she saw him, despite the Auror robes, and she smiled over the mop of blue hair that had sought reprieve in her arms.
“Harry, how good to see you. But did I hear that you were being mean to my grandson?”
The twinkle in her eyes went unnoticed by the boy. Teddy, having heard this comment, launched himself into a speech about how cruel Harry was and how a loving embrace had turned into pure torture. Andromeda laughed, asking Harry for his side of the story.
“Well, you see ‘Meda, when something is just too cute for words, I have two choices. Either I squish it to death, or I tickle it to death. I was merely trying to spare your grandson from being squished.”
“You can’t squish me!”
The adults laughed, but as soon as Harry made a move towards Teddy, the boy fled into the next room. Harry could hear him messing with something that sounded like a zipper and wondered if Andromeda had caved and finally bought him a Muggle tent so he could ‘play camping’.
“Harry,” A strong, maternal hand settled on his arm. “Not that you aren’t welcome at any time, of course, but shouldn’t you be at work? Is everything okay?”
He smiled despite himself at her concern. She didn’t have the same mothering presence that Molly did, but her reserve sort of attentiveness was sometimes exactly what he needed.
“I took an early lunch is all. Thought I’d drop by and see how my favorite little demon is doing. Oh, I also wanted to let you know that something happened with the batch of Wolfsbane that Draco was brewing. He’s starting it again, but it won’t be ready by the full moon so he’s started another trial batch that hopefully will. If it isn’t, do you have enough sleeping draught for the munchkin?”
Andromeda chuckled and shook her head, leading him towards the kitchen where lunch had clearly been laid out during their conversation. Teddy was already sitting, face smeared with jelly. He was still distracted by the food, though, so Andromeda took the opening before he began making demands to speak.
“You know this place is well-stocked, Harry, and there’s hardly an urgency to the issue yet. That’s why we’re looking into it early, remember?”
He did remember, but he also never managed to shake the feeling that he was failing Teddy by not being able to provide the potion. However, if the boy was affected by it, he never showed it. Teddy looked like the picture of health every five year old boy should strive for. His face was bright and round—a bit like what Remus looked like in the few baby pictures Andromeda had found—and his hair changed color as often as his clothes. He looked happy.
“Harry! Sit next to me, Harry! He can have lunch too, right Grandma?”
Andromeda nodded, politely settling herself into her own chair to eat the soup that had been prepared for the adults. While Teddy gorged himself on PB+J, Harry sat beside him and poked at his own soup. He’d made a good choice to come visit today. It was hard to be upset or worried when he had to focus on Teddy and the quick, constantly-changing flow of information that came from the boy’s mouth. Between lessons, art group, and his own imagination Teddy was bursting with things to tell Harry.
Harry, after stealing a triangle of PB+J for himself, was happy to listen and let himself forget about Draco and Aidan for the moment.
Draco forced himself to take a deep breath. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. He stared at the cauldron in front of him, willing it to do what it was supposed to, and forced another breath. In, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four. With his new dragonhide glove, Draco rested his hand on the edge of the hot cauldron and began sprinkling in the aniseed.
A few of the seeds fell at unnatural angles and sizzled when they hit the potion, but the majority went in easily. That would be good enough, Draco decided. He wasn’t going to get his hand any steadier with the way things currently were and he’d had this client before—perfection was not their main concern. Still, he hated compromising on quality like that.
It was much easier to compromise, of course, when he had no other choice. The recipe called for a calm, steady hand to add the aniseed and he was far from calm so he’d settled for steady… ish. As soon as he lifted his hand from the edge of the cauldron, though, it began to tremble again. For Merlin’s sake…
He was shaky and on edge in the worst way possible. It wasn’t because of his morning Mind-Healing session, unfortunately, and Draco knew it had very little to do with his brewing uncertainty about Mr. ‘Doe’. He’d been through this pattern too many times before not to recognize it now.
Draco had relaxed.
After that show of dominance, he had slept like a log for the five hours he’d managed to get and he’d woken up feeling like shit. Exhaustion usually dulled the pain, the depression, and the anxiety. He’d managed to rest, though, and he’d felt calm for the first time in years so the sudden contrast was torture. The discomfort wasn’t new, he was simply more aware of it now.
He didn’t want to be aware of it, though. Tonight, he told himself, he could charm a book to read aloud to him and take shots until it didn’t sound like English anymore. That sounded nicer than his current state. If he made it through the workday and didn’t make any grave mistakes or missteps, he might even splurge and get takeout on his way home.
Elle had said, when the depression had first really hit, that it was important for him to ‘feel’ the pain because feeling was part of processing. Draco was tired of feeling the pain, though, and he was sick of ‘processing’. He wanted to be done. At this point he wasn’t sure if done meant ‘done processing’ or if done meant ‘done living’—and he wasn’t sure he cared either way.
Resolutely, he shook his head and pushed that thought away. Tonight, he could have a breakdown and sob until his voice gave out but right now he was at work. Kaiser could walk in at any moment and demand a surprise inspection of his workspace, or Bright and Bender could try to steal his contracts. It wouldn’t have been the first time for either occurrence.
Still, Draco knew he should reach out before he ended up spiraling entirely. He considered Pansy, but then remembered that she and Maeve were in France to see Maeve’s extended family. It wouldn’t be fair of him to interrupt that just because he was sad—especially when Pansy couldn’t even do anything. For some reason, his mind suggested Mr. ‘Doe’ and brought back memories of their dinner together. The man would be a distraction, if nothing else, and Draco had learned the value of distraction when dealing with complex emotions.
But the man was a client. Draco would not let his own mental health or pity party affect his work and it would be completely unprofessional to ask a client out for drinks. It had been unprofessional to agree to dinner the first time, but he’d been curious. And, he reasoned, it had been practical because he now had a much more secure office and workspace that no one else could tamper with.
He was just about to resign himself to a night of drinking and wallowing when he remembered Andrea. She could have been anywhere, so Draco elected to route the invitation via magical signature and hope that she wasn’t pissed. Technically using someone’s signature like that was illegal. Technically.
But he had no other way to contact her, so he gave the owl a link of the chain that now hung permanently above his door and undoubtedly had picked up some of her magical signature. She’d been in and out of the door all day yesterday so, aside from him, she was probably the only magical signature left in the chain. The owl pecked testily at the metal before grabbing the link in one talon. In the other, it snatched his invitation.
With a hopefully pacifying offer of dried mouse meat, Draco sent the owl off to deliver his note.