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Starfall	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 32486 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 4
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Chapter Thirty-One--Renewal
            "Ordinarily, I wouldn't be here. But Mathilda Patience said that you worked wonders with her little boy, and Ivor's as difficult a child as I've ever seen. Therefore, I'm here."
            Harry did his best to keep his face calm and neutral. Maybe Ivor was as difficult a child as this woman had ever seen, but she was as difficult a person as Harry had ever seen. She reminded him of some of the witnesses he had interviewed when he was an Auror, who had been more interested in having their names in the papers than in giving him accurate information.
            She sat so bolt upright that Harry doubted her posture could have been bettered by an iron rod down her spine. She followed Harry with grim eyes, and sniffed now and then, as if she thought Harry himself was a martyr to his bad posture. She had long, cold hands, and a long, pointed nose, and grey eyes that reminded Harry of Malfoy's--
            Well. All right. The way that Malfoy's had once been. Harry had to admit that Malfoy hadn't looked at him like that in a long, long time.
            Being reminded didn't actually soothe him, because then he had to think of whether he and Malfoy were friends or not, and that was still a confusing subject. He pushed away the thoughts that were themselves difficult and said, "What's your name, madam?"
            Harry knew some witches he would have offended with that term of address, unless they actually sat on the Wizengamot, but she seemed to accept it as no less than her due. She sniffed and said, "Anne Quillona. You can replicate the results for my granddaughter, I assume?"
            "It would depend a lot on what's happened to her," Harry said, holding her gaze and wondering what would make Quillona realize how rude she was being. It was nothing he had done so far, at least. "For one thing, I was only able to soothe Ivor because I used a guardian spell. I might not know a spell that can help--what's her name?"
            "Justice Quillona," said his client, and Harry wondered whether that name had been her parents' idea or the grandmother's. "She suffered a Legilimency attack from one of the Death Eaters."
            Harry sat upright in response, which Quillona seemed to regard with approval. Harry knew the response had nothing to do with her, though. His mind was pounding. Legilimens who could attack someone's mind like that had been rare even among the Death Eaters. "What happened, exactly?"
            "She was visiting a Muggleborn schoolmate when a raid happened on the Muggleborn's house," said Quillona. Harry wondered if she'd even known the Muggleborn girl's name. "Most of the people there were killed. Justice hid in a cupboard, and came out when she thought it was safe. But there was one woman left there. She laughed when she saw Justice, and didn't kill her, but lanced into her mind, and left an image of such horror there that Justice still has trouble sleeping at night." Quillona's lips tightened. "I've taken her to Mind-Healers, but none of them were able to help her."
            Harry picked up a quill and began jotting notes down. He wondered if he could help Justice in a simpler way than he had Ivor. "How many Mind-Healers have you taken her to?"
            "Three. Do not suggest another." Quillona leaned towards him like a hawk about to take flight from a kill and straight into his face. "She doesn't trust any of them, and they do not make her feel comfortable."
            Privately, Harry wondered how this woman expected any child, even her granddaughter whom she must expect more from, to be "comfortable" discussing a raid she'd at least witnessed part of, and an image in her head that sounded like Bellatrix Lestrange had put it there. "What about Healer Brandeis?"
            Quillona opened her mouth, but Harry got there before she could. "She's very good, very discreet." He grimaced for a second, and then added the only thing that might convince Quillona. "She's the Mind-Healer that I'm trusting with my own attempts to recover from what happened to me during the war."
            It wasn't a lie. Not entirely. He and Brandeis would probably discuss what had happened during the war eventually.
            Quillona tapped her fingers once on her arm. "Do you know if she treats young patients, or patients with problems with Legilimency?"
            "I don't," said Harry. "I know she practices Legilimency, though, because all Mind-Healers have to learn it to have the title." He matched Quillona stare for stare. "I have some experience suffering from Legilimency, but no experience trying to cure it. I couldn't even learn Occlumency when I was trying as hard as I could and had the best motivation in the world." His mind panged a little, remembering Sirius. "I don't think I could do anything about getting the image out of Justice's mind. Brandeis might."
            "I came here because I thought you would help her," said Quillona softly, "because Mathilda recommended you. Are you going to tell me that you won't even try?"
            "I can tell you that I think I'd cause more harm to Justice," said Harry, which was true. He didn't think what she had suffered was inherently more horrific than what Ivor had, but there, he had known a solution that might work almost immediately. "If I try to peek into her mind with my unpracticed Legilimency, I'll at least cause her pain."
            "You will not hurt my granddaughter, Mr. Potter." Quillona spun her wand between her fingertips as if she would have loved to cast a curse on Harry and have it done with.
            "I don't want to," said Harry. "That's why I'm sending you to a real Mind-Healer."
            "I mean that you will not hurt my granddaughter even if you use your own Legilimency, because I would be there to make sure that you do not."
            That gave Harry pause, for a minute. "Are you a Legilimens?" he asked Quillona. That might make a difference. If she knew some technique that would ease the way Harry might help Justice, if she could tell him the exact image in Justice's mind so that Harry could try and help her without looking at her memories--
            "No." Quillona rapped her wand against her knee, so hard that Harry flinched. "I mean that I would not permit you to do it because I would not permit you. You would not be able to do it. I would be there."
            Harry resisted the temptation to bury his head in his hands, but only barely. "I don't know what that means."
            "I will make sure that you do not hurt her. You can treat her and not hurt her."
            "I have no idea how I would." Harry kept himself from shaking the desk, but that was barely, too. "I'm doing the best thing I can by giving you Healer Brandeis's name and sending you to her. It would be irresponsible for me to do anything else."
            Quillona stood and looked him full in the face. "Then I shall spread the news that Harry Potter refuses to assist a helpless child," she said, her voice so cold it was like being hit by stinging ice crystals in the throat of a wind. "That won't do your fledgling business any good, will it?"
            Harry resisted the temptation to jump to his feet and shout, too. He would much rather give Justice Quillona to a Mind-Healer as skilled and calm as Brandeis than do something wrong. Ultimately, the integrity of a little girl's mind and keeping her free from pain mattered more than his own reputation. "Go ahead."
            Quillona spent a moment more staring. Then she turned and walked from the office, steps delicate and precise.
            Harry sat down and ran a hand through his hair. That could have gone better. He'd probably been too confrontational from the moment Quillona started talking about Legilimency. And who knew what she would say, and what echoes of rumors would come back to disrupt his business?
            In the end, though, Harry knew he couldn't have done anything other than what he'd done. He put the fears aside as much as possible, and wrote out a letter to Healer Brandeis explaining Justice's situation. Maybe she could do something to at least seek out the Mind-Healers who had treated the girl before, and discover why they hadn't been able to help.
*
            "Daddy! Why is Uncle Harry in the newspaper?"
            Something that he should have told me about, was Draco's instinctive reaction, but he reminded himself that perhaps it wasn't that. Perhaps there was a good explanation for Potter's presence on the front page, or perhaps Scorpius was mistaking the photograph of someone else for Potter. He had done things like that before, thinking that a particular blond Wizengamot member was Draco for a time.
            But when Draco picked up the paper, he saw that Scorpius was right. On the front of the page was an older photograph of Potter, looking stern in Auror robes as he posed before the entrance of the Ministry.
            Underneath was a headline that made Draco's skin prickle.
            HARRY POTTER VISITING A MIND-HEALER?
            Draco swore, and looked up to find Scorpius staring at him, impressed.
            "What was that word, Daddy?" Scorpius asked. "Say it again." He looked as if he might be ready to write it down.
            "It was a word that I shouldn't have said," said Draco, and put the paper aside, folded up, away from that photograph of Potter that wouldn't behave any differently anyway, since it was older. "Now. What do you want for breakfast?"
            "I want Uncle Harry to come over," said Scorpius, and there was a sparkle somewhere between petulant and militant in his eye that often foretold his longest tantrums.
            Draco still didn't intend to back down, not now. "Well, he can't. He's busy. He's in the paper because he's about to be very busy." With Howlers if nothing else, Draco thought, and came close to shaking his head. He only hoped that Potter didn't think that Draco had been the one who'd betrayed the secret of his visiting Healer Brandeis.
            Or that Brandeis herself wasn't discreet, for that matter. That would probably mean Potter would stop going to her, and Draco hated to think about the result.
            "He's said that he would come whenever I needed him." Scorpius folded his arms.
            "Why do you need him?"
            Scorpius still looked taken aback when Draco asked him a question instead of simply dictating to him. Draco hid a smile. For now, there was more than one reason, more than just the desire to be good to Scorpius, to keep doing that.
            "Because I want to ask him why he was in the paper," said Scorpius. "He's dressed like an Auror in that picture. Is he going back to the Aurors? I need him to tell me!"
            I am raising a Malfoy, Draco thought, holding back a blink as he looked into Scorpius's innocently uplifted face. An ingenious liar.
            "He's not going back to the Aurors," said Draco. "They just used an old photograph of him because they don't have anything more recent." He felt a little twinge in his heart at that, wondering if Potter had succeeded in keeping his comings and goings from Healer Brandeis's office from the photographs, but not the words, of the reporters.
            "But he could come over if he wanted to," said Scorpius. "He told us that he has no job. He could come if he wanted to!"
            "For now, I need to send him an owl," said Draco. He had decided on that as the more reasonable course just now, although he had wanted to firecall Potter and reassure him that he wasn't the traitor. "I can ask in that owl when he'll be free to come over." He raised a hand as Scorpius opened his mouth again. "Remember that not every adult is as free as Uncle Blaise. Some of them have to stay away for a while, and your Uncle Harry does have a job, just a new one that has irregular hours."
            It made his mouth feel strange to speak Potter's first name, but he disregarded the strangeness. After all, if they were going to become friends, Draco reckoned he would need to accustom himself to saying it at some point.
            At least Scorpius was appeased, and started eating his porridge again and talking about Teddy with his mouth full. Draco reprimanded him a few times, but his attention was mostly on the article.
            It said little more than the headline told. Only that Potter was visiting a Mind-Healer, and it managed to imply he probably should have gone a long time before. The reporter, no Rita Skeeter, didn't seem to have any information on what Potter had gone there for; the trauma of the war was a natural guess.
            And one that I hope Potter will encourage, Draco thought, straightening the paper out with a snap and calmly calling Izzy to bring them some hot chocolate, since Scorpius was getting restless and kicking the rungs of his chair. He will if he has any sense.
            That was the one thing, unfortunately, that one couldn't count on Potter to have. Draco grimaced and shook his head. He would have to hope that Potter would see not only the necessity of keeping quiet but the wisdom of doing so.
*
            Harry raised another ward over the glass on the windows of his office. He had studied this one carefully, and he hoped it would work. He could hardly forbid the entrance of all owl post if he wanted to conduct his business, but he didn't want any more of the harassing letters or demands for information on why he was visiting Brandeis or why he hadn't done so earlier, either.
            Why do people think this is their business?
            Harry sighed and shook his head. Well, he had known this would happen the instant that someone found out he was going to Healer Brandeis. It was why he had wanted to keep it secret in the first place, and one of the many, many reasons he had waited this long to go to a Mind-Healer at all. Everyone in the wizarding world still thought it was important that they know every single detail about Harry’s life.
            A particularly insistent bump of an owl against the new ward made Harry turn around cautiously. There were a few people that the ward would let owls from through automatically; others, it would block until Harry could deal with them personally.
This was an owl with a distinctive black mask around its eyes that Harry thought he would remember. He came over and let the bird in, wand at the ready. The owl soared across the room to the perch, though, and hooted at Harry softly. If he didn’t know it, it at least seemed to know him, and not be hostile.
Harry kept his wand down at his side as he took the letter, because he was no fool, but the owl turned its beak to the side and preened its feathers. The letter lay tamely in Harry’s hand, didn’t sparkle, and didn’t flinch or vanish or turn different colors when he cast a few protective spells on it.
Harry finally opened it, and blinked when he found Malfoy’s distinctive script there.
Potter, I know what you must be thinking when you saw the newspaper article this morning, but I wasn’t the one who told them about Healer Brandeis. I don’t think Healer Brandeis ever would have, either. Having patients trust her discretion is her livelihood and her passion. If you’re considering stopping your visits to her because this got out, please reconsider.
Harry spent a minute or so blinking, not sure what surprised him more. Malfoy should know him better by now than to think Harry would decide he was a traitor.
And on the other hand, Harry hadn’t thought Malfoy so passionately committed to his mental health that he would care if Harry went to see Healer Brandeis, or chose a different Mind-Healer, or decided to try meditation standing on his hand to cure his own despair.
It was the sort of thing Ron or Hermione would worry about. It was the sort of thing a friend would do, putting Harry’s own health ahead of his worries. Sure, Malfoy had wanted to clear his name, but Ron would have done the same thing to make sure Harry knew he was innocent.
Harry sat down hard on his desk. The owl looked up from preening and cocked its head as if trying to figure out why the strange human had gone weak in the knees.
Okay. Fine. I knew he wanted to be a friend, but this--this is clearer to me than anything else he could have done.
Harry stood up with a little, soft breath. He could write back to Malfoy, and normally he would, to let him know right away Harry had never suspected him. But he thought something this personal and special deserved a firecall.
“No reply,” he told the owl, and got a disapproving look until he crossed over to the fireplace and tossed in a handful of Floo powder. Then the bird fluttered its wings and did a little dance on the perch before soaring out the window.
Harry found his face aching with his smile. He was firecalling a friend, and while he didn’t need an owl’s approval to do so, it was nice to have additional confirmation that he was doing the right thing.
*
Draco blinked and touched his chin for a second; Potter’s intent gaze had made him think he had a piece of food clinging there from breakfast or something. But that small worry, almost manufactured, didn’t count against the intense relief rushing through him. Potter didn’t blame him. That was worth the anxious hour he’d spent brooding over the wording of the letter.
"I knew all along that it wasn't you who did that, don't worry about it," Potter was telling him reassuringly. "I had a client who wanted me to help her granddaughter, but the granddaughter's problem was with Legilimency, and I didn't think I could do it. I told her I was going to Mind-Healer Brandeis, and I recommended that she take her granddaughter there instead. She told me that she was going to tell everyone how I refused to help her. I think she thought that would be the great scandal, how I made promises and didn't keep them." Potter snorted. "It was probably as much of a surprise to her as anyone else when the papers were more interested in the fact that I was using the same Mind-Healer."
"Who was it?" Draco asked. He could think of a few candidates for people who would be that ungrateful and stubborn, but most of those were also dead or in Azkaban. He hadn't kept up with most of the families who had taken in orphaned children, besides.
Potter closed his lips stubbornly.
"Why not tell me?" Draco demanded. "You've already told me what happened. Why would you keep the rest of this a secret?" A sudden, jealous thought occurred to him, and he asked the question before he could decide whether it was a good idea to keep silent. "You'd give the name to Weasley or Granger, wouldn't you?"
Potter kept eyeing him. At last, he spoke, when Draco made a particularly impatient gesture that was hard to misunderstand. "Yes. But I think they would only say how awful it was, not swear a sort of revenge against this woman that might be hard to take back."
Draco blinked. "You think I'd kill her."
"You're not a killer." Potter shrugged. "I think you'd spread gossip or do something to embarrass her. But her granddaughter is dealing with enough problems as it is, and from the thick skin I saw on this woman, her granddaughter would be the real victim. Leave well enough alone."
Draco considered it again. It was true that his first impulse had been to do something like that, but there was one reason, besides Potter wishing he wouldn't, for him not to do it. "Are you planning some revenge of your own?"
Potter frowned. "No. For the same reasons that I just told you to drop it."
"She can't get away with disrupting your business and revealing your private life to the papers," said Draco. "Especially since you know who she is."
"Revenge would be my priority if it was going to be anyone's, right?" Potter frowned harder at him. "You'd agree with that, right? I would be the one who would be able to track her down and scold her, or prank her, or whatever I thought would be appropriate, right?"
"Right," Draco said warily. He privately thought that it wasn't a good sign when Potter kept ending his sentences with "right," but he would go along with it for now.
"And I say that it's not my priority. So leave it." Potter folded in his lips and looked as stubborn as a bull.
"But what if her rumors sink your business?" Draco stared at him. He couldn't understand why Potter would go to all this trouble to establish a business he could live by, one that would let him be close to children, and then be content to let it fail. "Would you give the whole thing up just because it would maybe hurt a child?"
"Yes."
Draco buried his head in his hands. "You're impossible," he muttered.
"I don't think it will come to that," said Potter, in what he probably thought was a comforting way. "Most of the people who want to blame me for going to a Mind-Healer are idiots who can't maintain a long-term campaign of hatred or gossip. There are a few who might hate me for this, or think that I shouldn't be treating children when I'm under the care of a Mind-Healer myself, but only a few. Most of the owls I've got are just impertinent people who think they have a right to know everything about my life because I'm a celebrity." He rolled his eyes. "I don't think--"
"But it could happen," Draco interrupted.
"It could," Potter said, infuriatingly. "Maybe."

"I wish you would let me do something for you," Draco muttered, knowing he sounded silly and fretful, and not able to help it.
Potter's face softened. "You've shown me you're really a friend, when you wrote that letter not just to exonerate yourself from blame, but to make sure I felt all right. I'll do what I can, and I'll tell you if you can help."
Draco breathed out slowly. He supposed that was the price of being a Gryffindor's friend: you had to abide by more rules and keep your word. "Fine."
The smile Potter gave him before ending the firecall was extraordinarily sweet, and Draco held the memory to him like a talisman. He would do a lot to make sure that smile wasn't quenched.
It was strange, to know that this was the nature of their connection, that part of him wanted to fight for Potter. But if that was the way things were to be, then he would make it so.
He only hoped that it wouldn't be necessary to break the rules for Potter's own good.
*
            Meechypoo: Draco is at least overcoming some of Harry's initial resistance to even considering him friends, yes. Not ready for anything else.
            SP777: And in this chapter, another one.
            staar: Draco doesn't know what to name it yet, which is one reason that he won't voice it in those words to Harry.
            moon: Thank you!
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Starfall