"It was worse than all classes with Gilderoy Lockhart, combined."

Hermione gave Harry a stern look while Ron guffawed with laughter.

"It couldn't have been that bad," she insisted.

"It was," Harry said firmly. "He made me snap before we even started. Insinuated that I was trying to get him naked for my own twisted pleasure and then wouldn't let me touch anything but his head. For an hour long appointment."

Harry huffed, raking his hands through his hair in frustration.

"I know I'm good," he said. "But seriously, I don't have enough moves for an hour long head massage."

Ron's laughter had reached that dangerous stage of near silent gasping, tears wetting his cheeks and Hermione's lips finally twitched into an amused smile.

"I guess some things never change," she said. "We've all grown so much since the war, I thought Malfoy would be no exception. Then again, I thought you were better than that too, Harry."

"Me?!" Harry demanded. "What did I do? He's the one who wanted to come make my life hell again."

"You said you snapped at him," Hermione said. "I know you worked on that short fuse of yours, how could you let someone rile you up that much in just a few minutes? It couldn't have been very comfortable coming to you for help. He must be in serious pain."

Harry shrugged, feeling dutifully shamed.

"Or he just came to annoy me." 

Hermione raised a brow at him and he sighed.

"I know, I know, okay? He actually has a few serious injuries but he wouldn't let me work on them. He wasn't comfortable with me touching him. Kind of defeats the purpose of the appointment though," he grumbled.

Harry glanced at Ron, who was finally recovering, eyes red and cheeks flushed. His lips were still twitching with humour though.

"So," Ron said at last. "Did he enjoy his "head" massage?"

He burst into laughter again at the joke he'd clearly been fighting to get out and this time Hermione erupted into giggles with him.

"I hate you both so much," Harry deadpanned.

He'd asked for this, he knew; when you chose to massage people for a living, you were setting yourself up for happy ending jokes for the rest of eternity, but still...

"Guys, this is serious," he said. "He's coming again next week, he's already set an appointment. What do I do?"

"Oh, I'm sure he'll "come" next week," Ron managed to choke out between the laughter. Now Hermione was hitting him as though he'd done something wrong. The fact that she was still laughing hysterically though kind of ruined the effect.

"Okay, never mind," Harry said, pushing to his feet. "I should get going."

"No, Harry wait, we're sorry," Hermione managed to say.

Harry forced a smile and shook his head.

"I have to get some stuff done anyway. I'll see you tomorrow?"

He waved at them both before taking the floo in their sitting room back to his flat.

Yes, he was quite aware that he was moping but Malfoy had that effect on him. And talking about Malfoy "coming" made him feel even more sleazy than he already did.

He couldn't believe he'd actually tried to act like he didn't know the git.

Stepping into his living room, Harry went straight for the kitchen, and straight for the fire whiskey, pouring himself a strong glass.

It had been like seeing the light at the end of a tunnel, finding out about massage healing. Something quiet, where he could have his own practice. It would be drama free and best of all, he would still be able to help people, mentally, emotionally and physically in a way that was lasting and could really make a difference in their lives.

Why he decided to upset that peace by allowing in Draco Malfoy, of all people, was beyond him.

Harry took a swig of his drink and flopped into a chair at the breakfast table, mind replaying the events of their meeting for the hundredth time.

Truthfully, he'd mulled it over for ages before accepting Malfoy because, despite what Malfoy seemed to think, Harry was no idiot.

He knew that the other man would only come to him if he had no other choice.

Seeing Malfoy today only confirmed it.

After three years, Malfoy had changed in subtle ways. His shoulders seemed broader. He was slightly taller. The most telling differences though we're the dark circles around his eyes, making the grey pop from the contrast. He was thin, bordering on skeletal when Harry briefly saw his exposed back. Not to mention the quiet disdain with which he had always addressed Harry was muted, though still there.

Harry's stomach twisted and he realized with some surprise that he was worried.

What he'd ascertained from Malfoy's head trauma was that the injuries were indeed serious.

With other clients at least, Harry could ask them questions and trust their answers. With Malfoy, Harry wasn't so sure.

The information he gave was telling but vague. He was hiding things and with their history, Harry wasn't sure he blamed him.

So how was he supposed to build trust between them with all the twisted memories in the way?

He had a week to come up with something.

Malfoy was his patient now, after all. Harry wanted to help him.

☇☇☇

Seven days later and Harry was no closer to being ready for Malfoy sitting in his waiting room, let alone laying on his massage table.

He'd done well with his medic training, even better with his internships at St. Mungo's and then Winslet Magical Massage Clinic. Even so, he felt all of his confidence leave him as Malfoy leaned back against the table with his arms crossed, watching Harry closely, just like last time, as though he was the one assessing Harry.

"So did you feel any improvement after our last session?" Harry asked.

Malfoy shrugged nonchalantly.

"I managed to get a few nights sleep," he drawled. "For a few hours, anyway, if that counts as an improvement."

Harry nodded, squirming like a bug under a microscope.

"Right, well it can take some time. We'll both need to keep working on the areas that have been aggravating you."

He waited for a response but none came.

"Er, if that's all, you can get onto the table. I'll be back in a moment."

Harry let out a rush of air as the door closed behind him.

Malfoy's tenseness was contagious. Harry's entire body felt like an elastic pulled too tight.

He went to the crowded staff room, collecting his Grapeseed oil and mixing some calming essential oils into it, despite the possibility that again Malfoy wouldn't let him use them.

"God, I hope he let's me under the sheet this time," Harry muttered as Dierdre entered the room behind him.

She smiled indulgently.

"You know how wrong that sounds, don't you?" she asked innocently while pouring herself a fresh coffee.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Not you too," he grumbled. "I need my receptionist, at least, to remain professional."

She grinned at Harry.

"I know you didn't hire me for my professionalism," she said.

"True," Harry admitted.

When the Wizarding world's golden boy chose to open a massage parlour, it turned out the sorts of people trying to get in for a little one on one time, weren't always coming for the right reasons. Initially, Harry had thought taking clients by referral only would be enough but no, having the brunette ex-auror at the front desk had already proven to be useful on more than one occasion.

Unfortunately, this was not one of those occasions.

"I don't suppose you could do this massage for me?" he asked hopefully.

She just smiled and pushed him through the door.

Steeling himself, Harry creaked the massage room door open.

"Are you ready, Malfoy?" He asked.

"Ready," Malfoy said, simply.

Harry entered into the dark room.

Malfoy was a slight form beneath the covers. This time, Malfoy had managed to somehow pull the covers even higher so that most of his neck was covered. Long hair, a shocking spread of white across the back of his head was the only part of him that Harry could see.

Harry tried to hold in his irritation.

If he didn't want Harry touching him, then why the hell was he here?

The question burned on Harry's lips and he bit them to hold it in, choosing instead to take a breath and attempt to ground himself. 

Like last time, while Malfoy was face down on the table, Harry could pretend that he was someone else. Yes, the sleek platinum hair was hard to mistake for anyone else's but Harry focused his gaze on Malfoy's back and let his hands fall atop his stiff shoulders.

He could feel the tension radiating off of the blond in waves. He was so still, so high strung and controlled. In other words, he was exactly how Harry assumed he would be.

Pushing his thoughts away, Harry focused instead on Draco's pain.

Most practitioners needed a wand for this part, but this was one area that Harry really appreciated his wandless magic.

He shut his eyes as he concentrated on the spell. It was a little different when he did it this way, but after a moment, he could feel it, the twisted energy of Malfoy's injury. It burned against his palm, radiating like toxic waste from his right shoulder.

The moment his hand rested there, Malfoy tensed even more, even without any pressure being applied.

He would have to work on it sometime, but for now, Harry slid his hand away, focusing again on the neck and traps until finally his client started to relax.

It was a small change, the way he sank the slightest bit into the table, breaths deepening, but Harry found it immensely gratifying.

Again, Harry went to work on Malfoy's scalp, digging his fingers into the silky hair as he felt where he needed to work.

It felt like a storm cloud inside of Malfoy's head. Dark, twisted energy billowed around Harry's fingers.

The more Harry worked, the more he siphoned the darkness out, the more apparent it became that there was more to it than Malfoy was letting on.

This, in his mind, was something long term. Something that ran deeper than a few months. How else would it be so strong? It was like electric shocks to Harry's fingers when he reached too deeply and Harry knew, whatever relief he could offer would only be temporary. When the darkness was so deeply rooted, it was hard to pull the whole plant free. Everytime you clipped something loose, it was only that much easier for new leaves to grow.

The only question, of course, was what it was.

Hatred. Guilt. Pride. Regret. Depression. Anger. Resentment. All the angry words one could think of, could cause something like this over time. Bouyoed by insomnia, and a concussion most likely.

Another spark hit Harry's fingers tip and he wondered whether any of the darkness was over him.

It wasn't a pleasant thought so Harry pushed it away.

All he could really heal, was the physical injury, anyway. The brain trauma, swelling, insomnia and concussion. The rest was for Malfoy to figure out. Unless of course, he decided to actually trust Harry one day.

Harry let out a breath, realizing that he'd lost himself for a second there, and forcing himself back to the present.

He slid his hands down Malfoy's scalp, all the was down his neck.

Malfoy shivered under him and Harry tried his luck, sliding his hands under the covers.

Malfoy didn't respond, so Harry pushed it even further.

"Malfoy," he said gently. "Would it be alright if I do your back today?"

Malfoy stilled and for a tense moment, Harry thought he was going to be turned down but then Malfoy nodded.

With a sigh of relief, Harry folded the sheets down, slowly exposing the expanse of pale skin.

He tried not to stare, forcing himself to concentrate on pumping oil out of the bottle as he took it all in.

Last time, he barely had a chance to really look. He'd only glimpsed the pale, bony frame.

This time it was unavoidable.

Harry placed his hands on his former nemesis, eyes raking him as he started to move.

Malfoy's skin was a flawless expanse of soft white but the marble like beauty of it was ruined by the rest.

His ribs and spine were all on clear display. His arms looked small enough to snap and there on the forearm to marr the skin, the ugly, splotchy mess of what was once the dark mark.

In the dim lights, Harry couldn't make it out very well, nor did he want to.

He turned his gaze back to his hands, slicking Malfoy's skin with oil while he pressed deep into areas of tension, working them out methodically, one by one. He had to use his elbows on the tougher knots but Malfoy only breathed deeply when he did, never complaining.

Curious, Harry used his magic once again while he massaged Malfoy's back.

From what he could feel, his stomach was empty, but fine.

Concern gripped Harry.

The state of Malfoy's mind, combined with his frame... it didn't look good. As his healer, Harry knew he had to speak to him about it.

His stomach squirmed at the very idea.

Pushing it from his thoughts, Harry slid his hands lower, hesitating briefly. Would Malfoy hex him if he tried to massage his glutes? He really wanted to check his hip but it was going so well today already, far better than Harry had thought it would. He didn't want to shatter the fragile trust so soon.

Choosing not to risk it, Harry by passed the area, moving to Malfoy's legs without asking.

Malfoy's right leg was tight from disuse but aside from that, seemed to be fine.

He carefully draped the sheets to expose one, then the other, loosening both calves and thighs before speaking again.

"Okay, time to roll over," Harry said, covering Malfoy up again.

He didn't respond.

Thinking he was asleep, like last time, Harry placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in a little closer.

"Malfoy," he said gently.

Malfoy's voice was shockingly alert when he finally spoke.

"I think not," he said tersely.

Harry didn't know what to say.

After a long moment, he turned back to Malfoy's body feeling lost and then settled on spending the rest of their time on Malfoy's head.

Better to play it safe.

Where Draco Malfoy was concerned, Harry was proving to be just as flabbergasted as he'd always been.