How Are You, Really? (Drarry)

Chapter Twenty-One: Group Therapy II

            Harry and Draco were already sitting when Healer Althea entered the room. "I see you two are early today. Did you come here together?"

Harry nodded. "We have the same class before this."

"I see," Althea said. Harry thought he was missing something as Draco blushed when Althea gave him a quick glance. Harry had to admit Draco blushed a lot. "Today, we are going a different route: I want to see your happiest memory, the one that shines through at all times."

Harry didn't even have to think about it; he raised his wand and pulled the memory from his head, placing it gently in the pensive. Draco stared at him. "I was going to go first."

"You snooze, you lose," Harry smirked.

"Draco put your memory in there too, so we can just go right into it." He did as he was told.

They all leaned forward into Harry's happiest moment in his life.

Harry was eleven again, lying under a gigantic tent of coat that was rustling slightly. He was awoken by a barn owl pecking at him, asking for its coin. Hagrid told him which odd coin the owl needed, and Harry put it in the pouch tied around its leg.

Once awake, Hagrid handed Harry his Hogwart's letter. Reading it, it finally hit home that Harry would be leaving the Dursley's! He was free! He felt tears start to fall, but he quickly wiped them away before Hagrid noticed. He was free!

Harry glanced at the other two and was astonished to see Draco's mouth was hanging open. Before Harry could ask what was wrong, the memory swirled away, replacing the shack on the rock with a regally appointed room where an eleven-year-old Draco sat reading in the window. A tap on the glass drew his attention away from the book. Instant excitement erupted on the boy's face. Harry wondered what the letter was – perhaps a new purchase? Maybe confirmation that Draco would be on the Quidditch team this year?

Harry stepped closer as Draco pulled the letter from the owl. He recognized the slanted handwriting. Jumping back in confusion, Harry's thoughts swirled. He turned around to Malfoy, who was staring at his younger self with sadness etched into his face. The memory swirled away.

"You're Hogwart's letter?" Harry gasped, staring at Draco.

"It seems you both have the same favorite memory. How interesting," Althea whispered, marking something on her charts. "We'll start with Harry: why is that your happiest memory?"

Harry, still confused that Draco shared the same happiness for the same event, answered without thinking, "It meant I was free of the muggles. That I was special and belonged somewhere, instead of constantly being the freak. It meant I had somewhere to be."

Althea nodded slowly. "And you, Draco?"

He shook his head. "It meant I got to escape my household. My mother had just discovered my father's third affair, and he was taking it out on me. I couldn't stand being the manor anymore. It was horrible. The letter meant I had someplace to be away from them."

Harry's head reeled. Never in a million years would he have thought Draco felt the same about Hogwarts as Harry did.

"Do you have any comments about each other's memories?"

Draco hesitated before saying, "I expected yours to be the defeat of Voldemort, Harry."

Harry started. He'd never even considered that as a possibility. "No, not even close. I was just exhausted, and grief was trying to overwhelm me. I could barely breathe by the end of the Battle. And then I had to shake everyone's hand and stand there and be a symbol for all that we'd lost. It was one of the worst days of my life."

Draco looked even more pale than usual but nodded. "I understand that."

Harry thought Draco did. "I never would have guessed that your letter would have been the best. I just assumed your memory would be a new toy or something you wanted."

Draco snorted. "I was a spoiled brat, but I was a spoiled brat with issues, Harry. It looks like we had a more similar childhood than we thought, although they're still different. Both of ours were colored by the Dark Arts, although in different ways."

"Are you ready to talk about that?" Healer Althea asked Draco. "The Dark Arts, I mean."

Harry sat up in interest. What did Draco have to say about the Dark Arts? Why was Althea bringing it up?

Draco cast a glance at Harry from under his lashes. "I guess." He chewed on his lower lip for a second before saying, "My father started teaching me the Dark Arts as soon as I got my wand. I new curses before I knew the basics."

Harry frowned. "But underage wizards can't do magic outside of school?"

Draco shook his head. "Harry, be sensible. Money can buy you anything, and God knows we have enough of it. I had no idea how much until I took over the finances. It's disgusting."

"But who did you practice on?" Harry whispered, scared to know the answer.

"Each other. Or house-elves. Don't tell Hermione that she'd never forgive me, even if I didn't have a choice."

Harry was horrified. He was trying to picture eleven-year-old Draco, forced to be the victim of his father's curses. It made his blood boil with anger. "And where was your mother?" Harry growled, unable to keep the anger from his voice.

Draco flinched. "She pretended not to know, I think. Or hoped it wasn't true and never bothered to find out."

Harry sat there, processing this new information. His heart ached for the young, scared boy Draco must have been. "That's... that's... sick. Just sick."

"Are you angry on my behalf?" Draco joked, smirking.

His smirk faded when Harry burst out, "Of course I am! Who wouldn't be! You were just a child!"

Draco sat there, stunned, as Harry tried to calm himself. He was irate and would have loved if Lucius or Narcissa was before him.

"I think that's enough for today. Here, both of you take your chocolate. You have to eat some before you leave."

Harry grabbed the bar, angry still. But after a couple bites, his anger dissipated, and only an ache remained. Poor Draco.

"Have you thought about what we discussed in your solo session, Draco?" Althea asked as they all rose.

Draco stared at him.

Harry asked, "What did you talk about?"

Draco turned to him and plucked at his sleeve. "Wearing short sleeves."

"You should. Your tattoo is beautiful," Harry blurted out without thinking.

Draco tilted his head. "You like my tattoo?"

"I love it," Harry admitted, compelled to provide some form of comfort to the man standing before him.

Draco nodded. "I guess I can try it out."