Reparations

viii

AN - I don't own Harry Potter. Nor do I own the British romantic comedy from which I semi-borrowed/bastardised a dessert-related plot device :) Lots of avoidance, frayed tempers and the f-word in this chapter. I guess if they were both rational and sensitive it wouldn't be as much fun, eh?

The next morning, Harry is early. Draco is not.

He waits until almost nine a.m., drinking his coffee and trying not to pace, before he reluctantly gives up and wanders around the rest of the department, greeting patients and watching them go about their morning routines. By the time he gets back, Redrow is hovering in the door of the Stage One ward.

"Good morning, Healer Redrow," he says, surprised to see the man so early.

"Healer Potter. Everything alright?"

"Everyone's just finishing breakfast," Harry replies, gesturing vaguely toward the dining room. "Do you know..." he hesitates, not wanting to draw attention to Malfoy's lateness, but still. Fuck it. "Do you know where Draco is?"

"Yes, he'll start a little late today. Our meeting rather overran yesterday," Redrow explains.

"Did it?"

Harry knows it did, as a matter of fact, because he may have happened to wander past Redrow's office on his way out last night and hear voices, and it was well past eight o'clock. He may have happened to press his ear up against the door, just for a moment. He also may have listened for a bit longer than he should have, partly because he wanted to see if his name came up, and partly because he likes the way Draco says 'intensive group therapy.'

"He'll be in for ten," Redrow says, looking at Harry oddly.

"Just in time for morning group," Harry sighs, and the dark gaze intensifies. Just in time to literally walk straight into morning group. How very fucking convenient. "Wonderful."

"Are you sure you're alright, Healer Potter?" Redrow frowns but doesn't move from his spot in the doorway. "Is Draco still giving you a hard time?"

Harry flushes instantly and it takes every last shred of self control he has not to look at the floor. He swallows rapidly and shakes his head. "No, no. We're... he's... fine. No problem," he stumbles, smiling in what he hopes is a reassuring manner.

Redrow stares for a moment longer and then allows an encouraging half-smile. "I told you, it's just a matter of proper handling. Draco's a professional, and so are you. I knew you'd work out your differences."

He looks pleased, and Harry knows he's thinking of their very first conversation. "Yes, we managed to find a way to work together," he says weakly. "Would you excuse me?"

"It's all about communication!" bellows Redrow as Harry escapes into the office and shuts the door behind him.

"Communication my arse," Harry mutters to the room.

Meeting or no meeting, he's now certain he's being avoided. And by a Slytherin. He's seriously fucked. Impulsively, he pulls the plastic lid from Draco's coffee. It's cinnamon-pistachio and smells vile.

Harry drinks it.

**~*~**

When Draco does turn up, he looks far from rested despite his late start. Though he's perfectly put-together as usual, his eyes are tired and by the end of group, his hair is verging on unkempt from running fingers through it.

He doesn't, however, get anyone's names wrong. Harry fights to keep his attention on the group and wins, for the most part. The theme of the group is denial. Draco is apparently a fan of irony, too.