Blaise sighed. "Just tell me when you need a massage, or let me write, okay?"
"Maybe."
"Blondie... geez, you're still stubborn. Who were you writing anyway?" he asked, curiously.
Draco grimaced. "My... aunt. I was wondering... if we could... mend our relationship. I mean, not that we ever had a relationship."
Blaise smiled. "I'm glad... that you even tried. I really hope she's willing to connect with you."
"I'm not so sure she will be. Death Eaters and her sisters weren't kind to her. She probably wouldn't want to associate with... someone like me."
Blaise pulled him into a hug. "I bet she will want you. She's close to Harry."
"Harry didn't tell anyone about us... me. He thought he had to protect my anonymity to the death."
"I'm nearly positive that she reads the paper. Potter jumped into the proverbial den of hyenas for you."
Draco grumbled under his breath but didn't look at him.
"Did you send it?"
"No... it looks like a four-year-old wrote it."
"I can rewrite it for you," Blaise offered.
"No. Let's get on with the torture," Draco said, changing the subject as he threw his legs on the bed.
"You have a terrible sense of humor."
"If you think that this is anything but painful... you don't understand anything," he snapped.
Blaise sighed. "I know, but you really compare this to...."
"Don't!" Draco hissed, feeling like an icy wind blew over him. It wasn't easy for him to talk about without Harry there.
"I'm sorry... really," Blaise said, sincerely.
Draco leaned back and settled his head on the pillow. "I know. I'm not mad. You have to understand that I had mental guards... walls up when I was in there. It was a dull ache. They couldn't get to me no matter what they did to me. But my walls are down. Everything is bright... sharp... I can't block it out anymore. I feel it."
"I get it. I'm sorry I prodded... and pushed you."
Draco barked a laugh. "I'm glad you do... regardless of my sour temper. I need to work my muscles, no matter how much it hurts. I want to walk... normally, again."
Blaise shook his head and pushed him to complete every one of his exercises. He had just finished when the physical therapist, Bethany, arrived. He drank his potions and let the muggle woman knead out his pain. No, she was not as good as Harry, but she was a great masseuse. She didn't pry as she saw his scars. She knew, minimally, that his muscles had atrophied, and even a muggle could guess why based on the scars and his reactions.
It wasn't easy the first few times she had touched him, but Blaise stuck around to put him at ease. Eventually, he stopped flinching, but would still tense up when she worked his upper legs. To her credit, she tried to be as nice and caring as anyone he had known. She didn't teach him like a broken thing... or even a customer. She treated him like a person, a person who needed constant encouragement and reassurance. Gradually, he said Blaise could leave.
"How are you doing today?"
"Sore," he admitted. He also hadn't been able to look at her in the eye. He hated feeling vulnerable.
"Do you do a full exercise routine every day? That's not good for you either! Balance! Let your muscles rest! When I say to use your muscles every day... I meant doing normal tasks. Not use these machines until you've overworked them!"