Chapter Three: Revelations and Spines
Look in my eyes I'll make you see
We're drifting aimlessly
Blind in a world of make believe
Hear them sing their songs off key
And nod like they agree
Buying the need to be discreet
- Poets of the Fall: Illusion and Dream
Draco awoke with a start, as something prodded him sharply in the side. Groaning slightly, he tried to sit up - why in Merlin's name was his bed so uncomfortable this morning? - only to meet a resistance. Peering down, his eyes widened, almost terrified, at the sight of Saint Potter clinging like a child to his side, one arm wrapped tightly around his torso.
Draco could not help but notice how long and feminine the man's eyelashes looked; they brushed against his smooth skin as he slept, reminding Draco of doe's eyes. Blanching, he decided the was only one thing for it; elbowing Potter sharply in the ribs, he finally regained the ability to move as the dark haired man gasped loudly, curling into a ball as he was winded.
"What the hell was that for, you utter prat?" He moaned, and Draco glared at the insufferable Gryffindor, trying desperately hard to ignore the way Potter's mildly tanned torso curled so gracefully, and the way his spine gently poked through from his skin, looking as if it were made of silk.
Throwing himself from the bed, he rushed to the kitchen. Coffee. That was what he needed; strong, sugarless coffee, with perhaps a dash of leftover Firewhiskey. Yes, that was definitely what he needed. As he dashed about the untidy, practically festering room, he felt eyes on him, and he spun around to find himself staring at a barely clad Potter. He was wearing nothing but long silk trousers in a dazzling scarlet that brought about Draco's headache once more. Why did the fool insist on being so loyal to his old school house? For one thing, the crimson hue looked absolutely dire hung on the man's lean frame, and for another, they drew Draco's attentions downwards far too much for his own comfort.
Seemingly oblivious, Potter dragged himself to the settee before the now dead fire, settling his head in his hands as he sighed. Curious, Draco filled another mug with coffee, neglecting to add alcohol to Potter's - he could not waste a good thing on a man he despised so thoroughly.
"Here, Potter. You look as though you need it." He slid the mug across the table to him, and he accepted it more graciously than Draco expected him to.
"This morning… you were… what were you doing?" Harry - Potter - asked him, and Draco shrugged noncommittally at him, reluctant to disclose the reasons for his… he supposed he could call it comfort. Potter nodded, and sipped the scalding drink, clenching his eyes shut as he swallowed.
"What are you doing here, Potter? You were interrupting my evening, ah, entertainment when you arrived here." Looking decidedly better for it, he thought to himself inwardly. Potter stared blankly ahead of him into the ash filled grate for a moment, before seeming to gather himself up.
"Have you ever been afraid of the future, Draco?" He murmured, and Draco started at the use of his given name. Frowning, he stayed silent, realising that the man had far more to say than that.
"Ever since the wars, I think I've just been drifting. Everybody expected me to continue on to great things at the end, and I believe I just played up to that. People saving Potter, you might call me. Too bloody kind for his own good." Draco snorted, thinking he was joking - surely Potter enjoyed the attention he had received since he was eleven? Potter gave him a scathing look, and sighed, obviously thinking of the words.
"I got sick of it. Sick of the stupid little image I had to work to; perfect Harry Potter, wife plus three kids and the perfect, oh-so expected job. Do you have any idea how hard it is to be an auror after everything that happened back then? It's as if everything's a constant reminded of him. I hated it. I regret leaving though, I miss my children. Merlin, I even miss Ginny, never mind how inexplicably awful it was being married to each other." He gained a wistful look, and Draco wondered what had happened to make their marriage so unbearable. Ha- Potter looked at him again, his emerald eyes laden.
"I had to get away, Draco. Had to leave. Ron and Hermione tried to help, as you'd expect, but every moment I had to listen to them thinking up solutions - everything from magical marriage counselling to obliviation - I just wanted to leave. Get away from every damn reminder. I was robbed, Draco, of my childhood. Just as you were, I think." He looked sadly into Draco's eyes, his own piercing and knowing. Draco looked away, abashed at the attention from the man.
He sounded so much older; even the way he was speaking astounded Draco. The man had apparently gained a knowledge of vocabulary, because he definitely sounded far more intellectual than Draco had ever known. Although, did seven years of attempted murder and homicide really count as knowing a person? He shook his head, listening once more to Potter, who had been rambling in the background of his thoughts.
"That was why I came here. Travelled to your manor first, to find it lived in by merely some frankly terrifying woman and her son. No idea who they were, of course, but they told me where you had escaped to." He raised an eyebrow and Draco picked up on the undercurrent of sarcasm.
"My wife and child are to be looked after always, no matter how little I mean to either of them. Do not believe for one second that that manor would ever be handed to somebody not of the Malfoy bloodline." He spat bitterly, and Potter merely looked at him, openly trying to deduce something of his nemesis.
"You know the feelings I describe, Malfoy. Don't deny it, it must have hurt to leave them. Knowing that you can't return." He murmured, and Draco let his gaze drop, memories filling his mind as he attempted to listen.
"You were the only person I could come to. I grew tired of self imposed exile, but I'm not ready to face them all. You owe me a debt, Malfoy." He looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing, as if forcing Draco to succumb. Sighing, he waved the lock of the front door shook wordlessly, and retracted his wand into his ebony holster.
Later that night, when Potter had regaled him with enough tales of his world travels that he had grown exhausted, Draco withdrew from the seat they were sharing, although he supposed he really couldn't call it that, when they were each sat as far apart from each other as was physically possible. Lord knows why he had chosen to come to Draco, when he could obviously barely stand being in the same room as him.
He stepped in the direction of the bedroom, fully intending to sleep there and then, but he felt a hand rest upon his shoulder almost hesitantly. Turning reluctantly, he saw Potter standing, looking a little like a lost schoolboy.
"I hope you don't mind, but… last night, I awoke in the night. I saw you there, and… it helped me to sleep better. To have somebody there, I mean. It could be anyone, it had nothing to do with the fact that it was… you." Potter mumbled hurriedly, and Draco nodded in resigned defeat. Flourishing his hand mockingly, he allowed Potter to overtake him to his own bed chambers. Insufferable, pompous, over courageous, Gryffindor, he spat to himself, as if to remind him of who the man was, once more.
As he entered the room, he immediately started, as he saw the man stripping himself of the muggle attire he had previously worn - yet again, Draco had been shocked at the man's appearance; it had comprised of expensively made trousers, and a light cashmere jumper - and placing the clothes neatly in a pile atop his trunk. Draco laughed inwardly at the word; why must it have so many different meaning?
As Potter arranged his body beneath the sheets, Draco reluctantly undressed, bequeathing Potter with instructions to turn around, I don't need you bloody staring at me. Peeling back the duvet, he got in under a strained silence, and rolled onto his side, staring at the wall, and away from Potter. As he stared grimly at the room, realising that if he was to be sharing his apartment, he really should be thinking about cleaning it at some point, he felt a finger trace down his spine, marking where Draco's bones poked out slightly through his skin. Closing his eyes, he suppressed a purr as the man breathed against his back, and Draco wondered what possessed him to merely lay in silence at Harry's wanderings. Potter's wanderings, he corrected himself again, cursing his lack of control.
The brunette snorted softly, before evidently realising he was safe from whatever curses Draco could have deigned to throw at him. As he drew away, Draco relaxed into the mattress, glad of the peace.
As he settled down to sleep, he felt a hand rest brazenly upon his hipbone, and he barely stopped himself from starting in shock as a nest of soft, feather-like hair found itself resting between his shoulder blades. The man practically snuffled against his back, and he held back a feeling of horror, as it was overtaken by something else. He did not wish to think about what said something else was at that moment, and instead resigned himself to an interesting night's sleep.