Spanish Sahara - Foals in the dark


Harry was swarmed in an instantaneous yet sustained moment. They materialised in an alleyway, next to dumpsters between buildings. As they walked into the lighter, wider street Harry noticed it was a cobble-stoned Muggle street. Muggles walked together, enjoying the soft sun and chatting merrily. It seemed like a humble, quiet and approachable scene.

Malfoy had pulled out a cigarette instantly, lighting it and taking a long pull with his head tilted upwards. He did this, as if introductorily, before opening his eyes and looking admiringly at the otherwise plain street. It seemed to mean something to him; he seemed to relax into a well-worn posture. He commemorated with another delicate puff, then tossed it aside and led Harry forwards. His t-shirt matched the unfurling smoke perfectly, a soft grey framed by a black coat. It had been a Friday night, in the library, so they were decked out in casual Muggle clothes.

They found themselves at a warmly-lit, neatly tucked away café. "Enter,' said Malfoy declaratively, holding the door open for Harry. A bell tickled softly as he walked in; they settled at a table by the window, and Malfoy's hands itched with nothing to do or grab. Other than a few figures sitting alone in more shadowed corners, settling after work, the café was calm and sparse. Harry didn't have time to feel out of place, or awkward at the scene, as Malfoy stretched out widely, limbs flailing and ignored his existence. He then let his body curl in, and looked carelessly tired.

When a waitress hovered, he opened his mouth but Harry shot in quickly. "Hold on," he said. "Let me."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows, then shook his head softly in disapproval. "A double espresso for him," said Harry, amused. "Just a latte for me, thank you." Harry noted the comfort of the place – the soft light, the humming waitress, the well-worn wooden tables and floorboards – and sunk back in his seat. He plucked briefly with his worn-out forest green jumper, hanging slightly loosely off him.

"Well, that would make you the first person to endorse my bad habits," said Malfoy, as the drinks slid in front of them. He settled possessively over his, and considered it, before carelessly knocking it back in one movement.

"Isn't that why we're here? Caffeinating?" said Harry.

"Resurrection," said Malfoy, lips tweaking. He then craned his neck, lifting his head and caught the eye of the waitress. "Another holy water, thanks Lee," he called out, and she laughed lightly, moving behind the machine. "Triple this time."

Harry stared openly at Malfoy, who was looking at the window as dusk settled on his face, unseeing. Soft blues and greys painted his inquisitive face.

"I'm stepping in after three, Draco," said Lee, as she settled the coffee down in front of him.

"Good Lord. That's just excessive mothering."

"You're excessive," she said, amused. She lightly pressed her hand to his shoulder as she bounced off.

Harry was still staring intently at Malfoy, who was absently running his thumb over the rim of the coffee glass. He was less agitated now, as he had been in the library, more dampened. "So," said Harry, after a while, as he received no explanation. "You come here often, then?"

Malfoy looked faintly surprised, then looked around and back at Harry. "Oh," he said, and he seemed to hesitate. "I worked around the corner, in the holidays."

"This is a Muggle town."

Malfoy acted as if he didn't hear him, and ordered another coffee. He smiled softly at Lee's teasing comment when she returned, but kept his eyes on the coffee. He sipped on his long black and looked outside distantly. When he spoke, it was to the window, "I worked in a café."

Harry's head slightly jerked back. "That explains so much," he said, but really it explained nothing. He meant about Malfoy's preoccupation with coffee, his knowledge. But it made no sense at all, beyond that.

Malfoy seemed to know this, and smiled almost sadly, and leaned back. He folded his arms across his body, closed off.

Harry opened his mouth again, but Malfoy kept talking, quietly. "After the war, I lived alone."

"Why?" shot out Harry instantly.

"In a flat, up the street," continued Malfoy, acting as if he missed Harry's question. "I still have it, I think."

In a Muggle town? Working in a café? Harry's mind worked fast, but nothing clear came from his muddled thoughts. "Why did you choose here?"

There was a pause, before he finally met Harry's eyes. "Because no one else did," he said. His eyes looked slightly guarded, but something stretched out underneath like a brooding sky. Harry understood with a neat click in his head. He understood the motivation, the solidarity.

"Hey," said a bubbly voice and they looked up at Lee, hovering around them, cleaning up tables. She looked at Malfoy. "Luca said he bumped into you the other night at a bar, what's the deal between you guys?"

Malfoy narrowed his eyes teasingly. "You just want fresh gossip about my life, you prying minx."

Lee laughed joyfully, and stretched out her arms above her head. "You're both too private," she declared, and moved towards a door that seemed to lead to a kitchen. "You're cut off, by the way, no more coffee," she called back loudly.

Something flickered in Harry's mind – before he could consciously wrap his mind around why that felt so significant, what was so telling, he just merely repeated a word. "Luca?"

Malfoy looked round at him, a faint smile still etched on his lips, but became still instantly. It slipped off his face. "Oh," he said. He was hesitant, chewed on his lower lip, before composing himself. He lent back, stretched against the chair, face impassive and turned away.

Harry waited, but nothing. He copied Malfoy's movements.

When Harry looked back, after a while of silence, Malfoy was sucking lightly on a cigarette and had his eyes narrowed. Harry wondered if it was concealed absently - but his mind moved on; there was something distinctly masculine about the way he held his jaw, moving his cigarette up to his lips and down again. It was held tight and something twitched, a quick pulse of a muscle, as he exhaled.

There seemed to be something forming at his lips, lightly held back, as he thought and looked indecisive.

"Why did you come back, to Hogwarts?" he was still looking, unseeing out the window, posed the question to the sky.

It was such a general question; it was such an intensely private question.

"I'm not sure," Harry said, because it was true. "I don't know. I wouldn't know what else I'd do." He thought for a moment. "People are here."

"That's funny," said Malfoy, blankly. "You're always alone."

Harry almost laughed, but then something sprouted in his mind. Malfoy was attentive, of him. I'm always with you now, actually, he thought.

He had a flash of understand in his mind, of the man in the bar leaning over Malfoy, a brief flare of connection lit. He wanted to ask about Luca again.

X

More energetic now, Malfoy pranced down the cobble-stoned street and talked lightly, walking close to Harry. But expending twice the energy as he moved loosely, moving closer and nearer to Harry, swinging his limbs and flexing his hands around. He was playing a game with himself, noting each passing Muggle and conjuring an absurd, fictional story. He claimed philosophically a huddled man needed more calcium in his diet, that an elderly woman had a secret unearthed destiny to become the world's greatest bird watcher.

Malfoy eyed a middle-aged, curvy woman walking down the street. "She's having an affair, can't you see? With her assistant behind her husband's back, her female assistant, it's quite the office scandal. She just thinks she's acting out, a mid-life crisis as it were, from years of sexual repression and resentment. She doesn't know she's gay yet."

Harry, who had been listening in amusement, felt his head snap unwillingly to Malfoy's face like lightning. Something trickled uneasily through his system. But Malfoy, with a confident slow smile, looked forwards as if to search for his next victim. His eyes darted once to Harry, from the corner of his eye, face unchanged.

"This one," he continued, after a tense moment – perhaps Harry imagined it, he wasn't sure, he wasn't sure of anything at that moment. Malfoy eyed a boy around their age. "He's an impulsive wreck. Ever-ready under thin constraints. He boils under the surface like the sun."

Harry frowned slowly.

"Like fire. He approaches strangers in bars and has seizures in front of them, knocking over glasses and cutting his hand," continued Malfoy in a low voice, and Harry saw the corner of his mouth twitch up, his eyes swivel towards him. "A hot mess."

Harry's body began to pound, heat flaring up and hands twitching unsteadily. Alight from his words. He met Malfoy's gaze, and had a sudden impulse to grab him, pull him roughly towards him, against his body. To have, to feel, taste him. Electricity scattered down his arms, his hands waited for permission. He swallowed hard.

Perhaps Malfoy was waiting for Harry to acknowledge his joke, his implication, for he remained quiet as they walked. Harry was shocked into silence with tight fists. But became uneasily aware of himself, that he hadn't said anything, and must be looking sick. Self-consciously, he fiddled with his jumper.

They slipped around a corner, into the shadows of the alleyway. Malfoy turned towards him, but as Harry reached forward to cling on to his arm, to Apparate, he moved back. He looked between Harry's eyes, close in their proximity, with a sly smile.

"Never known you to not rise to the bait, Potter," he said, his tone dancing lightly. "Perhaps I was wrong. You are controlled."

Competitiveness burned him, licked his mind like a flame. And mindlessly, he acted. To prove him wrong – or rather, perfectly right – Harry moved forwards, in a sudden jerk, and clapped a hand to Malfoy's mouth, hard. Then he arched his neck, and smacked his mouth flat against his own hand, held tight over Malfoy's mouth, for a sliver of a moment.

"Don't try and understand me, Malfoy," he said, echoing Malfoy's words. He grinned widely at the boy's expression, was satisfied to see the sly grin had disappeared. It was explicitly in shock, wide eyes and slack mouth. Completely open at the surface and blooming, flushed and frozen.

Harry offered his arm, and Malfoy stared at him blankly. He then stared at Harry's arm, blinked. "You grab it," Harry instructed, grinning wider and enjoying this far too much.

Harry walked happily beside Malfoy across Hogwarts' wide lawns, and felt Malfoy only recover once they'd reached the castle. The stiffness left him, and he complained into the night meaninglessly about Slughorn's antics, rattling on about how he was punishing them cruelly with all this extra work.

Their unsaid agreement to remain civil, accustomed to each other and comfortable, in private had burst once they found themselves in the familiar hallways, a few older students walking around them. Harry was suddenly very aware of their surroundings, the untouchable space between them, and the silence.

"Library, tomorrow midday," said Malfoy, barely looking at him, but rubbing his hands together.

That night, Harry dreamt of Malfoy. A familiar horrid string of nightmares haunted him, of imposing dark shadows and faces, spiralling inside him. But they were now cut through with a pale, lean figure, which darted spontaneously in and interrupted his dreams. He brought his paleness, that cut through the dark forms, the blackness. First it disorientated him, the first night, and he lay for a while after waking, feeling oddly vulnerable. But there became a sort of stability to it. Something in all the mad confusion, and haze of black death that threatened to choke him, that he could cling to. A sort of hope.

It was sort of like that in his waking life too. Even when Malfoy wasn't around him, he lingered, comfortably. It centred Harry, gave him something to grip to that could keep his mind keenly intrigued and floated freely. Instead of revolving around and around himself, lost, he watched a pale figure drift through his mind and coat his skin, welcomed.