Harry Potter – Sunday, July 16th, 2000

As my eyes flutter open, still struggling to pull myself out of my dreams, I notice that my vision isn't blurry as I always know to expect it to be. I must have fallen asleep with my glasses on by accident. That's when I take notice of the fact that I'm still lying on the bed with Draco asleep in my arms. He feels admittedly good against me – his body his heavy against mine, his skin is soft and warm, his hair tickles my face, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest is strangely comforting. Unsure what to think about that revelation, I quickly discard it from my mind.

Draco's body pushes back hard against me as he squirms his way back into consciousness. Refusing to move, I wait until he is fully awake to process his surroundings. Eventually, with a small yawn, he twists his head around to look up at me. For only a short moment, a smile spreads across his face and he allows his head to rest against me – but almost immediately, as if realizing his own actions, the smile disappears and he practically jumps away from me. He avoids eye contact with me, as if embarrassed and hopeful that I didn't notice.

"Good morning – or afternoon I guess," I mutter awkwardly as he stares down at his hands. He simply nods in response. Both of us clearly uncomfortable, there is no way we can stand to stay in this room together for another day. "So, how are you feeling? Do you think you'd want to go out today?"

This causes him to finally look at me, slight surprise displayed on his features. "Out? You mean you'd actually let me leave this apartment?"

"If you think you can handle it, sure. I mean, there's no reason to keep you locked up if you feel strong enough to get out and walk around. We could go to Diagon Alley and maybe get some ice cream or something?"

Draco watches me for a minute, seemingly questioning my sincerity. "Um, sure, it might be nice to get out of this room for a while."

"Why don't you go take a shower first and I'll send an owl to Blaise to let him know that we might not be here when he gets back."

He nods and silently exits the bedroom to shower. After a moment of staring at the empty doorway, I search through the apartment for something to write with. I can hear the water running in the other room, signaling to me that Draco is officially in the shower. The idea causes an unusual knot in my stomach. Still unfamiliar with the rest of Blaise's apartment, it takes almost ten minutes to find what I need. Focusing on my note to explain our absence, I ignore all thoughts about Draco as I finish it until I hear his voice calling me from the bathroom.

"Potter, get in here!" Draco demands.

With an exhausted groan, I drag myself toward the bathroom and push the door open. Warm steam tumbles out of the room and envelops me as I force my way blindly through it. Unable to see almost anything, I call out into the steam to where I know Draco must be hidden somewhere in the middle of. "Draco, what do you want?"

"I forgot to grab a towel," he explains with an irritated tone. "I need you to get one for me."

"From where?"

"Ugh, they're in the closet by the kitchen!"

Rolling my eyes at his impatient tone, my body moves toward the kitchen closet despite my brain telling me to just leave him to solve his own problem. The top shelf in the closet is stuffed with black or green towels. That figures. Pulling down two black towels – one for Draco and one for me – I hear a faint thud from the bathroom. The towels are both clutched tightly in my hands as I carry them back to the bathroom. The water is still running and the steam is still thick, but Draco is no longer in the shower. He stands in the middle of the room, unashamed by his nakedness, holding out his hand for one of the towels. My stomach flips violently and I need to take a deep, steadying breath to maintain my composure as I hold one of the towels out to him.

"Left the water on if you're going to jump in," Draco mumbles absent-mindedly as he rubs the towel over his body to dry himself off. Did he expect me to just undress right here in front of him? When he arches a challenging brow at me, the answer is yes. "Something wrong?"

"N-no, why would there be anything wrong?" I stammer, suddenly self-conscious of everything about myself, but unwilling to let him see the weakness in fear he would pounce at the opportunity to tear me down.

"No reason I can think of." Wrapping the towel around his waist, he stares me down expectantly. The git is baiting me. He knows that I'm feeling self-conscious and he doesn't believe that I will go through with it.

Unfortunately, this only fuels an irritation-inspired determination to prove to him that he can't break me and convince me to leave. Refusing to break eye contact with him, I grip my shirt tight and pull it up over my head. The shirt drops to the floor and I have to readjust my glasses. Draco is still watching me intently, an infuriating smirk on his face. I'm relieved that my face remains blank, not giving me away as my heart pounds with anxiety in my now exposed chest. Draco's jaw clenches tightly as my hands move down to unbutton my jeans, but he manages to keep eye contact. I slip my thumbs under my jeans and boxers and pull them both down.

"I'll only be a few minutes," I tell him casually, grateful that my voice doesn't crack. "Feel free to go get ready."

His eyes widen at the confidence I appeared to have, oblivious to the fact that it was an act, which gave me a strong sense of satisfaction. Desperate to hold on to the advantage, I break the eye contact and shove my way past him, stepping into the shower. Finally hidden by the shower curtain and blanketed by hot water, my anxiety washes away and pools down the drain as I hear him exit the room to get dressed. A small tinge of pride finds its way in as I think about what I just did – not to mention the look on his face. If he wants to try to mess with me to get me to leave, I can beat him at his own game.

Part of me finds it difficult to believe that this – that he – is what I've been looking for all this time to turn my life around. What if my intuition was wrong? A heavy sigh escapes my mouth and echoes inside the shower as I scrub soap over my body. There's no way I'm ready to give up that easily. How could I allow myself to fall back into the life I've been living – unhappy and isolated, hurting my friends, letting my bitterness consume everything that I am – I can't bear to live that way anymore.

"Potter?" Draco's voice is soft and nervous-sounding, but I can tell that he's standing right outside the shower.

"D-Draco, what's wrong?" I stammer, slightly startled by his sudden appearance with only a thin curtain between us.

"I'm not sure that going out is a great idea anymore."

Rinsing out my hair, I sigh at him, "What are you talking about? I thought you said that it would be nice to get out for a while."

"I-I know, but –" He stops as I turn the water off and yank the curtain open. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of me, but I'm too confused by his words to worry about it.

Grabbing my towel and wrapping it around my waist, I stare at him intensely, hoping to see through whatever façade he has on now to find out what's going on. "But what?"

"Are you sure that it's a good idea for us to go out in public together?"

"That's what you're worried about? You don't want to be seen with me?"

"No!" he replies immediately. "That's not what I meant. I just meant that – well – it can't be good when the Daily Prophet publishes an article on the front page – Golden Boy, Harry Potter, Takes on a Charity Case – or – Chosen One Spotted with Death Eater."

After a long moment of staring at him in puzzled disbelief, I finally see the vulnerability in his eyes that he is trying to hide from me. "Draco, I have never cared about those ridiculous articles. The Prophet is always publishing whatever rubbish they come up with just to help it sell and get a rise out of everyone. I never pay attention to it and neither should you. If I was worried about what others would think about me helping you, I wouldn't have agreed to do it."

"Oh, yeah? Does anyone besides Granger know that you're here with me?" His eyebrow is raised as if he already knows the answer.

"Well, no, but –"

"I didn't think so."

"Whoa, slow down. Just because I haven't told anybody doesn't mean I'm ashamed of what I'm doing! Besides, I thought you'd be the one to want to keep this a secret. I'm sure you don't want the entire world knowing what exactly I'm helping you with, do you?"

"No!"

"Then just relax! Forget about the Prophet. Forget about Hermione. Forget about everything. I'm not the Chosen One. You're not a Death Eater. I'm not a hero. You're not a villain. We're just us. Harry and Draco. And right now Harry is starving, so can Draco pull himself together so that we can go get something to eat?"

He watches me for a moment then tries to suppress a laugh. "Yes, alright, fine. You might want to put some clothes on first. That would definitely make the front page."

"Oh, shove off."

"Harry Potter Towel Advertisements, perhaps?" He gestures his hands up and down my body, making his voice higher pitched and animated, "Get the towel the Chosen One uses! It's the one towel to choose!"

"Shut up!" I yell, pushing him out of the bathroom while trying to hide my laughter. Slamming the door with him on the other side, I finally allow my smile to spread across my face. Drying off my body and pulling my clothes on, I can hear him shuffling around in the kitchen. He shouts to me to hurry up – give or take a profanity – and so I quickly spell my hair dry before heading out to meet him. Draco is leaning casually against the front door with his arms folded across his chest, chewing lightly at his bottom lip. "Alright, let's go."

We head out together and Apparate to Diagon Alley. Because it's the weekend the cobbled road is busy with people and the shops are equally bustling with customers. Draco is walking unnervingly close to me as we make our way through the crowd. His anxiety is thick in the air around us as he avoids looking at all of the passersby – who, as expected, are staring, pointing, and whispering as we pass them. I guide him into a nearby restaurant that seems relatively safe – most people are too busy shopping to worry about food yet. Draco sits down at a table near the back, as far away from the windows of curious eyes as possible.

"What do you want?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Whatever."

"Alright, then. I'll just go ask for two of my usual orders."

"Come here often then, do you?"

"I eat here every day when I'm working. I'll be right back. Don't run off or anything." Part of me secretly hopes that he won't be there when I return, but I know that I'd go mad searching for him if he wasn't. I walk up to the bar counter where the owner's daughter is working. "Hey, Lydia! How's it going?"

"Harry!" Lydia exclaims. "You haven't been in here in a while. Where have you been?"

"I've been on a bit of a break from work while I deal with some personal issues." I gesture back over to the table where Draco is still sitting, however he is no longer alone. A large, dirty-looking man is now leaning over the table whispering to him.

"Oh, Merlin!" Lydia's voice draws me back to my own conversation. When I turn back to her, she is gawking at Draco with a lustful admiration. "Where did you find him? I want one!"

"Oh, you know, just picked him up at the local pet store," I murmur dully, slightly irritated by her interest in him.

"Really!?" Her eyes are wide and I can actually feel my heart sink with how ashamed I am of her at this moment. How did I ever have a thing for her?

"No!" Resisting the urge to shake my head, I quickly change the subject. "Look, it's really important that I get back over there. Can you bring us two of my usual, please?"

"Sure thing, Harry."

"Thanks." Walking slowly back to the table, I am very careful not to be noticed by Draco, whose back is to me, as I listen in on the conversation he's having with the strange man.

"Come on, I've got an eight ball I can sell you right now if you're interested," the stranger tells Draco in a hushed tone. Draco's broad shoulders are tense. An eight ball?

"N-no, I told you, I-I'm not messing with that stuff anymore," Draco says to him.

"Damn. Astoria told me you were going to get clean, but I didn't think you could actually do it."

"Well, I did, so get lost," he growls firmly, clearly angered by the mention of his former lover.

"Draco, is there a problem?" I finally alert the two men to my presence behind them and they both turn with a start, eyes wide. Draco, if only for a short moment, looks almost relieved to see me as he glances back and forth from me to the stranger. My attention, however, moves immediately to the stranger who, from what I gathered from their conversation, is a drug supplier. I stare him down with a calculating glare.

"Harry Potter?" the dealer says with a hint of disbelief. "You're with him?"

"Yes, I am. Is there something going on here that I should know about?"

"No, Mr. Potter, of course not. I was just leaving." He leans back toward Draco. "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

I watch as the man walks away and Lydia comes up with the food and places it on the table. Sitting down in the chair next to Draco so that we can whisper without the risk of being overheard, I study his expression carefully. His eyes are hooded and his jaw is clenched tight. He begins picking at his food, avoiding eye contact with me like a child caught doing something they shouldn't be. It's not his fault that he was approached. He declined the offer and stayed strong. He has nothing to be so worried about.

"What's an eight ball?" I ask quietly, being very careful to keep my tone calm.

"It's a measurement of meth," he mutters down to his plate. "It's an eighth of an ounce."

"But you turned him down. I'm proud of you, Draco."

"Well, I don't need you to be proud of me!" he hisses viciously. His anger throws me for a moment.

"W-why are you so upset? You did a great thing!"

"This is why I didn't want you to come here! I knew that if I saw you again, I wouldn't need the drug anymore! Now I'm going to be the way I was before and you're praising me for it!"

His anger keeps me from properly processing the meaning of his words. "I-I thought that was a good thing. Why would you want to stay on a drug that could kill you?"

"You wouldn't understand. You wouldn't understand how the rush and the high feel. You wouldn't understand how it feels not to feel anything at all."

"You'd rather be numb than happy?"

"That's only assuming I can ever be happy. Besides, being happy is nothing more than an opportunity for more pain."