23. Close enough [Sunday, January 2nd 2005]
Potter's sitting room suite was made from dark, solid wood and cream-coloured leather, and it looked like it must have cost a fortune. This was the reason why Draco had not dared transform one of the sofas into a bed, which was in turn the reason why Draco fell onto the floor when a heavy THUD woke him early on Sunday morning.
He grabbed his wand from the coffee table and hurried into the hallway, where Potter was just getting to his feet, leaning against the wall for support.
"What did you do?" Draco asked, his heart still racing from this abrupt start to his day.
"Fell on the way to the bathroom," Potter muttered, thoroughly dusting off his joggers (even though the floor looked like it had not seen any dust ever) and not meeting his eyes. He looked like he had barely slept at all. Maybe that had something to do with having slept the entire day away yesterday.
Draco was just getting ready to scold Potter for not calling for help, when a movement on the ceiling caught his eyes. He closed his mouth and looked up at a very large silver sigil, made up of two intertwining serpents.
"What in Merlin's name is that?"
"How would I know?" said Potter dismissively.
"You live here."
Potter neither looked at the snakes nor at Draco. "It was already there when I bought it. It didn't come with instructions."
"Did that thing move just now?" Draco demanded.
Now Potter looked up too, ruffling his hair at the same time. "No. Trick of the light."
Draco narrowed his eyes at him. He knew by now that something was up when Potter messed up his hair. Was it because he had something to hide? Or maybe it had nothing to do with that at all, but rather with his cuddle ambush the day before? Draco reckoned that Potter would be pretty embarrassed about that. One thing was clear, at least: Potter did not want to talk about what was bothering him.
"If you are done interrogating me now …," Potter said, squeezing past him and disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of running water told him that Potter was taking a shower. Draco spent another two minutes staring up at the ceiling but the serpents didn't show the slightest inclination to move.
~o~
They spent the day in front of the sitting room fireplace. Potter was stroking Emeralds head while poring over what seemed to be instructions on a new set of Seeker's moves, which Coach Greyson had sent around noon. Somebody must have told him that Potter couldn't read, because the instructions consisted entirely of little moving diagrams.
Draco (who could still feel where Odysseus had bitten him when he had taken the parchments from him) had caught one glimpse of a little stick-figure Seeker jumping from his broom to catch the Snitch, and decided he did not want to see the rest.
Instead, he had immersed himself in a collection of his own handwritten notes on the healing of scars. But the longer he stared at them, the more the idea of flinging himself off a broom appealed to him. There had not been any progress in his research in the last two weeks. He seemed to have reached a deadlock and the only way out seemed to be through human experiments.
"What's eating you?" Potter had put his diagrams down and was watching him from his place in front of the fire.
Draco honestly didn't know how Potter could stand being so close to the flames. He himself had only hesitated a minute before taking off his sweater. Draco was now sitting there in his short-sleeved t-shirt, careful not to bare his left arm to Potter, while that maniac was still wrapped in a blanket.
"I'm short a guinea pig," Draco sighed, rubbing at his burning eyes.
"Can't you just buy one?" Potter raised an eyebrow at him. "Want me to put it on the list?"
"The list?" Draco asked distractedly, trying to bring his notes in order again.
"My shopping list for Sam. She usually comes by every Wednesday, but if it's urgent I could tell her to do it tomorrow instead."
"It's not an actual guinea pig I need," Draco objected. "I need a test person. I don't think Samantha Huxley will be able to help me with that."
"What are you working on?" Potter asked. He wrapped his blanket a little tighter around himself and came over, plonking himself down next to Draco and then leaning against him to look over his shoulder at the photograph of a particularly gruesome Expulso scar.
"Shit," Potter commented tonelessly. Draco turned to look at him, but Potter's eyes were fixed on the picture. "How old is he?"
"He was eighteen when he died of late complications," Draco said glumly. "A scar that large can harbour a tremendous amount of dark magic."
Potter nodded, still staring at the scar. Draco turned it over and some tension seemed to leave Potter's body. He looked up at Draco at last, his eyes considerably wider than usual.
"What do you need a guinea pig for?" he asked interestedly. "Are you going to try and heal scars like that?"
"I think I found an approach that could work on curse scars," Draco said, shuffling his notes for something to do. Potter really was sitting awfully close. "But nobody will want to volunteer for that. I'll have to cut into their flesh for it to be effective."
"Sounds less than ideal," Potter grimaced. He tilted his head back and stared up at the ceiling, as if lost in thought.
"So, are you going to do that kamikaze jump?" Draco asked, gesturing over at the diagrams, which Potter had put onto the coffee table, neatly stacked.
"Depends. How low would I have to fly for it to not be life-threatening?"
"A foot off the ground could kill you if you managed to hit the ground in a less than favourable manner."
"So … your advice would be to not do that?"
"Preferably," Draco said. "I would rather not be the one to break the news to your family. I have a feeling I'll see a lot of Ginny in the future. That could get awkward and I wouldn't want to do that to Blaise."
"Knew you cared," Potter chuckled next to him, elbowing him in the ribs a little rougher than necessary. Draco decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and blame that on the Confounding Concoction. He was feeling charitable.
Draco put his notes away and leaned back as well. The room was getting darker by the minute and he wasn't making any progress anyway. He closed his burning eyes, tired from hours of reading. The crackling of the fire had a rather lulling effect on him and Potter showed no inclination to get up again. Their arms were constantly touching, and he did not seem to mind.
When Draco opened his eyes again, it was close to midnight. Potter's head was resting on his shoulder and he seemed to have covered Draco with half of his blanket. Or maybe Draco had stolen some of it during the night, though he somehow doubted that, as the fire was still burning. Draco had a feeling that it was charmed to never go out. Potter's house sure was a lot warmer than any other Draco had been to. He resisted the urge to find a more comfortable position and went back to sleep.
