Chapter Ten - Good Vibrations

Harry woke with a start, scaring the complete shit out of himself when the cup on his chest, which he'd fallen asleep with, fell onto his lap and onto the floor. At least it hadn't been full. He looked around the dim room, squinting against the sun coming in through the dingy windows at street-level. What had woken him was a man stomping his boot outside, sounded like he was cursing something or another.

This was the third time he'd fallen asleep on this dusty old couch in some dingy basement room filled with boxes and files of old Ministry cases, most at least ten years old. The case he was working on required some digging and research, and in a strange turn of events, he'd been the one in his auror class to volunteer for this boring work. It put him to sleep, quite literally, but it also kept him at a distance from everyone else, which… was a welcome thing, as of late.

His wand started to vibrate on the table, meaning he was being summoned by one of two people-Ginny or Hermione. He saw with a glance at a nearby clock that it was dinner time. Right-dinner, with his friends. He hurried to finish reading the rest of the file, at least what he remembered from where he had last left off, and learned absolutely nothing from it, nothing of value or what he was looking for.

He grabbed his coat, turned off the light, checked out with the witch whose job it was to keep track of who came and left, and took the cement steps two at a time. It was a lucky thing that dinner was just at a small restaurant not too far from the building. He hurried there, was shown the table in the trendy, dark restaurant, and turned a corner to a private room where his friends were. He barely had time to be objective, to think to himself, "maybe you ought to take a second to make sure you look presentable."

He appeared, breathless, with his hair a mess from the wind, and was met with laughter. He moved towards the back of Ginny's chair, though she had turned to look at him just like everyone else had. He leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek, sheepish, and genuinely managed under his breath, "I am so sorry for being late. I… fell asleep." He pulled his coat off and hung it over the back of the empty chair next to Ginny before sliding down and in.

He was a fucking mess, and he knew it. He pushed his long, wavy mess back off of his face and to the left, pushing it ritually off his face. He tried to make it seem like he was good, fine, happy. Just running late, that was all. Fell asleep? Sure, that was totally normal to do at the end of the work day. It was because he was having a hell of a time falling asleep at night lately-and by lately, the last two weeks.

These two weeks had been a trying time, and he was running out of patience with himself.

"You… fell asleep in a ditch?" Ron jibed from down the table, and there was love in it.

"Ron, really?" Hermione asked out of the corner of her mouth, but her eyes were on Harry. She leaned over her menu, across the table, looking at him with those same warm brown eyes that he almost hated to see look at him in such a way-worry. It immediately embarrassed him. "What Ron means to say is that-"

"-you look like you fell in a ditch."

Hermione's mouth closed, but then she popped a dark eyebrow, too, and laughed, as if to look Harry over in the new light of Ron's assessment, "He's not totally wrong."

Harry knew it wasn't that bad. It was just, they weren't going to be used to him looking this way. He would have had the same reaction if one of them had appeared late, for dinner, with windswept hair, dark circles under their eyes, bottom of pants wet because of a run in with a puddle, and maybe, he realized, a hole in the hem of a wrist cuff. He folded it over so it wasn't noticeable before unfolding the menu in front of him. He knew he was late and he didn't want to delay anything further. He glanced at the menu, picked something immediately, and then closed it back up. He leaned into the table, elbows on the top of it, and put his cold left cheek to his folded hands.

"It, uh… it was a puddle. A lovely, um… a lovely little puddle, is all."

"What makes a puddle lovely?" Ron asked, tilting his head.

Harry was physically pained, even showed it on his face, and they both laughed at Ron calling him out on his use of unnecessary adjectives, which ran rampant at the Ministry, "Yes. Yes. Thank you. Please kill me now before it gets worse."

"I find myself doing it too," Ron assured. "Forget when it was-something on Monday after we finished lunch at the cafe and you'd gone back to the dungeon. We ran into director Bailey, I think he's Head of Something... About Something-"

"Oh yes, I've heard they do great work there."

"The Head of Arts and Culture, which explains why you know nothing about it," Hermione corrected them both without looking up from her menu.

"Er, yeah," Ron replied, and he and Harry shared their usual silent laugh when she threw blatant insults at them which had once been full of irritation but now more-so full of endearment, "sure, that was it. Anyway, the man talks like he's Churchill. Lovely this, success that, something something profound… maddening."

Harry agreed with the assessment, then turned his attention to Ginny.

She was not so endeared.

He mentally grimaced, then tried to offer a light, close-lipped smile. It was genuine, nothing fake.

She did something with her mouth, then privately said to him, "You should go to the doctor."

"I'm not... sick."

"That's what you say. Why don't you give Malfoy a call, at least?"

No.

No.

No.

"No."

"You won't talk to me."

Harry closed his eyes, just took in the moment. This conversation. Again. He tried to maintain his composure, because, really, her comment was harmless. When he opened his eyes, she had looked away. He looked away, too, pulling his teeth over his bottom lip. He pulled his attention away from her beautiful, feminine profile, and he shifted his weight back in his chair, settling in and away from the table just in time for the waiter to come by.

The table ordered, and Harry was the only one who abstained from an adult beverage. A water, just a water. That was all he had been drinking for two weeks, other than a stray bottle of pumpkin juice he grabbed from a little shop in the Ministry when he'd actually been there. He, um… he supposed there was some part of him that was very silently, very privately, assessing his relationship with alcohol.

Particularly, that was, the way he felt most himself when he'd had a couple of drinks. He hadn't realized it until two weeks ago, but why would he have? He hadn't been paying attention to some parts of himself, had clearly been neglecting some things buried inside that he hadn't anticipated. The truth was, he became so much more... open when he drank. To feel that way, open, and like he could let go of some facade, made him realize that, despite the effort he still once in awhile made to be nuanced, he'd really built up an outward persona that was unaccepting of help, unaccepting of being vulnerable.

When he thought about that night, which he tried not to think of TOO loudly when it did cross his mind, he was deeply uncomfortable and deeply unsettled. It wasn't like he'd woken up that next morning with a hangover and deep regret, but he had certainly woken up barely having remembered the details and more-so just a blur and the fleeting feeling of that openness that had been gone by the time he'd gotten out of bed that morning.

The realization had been enough to spark a conversation with himself.

It was one he hadn't necessarily wanted to ever have with himself.

He hadn't ever thought to have had it.

What was his deal? Find where love hides? Wasn't he deserving of something simple? Easy? No.

Again, the last two weeks had been exhausting, because, well, despite his intentions… he was avoiding having the conversations with himself, mostly because of being busy with work. That was what he told himself, anyway.

Why did he lie awake at night, unable to sleep? Chatter. Endless mindless chatter.

"Did you hear from Ella about your piece?" He asked her Ginny conversationally, tuning into her.

"No-don't talk to me right now."

"Okay. "

"Just go back to talking to your friends and pretending everything's fine."

Harry's lips pressed together, staring at her while she took a long sip of her drink before it even was set down upon the table by the waitress. He watched for a few more moments, glad to do so while she breathlessly and excitedly began to tell her two colleagues and friends about, indeed, her editor, Ella, and this piece Ginny had been trying to get in her ear about since the Ministry Christmas party. He couldn't blame her for being irritated with him, in truth. Was he a fine boyfriend? He thought so. He tried to be. Was he the best boyfriend? Maybe not, not in her view. He was not as affectionate or doting or showing as she wanted him to be.

It felt uncomfortable to try to be a certain way in public for her, so he didn't… try.

After dinner-a long, wonderful, delicious dinner-they all left the restaurant.

Harry and Ginny walked behind the others on their way down to a dark alley where they could apparate away discreetly. The couple of drinks she'd had seemed to ease her tension, because she leaned into him. He lifted his left arm and gently draped it over her smaller shoulders. He didn't say anything. She looked up at the streetlights, clearly sensing that his attention was on her.

"Can I come back to yours?"

"Of course."

Her eyes shifted to his, "Can I come back to yours?"

"Oh," he realized, almost with a chirp, and her eyes widened. Yeah, he was a little cute. "Oh-uh, sure, but, uh," his right hand came up from his side and he thumbed at the corner of his mouth as he paused thoughtfully, not sure how to proceed. He thought for a moment, and when he looked at her, he could see that she was already becoming irritated that he hadn't immediately just said "YES!" He sighed about it, taking note of that wrinkled forehead.

"But you're tired? But I've had something to drink? But you didn't have anything to drink? But…"

Harry didn't immediately reply. He wanted to. The words were always right there, sitting in the back of his throat. He didn't want to hurt her. He cared about her. And look, these were not new personalities here. He was Harry. She was Ginny. She had always been outgoing and fierce, open with her feelings and showy. Harry, less so. Harry had a harder time navigating a relationship, because… that was what he wanted in the deepest parts of him.

"I annoy you, Gin. Pretty bad, it would seem."

"You don't annoy me. You infuriate me."

Harry shot her a side glance, and lightly replied, to try to keep the mood neutral, "Maybe both."

"Yes! Both. And I hate when you're agreeable."

He agreed with her, mostly because, yeah, she'd had like five cocktails, "I also hate when I'm agreeable."

"Please stop being agreeable."

"Okay."

She stopped, so Harry stopped with her, naturally, but his arm came down and away. Oh…

She turned around after a moment, facing him, under a streetlight. Her expression was flat.

Harry's hands moved for his coat pockets, squaring his shoulders.

"Do you love me?" She asked.

Under a street light.

He tried to think of a way to get out of this, a way to say just the right thing, and opened his lips a couple of different times, eyes on her at first. He looked around, seeing that their friends had already turned into the alleyway. There was no getting out of this. He wouldn't have wanted to, anyway. He stopped searching the surroundings for safety, lastly lifting his own eyebrows. He was tired of this, and he tried his damnedest to be what she needed, and who she needed, and it was never right.

"Yes."

"But?"

"There is no but."

The more silence that passed between them, the louder his pulse raced.

He came unhinged-a rarity, but… but… he couldn't keep doing this rollercoaster, "What else can we do? We are both too young to be having this level of, of… of-I-I don't even know what this is. It sure as hell doesn't feel like…"

She was staring at him, turned her head ever so slightly to the right, eyes on fire, and dared him to finish, "Like what?"

That was a trap, which he quickly walked himself back from, and he just put it out there, "It… it's not working." She blinked at him. His lips closed together and he pressed them tightly together, carefully watching her. Every movement on her face. He wasn't THIS guy. He wasn't this guy to stand out here and-and what? Break up with a girl this way? And he could see the realization coming over her. Hearing this out of him was probably not what she'd been expecting, but-but-she pushed, and she pushed, and she pushed! And he tried.

All of the sudden, she stood up straight. Gone was the irritation.

Harry didn't offer another word. He didn't move. He didn't go to take it back, nor explain.

"I'm sorry," she offered, and motioned back, turning, to return to walking. "You're right, I'm a bitch when I drink. Forget it, forget I said anything."

Forget until when? The next time. No. No, this… this wasn't it.

Harry watched as she started to walk again, but his feet would not move. He stayed planted.

She slowed to a stop a good three meters away, fully aware he had not followed her, and turned.

Harry put his hands out, in his coat pockets, at his sides. He had nothing else to say.

It was usually Harry who twisted, who capitulated, who was the adult and said, "we'll talk about it later." That was what he usually would have done, then made sure she got home safe. The world had seemingly flipped itself upside down under that streetlight. There was this voice in his head, now, that hadn't been there before. He'd always been ruled by his heart. He'd never wanted to be alone. He did love Ginny, and he'd never wanted to fuck it up.

But why was it him? He was a nice guy. He tried to be a "good" person.

Whatever this was, whatever this had turned into, was robotic. He was never enough. He carried that now. It was a THING.

And THAT was exhausting, and crippling, and hurtful.

"Harry," she finally said, after a good long few moments of silence, "I said I'm sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

He finally moved towards her. She turned, quickly, and started to walk. He knew she was freaked out. He could see that she knew something had just fundamentally changed, and though they walked together into the alleyway, there was space between them and silence.

"Goodnight," he offered her, when it seemed like she might move towards him for a hug goodnight. Confirmed, by the way her mouth hardened and she looked off to the left with something of disbelief that she was trying SO hard to keep from him. Not hard enough, but it was somewhat satisfying.

"Goodnight," she said in return, and though he felt the smallest tinge of guilt for upsetting her-typical, he heard some version of himself comment-when she was gone and he was standing there alone, the relief washed over him. He pulled his hands from his pockets and physically shook them, not sure what to do with himself.

When he'd woken up that morning, he sure as hell wouldn't have expected this was how he would be ending the evening. When he arrived home in the foyer, Hermione and Ron were making out on the stairs. He ignored them, as usual, hung his coat and scarf, quietly, and then slid by them on the stairs, taking the old wood steps two at a time. He moved for his room, not bothering to turn the lights on, and slid down onto the bed with his hands folding behind his head.

Feelings-emotions-were excruciating and useless. It was mostly indifference that he felt, which maybe didn't help the situation. Indifference towards himself, towards Ginny. Even towards this house, and just his life in general. He was generally unmoved these days, despite things having fallen into a pretty stable place. At his age, having a stable and budding career? Great friends? A home of his own? A fortune in the bank? And a great girlfriend? All of the check marks, and that was excluding just, well… being him.

The following day, after noon, with his work on the case files wrapped up back in the dungeon, he headed to the Ministry. Instead of heading to the Auror department, he found himself walking down the more modern, less archaic wing of the Department of Architecture. It was nothing like the Magical Law Enforcement floors and wings, which were constantly busy and bustling.

No crimes were being cracked open or investigated here.

"Harry?"

He turned, from standing idly by a window and staring out and down at the street, to see Maxius standing there. He had on a friendly expression, holding a folder in his left hand and pulling his glasses off with his right. He was surprised to see Harry there. Maybe Harry, too.

"What brings you to our quiet corner of the Ministry?"

He struggled with the answer, which in itself seemed to be enough of one for Maxius.

"Let me take these down to Bixley. Please, go in and take a seat." He motioned to his office.

Harry watched him take his leave but stood there, looking out the window, until he returned. He moved in for the office then, following Maxius, who quietly closed the door once Harry was in and had taken a seat. He came around his desk, putting his glasses down upon it. He sunk into his chair in a comfortable way, not too far from how Harry was slouched in his own chair in front of the desk. He rested his cheek to his right palm, leaning against his bent arm. He lifted his head, though, not wanting to be alarming.

Maxius maybe wasn't sure what to say. He was giving Harry time.

"Thanks," Harry offered, finally. "Is there anything available I could, uh… help with?"

"Help with?"

"Er… yes, anything."

"Volunteer slots or," Maxius attempted, "other opportunities?"

"I'm dutifully employed..."

"I never saw you today. This conversation never took place. How's that?"

"Appreciated."

"We have three positions open across the department. Nothing on the pay scale you're making now or would be making when you rank up where you are. We're… not exactly seen as essential to the Ministry. The historical branch is well funded, preserving historical architecture and artifacts, which of course was the budget behind the work that went on when we were restoring the school after the war. And so it doesn't pay well, but the trade off is that we love what we do. It's regular hours. The boss is flexible."

"Bixley?"

"Me. You're not here just to talk about a job, though."

He was right. Harry had found himself here for… advice? Here he was, "I really-I, er, I look back on that year, and I can see-or I understand-that I actually, well... enjoyed the work, even the research."

"Who's your supervisor?"

"Jack Diggle, know him?"

"I do. He's reasonable. You could probably have a conversation with him without it getting back to," and he just pointed up to the ceiling, to motion upstairs-WAY upstairs. "You've worked with my staff, and I've seen your work myself. I'd be so pleased to bring you on here, Harry, if you were truly interested. You know that, yeah?"

Harry agreed.

"It'll always be here, this department. What won't be here… exciting cases."

"That sounds brilliant to me."

The corner of the man's mouth twitched, "Where do you see yourself in two years… three?"

"I'd always pictured working up to being a first class auror," Harry admitted. "Please never repeat this, but… I've done that. I was a first class auror, in the real world. Not in a basement dungeon doing research someone else can take for granted to take credit for. I know," he heard himself. "I don't… know. I don't know."

"Lad," Maxius leaned up against his desk, his voice lowered, "this is par for the course. Take comfort in knowing you're not the first frustrated, confused kid your age sat in front of this desk, questioning his or her existence up until this point." His expression was perfect. It gave Harry freedom, albeit just for those few moments, to not feel so alone. "If Diggle is a company man, you go up to Reeves. If Director Reeves, who has been in that role since I arrived here ten years ago, pushes back, take it above him. You're… Harry Potter. You have some weight, eh!?"

"Do I, though?"

Maxius didn't consider it even for a moment, and ensured, "Yes. There is no one in that department who can question your credentials. Does the Minister know you're doing remedial work?"

"Remedial work is fine; I told them I was fine with that."

"It does not appear you are."

"Well, in hindsight," Harry laughed, then sighed. "I don't know what I want."

"And that's okay."

"Is it really, though? It doesn't feel it."

"Yes, Harry."

Harry ran a hand back through his hair, mulling it all over, and realized, "Sorry, I didn't even ask if you had a meeting. Thanks for taking the time. I should head down, check in with Diggle."

"My door is always open."

"Thank you," Harry said, as he stood, and reached out and offered his hand.

Maxius took it kindly and shook it, "Sure thing. On your way out, stop and take a look at the job postings."

The work day finished as quietly as it'd begun, and he returned back to his home.

It was dead silent as he hung his cloak.

The walls were white. Bright. It could have been cold, but it comforted him all the same. He went into the drawing room and sat down after pulling the three folded pieces of paper out of his right pocket. They were copies of the three job postings he'd only briefly assessed earlier in the day. Only one seemed viable by the time he'd read them through. One required experience he did not have, and one was a paid internship. The viable one was a position in the Historical Preservation division, which did seem like a good opportunity.

He moved over to the fireplace after awhile, in a bit of a neutral zone, and threw some Floo powder down. He waited a moment before almost daring himself to say, "Malfoy Manor." Instead of stepping in, he waited to see if there would be a response. It was doubtful as he turned away, until he heard a fizzle and pop. He turned and bowed his head, "Hello, Ms. Middy."

"Mr. Harry Potter," she returned with the same greeting. "Did you call?"

"Yeah, eh-well," he hesitated. "Do you know if Draco is around?"

"I can check."

Before he could tell her no, to protest, she was gone. Oh, great. That was sweet of her, but…

She reappeared, and he was full-on grimacing from the corner of the room. She looked around for him, and when she spotted him in the dark corner, he could tell that she was trying to hide her surprise and maybe a bit of laughter, as if it were definitely not appropriate, "He is home."

"Thank you-um, I didn't mean to make you go check," he admitted. "Stupidly, I was unsure if my fireplace had been, uh… restricted? I heard that's a thing."

"No, sir." Middy looked so perplexed. "Of course not. The connection is open between your home and the Manor."

"Okay."

He was embarrassed.

"Should I tell him to be expecting you?"

"Oh… good question. Uh, no. Definitely not. Thank you, but… no. Thank you."

She squinted, the tips of her ears turning down, and then departed without another word.

"Well handled," he told himself in the mirror he glimpsed himself in. He smoothed his hands back through his hair and latched them around the back of his neck, face tilted up towards the ornate ceiling on his way out of the drawing room and to the kitchens to make himself up some dinner. He had noodles somewhere, maybe. He was in dire need of a trip to the supermarket, but for tonight he just needed something in his stomach. He fixed up his noodles and slid down into a chair at the huge, otherwise empty, table.

He heard the Floo, waited for Ron to appear, looking over expectantly at the hallway as he heard the floorboards. One of the swinging doors slowly came open, but it wasn't Ron. It definitely wasn't Ron, pale eyes searching, scanning, for any sign of life in the kitchen. It was there, just frozen at the giant table, with a spoon in its mouth, which slowly came out.

The dumbest thing happened-he just smiled so hard, despite himself, at the deft, humorous silence.

Draco stayed where he was, only one foot in the kitchen.

Harry put two and two together about the unexpected arrival. "Oh... Middy. I-I can see why she thought something was wrong. Yeah, sorry mate. I'm fine." Of course, his voice cracked when he said fine. He cleared his throat. "Fine. Come in, if you… want to."

"I'm only checking in to make sure you're alive."

He looked down at himself, at his left wrist that was on the table, "You could check my pulse."

Harry could see all of the amusement flood Draco's warm face.

"And what's wrong with you exactly?"

The air came from Harry's mouth quickly, nearly a whistle, looking down and to the left, "The question of the week."

Draco finally moved, hung his head, just straight up dropped it so his chin was to his chest and his hair fell, but when it came up, he was smiling. His cheeks were peaked, his light eyes were glistening, and he was trying so hard not to engage. His long fingers around the depth of the door braced it, and Harry could see his knuckles tensed. He gave a thorough nod when he was peering at Harry, who now sat spoonless and noodleless, and alone, at an off-center table. He was stony faced in return, though maybe not purposely so.

Harry finally managed, getting a grip, "I'm fine, really. You can go."

"I'm here."

Harry scooted his chair back, trying to find the words, and grabbed his bowl and headed for the sink, "I know you, um, probably don't want to be, but thank you." He turned, wiping his hands together as he came away from the sink. He stopped by the island, keeping a distance, but now Draco had come into the kitchen, leaving the door swinging slightly off its hinge so it made a wobbling sound. He did need to fix that.

"Sit down." He motioned to the table, so Harry slid back down into his chair.

Draco came closer, pulled the chair on the other side of the table out, and sat down too.

"I mean," Draco attempted, after a good fifteen seconds of not knowing how to begin.

Hearing "I mean," said that way again…

"You came looking for me. I'm here." He fixed Harry with a long stare. "So, what is it?"

Harry was moody, finding himself struggling before mumbling irrationally.

"What? Ugh, Potter," he laughed, unbothered. "Well played. Good try. And so on."

"No, it's-it's just me. A right mess. How are you? How's life… treating you?"

"Thank you for your interest. Or concern? Things are good."

"Good," Harry genuinely enthused, and found himself leaning forward to express it so. "Good."

The eyes opposite of his lowered slightly, and shifted leftward, away from his own.

"I came looking for you earlier, because," Harry finally began, "I… value your insight. That's not really surprisingly, or shouldn't be. It's been a weird couple of weeks-oh, um, not because of…" He sighed, then just this noise came out of him that he'd never heard before. He digressed, just sat back against his chair, blowing air out of his lips, and let the sentence go right there. He didn't know what he wanted to say. "Wish you wouldn't have come. Don't really want to be seen how I am right now."

"By that, you mean speaking in broken sentences and sighing a lot?"

Harry couldn't help his embarrassed laugh, though he tried his best to squash it with his eyes lowered, "Don't know what you mean... "

"I wouldn't argue that I've seemingly caught you out of your element."

"Yeah, I guess that's… why I didn't actually Floo over."

"Perhaps," Draco began, a few moments later, after eying the table, "you should have a nice cup of tea. That is my expert, remedial triage mediwizard opinion."

"Brilliant."

"Yes, thank you."

"I'll give that a shot."

"Actually, a shot of whiskey in there isn't a bad idea. Have you considered doing remedial triage?"

Harry laughed, despite himself, arms crossed over his chest, watching Draco now openly, "You're… um, you're a treasure."

They breezed right on by the topic of whiskey, though Harry could see realization on his face.

"Since you are here, can I use your ear?" He got a nod, a lone nod, maybe a soft nod, in return.

It was the reason Harry had gravitated towards attempting to Floo the manor earlier.

He knew Draco had good insights on things, listened, and saw things from a different perspective than not just Harry but Harry's friends. He had heard their insights lately, but he also didn't want to harp on things. And Draco being here, coming here, meant a lot. Harry would take advantage of it, of the gesture, maybe if it wasn't the best idea to do so when he was so messed up about, well… everything. He was like a… like a really knotted and disastrous ball of yarn, and when he tried to unravel himself, it was like he just made the yarn a bigger mess.

"Everything I thought I wanted," he just barely managed, "I… don't anymore. And I don't know what to do with that."

Draco didn't say anything immediately, thinking it over while watching Harry look between his hands as though there were a book there that should magically appear, full answers, full of wisdom and guidance, "Work?"

"Everything."

"Oh," and in any other situation, he definitely would have lightened the mood with a joke about this being part of Harry's continued existential crisis, but perhaps, in this moment, indeed it was an existential crisis and too vulnerable of a moment to make light of. Light wasn't needed. "I'm going to make you a cup of tea. When I give you your tea, I'm going to ask you a question that you should sleep on. Think it over. I'll be back sometime to discuss, but dinner's ready back home, and I'm starving."

Harry itched an eyebrow with a knuckle, and he laughed though his lips were tightly closed, so it came from his nose, "Fair enough, but I can make the tea myself. I don't want to keep you."

"No, you misunderstand me."

"I'll be fine," Harry offered. "I will make some tea, laced with whiskey, and… pass out for the night."

"I wasn't brushing you off," he said, as Harry stood. "This is a genuine technique."

"Okay. But I can still ask myself the question while I drink my tea. What is it?"

Draco grabbed the tea tin from the counter that Harry went towards, which caused Harry to be magnetically repelled from him, around the other side of the island, as if embarrassed to be that close suddenly. And yes, perhaps that's exactly what it was. He didn't want either of them reading into anything, so actually… tea seemed like a bad idea, at least for an increasingly paranoid Harry who looked over his left shoulder as he rubbed his forehead in a distressed way.

"Sit down, Potter."

Harry huffed importantly in that rare way, and he could tell with one tiny glance from Draco's delighted expression that he was being weird again-that really weird side of him that seemed to not give a fuck if Draco witnessed it.

This was, Harry truly knew, the truest sign of friendship. He decided it was all too much and deadpanned back at Draco's open amusement now.

"I'm not looking to be a test subject for whatever experimental remedial mediwizard potion you're about to slip into my tea."

Draco's smile, his teeth pressed down over his bottom lip, finally evolved into a full on laugh, but he sobered after a few moments once he'd put the kettle on, "It's far worse than that, I'm afraid. There's a hideously tender anecdote I should know better than to share, but sometimes such things are necessary." He prefaced the moment, then glanced at Harry to get his approval, that he wouldn't completely take the piss out of him for it. He got assurances in the squinting eyes. "There aren't many memories… I should specify, warm memories… I had with my mother as I was growing up. Whenever things were truly bleak, though, she'd make me a cup of tea and leave me with a question to mull over. It has a way of fixing everything, even if but for a few minutes."

Of course, Harry could barely help the fond, almost shy, reaction of his own, as he watched.

It was a bit of a hideously tender admission, mostly because of the way it'd been delivered.

"On you go," Draco told him, motioning his head to the left. "Scram. Go on, then. Get."

"Shoo!"

"How dare you. On you go."

"Yeah, all right."

"All right."

"All right."

"Merlin."

Harry finally cracked a smile, too, and turned, after half-assedly lifting his hands in surrender, walked over to the table, and took a seat. He sat, waiting for his cup of ordinary tea, extraordinarily prepared.

When it came, after Draco placed it down, he looked squarely into Harry's unprepared eyes, and asked, "How many fingers can you see on how many of your hands?" He lifted his eyebrows to match Harry's expression, so he would hold off on judgment just yet.

He was looking down at the tea cup, now, and particularly not at Draco, who took his leave.

He glanced back, at the doors, and he could see there was something on Harry's face which Harry was positive asked "are you fucking with me?" He didn't ask it aloud, though.

Once he was out of the room, Harry smiled fully into his steaming cup of tea, right around the rim, with teeth, and sighed a soft, tired laugh and gave the tiniest of nods to himself. Perhaps he would mull the question over, once he had fully processed the exchange. He finished the hot tea prepared with sentimentality, not enough sugar, and a full dose of humility.