Again, this is just a repost to space things out nicely (hopefully!) Thanks to everyone who reviewed part one, and said I should keep going. All of my chapters tend to be this long, but if you really want, I could shorten them... Up to you. And I've tried to take into consideration the advice given. Thanks again, enjoy!
… The door swung open, and standing in front of him, in a rugby shirt, jeans and slippers, was salvation in the guise of Harry Potter. Draco was sure he would have laughed at Harry's expression, if he hadn't felt so darn close to tears. He raised his red woolly hand and said, " Hello Harry", before tumbling into that oblivion.
Harry caught Draco before the other could hit the ground, but not before there was a sizable lump from the wall embellishing Draco's pale forehead.
" Shit", Harry exclaimed. Not the most eloquent of phrases, but it was well suited to the situation. A neighbour came out of her flat, and looked up when she heard his voice. Harry blushed and tried to wave, which was considerably hard to do with an unconscious man in his arms. In the end, he merely slammed his door closed and promised to deal with the bewildered neighbour later.
He readjusted his awkward hold on Draco, and wondered if he had the strength to carry him into his bedroom. When he hefted Draco experimentally into his arms, he was surprised to discover he seemed to weigh nothing at all. With arms looped under Draco's body, Harry half-pulled, half-carried Draco to his bedroom. The final burst of energy needed to lift Draco onto the bed seemed to revive him somewhat, and Draco's cool grey eyes opened slightly.
" I made it", he said.
" In a manner of speaking", Harry said. " Rest now". Draco reached a clumsy hand up to the ties of his cloak, and then seemed to stare in incomprehension at his hand, still covered in wet wool. Harry pulled the mittens off and tossed them to the floor, and set to work on the cloak, pushing Draco's ineffectual hands away in the process.
" Always knew you wanted to see me naked", Draco slurred. He was finding it hard to concentrate, the room was spinning around, and he couldn't seem to find his arms to push Harry away with.
" Sure, that's what I'm doing", Harry said sarcastically. " You really are a mess, Malfoy."
The retort he was expecting never came as Draco slumped forward, not likely to awaken again anytime soon. If such a thing had happened to anyone else – a hated schoolyard rival arriving at their door, looking like a prisoner of war and passing out moments later – there probably would have been a lot of hair pulling panic. Harry, however, had seen more then most people, and he could handle it. At least he thought he could until he'd gotten Draco's cloak free, and seen the wasted, emancipated body of his one-time enemy. Without the wet cloak, and damp sweater, he realized the reason he'd been able to carry Draco was not (to his dismay) because he was so strong, but because Draco was so thin.
" Fuck", Harry said out loud. The breath wheezed out of Draco's throat, and rattled. His cheekbones were red with tiny dots of white in the centre indicating frostbite, and the tips of his rather pointed ears were equally afflicted. The only thing that felt warm on Draco was his forehead. Biting his lip to keep himself from uttering still more inappropriate swear words, Harry managed to pull off Draco's shoes from the swollen feet, and he removed the wet socks, quickly realizing Draco's feet were no better then his hands. The greyish T-shirt and horrid green slacks were still relatively dry, and hung loosely on Draco's spare frame. At that moment, Draco looked like a young Harry Potter, dressed in his cousin's hand-me-downs. Harry knew Draco would have some smart comment to make about that, and was almost sad that he wasn't awake to make one.
Satisfied that Draco was as comfortable as he could be made considering, he pushed Draco onto his back, pulled back the covers, and tucked the blonde in. He grabbed another couple of blankets and piled those on also, turned up the radiator, and left Draco to sleep. Just as he was closing the door, he thought he heard Draco rasp out a thank you. Harry sincerely hoped he had imagined that.
Harry carried Draco's black cloak into the living room and checked the pockets, producing a pen, almost a hundred pounds, a phone number on a scrap paper, a listing of 'Harry Potter' phone numbers, with several of the numbers crossed off, a metro map with his address attached, a ticket stub, and a small bag of galleons.
" Hmm, no wand", Harry muttered.
The list surprised him, obviously Draco had figured out where he lived the muggle-way, and he was amazed that Draco had come via the underground. Overall, Harry was impressed with how much Draco had accomplished, though he was worried that the boy had overdone it. How far had he come to get so cold? Was he the one Draco was looking for originally, or was he the last resort? What would Draco have done if he hadn't been home? The thought of Draco freezing to death while waiting desperately on his doorstep was rather disturbing. Then again, Harry rarely went out once he was home for the night. He rather preferred to keep to himself, which was part of the reason he was in muggle-London in the first place, so that he rarely met anyone who knew his past or even who he was. So of course, Malfoy had to walk in and disrupt his routine little life and remind him of all the things he was trying to forget. Once again, Harry had to ask himself, what was Draco Malfoy running from? And more importantly, what was he doing here?
Harry found himself thinking of a story he dimly remembered from his childhood. An old woman walking through the winter landscape to her cottage, found a snake near death and frozen on the ground. Though she knew that it was a dangerous animal, she knew she couldn't simply let it die. So although she was afraid, she picked it up, and took it home with her. She set it in a warm basket by the fire, and cared for it. When the snake awoke, it thanked her for her hospitality. The woman was glad to have someone to talk to, because she lived alone and it was always so quiet. The snake was weak, but seemed to like talking to her as well. She became more and more fond of the snake, as the snake gradually recovered. One day, she reached down to take him out of the basket to feed him, and the snake bit her. In shock, she dropped him, and the snake started sliding for the door. ' How could you bite me after all I've done for you?' the woman cried out, feeling betrayed. ' You should have remembered what I am. I bit you because I am a snake. It is my nature', said the snake, as he slithered away.
'Well, Draco is certainly a snake but I'm not about to be bitten. If I just accept that he is here for his own reasons, and never forget that one day he'll leave to go back to his real life, I should be just fine. It's not my job to care; I got myself out of that business a long time ago. I was never very good at it anyway', Harry muttered, angry for the first time that night. Knowing he could not possibly get any work done, stirred up as he was, Harry reached for the telly's remote, and switched on something brainless. He fell asleep on the couch, bathed in the glow from the television.
Harry awoke sticky and mildly disgusted with himself for falling asleep on the couch again, before remembering why he hadn't slept in his own bed. On the television some morning talk show was on, talking blandly about the importance of a good breakfast. Harry made a huge pot of strong coffee and a double chocolate pop-tart, and made a mock toast to the host on the program.
Of all the muggle things he liked, telly was definitely the best. Not because the shows were very good, or even particularly interesting, but because it was so uncomplicated. When his mind was in turmoil, television was like a sedative, and so it was almost always on, even when he wasn't in the room, for he liked the background noise of people talking. He was actually writing a paper on the affects of television for his media class at the University, but as it was Saturday, school was far from his mind. Actually, even if it had been a school day, he doubted his mind would have been on anything other then the blonde in his bed.
Harry grinned and took another sip from his coffee cup. He moved to stand in the doorway of his bedroom, looking at the slight lump under a mountain of blankets, wondering what his friends would say if they knew he had a blonde in his bed on a Saturday morning. A blonde male. A blonde male by the name of Draco Malfoy. Perhaps it was a good thing Ron and Hermione were in North America.
He slipped quietly up to the bed, putting his mug down on the bedside table next to his alarm clock, and pushed the blankets off Malfoy's head. The slack face was deathly pale, seemingly more so then it probably was due to feverishly red patches on his cheeks. The breathing still sounded faintly wet, but Draco wasn't coughing so he doubted the chest infection was too bad. He tried hard not to analyse his feelings too closely as he ran his fingers through the greasy blonde hair. One of Draco's hands reached up in his sleep to feebly bat the annoyance away.
" Still fighting me, hmm?" Harry whispered. He pulled the covers back up and returned to the kitchen. Most of the food he had was of the junk-food variety, as he had never really been much of a cook. There was always a better likelihood of coke being in his fridge then milk, and he frequently ran out of bread and eggs, but had a well-laid stock of chocolate on hand. At least he knew his priorities. Still, it might be a good idea if he headed for the shops while Draco slept, and bought some nutritional food for his patient. Besides, he was almost out of coffee, or as he termed it, his lifeblood.
Writing down a brief note in case Draco woke up, Harry grabbed his coat and keys and headed off to the metro. Standing in the fruit and vegetable section of the closest supermarket, Harry felt he was at a bit of a loss. In the end he bought the same things he usually did: potatoes, onions, apples and bananas. He swore to himself that next time he would be more inventive. He made the same oath every time, but he shrugged that off as unimportant.
Milk, eggs, bread, cheese, and many other so-called staples found their way into his basket, along with the more necessary items of coffee, biscuits, and chocolate sauce. Standing in the queue, waiting to pay, Harry read the tabloids on display, indulging in the fact that his photo did not grace a single one of them. The cashier did not even look at him as she rang up his purchases; he was just one of the many anonymous customers to her.
Lugging the heavy bags to his flat, he fumbled for his keys, as he slid to the third floor in the lift. He was greeted by the noise of someone coughing harshly. He hefted the grocery bags onto the small kitchen table and headed for the bedroom. Draco was seated on the edge of the bed, his head held in his hands, as his body shook with deep-seated coughs. After a moment he wiped the back of his hand against his mouth and looked up.
" You're awake", Harry said.
" Toilet?"
" Through there", Harry said pointing. Draco nodded, and took a shaky breath before stumbling to his feet. He made it to the bathroom, while Harry went to put the groceries away. Draco nearly crawled back to the bed, pulling the warm blankets around him once again, thoroughly exhausted by his small trip. He was drifting off again, when Harry intruded.
" Here, drink this", Harry said. Draco stared at the tall glass of apple juice dubiously, not really thirsty until the liquid touched his tongue and he began swallowing in ever-greater gulps.
" Thanks", Draco muttered. Harry shrugged it off quickly.
" Whatever. Put this under your tongue and don't try to take it out or talk until I tell you to, okay?" Harry handed him a glass thermometer, and wondered if Draco was going to fight the orders he'd been given, and somewhat hoping he would. Draco took the thermometer without a murmur of protest, and placed it in his mouth as instructed.
" So now that I have you speechless for a few minutes, it's time I told you a few things." Draco scowled at being tricked and made to talk, but Harry hurried on. " Nothing bad, I swear. Just listen for once. Whatever painful thing you're going through, do not offer it to me as payment for your stay here. Truth is, I've come up with some of my own solutions for why you're here, and I'd prefer to go on believing in them for a while. Later, maybe we'll talk about this, but I don't want to hear it now, and you don't want to tell me, so leave it. Just know that you don't need to explain anything to me; I won't turn you out. Stay as long as you need, and leave whenever you feel ready, so long as you promise to never say that you owe me something. Got that? I owe you nothing, you owe me nothing."
Draco nodded, surprised at the sudden vehemence in Harry's voice. Harry took the thermometer from his mouth and tilted it back and forth, trying to read the temperature. It was high, but not dangerously so.
" You'll live, but Malfoy, you look like shit", Harry said.
Draco's eyes widened, a nasty retort on the tip of his tongue, when he saw the concern unsuccessfully hidden in Harry's eyes. His voice came out unmistakably softer, " Yeah, but after a shower, I'll be fine. You'll still be the same".
" Well, that confirms it's you – nobody else would use the last of his energy thinking up insults", Harry said. The gibe however made him grin. So Draco had understand what he had been trying to say – that he didn't want to be treated any differently; he was sick to death of being hero-worshipped. Draco yawned widely and Harry spoke, " You need to get some sleep."
" And you still find it necessary to point out the obvious", Draco said. He then started coughing again, and groaned. " I don't suppose you know a good spell for what I've got, do you?"
" A fever, possible pneumonia, all from exposure and poor health. No, you got sick the regular way; you'll have to get better the regular way too. Sorry, though", Harry added, as Draco curled into a ball to avoid another coughing fit.
" It's okay. At least I'm warm. Is there any more of that juice?"
Harry nodded and refilled his glass. He also got him to swallow a couple of Tylenols, after convincing him he wasn't trying to poison him.
Draco gratefully sank down into the pillows, the adrenaline from their brief verbal repartee already spent. Soon the heady mixture of Harry's solid presence and the warmth of Harry's bed lulled Draco back into a deep sleep. Harry sat on the edge of the bed for a moment longer, wishing he didn't feel so protective of Draco, but consoled by the fact that Draco was probably the last person on earth who would need him anyway. Maybe his insulated little life could survive this intrusion after all.
Harry had to go to work that afternoon, so he left Draco sleeping soundly, while he walked to the little bookstore on the corner. The shop was owned and managed by a likeable couple in their thirties. Mrs. Cooper waved from the small office as Harry entered, and went back to her phone conversation. There were a couple of boxes waiting on the counter, filled with new books, and as there was nobody to serve, Harry began unpacking the books, and putting them in their places.
His mind was on Draco, however, and he smiled as he thought about the many stupid stunts and rivalries they had gone through together when they'd been students. Though painful at the time, the events had faded into uncomplicated impressions and images, devoid of any real emotion. Lord knows, there were far more unpleasant memories still residing in his head, and none of them were about Draco. The last few years at school had been the quietest between them. After Draco had broken things off with his father, he had withdrawn into his studies, into himself. Harry wasn't sure what had happened to him after the war with Voldemort.
" So, sweetie, how are things with Carlton?"
" Carlton?" Harry queried.
Mrs. Cooper rolled her eyes, " The guy who came in here every single day for months to stare at your… gorgeous eyes, and who finally got the nerve to ask you out? You did say yes, didn't you?"
" We went out for coffee, but that's it. I told you before I'm not looking to meet anyone", Harry said.
" Yes, but sometimes love just finds you", Mrs. Cooper said, clapping her hands together like a schoolgirl half her age.
Harry grinned, " What if I told you I had a blonde sleeping in my bed right at this moment?"
" I'd say I want to meet him", Mrs. Cooper responded automatically. " And if I was convinced he was good enough for you, then I'd tell you to go home early."
Harry just laughed, wondering what Draco would think if he knew he was fronting as his boyfriend, just so his romance-crazed boss would stop setting him up with every available bachelor in the area. They closed the shop up early anyway, at seven instead of eight, and Harry whistled a merry little tune as he walked back to his home. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he was happy having company.
Draco was still sleeping when Harry came in, though he frowned slightly when Harry touched his forehead to check for fever. Harry couldn't be sure but it seemed like it was going down. Probably by tomorrow, Draco would be up for some solid food. Providing, of course, Harry didn't burn it. Tomorrow was Sunday, and he didn't have to work, although he had an exam coming that he ought to be studying for. Pulling out his philosophy textbook, he set to work, strangely motivated to have as much free time as possible tomorrow.
Draco awoke feeling suffocated by the blankets and the darkness that pervaded the small bedroom. It was the smell on the sheets that reminded Draco where he was, and he let himself relax. How many days had it been since he'd left the place he'd once called home? A place that had become a prison long before he'd ever been locked inside it.
It had occurred to him at some point, as he'd drifted between dreams and wakefulness, that his mother was probably dead. She must have known Lucius would have her killed if he discovered her involvement, and Draco doubted she would ever do something so undignified as to let herself be murdered. Maybe she had planned on killing herself before that happened. Maybe letting him escape had been her act of absolution. He took another deep breath and hauled himself out of bed. He paused slightly, letting his head stop spinning, before getting to his feet. He used the washroom, wishing he had a toothbrush, and went to find Harry. He knew that the raven-haired man was home; he always felt safer when the flat was occupied.
Silently Draco walked forward, coming into a lighted living room where a square black box was showing moving pictures complete with sound. Harry was sprawled on his stomach on the couch, flipping through a book. When he saw Draco, Harry hit a button, and the box turned off. The room became even quieter, and Draco looked around him nervously. The walls were the colour of warm sand, the furniture, deep burgundy and gleaming oak. A bookshelf filled one entire wall, the couch sat across from the black box, and there were a few other things Draco didn't recognize strewn about. It was small, comfortably clean, and warm. Draco closed his eyes and breathed deeply of the serenity. He could see himself belonging here.
" Would it be alright if I had a bath or something?" Draco asked.
" I'd prefer it, actually, because truthfully you smell", Harry said. Draco scowled and Harry chuckled as he went and started the bath water running. He returned to his room, found some clothes for Draco, and added a couple of towels to the pile. " Should be ready in a moment. I left the light on – the switch on the wall turns it off and on."
Draco nodded, and grabbed the items out of Harry's arms. The water in the bath was achingly hot and Draco bit back a scream as his ravaged skin touched the surface. The warm, moist air weighed on his lungs and he started coughing again. When the fit was over, he lay back in the water and tried to catch his breath. He felt so weak, and hated that feeling above all others. People always took advantage of weakness; it was a matter of natural instinct. It meant he had to be on the offensive with Harry to keep them both safe.
It would be so easy, too easy; to let himself crumble and have Harry pick up the pieces. The problem being, Harry would put him back together wrong; he'd be a kinder, gentler, weaker, Draco, one that could never survive on his own. But he was still so tired… And hungry he realized, his practical side taking over.
Crawling out of the bathtub, he pulled on boxers, grey sweatpants, a clean orange T-shirt, and a dark blue fuzzy pullover, several sizes too large. His feet were stuffed into thick woollen socks, bright green in colour and obviously homemade. Mrs. Weasley's handiwork if he wasn't very much mistaken. A glance in the mirror showed that the colours clashed as badly as he had suspected they would. 'When would Harry ever learn?' he thought, breaking into a small grin. Wandering out into the main room again, he found Harry in the small kitchen still reading the textbook, only now Draco could make out the title: 'Introduction to Anthropology'. Weird.
" Hungry?" Harry asked, barely looking up. Actually, Harry was trying very hard not to think about how adorably vulnerable Draco looked dressed in his clothes.
" Yeah, starving."
" Looks like you haven't eaten in months", Harry said without meaning to. His mind was still stuck on the 'adorable' Draco tangent.
" Try years", Draco muttered unthinkingly.
" What?"
" Forget it. Not now, remember?" Draco reminded, alluding to their one serious conversation.
" Right. Okay, so I have real food and good food. What do you feel up to eating?"
" Anything", Draco said. Harry opened the refrigerator door, and Draco saw the sorts of things Harry apparently ate regularly, and gulped nervously. " Well maybe not quite anything…"
Harry sniggered. " Don't worry, I'll start you off slow. Most of the food is the same and besides, muggle food is more boring. Nothing's charmed into moving". Harry handed him a glass of juice, grape this time, which Draco downed in a matter of seconds. He poured him another one and left the pitcher within his reach. Harry turned to the frying pan and tossed some eggs into it, minus the shells Draco noted, and decided to scramble them when he broke the yolks by accident. They ate scrambled eggs on thick slices of buttery toast, covered in tomato sauce (well, Harry's were anyway), and washed down with juice. Draco went on to consume two bowls of porridge, three more pieces of toast covered in strawberry jelly, a banana, and the rest of the grape juice.
" Coffee?" Harry tentatively suggested, as he watched Draco lick his fingers clean with obvious relish.
" Love some", Draco said. Harry wrinkled his nose when Draco dumped in three heaping teaspoons of sugar into his coffee. Cream was understandable, but that much sugar?
" Sacrilege", Harry muttered with a smile.
" Pansy used to say it was proof that I was already bitter enough", Draco said.
" You mean she said something almost witty?" Harry asked in exaggerated disbelief.
" I know, I almost choked at the time", Draco said, a rare smile on his face. He stirred his coffee thoughtfully as the conversation stilled.
" So what were you planning on doing today?"
" I have exams over the next couple of weeks. Then I'm off for a while, until the third term starts in February. So I should be studying, but since Hermione's not here to nag me… I'll probably end up watching telly."
" So you're in school? Where? And what's Granger up to these days? And what's telly?" Draco asked.
" Hmm, yeah I've gone back to school, muggle-version this time, and Hermione's with Ron, in the states I think now, touring the schools they've got there. She's got scholarships to just about every post-secondary school of magic there is. But most importantly is that television is… well hard to explain. Come on, we can watch in the living room, and you can lie down on the sofa. You look about ready to fall asleep again."
" Always a danger when you start talking Potter", Draco said, one side of his mouth quirked up.
" Do you want to find out what telly is like or not?" Harry asked with mock severity.
" I'll be good", Draco chirped.
" I don't expect miracles", Harry said. They moved into the living room, and Harry grabbed a quilt from his bed and tucked it around Draco, which prompted another bout of teasing, as they both tried to disrupt the otherwise peaceful scene into something familiar that they could handle.
Draco liked television. No, wait, Draco LOVED television. While he recovered from his illness, he had many occasions to familiarize himself with the use of the black box. There was always something on that he would watch. Game shows were great, especially when someone lost big time. Talk shows were almost better then the gossip that used to mill around Hogwart's. The daily soaps were becoming addictive: the evil villains in the one-dimensional plotlines were just so deliciously… well, evil. As if anybody could be so easily classified as either good or bad. He loved the evening dramas, the cartoons, the sitcoms, and even the news. In a week, he had discovered more about the social lives of muggles, then he had previously gathered in his entire life.
Harry had given him a crash course in all things electrical, so that he could work most of the machines in the flat. Electricity, Draco had decided, was like magic. Muggles used machines to control electricity and to get it to do what they wanted; wizards used wands and spells to get magic to do what they wanted. The analogy was imperfect, but it suited Draco's purposes. He had already driven Harry crazy asking how the light switches actually worked.
" I don't know, exactly. You just hit them, electricity flows, and… What does it matter?"
" But don't you like to know what's behind something?" Draco had asked.
" Oh, you're one of those people", Harry said, his nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. " I should have remembered how you drove Snape up the wall, always asking about a potion's ingredients. Not what they did, but why they did that."
" Yeah, and his answer was always 'because they just do!'", Draco added, his voice mimicking Snape's so well that it was downright scary. They had both sniggered then.
Despite the fascination with television and with the flat's innovations, however, Draco was becoming more and more restless as his strength returned. Part of him wanted to get out and do something, and yet the larger and more resistant part, refused to step beyond the parameters of Harry's flat. He was safe here: safe from his father, safe from the corruption of power, and safe from the outside world that seemed bent on punishing him for the wrongs he had done to it. The only thing he had to face within those four walls was himself, though even that was becoming more difficult. He found that he was constantly thinking, wondering where his life was leading, wondering why he seemed so content to let things sort themselves out, when usually he liked to take control.
Sometimes he felt hollow, like someone had come along, and torn out all his feelings and emotions, and replaced them with nothing but muted terror, and grey numbness. Sometimes he knew there was indeed something inside him that was struggling to get out, and the frustrating part was that he had no way of knowing what. He spent many of his days sleeping, claiming it was recovery, when really it was a way of hiding from himself. When he was awake, he distracted himself with as many things as he could, but inevitably would think of his two-year seclusion, about his escape from Malfoy manor, and about the things he wished more then anything to forget. More then anything, he wanted to forget that he was alone.
Draco was lying on the couch, feet propped up on one armrest, his head twisted towards the TV screen. He was dressed in a faded pair of blue jeans, tightly belted, but fitting better then they had when Draco had first stolen… borrowed them from Harry, and a pale blue, long sleeved shirt, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He clicked through the channels and wondered what would make the next six or seven hours go by, when his attention was captured by something he had not seen before. It was a cooking show.
The man preparing the food had a disturbingly wicked sense of humour, one that reminded Draco surprisingly of Snape, and was making food in such a blur of movement that it was obvious, even to Draco, that the man knew his stuff. Not to mention the results made him want to drool. To think what had started off as rather ordinary, and even slightly disgusting, ingredients, had been turned into such mouth-watering delights… All with a little patience, strict adherence to a recipe, and some careful measuring. It was almost exactly like potion making, which explained why when Harry cooked the results were a little… off.
Draco sniggered to himself, as he recalled some of Harry's less-then-stellar moments in the kitchen. Burnt eggs, burnt toast, burnt spaghetti, burnt porridge, and even burnt oven-mitts (Harry having accidentally put the latter items in the oven along with a casserole dish). It wasn't that Harry was so bad at cooking, it's just that he was clearly so apathetic about the whole process. Harry obviously had the same problem with cooking that he had with potion making; he didn't appreciate the intricacies of such a subtle art.
Draco flipped the channels, this time driven by purpose. He found another cooking show, and grabbed a notebook and a pen. Pens were also some of his new favourite things. The chef rattled off a list of ingredients, most of which he had never heard of, but Draco hadn't been the top student in his potions class for nothing. Snape used to reel off entire lists of things at the top of his voice, and expect them to recall all that he had said, and Draco was one of the few people who had never failed at the task. This was a cake-walk; both literally and figuratively. Draco took meticulous notes and listened with rapt attention. He felt a little lost at first, but gradually he learned the measurements, what they meant by greasing a pan, or folding eggs into a mixture.
Draco watched all morning, and most of the afternoon. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he knew he still had plenty of time until Harry was due home. He had explained he had a final, and he wouldn't be back until quite late.
Draco turned the volume up on the television as he found he liked the background noise, and searched Harry's bookshelves for a recipe book he had noticed earlier. Draco knew from past potion making, that it was best to start with small projects, and work your way up, and that even then, the first attempt was likely to be a disaster. The jacket of the book he found was covered in dust as though it had never been opened.
" And here I've been eating Harry's cooking all week, naively thinking that he knew what he was doing. Draco, you're getting soft, giving Harry the benefit of the doubt like that", Draco muttered. He caught himself talking out loud and grimaced. He was NOT going to become one of those people. " No way", he said, out loud again. He slapped his forehead, and decided to get on with the recipe before he went permanently insane. If it was not too late already.
'Scones' was the recipe of choice for Draco's first foray into the wonderful world of cooking. Simple, tasty, and much better when not store bought. Plus, they were one of the few things that could be made with the rather limited ingredients in the kitchen. Draco got the scones right on the first try, pulling them out of the oven when they were turning just slightly golden-brown on the top. He felt the same smugness he used to feel when he'd gotten a potion done correctly. It had been awhile since he'd felt smug about anything, and he realized he'd missed it. It was good to feel a smirk on his face, and he could hardly wait until Harry got home, so he could rub it in that he was good at something that Harry wasn't. He'd probably give him a smirk too, just to see if Harry would still respond with that endearing pout.
" Hey, Malfoy, you here?" Harry called out, as he walked into his home, late that night. He and a few of his classmates had gone out for a drink after the exam, so he was half expecting Draco to be asleep, but the lights were on, and he found Draco curled up in an armchair in the main room, reading a mystery book from off the shelves. Draco calmly book-marked his page, and put the novel down, before deigning to respond to Harry's query.
" Why do you always ask if I'm here? You know I am. A better question would be if I was awake or if I was willing to talk to you", Draco said, trying to be snide, but his amusement was apparent, even to Harry.
" Maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part. I keep asking, hoping to be greeted with silence", Harry said, rolling his eyes. " Did you get something to eat? Sorry, I was gone all day. God, I'm starving."
Harry kept talking as he made his way to the kitchen. He switched on the light and gaped. For one thing, his kitchen was clean. His kitchen was never clean. Far more importantly however, was the unmistakable smell of fresh scones.
" Hope you don't mind, I did a little baking today", Draco said. Harry whirled around, staring at Draco as he leaned casually against the doorjamb. " Tomorrow I thought I'd try something a little more difficult. Ham omelette sound good to you? There's not much else in the ice-box."
Draco was thoroughly enjoying the fact that Harry had suddenly developed drop-jaw disease.
" Well, I… Can I have one?" Harry asked.
" Of course you can idiot. I made them for both of us. You did pay for the food, after-all." Harry reached for one of the floury biscuits and took a tentative bite. Harry had never had the sort-of life where homemade food was common, so he cut himself some slack when he crammed the rest of the scone into his mouth, manners be damned. He reached for another one, mumbling something along the lines of 'good' to Draco, when he felt the plate being moved out of his reach.
" Show a little restraint, would you Potter? You're getting crumbs all over my counter", Draco said. Harry would have laughed at the bossy attitude, if he hadn't been so intent upon swallowing. " Put the telly on, why don't you?"
Harry nodded, mouth still full, and headed for the living room. He flipped on the television, and turned on the Simpson's, a show both he and Draco liked. Draco soon reappeared with two mugs of instant hot chocolate, and the plate of scones, now heated and topped with butter. He set them down on the shaky coffee-table and refused to comment on the thoughtfulness of the gesture, as though he was always doing nice things like that.
" Oh, hang-on. I got something for you today. Where did I put my stuff?" Harry muttered, looking around until he found his black book-bag.
" You got me something?" Draco asked, his voice carefully neutral to hide the curiosity he was feeling.
" Yeah, well it's not much", Harry said, suddenly unsure. He pulled out a very thick, very heavy, very beat-up chemistry book, and handed it to Draco. " You remember? You kept asking me about how batteries worked and other stuff? Well, I probably just confused you more, so I thought you might like the official definitions."
Harry looked hopefully at Draco and it was painfully evident that he was hoping for some appreciation. Surprisingly, Draco was inclined to give it.
" I didn't think you were listening", Draco said, flipping open the book, and reading the first thing that he saw. It was something about atoms, and Draco didn't have the foggiest notion what that meant, but it didn't matter. Now he had the tools to learn, he didn't feel so adrift.
" Pretty dry reading if you ask me. Reminds me of potions', Harry said, giving a mock shudder of disgust. Draco snorted.
" If you find it boring, then I like the subject more already. Strange, but I was thinking of potions already today. How cooking is not that much different from what we used to do in class."
" Hey, anytime you want to cook, that's fine by me", Harry said. He was on his fourth scone, and was wondering if Draco would notice if he grabbed just one more…
" Thanks for the book, Harry", Draco said. It was such a straightforward thank you that Harry almost missed it.
" Thanks for the food", Harry said, reaching for a fifth scone while Draco's attention was absorbed by the book. " And I'm especially glad you didn't give in to tradition and put raisins or currants in them. I hate raisins."
" I know", Draco said. He was still flipping through the pages of the chemistry book, so it took him a moment to realize that Harry was staring at him. Caught off guard by the intensity of the stare, he snapped, " What?"
" How do you know I don't like raisins?"
" Oh, gee, maybe because I've been living with you for awhile now, and have seen you pick apart many a baked good, just to be rid of the raisins? I wouldn't be much of a friend if I didn't notice even that much."
" Friend? Did you just call me a friend, Malfoy?" There was a goofy expression on Harry's face that Draco didn't like one bit.
" Slip of the tongue", Draco said scowling.
" I don't think it was. I think you meant it."
" Don't be ridiculous, Potter", said Draco. He began putting more space between himself and Harry on the couch. The gleam in Harry's eyes could only mean trouble.
" You like me. I'm your friend. Who would have guessed it, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy friends?"
" Well, maybe I'm your friend, but as for liking you? That's definitely pushing it", Draco said, a small smile on his features.
" Oh, deny it all you want, Draco, but I know the truth! You, the greatest Slytherin that ever was, is friends with", Harry dropped his voice into a stage-whisper, " Harry Potter."
Harry started laughing, and he leapt off the couch. Draco tried very hard to keep his face looking dour and unaffected, but damn it if Harry wasn't being completely foolish. It was impossible not to laugh at him. And what was more, he felt like laughing. He laughed as Harry made an elaborate bow before him, laughed as Harry fluttered his eyes like a girl and pretended to swoon at the mere sight of him, and laughed when Harry was doing nothing at all except laughing with him. When oxygen became an issue and the laughing subsided, Draco said,
" You're rather pathetic, aren't you Potter?"
" Yeah, but I've got pretty, popular friends who keep the bigger lads from beating me up too much", Harry said, grinning.
" Well at least you admit I'm popular. And pretty", Draco said, teasingly. " There's hope for this friendship yet if you keep up this level of adoration."
" Get back in the kitchen and I'll consider it", Harry said. For some reason, this got them laughing again.
That night, for the first time in two years, Draco had good dreams instead of nightmares. It was because he no longer felt quite so alone. In the other room, still relegated to the couch, Harry fell asleep still grinning, because he felt exactly the same way.
Arg! I went sweet again. Damn. Please review anyway?
