Authoress Ramble: Now, I've decided that I should answer two frequently asked questions that people email me with: 1/ YES, both Sirius and Voldemort are DEAD and they will STAY DEAD. 2/ You will find out what happened to make Draco blind and deaf - probably in chapter 5 or 6. This chapter is much longer then the previous three, mostly because I had so much fun writing it. When signed and spoken language is used it is written like this: "Hello!"


CHAPTER 4

I wanted to say something
wanted to do something
but words failed me
and actions were not enough

So I give in and speak
the words that
fails to express
the complecity of my feelings

I love you

Words Failed Me - Sanna Hendriksson

Harry turned and buried his head against the sofa. He could hear Draco crying. He didn't know why Draco was crying, but he did realize that Draco didn't know Harry could hear him. His mind whirled back to that moment. He had thought that Draco would kiss him. He had wanted Draco to kiss him. But nothing.

The two years that had passed had been good on Draco, Harry thought. The now nineteen-year-old boy had gained weight and his hair had taken a darker blond shade. They had both grown up from the scrawny teenagers they had been when leaving Hogwarts. Of course, Draco had left about a month before Harry, being hospitalised directly after the banishment of Voldemort. They had not met again until September that year and by then, Draco was deaf, blind and unable to have a two-way-conversation.

Sighing, Harry turned back to face the room. The streetlights spilled their light in through the curtains. To be honest, Harry had no idea about what to do with Draco. Had it been anyone else, he'd been suggesting the telly, but in Draco's case that would be quite useless.

Slowly, the sounds of sobs quieted and Harry assumed that Draco had fallen asleep. He flipped over on is back. Draco's hands still traced Harry's face and he closed his eyes. Behind his eyelids, Draco was leaning against him, grey eyes so oddly empty, yet a face full with life. The lips of his imaginary Draco parted and Harry had to swallow when he pictured Draco wetting them.

The next time Harry opened his eyes was when his alarm clock went off in the bedroom, his back hurt, the sunshine was way too sharp (who ever got the stupid idea of placing the sofa right there?) and he had a hard on. Harry growled, fell back onto the sofa and promptly hit his head. He wondered why Draco didn't shut the alarm off and then remembered that Draco was probably still sleeping. Why hadn't Harry remembered to turn that stupid, stupid alarm off last night? It was only seven, for Merlin's sake!

When the bleeping became too much for Harry, he stumbled up from the sofa, instantly reminded about the hard on and cursing under his breath he made his way to the bedroom. The sight there did however not improve Harry's day. There lay Draco, curled into a small ball, on his side. His lips were parted and he drooled slightly, blond hair falling over his face. Since Draco didn't know had a window with morning sun and that the curtains should be pulled shut to prevent the light from steaming into the room, he had no idea that this light was making it very hard for Harry to breathe. The young man in the bed looked so peaceful, so much like a painting that Harry wanted to touch him to make sure he was real.

He had to shake his head hard and watch the still loudly bleeping alarm clock to be reminded of what the heck he really had gone there for. Unfortunately for Harry, he would have to cross the room and stand right next to Draco's face to turn it of. Walking as quickly and lightly as possible he had almost reached the off-button when Draco stirred, his unfocused eyes opening slightly before he turned to lie sprawled on his back and fell asleep again. Harry pressed the button and then cursed himself for pressing it. In the immediate silence that followed, he could hear himself breathing way too loudly.

Finally returning to the safety of the sofa, Harry closed his eyes and tried his best to relax. It didn't work so well, because the only thing his mind could really focus on was Draco sprawled on his back. So Harry, thoughtful enough to not want to mess his sofa up, decided to head for the shower. Which, again, wasn't very well planned for, since he had washed all the towels yesterday and put them in the linen closet - which was in his bedroom.

Constantly aware of The Hard On That Wouldn't Die, he rose again, slowly opened the bedroom door and almost had a heart attack at the sight. Draco was clearly dreaming, his face a bit flushed, hands clenching the sheets. Turning his eyes to stare at the linen closet, he took the four or five steps, quickly got himself a towel and had almost closed the door when Draco moaned softly. Now having had a hard on for a good while, that was enough to make Harry practically run for the shower.

After a long shower, Harry decided that going back to sleep wasn't an option. He walked over to the kitchen and smiled. The whole apartment was for once clean. Had Draco not been the one visiting, Harry would never have bothered to clear the table from the twenty old cups, nor would he have picked all dirty clothes off the floor. It wasn't that Harry was a slob; he preferred the term untidy. For once able to take a cup out of the cupboard, he began to make toast and strong tea.

An hour and a half later, a drowsy Draco stumbled in and dropped down on a chair. It was not the Draco Harry was used to see, the Draco with every hair straw on place and dark robes. This was a Draco in loose pyjama bottoms with flowers on, his hair in a mess, a little bit of dried drool on his cheek. Harry instantly liked this Draco better. Though if it was because Draco had no shirt or another reason, he couldn't decide.

'Food,' Draco muttered, 'and tea. Strong. No sugar.'

Harry pressed a cup of tea into Draco's hand and put a plate of toast on the table.

Slept well? He signed on Draco's shoulder and got grunt in return. Toast at eight o'clock.

'Thanks,' Draco mumbled and attacked the plate. 'What's time like?'

About nine. I thought I should to do some baking today. But I need groceries.

Draco chocked at the words baking. 'Bake? You, Potter? Baking is like Potions and you suck at Potions!'

Then it's good you're here, huh? Besides, I don't have Snape over my shoulder now.

'Bet he's haunting you. Merlin, real food. You're a God, Harry.'

Harry promptly turned beet red.

After Harry had done the dishes and Draco had gotten dressed (honestly, he just peeked once!), Harry took Draco's arm and they headed for the store. The sun that had teased Harry earlier had decided to turn into heavy, dark clouds that threatened to burst open and drench the world. Which would be a shame, since the world consisted of Draco in a pair of black trousers and a blue shirt.

It's going to rain, Harry commented.

'Finally!' Draco exclaimed, beaming. 'I haven't felt rain in two years.'

By the look of it, it's not going to rain cats and dogs, Draco. It's going to be raining hippogriffs, and we all know that you love hippogriffs.

'Shut up.'

By the time they were done with the shopping ('You say they don't have dragonliver? Poor Muggles!') and were heading back to Harry's apartment, it did rain hippogriffs. It was as if someone, probably related with Fred and George Weasley, had taken an extremely large bucket, filled it with water and turned it upside down over London. Draco was grinning, Harry was brooding and they were both soaked to the skin.

Harry unpacked the groceries while Draco changed into the only thing he had left, which was his robe. When Draco walked into the kitchen, Harry grinned.

You could borrow my clothes if you don't want to wear robes.

'I'm a wizard, Harry. I wear robes. You wear strange Muggle clothes.'

You wore pants and a sweater just a few moments ago!

'That's different. They're bought in Diagon Alley.'

Snob.

'Are you always that slow?'

They decided to make bread. Draco whined about Harry having to read the recipe and a few minutes later the sign of cursing that Harry had made up greeted him. In a moment of pure impishness, Draco put his hands on Harry's hips, leaned forward and whispered in his ear,

'Which part of the recipe did you forget to read, Mr Potter?'

Harry's temperature rose to the height of Mount Everest, but he managed to free a hand from the dough that was clearly lacking something. After washing his hands, Draco's hands still steadily on his hips, he signed on Draco's neck.

Stop doing that.

He dark haired wizard quickly regretted the words when Draco's face fell and the hands disappeared from his hips.

'I'm sorry, Harry,' Draco said in a shrill voice. 'I didn't mean to -'

No, not like that... Harry signed furiously, now in Draco's hands. I just meant that you should stop teasing me.

'Teasing?'

You - uh - All right, Harry tought, I've screwed up. You nearly kissed me last night, right?

'Oh,' Draco smiled. 'Yes.'

And then I forgot to turn my alarm clock off, so I had to do that at seven this morning.

'I thought I felt someone in the room, but I'm so used to the nurses running back and forth.'

And then I had to take a shower and I had no towel and I had to get it from the bedroom and...

'And what, Harry?'

You were - uh - dreaming...

A confused frown was replaced when Draco's mouth turned into an O and he blushed furiously.

'I - uh - I -'

Just please, do something, because this is sheer torture.

So Draco did do something. He put his hands back on Harry's hips, pulled the man closer to him and kissed him. Every tought that Harry might or might not had about the baking, about the weather, about Draco, about anything, disappeared.

The next time he knew his surroundings was when the frontdoor slamed closed and a female voice was calling his name. At that point, he remembered why he had been trying to bake and what kind of Saturday it was. Draco, though, just jumped at the vibration and then frowned, his hands still firmly on Harry's hips.

"Hermione," Harry said and signed at the same time.