Feels Good to Get Away, a tale from the composed mind of M.T.Froste

The first actual actual meeting has finally decided to grace us with its presence.

-Madley

-CHAPTER FIVE-

Hermione had said something about going to the beach today with Harry. He hoped they'd be there and then perhaps he'd be able to ask them who the boy he'd seen the other day was and of course get to meet Harry. From what Hermione had told him about Master Potter, Draco had concluded the boy sounded like a bit of an attention seeker. Although he sounded like he held all the traits for a great friend: kind, funny, smart, caring. Draco didn't want to be one to judge someone before he met them because that meant falling to level of everyone that had done that to him, but as Hermione told him about all the things the pair had gotten up to over the years the amazing Harry had started to sound a lot like an arrogant show-off.

Draco entered his kitchen clad only in his boxers, wondering what to have for breakfast. He pulled the box of nutri-grain from the cupboard and a carton of milk from the fridge. He poured the cereal into a bowl and the milk over the top, smiling at the cat sitting on the bench next to him.

"Now this is the kind of cooking I can handle," he said, putting a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

If Draco hadn't been sure of his sanity he could've sworn the cat had rolled her eyes at him.

He poured a saucer of milk for Beatrix when he was done with his own breakfast and went to shower.

Half an hour later he left the house now wearing his jeans from yesterday and an ice blue polo shirt. He locked the door and shoved the keys into his jeans' pocket. Walking down the cobblestone path he noticed something sticking out of his mailbox. On closer inspection it was the morning paper. He reluctantly pulled it out and decided to read it once he got to the beach seen as it was only 9am and he doubted Hermione and Harry would be there yet.

Draco settled down cross-legged on the warm sand, paper laying open in front of him ready to read about the latest theories of when he would be returning home and how devastated his parents were.

---

"Fine! Don't Come! Go to your precious shop!" Harry spat into the phone.

"Harry, don't do this to me. Don't get mad. Lavender's sick I've already explained, I have to go," Hermione's voice said calmly back.

"But you promised!" Harry was grasping at straws.

"I realise that, but what to want me to do? Ring up work and say 'Oh I'm sorry, I can't come in today because I told someone I'd go to the beach with them'."

"Yes!" Harry spat back, "Because you did!"

"Oh for god's sake, Harry!" Hermione was finding it hard to control her temper. "I'm going to work and that's final! I'm not stopping you from going so I don't see why you're making such a big deal out of it! Goodbye."

Harry slammed the receiver down and slumped down onto the couch in a sulk. Who the hell did she think she was cancelling on him like that? She had promised. She couldn't just do that.

After a while he started to calm down and the rational side of his brain seemed to kick back into action. Why had he made such a big deal about it? Good question. Hermione's decision had been one he would've made himself. Her job had always been the major priority in the situation. Of course she had to go to work when Lavender was sick, there was no one else to ask. And she could go to the beach with him any old time, it wasn't like they'd wake up the next morning and find it wasn't there anymore. Now that he thought about it, he felt slightly embarrassed about the way he had reacted. He made a note to drop in at the store and apologise.

He let out a deep sigh and looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room: only 9 o'clock. He still had the whole day ahead of him though it'd be starting later than the planned 6am.

Seen as he was still slightly heated from the conversation, he decided to walk to the beach today so he could calm down entirely- something it was hard to do whilst straining your muscles and having your blood pumping ferociously from riding up and down hills.

He picked up his sketchbook and the canvas bag with all his art supplies in and locked the door, slipping the key under the mat. Not in the right state of mind for wall jumping he put his gate to use- something that was rarely done.

Walking along glancing at people's gardens and wondering why they bothered keeping them so prim and neat, he started to think that perhaps it wouldn't be so bad going to the beach without Hermione. It would mean he would have some time to just sit, draw and relax, not having to bother about anyone else and what they wanted to do. And perhaps if he was lucky that boy that had been there yesterday would be back again. He sure hoped so. Harry caught himself grinning stupidly and quickly stopped. He would not act like a love-starved girl, but it now made sense what Hermione had meant by striking. He had sure been something. Maybe Hermione had gone a bit too far in saying he could beat Harry in looks, but Harry had to admit it would be a pretty tough competition. Harry felt the foolish smile creeping back onto his face and gave up trying to keep it away; he couldn't help it if Fortescue's owner was ridiculously good-looking.

As Harry walked down the pathway between the dunes he still had the blonde on his mind. Wondering if the boy was gay- he seemed like someone who cared about his appearance but then these days that didn't really count for anything. And if he did end up being gay would Harry have a chance with him?

Harry was still pondering these thoughts when he suddenly felt the crunch of bones and joints under his foot and heard a sharp intake of breath.

"Oh shit! I'm sorry," he dropped to his knees and picked up the slim hand to inspect the damage. The joints on two of the fingers were bright red and were gradually turning a nasty shade of blackened-blue. "Shit, I'm sorry," he said again, turning the hand over to examine the other side, "I wasn't lo-" Harry had looked up from the hand he was holding to see who the owner was and was shocked to find himself staring into a pair of piercing silver eyes.

"You weren't what?" asked Draco a little more coldly than he had meant. The boy was staring at him, deciding not to miss the opportune moment to study the face at such close proximity Draco swept his eyes swiftly over each feature lingering for a few seconds on the rosy lips before returning back to the green gaze. He raised an eyebrow to the unreadable expression on the young man's face.

"Sorry," Harry said realising he was staring. "I wasn't looking where I was going and…" he let out a sympathetic 'mmm' as he looked back down at the hand.

He could feel the grey eyes on him. God, I'm such an idiot, Harry thought angrily, why the hell wasn't I looking where I was going?

Because you were too busy thinking about the boy whose hand you're still holding, a voice in the back of his head told him, and now you've blown all your chances out the window by practically breaking his fingers.

Draco frowned, overly aware of the boy's soft hand holding his own. He swallowed slowly and looked down at his hand for the first time, wincing as he took in the puffy blackened joints.

"I know it looks shocking," said Harry watching the boy carefully as he gingerly bent and stretched his damaged fingers. "But you've got to admit, they've turned the most beautiful shade of blue."

Harry was hit with a wave of relief as he watched the silver eyes light with laughter and the downcast lips curl into a smile. The uncomfortable dread that he had ruined everything slowly began to ease as the boy looked at him with a look of laughing disbelief on his face that Harry could say something like that about a pair of swollen fingers. Harry grinned and suddenly got an idea. He turned around and began rummaging through his bag that he dropped next to him. He pulled out a jar and a tin.

"I'll be right back," he said to the boy, getting up and walking down to the water's edge with the jar.

Draco watched him squat down and dip the jar into the water, filling it to the brim. He stood back up and began to walk back towards Draco smiling as they caught each other's eyes. Draco went back to inspecting his hand feeling a little uncomfortable under the boy's emerald gaze.

The two swollen fingers were indeed a brilliant shade of blue around the joints and were stiffening fast making it harder for Draco to move them.

"It looks really painful," said the boy. Draco looked up to find him sitting down next to him with yesterday's sketchbook open on his lap. "I feel awful," he continued, opening up the tin to reveal a pallet of watercolour paints and pencils, and a paintbrush. He picked up the paintbrush and dipped it into the jar of water before looking up at Draco, "I hope you weren't planning on using that hand anytime soon because it looks like it's going to be out of action for a hell of a long time, which is adding to my guilt. But I think I may have a solution."

"Oh really?" said Draco leaning back onto his elbows and watching as the boy bit his lip trying to decide on a colour.

"Yes," he said slowly, eventually choosing a creamy peach and collecting some colour on the brush. "I think it will be only fair if I let you break my fingers."

Harry looked up to see the reaction to the suggestion. The boy was looking at him with disbelief again.

"You can't be serious," he said as a laugh escaped his lips.

If Harry had thought the boy had looked good before, watching the charming face break into a smile and laugh took it to a whole new level.

"I'm dead serious." Harry held out his right hand and covered his eyes with his left. Peaking through his fingers he said, "Be quick though, I don't think I'll be able to last if you draw it out."

Harry watched, grinning as the boy glanced at the outstretched hand.

Draco sat up and took the hand, turning it over in his fingers admiring the fine bone structure. "It would be satisfying I have to admit," he reluctantly let go of the boy's hand and returned to the green gaze, "But I could never break anything so delicate."

Harry stopped grinning. Had he heard that correctly? He searched the grey eyes and discovered a hint of mischief. The smile returned to his lips, he could've sworn the young man was flirting with him. "It's not that hard. I managed it," he replied eyeing the injured hand.

Draco laughed, "So you did." He watched as the boy picked up the paintbrush again and began to brush fine lines onto the paper. Gradually the outline of a hand appeared in shades of soft peaches and creams. He washed the brush in the jar and went back to the picture this time with a chosen blue.

"Are you painting my hand?" Draco asked in awe as clear bruises were brushed over the fingers.

"Attempting to," said Harry, "But I don't think I can get the blue right…" he trailed off biting his lip again and added some purple. "You know I don't even know your name," he said suddenly, "But I can understand if you don't want to tell me. Wouldn't be too keen on telling someone who just virtually broke my fingers mine." He looked up from the page and smiled. "But then I'd be left having to call the painting 'The still amazingly exquisite hand of Fortescue's owner after being rudely crushed by me'."

"Some title," said Draco.

"That's why it'd be easier to name if I knew your name," said Harry pulling out his best charming grin.

Draco rolled his eyes but found himself grinning back, amazed at the green-eyed boy's ability to charm his way into finding out exactly what he wanted. "Draco Malfoy."

Harry stared at Draco, thoughtfully running the name through his head. Draco Malfoy. It had a sense of power and dignity to it. He liked it.

Draco watched as the boy stared at him and replied to the calculating look, "Yes, Draco Malfoy the disgraced Malfoy heir."

Harry glanced down to the paper Draco was looking at and noticed the headline 'Faith in Malfoy Heir's Return Falters'

The green-eyed boy smiled, "Sorry, I don't read the papers much so that means nothing to me." He flashed another charming grin, "But I'm honoured to meet you Draco Malfoy, disgraced heir or not." He bent into a good attempt at a bow from sitting position.

Draco watched as he picked up a watercolour pencil and began to add in some of the finer details on the hand. "So why are you drawing my hand?" he asked as a nail appeared at the top of the index finger.

"I seem to have a habit of not being able to just walk past anything that catches my eye. Seeing it just isn't enough, so," he drew in the sharper detailed creases around the joints; "I capture it." He drew one last line and held the picture in front out in front of himself, tilting his head to the side frowning.

'…I capture it...' The words echoed in Draco's head.

'…and maybe we'll be able to find Harry if he's not off in some forest somewhere 'capturing it all' as he says…'

"What's wrong? It's not that bad is it?" Harry had turned to see Draco frowning at him and was hoping like hell he hadn't said something wrong.

"Oh no, the painting's really…" Draco trailed off and stared at the corner of the painting. There in fine black ink was the initials HP.

Harry was watching him carefully, a worried look on his face, "Draco?"

The silver eyes snapped towards him, "What's your name?" the blonde demanded in a hurried voice.

Bloody hell, thought Harry, I forget to introduce myself. Great one Harry, just great.

"Harry. Harry-"

"Potter?" finished Draco.

Harry nodded frowning.

So here he was. The boy who had convinced Hermione to jump from a roof because he had told her it was safe resulting in her arm to be in a cast for two months, the boy who wouldn't let his best friend forget that she was a hopeless cook, the boy who up until meeting him Draco had been convinced was an arrogant prat.

Yet looking into those green eyes… the charming smile… the windswept hair…

Draco put his head in his hands, muttering, "This doesn't make sense. I need to get away. I need to think."

He looked up. Harry was watching him, his face still plastered with concern. "Draco, are you ok? Did I say something wrong?" He reached out and put a hand on Draco's arm, but feeling the boy tense he let go immediately. "If it's something I've done I'm really sorry."

Draco looked into the worried green eyes and looked away after seeing all the emotion filling them. "No, it's nothing. I just…I've got to go."

Harry watched in shock as Draco abruptly got to his feet and walked past him frowning at the sand without looking back.

"Why?" was the only word Harry could softly whisper as he watched Draco disappear between the dunes.

A/N: Did it make sense? I sure hope so. Well I attempted fitting my summary/teaser in, it got a little broken up and changed but it's still there in a way. You know now that I think about it, I seriously doubt stepping on someone's hand that's resting on sand would result in something like that. But pff wateva, I'll let you guys decidefor yourselves whether that's possible or not.

So I do hope I haven't let you down or disapointed any of you. If so suggestions on where I went horribly wrong and the story took a serious down hill turn much appreciated to be pointned out. (not really in a possitive state of mind at the moment after watching Gallipoli, so this probably wasn't the best time to post but I did anyway) so there you have it another chapter.

-Madley-Tassida