Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Harry Potter series, or anything like that, so don't sue me! I'm poor and I'll cry profusely…
Warning: This fic does contain slash (Harry/Draco), though not extreme or immediate. If that doesn't appeal to you, this probably isn't the fic you should be reading right now… I know, I've said this all before, but anyway!
A/N: So here it is. Chapter two! Insert fanfare here Admirably fast, don't you agree? Thanks to those who reviewed me/ added my story or me as a favourite/ just read the darn thing. It's all very much appreciated. In this chapter, I'm really just trying to cement the relationship between the two yummy boys we all know and love, and put them in some regular situations to see how they do (I'm sounding like Big Brother here, aren't I? In a non-George Orwell related sense, I mean. Do any non-Brits know what that is? Never mind!). I'm pretty pleased with it, all things considered, and would love to hear your opinions! Enjoy…
Day Two
The next day dawned crisp and clear, like a day with purpose. Harry, unfortunately, had slept through that time- having finally drifted off at 4am, sleeping fitfully until past 9o'clock didn't even feel like enough. By the time he was conscious, it had clouded over, a lethargic dampness in the air.
Still, the days purposeful air seemed to permeate his sleeping self, as he woke with a clear plan in mind. He would talk to Malfoy, lay out some ground rules- Harry had reminded himself that the boy was not to be trusted; he'd buy him some essential items in Diagon Alley, as Malfoy had near enough nothing with him; he would even try to get some information out of him if there was time. As an afterthought, he supposed he should check Malfoy was okay, and maybe- maybe- try to get to know the mooch (as he had clearly become) a little. Maybe. Well, he had to attempt to make Malfoy's company mildly more bearable, didn't he?
However, all of these well-reasoned thoughts were thrown into disarray when Harry knocked on Draco's door and walked into his room.
He wasn't there.
Harry's pyjamas lay folded on the neatly made bed; the bathroom door was ajar, showing an empty room; the window was wide open, a cool breeze penetrating the muggy atmosphere.
Panic filled Harry's chest as his frantic mind ran through the apparently very numerous possibilities of Draco's whereabouts and the reason for his absence.
He ran out of the room and downstairs to the bar, which contained a few people eating breakfast- an old, badly dressed warlock, a pimply young witch, and-
"Draco!"
The boy turned from his solitary meal to look around at Harry. His hair was half wet, sleek strands hanging down past his startled grey eyes, and one hand held a teaspoon poised over a boiled egg.
"Yes?" he asked, sounding highly confused.
Harry ran over to him, grabbing him bodily by the shoulders. He almost shouted, "I was terrified! I thought you'd been abducted by Death Eaters or run away or who knows what, and now I find you… eating breakfast? This is not the time to be eating breakfast, you idiot!"
"Harry, it's half nine."
"That's not the point! Draco, do you have any idea how much danger you're in? I need to know where you are at all times, d'you understand? Do you?"
"Okay, I get it!" A shadow of Draco's old sneer returned as he said, "If you must know, I didn't want to wake you- you were sleeping like a baby. I just had a shower, got changed and came down here. As in, in the same building, you moron. Calm down, have some food. You're skinny as hell."
"You're no better," mumbled Harry feebly, relief flooding through him at the anticlimax of finding Draco down here with a boiled egg. He sat down opposite him and grabbed a slice of wholemeal. His mind unable yet to return to important things, he dwelled on trivial matters- the cruelness of nature, for example. As Draco's hair dried, it became clear that its sleek appearance was natural after all, and Harry's probably looked three times messier than normal opposite it.
Actually, Draco had been served pretty well aesthetically. Of course, this sort of thought had never crossed Harry's mind before, so he found himself fascinated, even wondering at something as trivial as the length of his pale eyelashes. Draco's eyes rose and met his own, quite unexpectedly.
They looked at each other for an indefinitely long moment, green eyes to grey. Harry couldn't quite bring himself to break the silence, he didn't know why, so it stretched on.
"Harry-"
"Oh, just get a room," sighed the pimply witch, slouching past them.
Their gazes snapped apart, embarrassed- she clearly had totally the wrong idea.
"Actually," retorted Draco, "We have two, you old hag."
Harry laughed, surprising himself, and Draco smiled at him mischievously.
Considering they'd loathed each other for six years, the two got on surprisingly well that day. Harry couldn't bring himself yet to dwell on anything too serious, so focussed on his earlier afterthought of getting to know Draco a little.
Having laid out his plan of action to Draco- namely, go into Diagon Alley, buy things- Harry was feeling very superior, and totally in control of the bizarre situation, thank you very much. This feeling rather dissipated when he made a very simple mistake, which Draco was more than happy to point out.
As Harry made to tap the bricks and enter Diagon Alley, Draco grabbed him by the arm, hissing, "Have you gone completely mad?" in a startled manner.
"Um, no?" Harry retorted, in as sure a voice as he could manage. "Why?"
Draco sighed, letting go of Harry's arm, moving his hand instead to his wand.
"You and I are probably at the top of the Dark Lord's Most Wanted list right now. So, naturally, it would be incredibly stupid to step into a bustling street, not full of people who are on your- our- side like the leaky Cauldron is, without at least simple charms to allow us to avoid detection." Harry didn't really feel like admitting that that was what he had done so far, as it did seem more than a little foolish now Draco mentioned it.
"So-so unless we're disguised, one of Voldemort's- oh, get a grip- one of Voldemort's little cronies could spot us and tell him at once? Which would be very stupid of us indeed?" he enquired.
"Obviously," Draco replied with a derisive, if somewhat half-hearted, sneer. He murmured something under his breath, and Harry found his eyes involuntarily slide off him. They returned when he really tried to look at Draco, but it was still a very strange sensation. Still, it seemed, like muffiliato, like one of those spells you wouldn't really notice you were affected by unless you totally concentrated on it.
"Wow, what's that spell? It's such a good idea!" exclaimed Harry, perhaps somewhat childishly, for Draco took the opportunity to laugh.
"I would have thought you of all people would know impario, Harry," he sniggered. "Look, just point the wand at yourself and say the incantation. Honestly, we learned this in second year. I suppose you were doing one of your regular stints in the hospital wing, or were off gallivanting about with Weasley or suchlike."
Resisting the impulse to argue, Harry pointed his wand at himself and muttered, "Impario." He noticed Draco's eyes slide off him, seemingly of their own accord, then back again after a few moments.
"As you can see, the charm can be overcome with little effort," Draco explained, "But it's more than adequate for our purposes. Besides, any powerful magic would draw too much attention too us."
Finally ready to leave, Harry tapped the wall with his wand, and they entered Diagon Alley.
As they wandered through to Diagon Alley, they chatted about Quidditch- and how much they missed it- school- and how strange it seemed without it- and even girls.
"So, I have to ask you this. Did you ever actually go out with Pansy Parkinson?"
"What? No! She's been my friend since I was three years old; it would be like dating a member of my family. Anyway, let's hear your great list of girls. Must have had plenty, what with being famous and all."
Harry scowled, and said, "No, just the two- Cho Chang and Ginny Weasley, who I had to break up with about a month ago. It was far too dangerous for her, all things considered."
There was a momentary pause, then, "Harsh one. I feel bad for you- hey, honestly! So you're not over her yet then?"
Harry frowned at this, genuinely unsure of how to answer. He tried to give some approximation of the convoluted truth.
"No- wait, yes, I am. I don't know, really. I think it's more a longing for the unattainable, if you know what I mean."
Draco looked down.
"I really do. You could say I'm going through the same thing, I think. It's odd, isn't it, how you try to make yourself think that you don't- well, can't- care, but your mind doesn't seem able to convince itself? It's like, it's determined to put you in the worst situation possible. Even the thought that you're putting them in danger can't stop your selfish need of them."
"Wow. Never thought you of all people would empathise with me," said Harry, honestly shocked. "So come on- who is it?"
A hollow laugh, then, "All I'm saying is that it was most unexpected and unwanted, and my father would be highly disappointed."
Draco looked at the confused Harry and smiled, and suddenly Harry's feelings for Ginny seemed that little bit less important, and he felt just a little less empty. Why, he couldn't even explain to himself.
Things continued in this manner for the next few hours, much to Harry's surprise and happiness. After a while buying Draco clothes ("these are so inelegant. Blaise would have a fit."), books ("I need to keep up with my spells. I am on the run you dolt."), and other sundry items, he found himself quite tired out.
"Come on, it's most definitely time for an all-too-late lunch" he said, pulling Draco across the street by his arm, away from the Quidditch shop.
Gazing at the café in front of them, he said, "Florean Fortesque's closed about a year ago, but there's this cool place now." He added in a lower voice, "The witch who runs it is in the Order, so there's no need to worry. But also, she only sends weekly news to- people" He'd been about to say Dumbledore. His grip on Draco's arm tightened slightly. "So basically, no-one needs to be any the wiser about your presence for a bit. She's very trustworthy, and doesn't pass on any personal business of mine anyway."
Draco nodded, and let Harry lead him into the café.
Though Harry missed Mr. Fortesque's ice-cream sundaes, it was definitely good to know he'd be able to have a decent meal without returning to the leaky Cauldron. Sam's Snacks & Sandwitches (wizards seemed to have a thing for alliteration and wordplay, Harry had long ago noted) was a comfortable place to eat, and the welcoming atmosphere was created at least in part by Sam herself.
A delicate, attractive Japanese woman who looked no older than twenty (and kept her real age a closely guarded secret), Sam was as kind a host as you could ask for. As she came over to them, all bows and smiles, even Draco seemed to fall for her warm, adorable brand of charm.
Harry saw the telltale slide of her eyes, away from her customers, then back to them. As there was no confusion in them whatsoever, Harry supposed she hadn't been off gallivanting in second year.
"Hello, Harry! And hello to your attractive friend, too!" she laughed, her slightly accented voice bringing a smile to Harry's face.
"This is Draco Malfoy," he said, "But please don't jump to any conclusions about him because of his name. And, um, I'd appreciate if you didn't tell anyone that he's, uh, staying with me."
"Eloquent as ever," Draco drawled.
Sam's eyes had widened a little at the name, but she smiled once more and said, "Of course not- you know you can trust me! And I trust you, too." Her meaning was clear, and Harry inclined his head slightly by way of thanks for her acceptance.
She led them to a table, and they ordered sandwiches and butterbeers, and sat there talking for a long time- how long they were unsure, as they simply sat and idled away the time with talk and regular refills.
At one particularly strange point in the conversation, the two sat there laughing so hard their sides were aching.
"No, really," coughed Draco through his laughter, "It took me three years to realise that Blaise was gay! I can tell you, it cleared up a lot of things that had been worrying me…"
Harry grinned wickedly.
"Yeah, I'll bet you're just his type."
"His type? Whatever do you mean?" Draco asked, eyebrows raised in an amused manner.
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment, then said, "You know. You're kind of… cute. I mean, underneath all that arrogant Slytherin charm, and that clearly evil sneer of yours, you really are. I, uh…" He looked a little embarrassed at himself. "I just meant that I can't imagine Blaise liking someone, um, y'know, butch or whatever."
Draco just looked at him, eyes wide, face with no trace of as sneer. He looked innocent, sweet and shocked. He looked cute, and Harry couldn't tear his eyes away from such an unfamiliar sight. Then, Draco began to laugh once more.
"You should have seen your face," he gasped, when Harry asked what was funny. "You looked like you'd just, oh I don't know, confessed your love to me or something."
There was another one of those increasingly frequent silences, which seemed to be full of something, though Harry could never pinpoint what it was. Less than two days with no one but Draco Malfoy for company, and already he had hardly a clue what to do with himself.
"But either way," Draco continued, "Thanks. I'm not sure, but I think there was a compliment in there somewhere."
Harry grinned again, and said, "If you think being so cute you're probably every gay boy's fantasy is a compliment, then yeah, I guess I was giving you a compliment."
Ducking to avoid Draco's hex, Harry laughed, "Okay, I get it! I'll change the subject. Actually, we'd better go. It's getting pretty late."
He stood to go and pay the bill, but Draco rose and put a hand lightly on his shoulder. Harry's stomach leapt momentarily; it must have been the butterbeers.
"Come on, you've paid for everything today, not to mention forgiving me and, by doing so, probably saving my life. I've got this one." He smiled at Harry, who returned it and nodded, gratefully saying, "Thanks, Draco."
His hand slid gently off Harry's shoulder, and he made his way up to the counter.
Sam smiled at him, and said, "that'll be 9 galleons and 7 knuts- but I'll knock off the 7 knuts for you two."
As Draco handed her the money, she smiled at him and beckoned him in closer. She whispered, "And good luck with Harry - you could be just what he needs right now. I haven't seen him laugh like that before. Judging by the way he acts around you, you could be in with a chance!"
Drawing back, Draco said, "Madame, I am a Malfoy. I have considerably more than 'a chance'. But-" he leaned in briefly once more, "-thanks for the luck!"
He walked back to Harry, and the two left the shop, shoulders almost touching, smiling like they'd been friends for years.
A few hours had passed, and Harry was sitting in his room, stirring a cup of hot chocolate and thinking of Draco. Or rather, thinking of how strange it was that the two of them should get on so well, after so many years of enmity.
However, after the long time he'd been thinking about it so far, he'd begun to conclude that it really wasn't all that weird.
At first, they'd been merely a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, so of course they couldn't get along. Then, they'd been Daddy's Little Death Eater and The Boy Who Lived, leader of Dumbledore's Army, and to try to understand each other would be to compromise who they were- to everyone else, at least.
But what were they now, really? Harry seemed to bring suffering to all those around him, making them instant targets for followers of Voldemort. He couldn't think of himself as The Boy Who Lived any more; it seemed such cruel irony considering how many people had died because of him. Draco had changed sides, renouncing his Death Eater life for reasons Harry didn't even know, and was now in serious danger of his life, so much so that Harry's company probably didn't put him in any more danger than he was in already To both of them, school seemed like another world entirely, another life.
This, Harry thought, was probably the crux of the matter. They couldn't live their old lives any more, not now. They could no longer go to lessons and pretend it was peacetime. It seemed such a cruel comfort that Draco was already so in danger that Harry probably couldn't make it worse, and that this sort of life was why they could relate to each other so well. Harry hadn't really had someone he could actually relate to before- like, yes. Love, even. But it wasn't the same as having someone who even has the same look in their eyes as you. He had been so lonely, and the selfish part of him had always wanted someone else who was as much in danger as he was, really.
Harry took a sip of hot chocolate, then set it down once more. He'd been stirring it so long, it was too cold to swallow.
TBC