Word Count: 1125

~ Chapter 4 ~

What would constitute a perfect day for you?

Being faced with a naked Potter wasn't daunting. It wasn't.

Well. Maybe it was a little daunting, but Draco was fine. He was fine, this wasn't even in the top ten most daunting… well.

Draco wrinkled his nose and shifted beneath his umbrella as he waited for Potter to answer the question. He was trying his hardest not to think about answering himself.

He knew it should be an easy question, everyone had an idea of what their perfect day would be, right?

Except Draco didn't.

He'd spent so many months just trying to make sure he was alive at the end of the day that he had no idea now what a perfect day would be made up of.

The look on Potter's face seemed to convey that he was struggling with a similar issue.

"A perfect day," Potter mused. He rolled over onto his front, resting his chin on his palm, arm bent at the elbow to prop his head up. "I'm not sure. Something simple, probably. Flying, spending time with Ron and Hermione… not being bugged for my autograph, or asked what I'm planning to do with my future. Good food… simple things."

Draco nodded slowly. He supposed for Potter, that would be good. After his years at Hogwarts—even just what Draco knew about—simple would probably fit him well.

"You?"

Draco blinked, and then sighed. "I don't know."

Potter's brow furrowed. "If you don't want to answer, you can just say so, you know? I'm not actually going to try and force an answer out of you, Malfoy."

Draco shook his head. "It's not that I don't want to answer, Potter, I just… genuinely don't know what a perfect day would look like. There are things I enjoy, sure, but… I don't know if I think they're perfect."

"I think you're overthinking this," Potter said, his lips tilting up slightly as he brow smoothed out.

"Not a problem you've ever had, I'm sure," Draco snarked, then bit his lip, because wasn't he trying to not argue with Potter every two minutes?

Potter merely rolled his eyes and snorted.

"I… spending time with my mother without worrying about saying the wrong thing would be good," Draco said eventually. "And I suppose flying, too. It's freeing in a way little else is, isn't it?"

Potter nodded. "Yeah. I always felt like I didn't have to worry about anything when I was in the air. Like I was leaving all my problems on the ground."

"I get that. I haven't been flying in ages. Not since—" he cut himself off, the room of requirement flashing in his mind, Potter's hands pulling him desperately onto the back of his broom as they rushed to escape the untameable flames.

"Hey," Potter murmured, pulling Draco from the memory. "Maybe when we're allowed to leave here, we can go flying?"

Draco blinked a few times and then nodded. "I… yeah. Sounds like a plan."

…

They spent most of the afternoon in the garden in a companionable silence, broken only occasionally by an absent comment from one to the other. It was nice, Draco thought.

Not something he'd ever really done before. His father had always expected every action to have a point, even something as simple as when and where Draco sat, and for how long.

Finally, Potter stretched on his towel and sat up lazily, rolling his bare shoulders a few times. "I'll make a start on dinner. What do you fancy?"

Draco shrugged. "Whatever you want to make is fine. You know you don't have to cook every night, right?"

Potter wrinkled his nose, and Draco refused to think it was cute. It wasn't cute. Absolutely not.

"I like cooking, when I'm cooking because I want to. I think I'll probably make something with a salad though. It's too warm for something heavy."

Draco nodded, tucking that comment away for further examination later. Potter stood up, and Draco's eyes were drawn to a scar on the back of his hip.

"How did that happen?" He asked, nodding to the scar when Potter looked at him questioningly.

Potter twisted a little to look at it, his fingertips brushing over it thoughtfully. "I'm not sure."

Draco snorted, but stood up, vanishing his conjured umbrella before he followed Potter inside. He sat down at the table, only to be ordered back to his feet.

"You can chop vegetables, right?"

He was directed to a cutting board that Potter loaded brightly coloured vegetables onto, and then handed a sharp knife.

"What do you want me to do with them?"

"Thin slices for everything," Potter said, before he turned back to the fridge. "How do you feel about stir-fry?"

"I… don't know what that is."

Nodding, Potter pulled more ingredients out and then turned to the cupboard. "You're about to find out if you like it then."

Draco chopped the vegetables as ordered, and then stepped back, accepting the quiet thanks before he returned to his seat at the table. He took a deep breath and then said, "I think a perfect day for me would be being invisible. Not… not invisible like people couldn't see me but… as if I hadn't made the mistakes I have. Invisible in the sense that nobody would know me. Nobody would care who I am."

Potter glanced over his shoulder and smiled tightly. "Your mistakes won't follow you forever, Malfoy. The wizarding public are fickle, and more than that, for the most part, they're sheep. They'll move onto someone else before long."

"You know that from experience," Draco said, nodding slightly. He knew that Potter had been to both ends of the spectrum of public opinion, and logically, Draco knew he was right.

It was just… hard to believe that, and he was impatient for it.

He'd never wanted to be invisible before, but now… it really did sound perfect.

He watched Potter cook, and it wasn't long before a plate of the most colourful food Draco had ever seen was put in front of him.

Hesitantly, he scooped some up onto his fork and ate it, marvelling at the explosion of flavour on his tongue.

He glanced at Potter to see a satisfied smirk on his face.

"Okay, so you can feel free to cook every night," Draco said, rolling his eyes.

Potter just chuckled and turned back to his food.

…

Draco finished his chapter and shut his book, glancing at the clock. He pulled the list from his pocket and glanced at the next question, snorting to himself when he saw what it was.

When Potter looked up from his own book, Draco gestured to the list.

"One more before bed?"