Harry follows Malfoy down a maze of hallways and corridors, but his eyes can't be bothered to note the elegant surroundings of the Manor's interior chambers. His eyes are far too fixed on the way Malfoy's spine stands straight, and even more so on the curves of his arse undulating beneath the fabric of his trousers.
It is a glorious sight to behold. His mouth goes a little dry, in a way it hasn't in very long. The feeling is so welcome he has to say something to fill the silence and maintain his grip on his composure.
"If I'd known it was going to be a two-day trek, I would have grabbed another one of those sandwiches for the trip."
Malfoy's stride doesn't break in the slightest. Harry likes that. Much more than he probably should. It means that he didn't startle Malfoy, that Malfoy's been aware of him the entire time. Awareness is a good thing because awareness precipitates anticipation.
"Relax, Potter, we're here," Malfoy says, stopping at the end of the hall, and Harry can hear the eye roll in the haughty drawl. "This is your room." He flips a hand at the door. "I'm across from you. You'll find everything you need inside. Call for a house-elf if not." Malfoy sighs heavily and turns. "I'll see you at dinner."
"Why so far?"
"What?" Malfoy turns back to face him with tired eyes.
"Your room? It's clear at the other end of the house. Why is that?"
Small lines crease the corners of Malfoy's grey eyes as he stiffens a bit. He draws in a breath before replying, "Mother's room is in the other wing. She's a light sleeper, and I—I keep odd hours." Long lashes flutter over those stormy gray depths. "She needs her rest. I don't like to disturb her."
It's there in the shadows from one blink to the next, and Harry can read the subtext. Malfoy's suffering from nightmares. Harry lets the sympathetic smile grace his lips.
"I've been known to keep odd hours myself. Maybe we'll run into each other in the wee hours of the morning?"
The blankness is back on Malfoy's face, but Harry thinks that there's possibly a hint of disbelief lurking underneath the mask, like he's not sure if Harry's mental or not.
"Doubtful."
"Okay, then. See you later." Harry opens the door to his room and steps inside, when Malfoy lets out a low, deep breath. It sounds like another sigh, but one of frustration instead of weariness.
"Why are you here, Potter?"
Malfoy's stiff in the hallway, hands clenched at his sides, the lines of his lips pinched so tight against his face they've lost all color.
"I thought we covered that. I don't know how I got here."
"No," Malfoy says, shaking his head with force. The tone of his voice is sharper, higher, and definitely defensive. It's skating very close to the edge of fear as he continues, "No. I mean why are you staying? Why would you want to?"
Harry straightens, but not too much, just enough to put a calming, yet confident vibe out between them that, if Harry's instincts are right, will instantly get a response from Malfoy. It's the sort of stance he's used in the past that never fails to soothe and pacify. It's a stance that radiates safety and control, one that tells the sub that Harry's got everything under control and there's no need to worry. It incites trust on a subconscious level, and it's a specialty of Harry's.
It works.
The tension bleeds out of Malfoy's shoulders and hands, and he lets a soft breath of relaxation.
Harry smiles at him, genuinely pleased at Malfoy's shift in demeanor. Even if Malfoy himself doesn't recognize it, Harry does. All the more reason to stay and unlock more of Malfoy's secrets.
"I need something."
Malfoy swallows and licks his lips. "Wh-what do you need?"
"Well, I don't know. But apparently I'm going to find it here. And I'm not leaving until I do."
The finality of the statement has a second to linger in the air before Malfoy huffs in that old, familiar way, and rolls his eyes. "You're just going to hang out here and blunder about our lives until you," he makes sarcastic finger quotes in the air, "find yourself? Merlin save me from Gryffindors and their reckless tangents!"
Harry narrows his eyes in acute displeasure and glides forward right into Malfoy's personal space, hovering just on the other side of uncomfortable. His voice is low, this time it's dangerous and he knows it, but he doesn't care. "I'm long out of school, Malfoy. And I may have been a Gryffindor, but I can assure you that I am in complete control of myself. I no longer 'blunder about' and you can be certain that for every move I make, for every word that comes out of my mouth, there is a reason behind it. So I'm going to figure out how and why I got here, whether or not it pleases you. You can decide to be nice, or you can decide to be a shit. But I'm telling you that if you expect me to revert to our old, petty ways, it's not going to happen. I have more self-control that that." Harry's lips curve into a challenging smirk. "Do you?"
Malfoy's response is to gape for exactly three seconds before he turns his back and slams the door to his room.
Well, Harry muses, that went better than expected.