Silent Chaos

Chapter 2 - My Obsession

'He's everything you want.

He's everything you need.

He's everything inside of you,

That you wish you could be...'

Harry...mmm...Harry...

Draco's mind drifted in happy oblivion as he nuzzled as his pillow, senses bathed in warmth and a scent that he had been dreaming about for many months...a scent as intoxicating as ambrosia of the gods. Harry...Harry...A slight curling of pale-rosy lips and another nuzzle brought a strand of hair over Draco's temple and cheekbone. Harry...What a sweet thought, what a beautiful image. Slender, long fingers curled in the sheets as Draco nestled further into the warm blankets about him, thinking thoughts of Harry...only Harry. The image of Harry's smile floated across his drowsy mind. Harry's smile...such a smile...and how it could reach the eyes, oh, how it could reach the soul. And those eyes - oh! those eyes...Bliss...such bliss could be found within those eyes, such escape, such - happiness. Slowly, Draco's eyes fluttered open to greet the dawn and -

...and an empty space beside him, bathed in the half-light of the storm that ravished London. A bone-weary, hopeless sigh escaped his lips and he turned onto his back, looking up at the canopy of the bed. Groaning, he closed his eyes and placed a hand over them, fingers curling slightly against temple and cheekbone. What thoughts! What images! Oh, how they plagued him, how they made him want to - To what? Exactly what did he want to do? Did he want to go to where Harry was sleeping and slip in beside him, curling his strong body close to himself? Did he want to confess what he felt for Harry and watch the axe fall and decimate his dreams? Did he want to forget all about Harry? How could he? How could he do that...?

Draco did not know, and he was afraid of finding out the answer to those questions. Instead of digging deeply within his feelings, he turned and nuzzled at the white pillow again, closing his eyes - and seeing Harry behind them, within them, dancing...dancing again. That siren, that beautiful creature. Hopelessness coloured his face again and he smiled a faint smile, a hand stroking over the edge of the pillow. The scent of Harry was all about him, upon the pillows, the blanket, the sheets...and the tunic that he wore. Of course, the tunic was freshly washed - but oh, it still had a faint trace of Harry's scent. How he wished that it were Harry enveloping him in his arms right at that moment instead of just the sheets and blankets that hugged him in their taunting, scented embrace. But wishes...wishes were frail tendrils of imagination, and why entertain them when they were so absurd?

With a sigh, Draco turned his body to face the edge of the bed closest to himself and was quite surprised to see a bathrobe on a small stool he hadn't noticed before - and a note upon the bedside table. His mind cleared a little bit more and he sat up, closing his eyes tightly as dizziness swept through him. Steadying himself on the bed, he counted to ten, then slowly opened his eyes again after regaining some stability and glanced to the note. It had definitely not been there before, and neither had the bathrobe. Harry...Harry must have come in earlier. Cursing himself as a hopeful fool, Draco looked to the other side of the bed hesitantly, almost fearfully and noticed - no trace that anyone had spent the night beside him. No indentation in the pillow, no ruffling of the sheets. Well, of course not! How could there be anything there? Harry didn't feel a whit for him except for friendly concern. He still called him 'Malfoy', afterall - but then, he outwardly called Harry 'Potter' as well, so there might be something. But no. There couldn't be.

Feeling his heart sinking slowly at his own pessimistic thoughts, Draco reached out for the note and picked the parchment up, looking at the elegant writing on it without registering what it said for a few moments. Shaking his head, he started to read the black writing.

'Draco,

Just wanted to tell you that I left you a bathrobe and took your

clothes away to clean them. They were not in the best of shape

after last night, hope you don't mind.

If you feel up to a wash, the bathroom is down the hall and to

the left. Last door there. I'm gone to get us some food, so

don't look for me. Left tea for you in the living room on the

coffee table. Drink it, it will help.

Harry'

Twirling the note in his hands for a moment, he could not help but smile inwardly. Well...that was sweet of Harry. Or maybe just friendly concern? But...well...Sighing, Draco gave up on fighting himself while he was not feeling up to the battle and just looked to the note again. With a gentle smile curling his lips becomingly, he traced Harry's name with an index finger, his skin moving oh-so gently along the paper as if fearing that it would crumble to dust under his touch. But no...the note stayed quite whole within his white hands. With a tiny sigh of pleasure, he closed his eyes and pressed that delicate note to his chest for a moment, swaying slightly from weakness but not seeming to notice or care. Enveloped in the scent of Harry, and holding that note to his breast, he wouldn't have cared if he had fallen down a dark hole from weakness and broken his neck in that blissful moment, as long as he could entertain the fantasy of having Harry leave a note and a robe because of feelings more deep than simple care.

And instructions to reach the bathroom, along with permission to wash. The thought crossed Draco's mind before he grew too enamoured with the note. Placing the paper down on the table again, he stood slowly and stripped the tunic off his slim body. Looking to the white shirt, he smiled and folded it carefully, placing it at the foot of the bed for Harry to do...whatever it is that he would do with it. Shivering and rubbing at his arms as goose bumps covered his flesh, Draco walked towards the stool and picked up the delightfully comfortable looking robe of white. Wrapping the garment around his body as he made his way out of the room, he looked about the apartment more closely for the first time. The hallway was a nice, wide place, a long carpet covering the floor. The doors were tall and sturdy looking, fitting into the dark wood look of the place with their mahogany colour. Light was pouring into the hall from one end of it where a tall window was situated, pillows strewn at the base of that floor to ceiling window. Pillows? Draco turned his head and quirked a brow in amusement. Aye, pillows. Interesting...so The Boy Who Lived enjoys watching the stormy London weather? Mmm...if only I could join Harry at some point to do that on those pillows -

Turning away, he decisively made his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him, shivering as his feet touched the emerald-edged tiles. Even the bathroom was well made and quite spacious, the sink and jacuzzi following a shell-like design, and both - along with the toilet - were of creme porcelain. Silver leaves and roses edged the mirror above the sink, deep-creme wallpaper with the same leaf designs (in an autumnal orange colour) covering all walls that did not touch the shower stall or jacuzzi. Ah...the shower stall. Exactly what Draco needed at the moment. A towel was placed on a wicker basket by the shower stall, seemingly meant for Draco, so he did not hesitate to assume that it was as he took the robe off and placed it on a hook upon the door. Stretching slowly, he winced at the pain still within his stomach, then quickly turned on the water, waiting for it to run at a comfortably hot temperature before slipping into the shower stall - his mind never once leaving Harry fully.

* * *

Draco...mmm....Draco...

Harry's dreams were soothing, comforting that night - filled with the image of Draco and only Draco. He couldn't help but wake up in a good mood, stretching as if to wrap his arm about Draco's waist...and finding that his arm only bumped against the back of the living room couch. Staying like that for a few minutes, Harry sighed a deflating breath and opened first one eye, then the other, watching the fuzzy, hazy images before him and not caring to find his glasses just yet. His thoughts drifted from the softness of the dreams to the sharpness of reality and he cringed back mentally, the edges of what was real cutting deeply this morning - too deeply. With a groan, he turned over and curled up, facing the living room and pressing his back into the pillows of the back of the couch in a fruitless effort to find even a bit of comfort. But there was no comfort for him this morning, there was only a rather annoying pain somewhere deep within his chest. Almost like missing his parents, but different...kind of different...perhaps even a bit more potent.

His hand snaked out and touched the smoothed edge of the coffee table, fingers tiptoeing along the wooden surface and reaching his glasses. Grunting, he rolled onto his back and placed the pesky glasses onto his nose, blinking fuzziness out of his eyes and looking at the oh-so-boring, white ceiling.

Once again, images of Draco flashed across his mind - he just couldn't stop thinking about the sexy, blond wizard. The lithe, muscular body...that soft, platinum blond hair...those slender, long hands..and those lips! Oh...oh...those lips...such lips...such kisses that they could bring...

Groaning, Harry rolled onto his side, then sat up abruptly, the quilt that he had covered himself with last night slipping off his bare chest and pooling in his lap. Furrowing his scarred brow, he sighed in exasperation and rubbed at his arm slightly. Draco...Draco...must stop thinking about Draco. This was indeed driving him quite crazy with longing and other emotions that he wasn't even going to try and figure out. Everything would come in time - though he really doubted it and hoped that nothing would come in time except for a release from this prison of circling feelings and desires. Oh...what he wouldn't like to do right now to bring such sweet release -

No. No. That just wouldn't do, would it? No, it wouldn't. So he got up and stretched, wincing and glancing down along his toned belly to his slightly wrinkled jeans. He had slept within them at night, only having taken his shirt off. Looking about and running both hands through his mussed up hair, he found his shirt on the chair by the couch and snorted faintly. Odd. He didn't remember taking it off...he didn't remember much except for...except for...Draco. Mmm...Draco's eyes...his smile, his skin...his voice. Oh...that voice. And those elegant brows. Harry closed his eyes and mmed, a hand tracing the air before him as if stroking Draco's brow...

His eyes blinked open suddenly and he remembered. Draco! Draco was ill...he should check up on him and make him some tea. And he also ought to go and get some groceries and make some light soup so that Draco could get nutrients back into his body - having hurled all the content of his stomach up the night before after a bout of tequila drinking. Snorting faintly once more, Harry stood and stretched slowly, his arms reaching upwards and his fingers clenching for a moment. Lowering those arms, he picked up his shirt and put it on absently as he scanned the room. The weather was still rather gloomy, rain pelting the outside of the floor-to-ceiling windows and an angry mass of grey clouds obscuring the sky, making the light reaching London a rather dull, grey one. Obviously, this storm was not going to pass just overnight, though it shouldn't stay for longer than a few days, Harry wagered. Tucking the shirt into his pants without buttoning it up, he slowly made his way towards his own room, glancing at an antique, Muggle clock on the mantelpiece above his hearth. 6:00 a.m. A little bit too early, but at least Draco ought to still be asleep.

Reaching his room, Harry opened the door a crack without drawing a breath and bit his lower lip. The image that presented itself to him was so...so delicate...so beautiful. Draco was slumbering still, his soft hair ringing his head like a halo; his lips slightly parted...his skin..his skin so white...one hand holding the edge of the blanket lightly, elegant fingers slightly curled. Harry could not breathe for a few moments, the image too precious to disturb with even one breath...but alas, that could not last and he knew that he had to move - no matter however much he wanted to just...stay there and watch that ethereal creature sleep - and in his bed, at that! In his bed...his, not that of anyone else. Somehow, he was now very glad that he did not have a guest room in the apartment.

After a few moments, he stirred and moved into the room on light feet in the direction of the closet. Opening it, he looked around and smiled as his eyes noticed one of his bathrobes, a beautiful white one that would be very comfortable. Quietly walking towards the bedside table, he opened the drawer in it and took out his wand, waving it in a pattern and apparating a stool into the room. Folding the robe, he placed it on the stool carefully, then looked about for a piece of paper. Not finding one, he pursed his lips a bit and glanced to Draco as he thought. After a few moments of watching Draco sleep, Harry felt his expression of displeasure melt away like so much snow in the bright light of the sun. For a moment, Harry did not know what to do...Should he...should he reach out and brush a strand of hair out of Draco's eyes? Should be bend down and touch a kiss to his high, smooth brow? Should he perhaps slip into - well...no, that was out of the question. His hand, however, had quite a mind of its own. One moment, it's holding the wand...and the next, it has put his wand down on the bedside table and is lightly stroking over Draco's cheek, cheekbone...temple..and lightly, oh-so-lightly through his hair. Harry could not suppress a shudder, though he tried hard not to whimper in frustration and pain. God...if only he could touch that hair while Draco was not asleep...if only...if only he could feel more of that skin.

Swallowing hard, he drew - no, he jerked his hand away, picking up his wand again and putting it in his pocket as he walked out of the room quickly in search of a piece of paper to write Draco a note. He needed to get out...he really, really needed to get out and breathe some fresh air to clear his mind of the horribly...delicious thoughts that kept floating across it. Finding some paper in his cluttered study, he sat down on an old armchair and stared at the parchment, quill in hand. Nibbling on the end of the quill, he thought for a few moments. What should he write? Well...the facts. But...what facts? 'Draco, I've wanted you ever since that time in seventh year and I want to do things with you that would shock even myself.'? No..no no..that wouldn't do. Harry let out a soft sigh and started to write a...normal note. Went to the store, took clothes (must take clothes) to get cleaned...hope you don't mind. Left bathrobe...can use shower...the shower is there...tea..made tea. Yes...must make tea before leaving. And that's about it. That is it. That has to be it. Signing the note, Harry put his quill down on the cluttered table, his arm bumping against a scroll and making it fall to the floor. Starting as if woken up, Harry sighed and picked the scroll up, gazing at it..then resting it down on the table carefully and leaving the study, closing the door carefully.

The light had increased just a bit by the time that The Boy Who Lived placed his carefully written note on the bedside table by his occupied bed and gathered up Draco's clothes. Wryly, Harry noted to himself how the storm was a mirror image of the turmoil within his own mind and heart. Even Draco's clothes spurred the chaos within further on...that scent that lingered upon them - oh no, not the scent of illness, but the scent of flesh - was enough to stop Harry dead in his tracks and bury his nose within the shirt, breathing in deeply. God...gods...how can I survive this? How could I ever survive this torment? And to think, Draco would probably laugh. To think...if word of my feelings ever got out, I would be embarrassed beyond repair. How could Draco like me? How could Draco ever..ever agree to what those traitorous murmurs of the mind suggest?

Frowning, Harry folded the clothes and packed them in a bag to take to the cleaner's across the street, then wandered into his small kitchen and waved his wand at a pot of water, making it start heating up quickly on the magic-operated stove. He sat down quietly at the kitchen table and rested his dark wand down on the table top, a finger running down along its length as he thought. It would be wise if Draco went home today...Harry did not think that he would be able to bear the presence of him for much longer. This was...much harder than having to put up with Draco because he hated him. This was so much harder than that...it was almost impossibly hard, almost unbearable. He could not allow Draco to see what he was feeling...he could not allow for anything to happen. So he made up his mind to simply do what he had to do, and get Draco out of his apartment by the end of the night.

When the kettle started whistling lightly to show that it was boiling, Harry stood with new resolve in his movements and put a bag of chamomile tea into a large mug, pouring water over it and carrying it out to the living room. Placing the mug down on the coffee table, he looked about, got his wand from the kitchen, and walked to the hall leading out of his apartment, snagging a wizard robe and the bag of clothes along, as well as his wallet. When he left it was seven fifteen. Yes...yes, he knew what he had to do, he knew what he had to say. How hard could it be? How hard could it be?

His mind was made up - but it did not stop the ache deep within his heart at the decision that he made.

* * *

The shower woke Draco up and refreshed him, though he still felt rather ill and weak as he made his way to the living room, rubbing a towel to his wet hair. Looking about, he noticed the Muggle clock and shook his head with a small smile. Seven thirty. Rather early, but then, he had such a good rest, he did not notice a lack of sleep as he sat down on the couch shakily and closed his eyes. Bloody stomach ache. Maybe the tea would help..maybe, maybe...Draco looked down at the mug of tea and picked it up noticing that it was still luke-warm. He blinked. Odd...he must have missed Harry by about..fifteen, twenty minutes? He would have enjoyed saying good-morning to Harry...and ruffling his hair affectionately...and kissing his lips...and taking those blasted glasses off and -

And how about behaving? He grumbled to himself and sipped at the tea gingerly, wrinkling his nose at the taste. Chamomile. Good for him, he knew that, but he did so not enjoy the taste of it, or the scent. Eurgh. However, he did enjoy how sweet of it was of Harry to make tea. Mmm...how very sweet indeed. A smile curled Draco's lips slightly and he leaned back into the couch, curling his legs up to the side and propping his right side against the arm of the couch. Would Harry be so thoughtful if we were together? Would he make tea, and be thoughtful and generous? Probably...Harry is a marvellously kind person, very selfless, very sweet. Perhaps a bit too adventurous, but very darling nonetheless. With a soft mmm and an even bigger smile, Draco sipped at the tea and half-closed his eyes, not even noticing the taste - but only the fact that Harry made him tea. Harry...mmm....

Stopping himself suddenly, Draco sighed and put the mug down on the low coffee table again. How foolish of him. How utterly foolish of him to think such thoughts, to let himself get carried away so much as to smile like a contented cat who just had a large bowl of cream. He hasn't even had his cream! Just thoughts of it...and oh my, what thoughts he had of his 'cream'. Though it was not even his, and he doubted he'd ever have any of Harry at all...But the thoughts, the thoughts, oh how they led him to believe that he might...Perhaps it would be best if he left as soon as Harry got back. He could probably walk home...or maybe ask to be driven home...And then what? And then he'd be able to live a nice, Harry-free life. No more Harry. No more haunting thoughts of Harry. Draco thought that he might even accept the offer of...intimacy with one of the fellows he worked with at the Ministry. Just to get his mind off of Harry, and anyway, the lad who offered wasn't all that bad looking, either. Nothing compared to Harry, of course...

Draco snarled at himself and frowned, starting to rub the moist towel through his hair again, trying to dry the strands off a little more and at least do something instead of pining away for Harry. Luckily this was a Sunday, so he did not have to go into work...he could probably try to send an Owl to Hermione again, maybe meet up with her...have some coffee and a chat. That would be good, though he did not quite know what he would tell her. Should he admit what he feels? Should he avoid the subject and Harry completely? But then, he couldn't do that, surely. He spent a night at Harry's place, afterall, and he did have to explain why he wasn't feeling all that well. She would understand, though. Hermione was a sweet thing, and surely she would understand the emotional chaos that he was feeling. Maybe she could even help? Maybe...

Draco could not help but brighten a little bit at the idea. Perhaps he would get some emotional peace after he talked with his friend, she always did manage to put some logical order to his emotions before. A pity that I'm gay, I would be quite fond of her in a more romantic way if I wasn't. With that thought, he picked up the mug and stood shakily, making his way to the washroom to straighten out his hair with a brush, if he could find one somewhere...

* * *

Driving to the grocery store, Harry still could not get his thoughts straightened out. His brow furrowed under his bangs and he parked the car as close to the store as he could, getting out and quickly making his way into the store as the rain gleefully attacked him in his black robe. A nice store it was, though rather small and wizard-run. Aisles ran along the store at odd angles, and almost a full half of them were devoted to herbs and other substances for potions. Snape would have been in heaven here, Harry thought with a smirk and took out his wand, making his way down a vegetable aisle and tapping on the vegetables that he wanted to buy. The vegetables floated upwards at each 'wingardium leviosa' that was murmured and floated in front of Harry obediently as he moved down the aisles. Stopping at the meat section, he thought for a moment, then tapped his wand to a nice, large halibut fillet and moved onwards to get a bag of potatoes, some milk, a stick of butter, and some salt - he was running low on salt.

As he moved towards the checkout counter, he smiled to himself, glad to have taken his mind off of Draco for a little bit. Shopping for food did soothe him most of the time, strangely. The plump, grey-haired witch who owned the shop was at the counter operating an enchanted cash register that counted up the prices of purchases by having the items spoken to it clearly. Smiling to the witch, Harry let his purchases drift onto the counter and took out his wallet, heavy with galleons, sickles, and knuts.

"Good morrow to ye, Harry," the cheerful woman said in greeting, beaming up at him. "How are ye this day?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Knickle. I'm well, thank you...how are you doing?" he replied and smiled, always having been fond of her since the moment he saw her first. As she murmured something about being quite well, Harry nodded politely and looked to the shop, wondering if he forgot anything. Not sure whether he had, he looked back to his purchases and waited while Mrs. Knickle worked with the cash register. His thoughts wandered back to his apartment where Draco was currently...He couldn't help but wonder what Draco was up to..whether he was awake already, or still sleeping. Lips quirking faintly as he thought of Draco's beautiful, sleeping face, Harry did not notice the click of women's pumps upon the wooden floor of the shop, or the gaze of a rather attractive woman resting upon him. When said woman cleared her throat, though, he started and blinked, looking towards her, then suddenly grinning broadly.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, though to his chagrin the cash register beeped and whirred, saying quite clearly: "No such product, please say that again." Lowering his voice, Harry smiled at his good friend. "How are you?" he murmured quietly while Mrs. Knickle continued after a chortle of amusement.

"I'm good, Harry. Haven't seen you in a bit," she replied, brushing a strand of unruly, brown hair out of her eyes and smiling brightly, her eyes dancing. "How are you, though? Do you have company?" She motioned to the food he was buying, having noticed that there was more there than one person needed. A robe of deep royal plum rested upon her, covering a long, black dress whose sleeves ended in triangles on her hands. Her wand rested within one hand, some potion supplies bobbing on the air beside her.

Harry looked startled at her words, and quite suddenly blushed a deep red, unable to help himself as he looked down to the floor, coughing. "Ah..well...yes, I do. You won't believe who, if I tell you. I'm doing good, though - but..." Looking up to the Auror witch, he sighed, emerald eyes showing the turmoil that was boiling within him for a brief moment, "...I want to talk to you about my...guest...Hermione...I have a problem." Just then, the old shopkeeper smiled up at Harry and said how much everything would cost while she magicked the items into two plastic bags for him. He got out the money and paid her, then stepped to the end of the counter to take his bags and wait for Hermione. She just looked at him quizzically, then smiled to Mrs. Knickle and waited for her items to be called out and to pay.

They got out of the store together quietly, the rain having subsided to a much less painful drizzle, though the drops were still large and fat, splattering onto their robes and wetting their hair again. Hermione stopped Harry in his tracks with a hand on his shoulder before they reached their cars. "Harry...when would you like to talk? If this is serious, then perhaps it would be best if we had a chat sooner than later, aye?"

"Yes, you're right..say, would you like to come with me? Perhaps we can talk in the car and you can join myself and...and Draco for dinner?" Harry murmured, looking a bit embarrassed and glancing away from Hermione's keen, searching eyes. He knew that the silence that followed was one of a bit of shock, but when he looked up again, he was surprised to see her smiling in a bit of an amused, and rather knowing way that made him blush very deeply.

"I would not mind at all, dear Harry..." she replied and made her way ahead of him towards her car to shrink it enough to carry with her. "And," she stopped and said over her shoulder, her eyes resting on him like those of a hawk, "I am glad that you have finally come to your senses."

* * *

Draco was bored.

Draco was very, very bored. Harry had been gone for a while now, and he was starting to fret that something may have happened - though he knew that he was silly for doing so. Looking out a window, he sighed and folded his hands in his lap, still wearing the bathrobe that Harry let him borrow. He did not, afterall, have any clothes to wear, seeing as Harry took them away. Smiling a little, he relaxed into the couch and closed his eyes, feeling rather light-headed and slightly ill, the effects from last night's drinking probably still taking a toll on his body. Thankfully Harry was there to...save him. Save him...aye...He was not even ashamed of it...he was not pained, his pride was not stung. Oddly, Draco enjoyed this, enjoyed being taken care of by Harry...enjoyed it that Harry was the one to take him home...to be there for him. Smiling more, he let out a soft breath and started to think...interesting things of Harry again.

Suddenly, the doorknob in the front door turned, making Draco snap his eyes open. And even more suddenly, his jaw dropped at whom he saw. Harry was there - a much more...cheerful Harry, oddly enough - but so was the last person Draco had expected to see here that day.

Hermione Granger. Not just that, though, but a Hermione Granger who looked at him once - and smiled one of her knowing, almost smug smiles. Her next words made him think of what Harry probably told her - and he wanted to die of shame, having a horrid fear growing within him that she knew what he felt and that Harry also knew now and was only happy to have found someone who would take Draco home and out of his life forever.

"Hello, Draco. Hope you're feeling better this morning. You don't mind if I join you and Harry for a talk?"