An Interesting Day

An Interesting Day

~

Harry didn't really know why he had wound up like this. Okay, the obvious answer was because he had gotten sick during the final days of the war, out on the cold battlefield. At first Hermione would often come by his house and keep him company, make him tea, hand him his medication. But after a while, with Ron and their children to attend to, she came by less frequently and only left half hearted messages in his voice mail box which Harry was too lazy to check anyway.

He spent most of his days lying in bed, not eating anything, or wrapped in a comforter watching TV, that is if he could get a clear picture without the harsh crashing noise and grey and black screen. The apartment he was living in was a little messy, with sweaters and spilled orange pill bottles scattered all over the floor. Currently, there was a small pitter-pattering sound coming from the kitchen window that Harry wasn't going to bother investigating. It was probably some annoying bird trying to pick at the things that were undoubtedly growing on the outside windowpane by now, and he scowled as the noise was only adding to his ever growing headache.

There was a cheery young witch who lived in the lot above him who was studying to become a mediwitch, and every year she would send Harry what he thought was the mandatory impersonal holiday card or two. He'd received one today, so he reached for his phone and dialed her number while yawning, during which he choked on a cough and listened as her startled voice panicked on the other line. "Sorry," he choked out, hoping he didn't sound too much like a toad. "It's Harry."

"Oh, hi Harry!" she said, in what he would have thought was a falsely perky voice if he hadn't known it sounded like that all the time. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," he lied, twisting the phone cord between his fingers. "I just wanted to say thank you for the card. I would come up, but my legs have just been bothering me all day. I hope you don't mind." It had been on the tip of his tongue to say, "but my legs have been bothering me for several months, now" but he didn't want people to think he was completely helpless, whining and trying to get attention. He'd learned to ignore the pain - for the most part, anyway.

She spoke again, her voice dripping with sympathy. "No, of course not, I understand completely. It was nice to call, and I hope you'll be up and on your feet again soon." Harry forced a laugh, coughing a little bit again, and replied, "I sure will. You take care." He placed the phone back on the receiver a little too loudly and his head throbbed a little more.

Harry reflected, and he discovered that today had to be one of his more interesting days, considering he'd gone weeks on end without actually using his voice. He wondered if Hermione would mind that he didn't return her calls, and thought about maybe ringing her, when he realized he didn't remember her number. She had been one of his only friends who knew how to use the muggle device, and he had already forgotten the number, only a few years after witches and wizards had finally retreated to the homes of what rested of their families. He wondered what that could mean, but when his head started to pound more he stopped that train of thought and reached for some of the muggle pain killers and his self-refilling water glass, one of the few things Harry kept enchanted. Both of those items stayed permanently on the coffee table next to the couch.

Instead, he recalled a time when Hermione had come over, early in the days of the new Insane Psychopath-free era. She had insisted that Harry have someone room with him, have someone to "bond with a little", was how she had put it, informing him that Dean Thomas, whose whole Muggle family had been killed by Death Eaters, had nowhere to go and would have loved to share an apartment with him. Harry had stated warily that there would be no such rooming going on, and insisted it was because he didn't want to get anyone else sick. He told her that Dean could always stay with Seamus, who he was sure would be more than happy to share a room with him in his family's house. Hermione's face had crumpled, and she suggested in a broken up voice perhaps an animal companion. Harry had seen she had been on the verge of tears, thinking that there was nothing she could do to alter her best friend's lonely state, so he took her hand silently and thanked her, saying that he thought that would be a great idea.

At present, Harry turned his head to another coffee table on the other side of the room that Hermione had set up, where the circular fishbowl sat. Harry had said no to anything lively, excited, and prone to frolicking around and sloppily licking his face, or anything that might scratch up the armrests of couches or curtains. Sure, the living room floor may have been covered in clothes, but something Harry wouldn't have was scratched up furniture, at least not until the day he came home.

Suddenly Harry glanced at the fishbowl and noticed something. He squinted for a while but gave up and searched for his glasses, moving from the couch to his bedroom and back, considering they were the only places he usually went. Eventually he found them underneath a pillow on the couch, and slid them on, feeling the familiar cool metal on his temples. Standing, he could see from a distance the orange fish's lifeless body floating at the top. Harry laughed bitterly at how fickle magic had turned out to be. "Feeds your aquatic friends for you! Never have your fingers smell rotten and salty again! Only one activation spell required," the box for the small aquarium had said in flashing text. Harry shook his head in what would have passed for disbelief, but it was nothing like that, actually.

Harry remembered the current situation and figured he should flush his sad animal companion down the toilet and clean out the fish bowl, but decided it was too depressing and he didn't feel like doing it. Maybe he'd try and find Hermione's number tomorrow and let her know.

He was about to lie down on the couch and try and feel at least a little guilty about his dead fish, so at least that would be a lone point on the emotional scale as of late, when he heard the doorbell ring. Since he wasn't already sitting, Harry decided to be productive and go open the door.

~

After seeing who was standing awkwardly on the other side of the frame, Harry was surprised he didn't feel anything more like anger or repugnance. He was surprised he didn't really feel anything at all. He supposed years of fighting and losing people and then almost undisturbed solitude could do that to a person. Instead, he eyed the blond boy (Man, he inwardly corrected himself) with what might have been a shred of interest and asked calmly, "Would you like to come in?"

Malfoy accepted the offer and stepped in, wiping his wet shoes on the welcome mat. Harry peered down at them. He hadn't realized it had been raining. Well that explained the tapping noise on the windows. Harry watched Malfoy's eyes flick to the clothes and blankets tossed thoughtlessly on the floor, but he didn't say anything.

"Um, would you like some tea or anything? Coffee?" Harry asked, looking through the cabinets in the kitchen for his wand after he had indicated a seat to Malfoy at the small dining table.

"Tea sounds good, thank you," Malfoy said, taking off his overcoat and letting it hang on the back of his chair. He looked around the apartment, seeming slightly impressed. Aside from the random items spread across the hard wood floor, it was a very nice place, he had to admit.

"That's a nice fireplace you have there," Malfoy said, looking at the roaring fire it displayed.

"Oh, thanks," Harry said absently, pouring hot water into two mugs. "It's electric."

"Electrick," Malfoy repeated softly, tasting the foreign word on his tongue. He, of course, had not exactly been inclined to take any Muggle Studies courses. "Well it seems to work well," he said, and again Harry was surprised, for he hadn't expected such a tame response.

He put the two steaming mugs of tea onto a tray and brought it out to the table. Draco thanked him, and they both sat sipping quietly.

After what Malfoy must have decided was too long a time of silent tongue burning, he sighed warily and looked up at Harry. "So do you know why I'm here?" He asked a little too snappishly for his liking, when suddenly memories of all their confrontations came flooding back to Harry, their heated arguments, their constant seeking of the other's attention, the awkward silences that would follow a shiver from feeling the other's breath so close on their face. He almost chuckled, but feared he would choke and that Malfoy would laugh at him, so he kept his mouth shut.

After another sip of his Earl Grey, Harry put his cup down. "Well," he said with a twinkle in his eyes that hadn't been seen since long before the war had started, "Unless I've forgotten my birthday again - and I don't think that's the case, considering the weather - I'd have to say no."

Malfoy's eyes widened a little and he had the grace to blush and look down at his hands, playing with his fingers on the surface of the table which caused Harry to smile. Wow. It'd been a long time since he'd done that.

"No, unfortunately that's not the case," Malfoy finally said, and heaved another small sigh. "I'm afraid it's much less pleasant, but..." He fiddled with his fingers some more. "The hospital was going to inform you anyway, but I... Well, I thought you'd...rather the message...er, be delivered in person..." He paused there, visibly cringing with every word he said, obviously not coming out the way he'd expected to break to Harry whatever news it was.

When Malfoy finally looked up at him, he saw Harry chewing on his bottom lip, silently urging him to continue by raising his eyebrows just enough to be seen. He took a breath. "Neville Longbottom died in his hospital bed today. I'm... I'm sorry."

Harry blinked and broke eye contact, looking down into his mug, where faint swirls of steam were still rising from the contents. He traced his fingers along the warm handle, finding that it didn't warm his now chilled hands.

Neville had fallen into a coma towards the end of the war. It had been Harry himself who had apparated the two of them to St. Mungo's. He had hoped that the next time he would have to apparate in and out of there would be the last, when he'd come and accompany Neville back home with him, after everything was over and the wizarding world was at peace again. They would live together in a flat or house, or whatever they could afford for the time being, and they would wake up together, drink coffee together, read the newspaper together, come home to a surprise cooked meal now and then, and sit on the couch in front of a warm fire and spend the evening alone, knowing that they would always have each other.

After what seemed like an eternity and a million more drops beating at the windows, Harry spoke.

"How did you find out?" He asked, looking up at Malfoy's face.

Behind his loose hair, still a little damp from outside, Harry could see worry lines etched into Malfoy's pale forehead and a glistening film covered his eyes behind his silvery blond lashes. Hanging on the lashes were two tiny little droplets of water, as if they were just barely avoiding slipping off. Harry thought maybe they might be from when he had been outside.

"I'm a Healer at St. Mungo's," Malfoy replied softly, eyes downcast. "They assigned me to him a few weeks after his arrival, along with another fellow who'd been taking care of him since he got there."

Harry noticed another clear droplet on Malfoy's lashes, and then a few more appear as he watched him blinked rapidly several times.

"There... wasn't much we could do. It was our job to inject his food there times a day and bring him any gifts or cards people had sent for him. We'd-" (Malfoy choked) "-read him the cards and talk to him during the day and just...hoped that that would be the day when... he'd wake up." Malfoy finished with a little shiver and put his hands in his lap to clasp together.

Harry looked down at last and took off his glasses. He put them on the table, unfolded, and rubbed his eyes. His fingers curled and he put his elbows on the table, resting his forehead on his palms, which were, unsurprisingly, still cold. Or maybe he was just coming down with another fever, so he didn't give it much thought. And that's when he saw it.

A single teardrop, splattered on the wooden surface. Harry examined it through wet lashes, and felt another one rolling down his cheek and onto the table before a third one started its trail down his other cheek. His shoulders started shaking lightly, and he thought he was maybe having a seizure, before he recognized what was happening.

He was sobbing.

Harry remembered that he had done a lot of this down by the lake after Sirius had died, years ago, and more tears tumbled down his cheeks. He was grateful he wasn't making too much noise, what with Malfoy sitting directly across from him, but he was sure the sound of his breath catching quickly, over and over again was far more than audible. Harry blinked several times, trying to gain control but that only made the drops fall faster until he gave in and surrendered to what simply seemed to rule his life. No, he could never get what he wanted. Instead, he lost the things that were the most precious to him.

Harry cried into his palms, not caring if Malfoy would chose that moment to make any heartless comments, and ignored the tiny voice in the back of his head vaguely asking from whom the other sniffling sounds were coming.

~

Harry awoke to complete silence, his head resting on one arm. He opened his eyes. They felt heavy and hot and it took him a few blinks before he could see out of them properly. He lifted his head slowly off the table - yep, headache was still intact - and fumbled for his glasses with his free hand. That's when he realized his other hand was occupied, and hastened to put his glasses on.

In the center of the table, his hand was being held firmly by Malfoy's, who squeezed it gently. Harry followed the trail with his eyes up Malfoy's black sweater-covered arm to his shoulders and neck and finally rested on his face. They both stared at each other for a little bit, each knowing that once this moment was broken, they could probably never share one like it again. It was Malfoy who looked away first. "I should be going," he said in barely a whisper, and made to get up.

But Harry grabbed his hand and the blond looked back down curiously.

"No, stay," Harry said, and nodded his head at the kitchen window, entwining their fingers. "It's stopped raining."

-fin-