Found, Never Lost

Chapter 10: Looking in the Same Direction?

Monday, June 21, 2004
Berlin-Charlottenburg, very early

Harry squinted at the alarm clock again and flopped over with a groan. It was barely six in the morning. He'd been trying to go back to sleep for at least an hour now - unsuccess-fully, because he couldn't stop thinking about yesterday. About Draco and how good it felt being around him, how relaxed and comfortable. Even... peaceful, odd as it might seem. The only thing that bothered him was that he still didn't know why Draco was here. It was obvious that he was holding something back, but why? It made no sense to Harry, especially after he had told Draco so much about himself.

He rolled onto his stomach in another attempt to get comfortable enough to doze off, but his thoughts returned to last night again, to the moment when Draco had tightened his arms around him, leaving him dazed and a little shaken - and with an urgent throbbing in his groin. He'd been thrilled that Draco had closed the distance between them this time, but the promptness and intensity of his body's reaction had rather shocked him. Being turned on by memories was one thing. Getting a full-blown hard-on at a simple touch was a slightly different matter.

With a sigh, he sat up and reached for his glasses. There was no way he would go back to sleep. Might as well go for a run and get an early start on the day.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Star was halfway through the newspaper when a yawning Harry entered the kitchen shortly after seven. He mumbled a "good morning" in her direction and headed straight for the coffee pot.

She watched him as he spooned much more sugar than usual in his coffee, almost spilled hot milk all over the stove, then got his shirt caught on a drawer handle while turning around and nearly dropped his mug.

"You okay?" she asked when he finally sat down across from her.

He took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "Long night," he said glumly, pushing the glasses back onto his nose - just in time to see her eyebrows shoot up. "Oh for... I didn't mean it like that!" he added, sounding slightly exasperated, but he couldn't help smiling and she relaxed.

"Sorry. Couldn't resist." She winked at him, then turned serious again. "Anything bad happen yesterday?"

"No, not at all," he began, "we went to the aquarium and had dinner afterwards." He wrapped his hands around his mug, a brooding expression on his face, and stared at the tabletop for so long that she finally reached out and touched his hand to get his attention. He startled, then laced his fingers through hers with a deep breath.

"We started talking. About what happened back in school," he said slowly. "I'm not sure he really understood why I never tried to get in touch with him afterwards, but at least we talked about it."

Another silence.

"And?" she prompted.

"And he's... going to stay here for a couple of days. If we don't start fighting again, that is."

"Well, you won't know if you get along with him unless you try."

He cleared his throat and glanced at her, looking worried. "It really doesn't bother you?"

She had a feeling she knew exactly what he was referring to, but this time she wasn't going to make things that easy for him.

"What should bother me?"

"That he's staying here."

"Why would it?"

He looked at her with an odd expression, and for a moment, the reserved, often insecure youth she had first met appeared before her mind's eye - a memory that was intensified by the blush that crept across his face when he answered.

"Because we might... end up sleeping together."

It never failed to amuse her that after three years with her he was still reluctant to talk about sex unless they were in bed, but at the same time she found his awkwardness endearing. And it made it easier to slip back into her "older sister shoes" - although she had to admit that they didn't fit quite as comfortably as they used to.

"Hey, as long as it's not in my bed!" she said and grinned at his scandalised look. She didn't wait for a verbal protest. Harry would never do something so... disrespectful.

"Come on, Harry, it's not like you've never slept with someone else before," she said with a shrug. "Although you and a guy - that would be a first. At least since I've known you."

He averted his eyes. "What if it's... more?"

"More?"

"More than sex," he said, unexpectedly direct. "What if we... decide we want to give it another shot?" His voice was steady and he looked at her calmly, but his hand was clutching hers like a lifeline.

Over the years, they had adjusted to each other's irks and quirks. They had even come to appreciate their differences - well, most of them. He was the calming influence in her fast, impulse-driven life while she continuously dragged him out of his social isolation by throwing him in with her friends and an ever-changing motley crue of acquaintances.

They had balanced, inspired, and learned from one another.

Perhaps it was time they started letting go of each other.

She removed her hand from his grip as gently as she could.

"Then you'll make a decision..."

No matter how often she had told herself that the moment would come one day, the pros-pect of... not living with Harry anymore was unpleasant. She took a deep breath, pushed the unwelcome thought aside, and forced a smile.

"But you won't know what is or isn't until you've spent more time with him."

oOoOoOoOoOo

As usual, she hadn't asked for his help, and as usual, Harry had picked up her heavy backpack and carried it downstairs. Now they were standing on the sidewalk, next to Martin's battered old van, facing each other, and Harry was feeling awkward. He proba-bly ought to say something profound, but he couldn't think of anything, so he just pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her.

"I don't know what's going to happen," he mumbled into her hair. "Everything's chang-ing."

"You say that as if it's something new around here," she commented dryly and held him close for a moment before she pulled back to look him in the eye. "But we're friends, right? Nothing's gonna change that."

He gazed intently back at her, his closest friend of four years, and thought of his other friends, the ones he had left behind with barely a word. "No," he assured her, "nothing will ever change that."

"Star? Wir müssen langsam los." Martin's voice startled them both.

"Time to go." She kissed Harry on the cheek and pulled him into a tight hug. "Take care of yourself."

"Have fun," he said as she climbed into the vehicle.

"Don't I always?" She winked at him and gave him one of her roguish grins. "Be safe!"

He rolled his eyes and waved her off in mock indignation. Standing by the curb, he watched the vehicle disappear around the corner to the musings of his treacherous little inner voice who was wondering if Draco had any idea what a condom was...

Hotel Wilmersdorfer Hof, around 10:00

The toast felt like cardboard in his mouth, his eggs were dry, and the tea was too bitter.

Draco glanced at his watch. Ten past ten. He had only been up for an hour, but he felt ready to go back to bed and sleep for a day or two.

Must have been dinner, he thought, taking another bite of cardboard. Harry might prefer difficult conversations over a meal, but as he had found out yesterday, Draco didn't. Although, what were fatigue and a slightly unsettled stomach compared to the fact that they had finally started talking about the issues between them; and that the discussion had gone much better than anticipated?

They both could have handled matters differently in the past, but what was done was done. Harry was probably right: they hadn't had a chance after the war. But circumstances had changed, they had changed, and maybe there was a chance at a future. He sat his cup down and absent-mindedly turned it around on its saucer. The next few days would have a lot to do with that. Which they were free to spend any way they wanted to. His stomach clenched again, but this time it was either from anticipation or from nervousness. Most likely both.

The last time they'd had a couple of days entirely to themselves had been the winter holi-days in seventh year, shortly before Father had found the caster of the curse. Christmas 1997. They'd been perfectly comfortable with each other by then, and with the pressure of homework and housemates gone, they hadn't fought at all. He'd almost forgotten the peace and quiet of those days. Draco smiled and managed to shut out most of the more... intimate memories associated with that time.

Now they had the opportunity to be away from prying eyes and social restrictions again, and he was looking forward to spending time with this Harry, who reminded him in many ways of the teenager he'd been but was such a different person: still good-natured, even thick-skinned at times, but so much more easygoing and relaxed than in the past. Although... What if that past came back to haunt them? Or what if they discovered that they had other differences now? And what if these differences turned out to be major issues?

He shook his head impatiently. They had taken that hurdle once before and he didn't see any reason why they shouldn't be able to do it again. Apart from that, it was hard to imagine any differences greater than those they'd faced as students. Although, back then, getting... intimate had helped. Unfortunately, that was not an option at the moment, and he had no idea what the chances were for it to happen at all. Harry might have initiated their physical contacts so far - with the exception of last night -, but they had been too brief and superficial to tell if he wanted more. Besides, from what Draco had observed these last two days, it wasn't uncommon for young men to hug each other when saying hello or good-bye. Maybe Harry had just adopted Muggle customs. Who knew?

Still, he couldn't help it... He wanted to hold Harry. Not just hug him. Really hold him. Wrap his arms around him, bury his face in his neck, and say what he'd come to say. Lock out the world for a little while. Be held. Feel safe... Oh no! Not again! He groaned inwardly and made a face. What the dickens was it about Harry that reduced him to such a soppy git?

He washed down the last of his toast with a mouthful of tea, then checked his watch again. Half past ten. Time to go. Finally!

Berlin-Charlottenburg, around 11:00

I should have gone to pick him up! Harry thought, not for the first time this morning, and glanced at the clock whose hands had hardly moved since he'd checked it last.

He had prepared his room for Draco, cleaned up, gone shopping, done the laundry, and generally managed to stay busy until about an hour ago, when Draco had called to let him know that he was on his way to breakfast and would come over afterwards. Ever since, Harry's main occupation had been to keep himself from pacing the flat and biting his nails.

Surely it could not take that long to have a cup of tea and a piece of toast. How could Draco even think of eating while his own stomach felt like a rubber ball? And why on earth was he so jittery? After all, the situation was not even remotely comparable to the first week they'd been forced to spend together, back in school, after they had been cursed. This time, they would be perfectly comfortable in separate rooms and nothing would compel them to... do anything they didn't want to.

Harry squeezed the bridge of his nose, wondering what he was getting himself into. What were they going to do for the rest of the week? What if they got on each other's nerves? Or worse: bored! They hadn't had that problem at Hogwarts, where school and Quidditch had kept them busy. And when they'd done all their homework, run out of things to talk about, and didn't feel like flying, they'd either been quiet or had sex. Which was not an option at this point. Well, being quiet was, of course. But what if they felt uncomfort-able?

He made an impatient noise and shook his head. Maybe he was making all this way too complicated. He knew that he wanted Draco around. Everything else would fall in place. There might still be the occasional awkward or tense moment, but they had relaxed around each other surprisingly fast - at least in public. Now they would get used to being together in private again. Should be no big deal. Piece of cake, really. They had done it before, after all, and under much more difficult circumstances.

He glanced at the clock again. Five past eleven. Jesus!

oOoOoOoOoOo

Draco paid the driver and got out of the cab, vowing that he would never get into one of these torture chambers on wheels again unless absolutely no other means of transporta-tion - including his own feet! - were available. Or if he could Crucio the driver after-wards and get away with Obliviating him.

I should have Apparated, he thought morosely and rang the doorbell, not looking forward to hauling his suitcase up the stairs. For a moment he felt tempted to at least shrink it to make it more manageable, but of course Granger was right: using magic in this part of the Muggle world was too dangerous. He grimaced. How anybody in their right mind could voluntarily give up magic was beyond him. He wasn't sure if he should admire Harry or consider him insane, but by the time he reached the top floor, he knew the answer.

"You must be out of your mind to live without magic," he informed Harry as soon as the door opened, "completely bonkers!"

Harry laughed.

"It's good to see you too."

Of course it was quite possible that his heart was hammering because he had just climbed six flights of stairs, but if Draco was perfectly honest with himself, it was much more likely that Harry's smile had something to do with it.

A Little While Later

"You don't look so good," Harry observed when Draco joined him in the kitchen after he had unpacked. "Are you feeling all right?"

A huge yawn was the answer.

Harry chuckled. "What on earth did you do last night?"

"Tried to catch up on sleep," Draco muttered, slumping into a chair.

"Doesn't look like you were terribly successful. Why don't you lie down for an hour or two? It's not like we have to be anywhere or do anything right now."

Draco pillowed his head on his arms on the kitchen table and mumbled something unin-telligible.

"Come again?"

"I said yes, Mum."

Harry laughed and made a shooing motion with his hand. "Off to bed with you. I'll wake you up in two hours."

"Merlin, Potter, you're almost as bad as Granger," Draco grumbled. "Next thing I know, you'll want to read me a bedtime story."

"Or worse: tuck you in, eh?"

Draco blinked up at him from the tabletop.

"Tsk, tsk, Potter, just because I land in your bed two days after we've met doesn't mean you get to tuck me in. I have my principles, you know?"

"Go get some sleep," Harry said. It sounded... affectionate, and a tension Draco hadn't been aware of until just now drained away.

"Oh well, since you insist..." He yawned again.

"I do. I need you alive and kicking in two hours."

"Why? What's in two hours? You just said we don't have to do anything."

"Well, if we want to do tourist stuff for the rest of the week, we should get you some jeans and trainers today."

Draco groaned. "Do we have to?"

"Of course not. You can always wear some of my stuff."

Draco couldn't resist: "No offence, but I think getting in your bed is as far as I'm prepared to go at this point. Your trousers will have to wait."

Harry laughed, and Draco dragged himself off the chair and across the hall.

oOoOoOoOoOo

When Harry sneaked into the room ten minutes later to fetch his history book, he found Draco curled up on his side, fast asleep, cheek pillowed on both hands. He looked at him for a long moment, watching the slow rising and falling of his chest, wishing he could curl up around him and go to sleep as well.

In the end, he settled for gently brushing a strand of hair from Draco's relaxed, peaceful face and tucking it behind his ear, careful not to let his fingertips rest on Draco's neck much longer than absolutely necessary.

Like a Charm

Around 13:00

Draco felt the mattress dip and reluctantly cracked an eye open to find Harry perching on the side of the bed.

"What is it?" he mumbled, trying to keep his eye open long enough to focus.

"It's two hours later. Feeling better?"

Draco rubbed his face and made a noncommittal noise.

"Here, try this."

Harry held out his hand.

"Huh?" Draco blinked groggily and took the proffered... whatever it was.

"Muggle remedy for sleep-mouth. You asked me about it once, remember?"

Draco squinted at the small transparent strip. "What's this?"

"It's like a liquorice melt, only peppermint-flavoured," Harry explained and got up.

Draco put the thing on his tongue.

Harry had made it almost to the door when the pillow struck his back.

"You are going to pay for that, Potter!"

Harry turned his head just enough to see Draco jump out of bed before he fled from the room, laughing hysterically. Naturally, there was only so much he could do to get away from a determined Draco in a two bedroom flat. After a brief chase through the kitchen and down the hall, he found himself in the living room, where Draco managed to get hold of his shirt, causing him to lose balance and end up sprawled half on, half off the couch.

"Okay, okay! I give up!" Harry choked out, barely able to speak, effectively pinned down by Draco, who was more or less sitting on top of him. "Stop it! Please!" he gasped, trying to ward off prodding fingers. Damn, who would have thought that Draco remembered his ticklish spots?

To his relief, the poking ceased almost immediately and they looked at each other, laughing and a little breathless.

"Peppermint melt, my arse! Firewhiskey's more like it. What in Mordred's name was that?"

"Pocket Listerine, extra-strong," came the gleeful reply. "Works like a charm, doesn't it?"

Draco chuckled at the pun. Then the thought crossed his mind that no, he wouldn't know if it really worked unless he... tested it. He was suddenly acutely aware of Harry's flushed face, his laughing eyes, and slightly parted lips - and of his own position: one knee between Harry's legs, the other one beside him on the couch, basically straddling his thigh... And then he was wondering what it would be like to kiss Harry again, gently, just a light brush mouth to mouth, slowly getting bolder, teasing with little licks and nips until their tongues were touching... It would be so easy... All he'd have to do was lean for-ward...

"...to Draco..."

The sound of his name and a light touch on his arm brought him back to the present.

"Earth to Draco?"

"What?" Draco blinked, somewhat disoriented. " Earth?"

"You're spacing out on me again." Harry looked up at him with a slightly worried expres-sion. "Are you all right?"

One of Harry's hands was resting on his bare arm, the other one on his knee... Warmth through his trousers, heat on his skin... Draco swallowed. Here was another choice to make: Just give in and kiss Harry and see what would happen - or wait for a clearer signal from Harry. And he had to decide quickly, because Harry's touch had seeped through his skin and was causing sensations that were creeping closer to his groin with every heartbeat...

"Yeah. I'm fine." He shifted back, annoyed with himself. Damn! Where was his inner Gryffindor when he needed him? "Sorry."

Harry's fingers slid slowly off his arm and knee when he stood up.

It felt like a caress.

Damn!

Berlin, Wilmersdorfer Strasse, around 14:00

"Don't they have anything around here that fits?" Draco stuck his head out of the chang-ing cubicle, looking exasperated.

"Why? What's wrong with those?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "They are too tight. If you like to show off your arse, that's fine. I certainly don't!"

"Why?" Harry asked innocently. "As far as I remember, there's nothing wrong with your arse."

"No, there isn't. There is just something wrong with these trousers!" Draco retreated into the cubicle and a few seconds later, the unsuitable garment was flung over the door.

Harry found it increasingly difficult to keep a straight face. Maybe he was enjoying this a little too much, but he couldn't resist getting back at Draco for the many times he had made fun of his clothes.

"I thought you hated baggy clothes. At least that's what you used to tell me in school. Or did that only apply to my, erm, outfits?"

"Harry Potter! Can you get me a decent pair of denims within the next five minutes or do I have to wear robes from now on?"

Harry's treacherous inner voice stated magnanimously that he'd have no problem with that, especially if Draco wore nothing underneath. He managed to suppress a remark of that nature. Barely.

"You brought robes?"

It wouldn't be much of a surprise, really.

"No, I did not, but that won't be a problem," Draco grumbled. He stuck his head back out the door and took a quick look around before he said, "I'll simply transfigure your favourite shirt!"

"And how would that be different from wearing my trousers?"

Harry ducked just in time to evade the wadded t-shirt Draco had thrown at him.

"All right, all right!" He raised his hands in mock defeat. "Don't get your boxers in a twist. I'll see what I can find." He started to walk off, then turned back around. "Has any-body ever told you that you're high maintenance?"

"Harry!"

oOoOoOoOoOo

Countless minutes later, Draco finally declared a pair of jeans comfortable enough to wear and Harry declared that he needed a cup of coffee after this ordeal - and that he would not go through something like this for trainers. Draco would have to make do with a pair of his that were fairly new. They would be slightly too large, but tennis socks would solve that problem. To his surprise, Draco didn't raise any objections.

"What shall we do for supper?" Harry asked when they reached the underground station. "We can cook, go out, do takeaway, or just have bread and cheese and a handful of olives."

Draco shrugged. "Depends on what we want to do before or afterwards, I suppose."

"I thought we could go see a film. Did Hermione take you to the pictures?"

"We didn't have time for that. She showed me television, though."

"Cinema's almost like television, only on a big screen. D'you want to go?"

Draco looked a little doubtful.

"It's fun, you'll see. And we can always leave if you don't like it."

"All right, Mr. Tour Guide, I'll meekly submit to your illustrious suggestions."

"Meekly?" Harry snorted. "I'm surprised that word is even part of your vocabulary!"

"Maybe I've learned something over the past seven years."

It was said lightly, but a quick glance at Draco's face showed Harry that he was more serious than he let on, so he bit back a cheeky retort about the meek inheriting the earth, which Draco probably wouldn't have understood, anyway.

"Like cooking?"

"Among other things."

"Oh? What other things?"

But Draco had that faraway look on his face again and didn't seem to have heard the question.

Berlin-Schoeneberg, Odeon Theatre, 20:30

Watching Draco at the pictures was almost as entertaining as the film itself. It was defi-nitely more fascinating, Harry thought, paying only minimal attention to what was happening on the screen, focussed entirely on Draco, who had his elbows propped on his knees, his chin resting in his palms, completely enthralled by the story unfolding in front of them.

Harry leaned back and stretched, glad that they were sitting in the very back of the theatre where he could clasp his hands behind his head and sprawl in his seat without blocking anybody's view. He normally preferred to be somewhere in the middle rows, but he had no idea how Draco would react to being plunged into darkness and subjected to the assault on one's senses that was cinema. Very few people ever sat in the back, so they wouldn't disturb anybody should Harry have to explain things or should they need to leave early because the experience proved too much for Draco.

Fortunately, the volume stayed below the threshold of noise pain this time and a six-year-old could have followed the plot - and would possibly have asked similar questions, Harry thought with a smile, returning his attention to the screen where the hero was about to embark on a mission to save his heroine from a crew of bloodthirsty pirates.

Draco sat up and leaned back in his seat, the change in position resulting in his knee touching Harry's and his head almost resting on Harry's elbow behind him. If he noticed the shockwave that ran through Harry's body at the contact, he gave no sign of it. Harry swallowed, momentarily unable to concentrate on anything but his reaction to Draco. He closed his eyes and let the sensation wash over him, noting that he felt strangely... relieved at the increased contact, as if some sort of weight had been lifted - although this was quickly replaced by an increase in the kind of tension that would soon force him to think of Snape in swimming trunks again.

He shuddered and opened his eyes. On the screen, the hero was being beseeched by his accomplice to "wait for the opportune moment". Harry groaned inwardly. The opportune moment. Indeed! he thought and stretched his legs, moving just enough to not be in direct contact with Draco any longer but still feel his body warmth. What had he been thinking? He should have known that being so close together in the dark, touching every time one of them moved, would be torture. They should have stayed home and watched videos instead. Something absolutely un-sensual. Star Wars, episodes four, five, and six. From opposite ends of the couch. With all the lights on.

He sighed silently and removed his hands from behind his neck, his elbow bumping into Draco's shoulder in the process. "Sorry," he mumbled and shifted around in his seat until he found a more comfortable position.

Several minutes passed before it dawned on him that he felt so comfortable because his arm was touching Draco's...

Insomnia

Around 23:00

Harry gave up. Sleep apparently needed an engraved invitation tonight; probably because he wasn't used to being in Star's bed by himself. He got up and pulled on his pyjamas. They had some herbal tea that Star swore put her to sleep anytime. Maybe that would help. If he could remember what the container looked like...

A little while later, he stood by the open kitchen window with his hands wrapped around a steaming mug, listening to the city. He'd been to most European capitals over the last three years and discovered that there was something strangely... erotic about summer nights in big cities. A certain smell. A taste in the air. He'd never been able to put his finger on exactly what it was, but Paris had it the most, and Berlin was not far behind. Add Draco's presence and it was no wonder he couldn't sleep. And of course the name Draco brought a mental picture of him; and another rush of memories; and the urge to put an end to his nervous tension by climbing into Draco's bed and letting Mother Nature do the rest.

What if it's more?

Harry closed his eyes and inhaled the fragrant vapours rising from his tea. His thoughts wandered back to the film, when he had caught a glimpse of Draco's face in the flickering light from the screen and realised that it bore the same expression Draco had when he was talking about his studies. Or lecturing about the use of chopped toad tongue in calming draughts. Or gazing into a tank full of jellyfish. Or chopping lemon grass for their dinner.

He'd never seen this Draco at Hogwarts, not even when they were flying or having sex. And for once, his little inner voice sounded nothing like its usual treacherous self when it whispered that it was... addictive and that he wanted more; that he wanted to see Draco shake off the restraints of his elitist pure-blood upbringing, break free from his father's oppressive influence, drop all acts, and allow himself to live.

I'd let him drag me through every aquarium on the Continent to see him like this, he thought, I'd have to listen to a thousand lectures, but I wouldn't mind, and he felt a warm bubble form in his chest. I wonder what else will make him look so alive. The bubble started to expand. I want to see him happy. There was a hint of embarrassment at being so sentimental, but he couldn't help it. And he quickly suppressed the thought that Draco's happiness depended very much on what would happen when Lucius was released from prison and could once again wield power over Draco's life.

Then you'll make a decision.

He was fairly certain that leaving Berlin would be no problem, but was he ready to go back to England? Maybe the Wizarding world had moved on as well and wouldn't make a big deal out of his return. Yeah. Right. And maybe my name is Mickey Mouse, he thought with a scoff. Although, publicity was only one issue. The other one was what he would do for a living. Not that he really needed to, but he was used to being busy, and he liked having a job. Wizard's Water World. He smiled. Draco had said it wasn't a bad idea, so it could be worth thinking about. And then there was his favourite pet project: a prep-school for Muggle-born witches and wizards, a place where they could learn about the Wizard-ing world and its traditions before they started at Hogwarts.

It would be fun to take a group of children to Diagon Alley to buy their school supplies; watch their faces when they held a wand for the first time; be there when they were fitted for robes; tell them about Hogwarts and the Forbidden Forest and Quidditch; maybe show them how to fly. Yes, he would enjoy that. If he could ever figure out how to get rid of Sirius' mother, they could start with Grimmauld Place, take only a few children at first, maybe four or six, see how things went. Maybe some of his old classmates could be per-suaded to help out here and there. He smiled at the thought of Hermione reading Hog-warts: A History to a bedroom full of ten-year-olds. That would definitely put them to sleep fast! Or Luna telling them about her quest to find the Saber-toothed jackalope. Or Draco lecturing them on the proper way of addressing Wizarding authorities.

A little wistfully, he thought of Neville, Seamus, Dean, Justin, Padma and Parvati, Lavender, and the many others he had gone to school with. He wondered what had happened to them. And suddenly memory after memory rose up inside him with such force that he could feel them physically, like a huge wave roaring ashore, rising, cresting, break-ing, crashing down over his head.

Hagrid in the ramshackle hut on an island in the middle of the angry sea, prodding an empty fireplace with his umbrella.
Harry - yer a wizard.

Draco standing next to him on a stool in Madam Malkin's shop.
The Weasleys helping him get through the barrier between platforms nine and ten.
His first train ride to Hogwarts.
Ron trying to turn Scabbers yellow.

Scabbers. - Peter Pettigrew. - Wormtail. Moony. Prongs. Padfoot. - Sirius. Falling through the archway, disappearing behind the veil.

Walking through the Forbidden Forest with Draco and Fang.
A cloaked shadow crouching over a unicorn.
The caricature of a human face staring at him from the back of a head.

Draco sneering at him over the tip of his wand. Scared, Potter? - You wish!
Enemies of the heir, beware.
Tom Riddle, handsome, intelligent, gifted; with poisoned thoughts and a heart full of bitterness.
Master has given Dobby a sock. - You have lost me my servant, boy!

Draco dancing with Pansy at the Yule Ball.
The maze.
Cedric.
A snake-faced creature rising from a cauldron in a graveyard.
Kill the spare!

The blinding flash was followed by searing pain shooting down his scar, and then he found himself back in the maze, thick fog crawling over the hedges. Now that was odd. Hadn't the graveyard come after the maze? He definitely hadn't known about the Marauders in first year. And Sirius and the fight at the Ministry - that had been in fifth. Something was out of sync here. He needed to think about this... put things back in their proper order...

oOoOoOoOoOo

Maybe I shouldn't have taken that nap, Draco thought and turned over. He'd felt sleepy enough when they said good-night across the hall - which had been awkward, to say the least, with Harry standing in the bathroom door, Draco leaning against the doorframe of Harry's room - but when he switched off the light, he found he was less tired than he'd thought.

It had been an... encouraging day. The oriental grocery store with its many herbs and spices and their exotic aromas had been particularly intriguing. Cooking with Harry had turned out to be a lot of fun. And the film - that had been fun, too. Almost... magical. He'd had a thousand questions how Muggles accomplished this or that, but had to stop asking after a few minutes. Harry leaning close in order to keep his voice down had been distracting enough. Harry murmuring explanations in his ear had simply been too much. He couldn't remember a single word Harry had said and he didn't want to make a fool of himself by asking the same questions the next time they watched a film. And he should think about something else, because memories of Harry's breath tickling his neck and the warm pressure of his arm against Draco's were doing anything but put him to sleep.

He wrapped his arms around the pillow and willed his mind to be still; it had worked last night, surely it would work now, when he felt so much more comfortable. And so much less alone. He smiled. It was good not to be alone. To be with Harry was even better. Of course, to be with Harry right now would be best, but all in good time.

His mind still couldn't quite grasp the fact how... easy it was to be around each other. True, they got annoyed with each other every now and then, but that was nothing unusual. As a matter of fact, it reassured him that they found reasons to roll their eyes and scoff at one another occasionally. Their encounters so far had been ominously conflict-free - even yesterday's dinner conversation. Or maybe it just seemed that way because they had fought so viciously in the past.

And wouldn't it be nice if things could stay like this a little longer? If they could have a place to themselves for, say, a couple of months? Do whatever they felt like doing? Maybe go traveling? He was sure Harry would enjoy visiting the Wizarding communities in Prague, Budapest, or Vienna, and from what he'd heard, the Muggle parts of those cities were quite interesting, too. It would be fun to discover them together. - And who said they couldn't?

Draco sighed and turned over again.

There was the slight problem of Mother, of course. He didn't like leaving her alone, no matter how often she assured him that she was perfectly fine by herself. Every time he'd returned to the Manor for a semester break, he had found her thinner and wearier-looking than the last time, and it seemed that with every year he was away, it took her longer to return to her former self-

The noise was not very loud, but in the quiet night it sounded like an explosion. Draco sat bolt upright and listened. The crash had come from the direction of the kitchen. Could Muggle contraptions blow up out of the blue? He had no idea, but if something had exploded, there was a danger of fire. He picked up his wand from the bedside table and stepped into the hall. Light was spilling out from underneath the kitchen door, but every-thing was quiet.

"Harry?"

Cautiously, he stepped closer, opened the door - and froze.