Interlude and Home

Interlude

He'd meant to be polite. He'd meant to inquire as to everyone's health, but then he'd seen a flash of dark hair in the corner of the room and the words had left his mouth before he'd completely processed the thought.

"How is he?"

Ron followed his gaze to the corner of the room and nodded. "He's better. We all are."

Draco stared at his shoes.

"He's, uh," Ron cleared his throat and rubbed his thumb over a crack in his glass, "he's started seeing Smith." Draco nodded. "Arrogant prick, really. I don't like him

. You - you should owl Harry."

Home

Harry was sitting at a table in the corner of the bar, staring morosely into the half-empty pint before him, when they entered. He had forgotten about the World Cup entirely until his solitude was abruptly disturbed by the arrival of the rowdy Quidditch fans in his bar; raucous and cheering, they swarmed the bar en masse. The door closed behind them with a bang only to be pushed open again by a single man.

Draco was greeted by a wave of fresh cheers upon entering. His hair was still damp from his post-match shower, but he had forgone a fresh outfit in favour of his wind-blown Seeker robes. Fading light from the rapidly descending sun caught the sparkle of a gem in the lobe of his left ear and Harry tried to convince himself he was looking out the doorway, not at who was standing in it.

Harry watched as Draco strolled past fans and friends, cutting behind the bar to clap the barkeep on the back and grab an overlarge bottle of Old Ogden's Not-So-Butter-Beer. He swept along the length of the bar, ignoring his exuberant friends for the most part. Drawing his wand from his sleeve, Draco transfigured the stool at end of bar into a sofa and flopped onto it in sated exhaustion. Harry turned back to his drink.

It could have been him, too. It could have been both of them, then Harry might have been the one sitting on that sofa after winning the match. But Harry couldn't even hold his balance astride a broom anymore, let alone steer it at high speed - a stray severing charm during the last battle had seen to the death of that dream. Magic, he'd been told by the mediwizards, could heal many wounds, but it couldn't create something from nothing.

Even in his bitterness, Harry admitted that Draco was beautiful when he flitted through the air as though he had been born from the clouds. The Snitch was almost always his - as it had been today. Draco deserved to be there.

An hour later Harry's head was pounding from the noise. Draco had just turned down his fourth proposition of the night, negating the offer with stony eyes and an unconscious tug on his left earlobe as he had with all the others. Harry got up and lurched toward the doorway; the alcohol made balance more difficult when there was nothing to counter his left arm. He tucked the sleeve of his robes under the stump of his right arm and what remained of the elbow joint twitches reflexively in an effort to keep the fabric in place. He was almost at the door, almost unaware of the scrape-scuff noises his lurching gait made, when a hand on his fallen sleeve stopped him.

Draco was still sprawled on the sofa in all his sated glory, though his bottle was long empty and sat on the floor near a woman's purse. Draco's face was in shadow and he said nothing, made no move but for his continued hold on Harry's sleeve. Harry shook his head and turned to leave but another tug on his sleeve threw him off-balance. The slight popping of seams punctuated his fall and two seconds later he was sitting on the sofa feeling more than slightly bewildered, a little drunk and quite impatient. Draco raised a brow and stretched across the sofa once more, his legs in Harry's lap effectively pinning him in place.

"Hey, Pansy, get us some drinks, would you?" Draco called over his shoulder, he kept his eyes on Harry and spoke with the careful enunciation that only the slightly sloshed do. Pansy nodded her assent and relayed a request to the barkeep.

Harry fidgeted under Draco's gaze. "Congratulations on your win today," he started, nodding at Draco's Seeker robes.

"Enough about that," Draco waved him off, "how are you? We haven't had a chance to talk since you left - not that we really spoke before that, it seems."

Well, this was certainly awkward.

Harry was saved from replying when Pansy appeared at Draco's side with a milk-coloured, umbrella-laden drink in each hand. She handed one drink to Harry with a nod and a smile, the other to Draco with a surreptitious wink before turning and walking back to the bar.

Draco narrowed his eyes as he studied the drink in his hand. "Pansy!" he called over his shoulder, "I hate piña coladas. I asked for a drink, not some saccharine sludge a Neanderthal would call uncivilized!" Harry shook his head and downed his drink in one go before setting the glass aside. He tucked his sleeve into his armpit and tried not to notice the shine of the buckles on Draco's boots.

Another tug freed his sleeve once more, drew his attention and Harry turned to lock eyes with Draco. Pale hands slowly pushed back the fabric and nearly-forgotten nerves tingled at the feel of open air and soft fingertips ghosting across the myriad of scars. Harry looked away, uncomfortable at the sight of his toothpick of a limb; once defined muscles had deteriorated in disuse, previously tanned skin had paled after being swathed in the sleeves of his robes.

Harry cleared his throat pointedly. Still staring ahead he spoke, "You're still wearing them. The earrings."

Draco raised a hand to trace the tiny stud in his right ear. "You gave them to me." His hand moved to trace the matching gem in his left lobe. "Would you rather I not?"

Harry said nothing and Draco resumed tracing the scars on Harry's elbow. Draco stayed like that for a moment, waiting for a response from Harry, before shifting on the sofa, dropping his feet to the floor and scooting closer until his side was pressed against Harry's.

"Come home with me," Draco whispered fiercely, "come back home."

Harry shivered and closed his eyes. "You're drunk."

"That doesn't make me any less honest in my wishes," Draco said, tracing the line of Harry's throat with his tongue.

Harry let his head fall back against the sofa. "You wish a cripple in your bed?"

Draco smiled against Harry's skin and nipped at the tendons behind his ear, "I wish you back in our bed."

"You, my friend, are one wave short of a shipwreck."

"Maybe," Draco chuckled, his breath warm and wet as it ghosted the shell of Harry's ear, "but I look great in swim trunks and I'm not afraid to drown."

"You're drunk," Harry reminded him once more.

"Mm-hmm. Not drunk on piña coladas, though." The admission was punctuated by a series of soft kisses and rasping breaths pressed to Harry's jaw line.

Harry slumped into the sofa, allowing his chin to rest on top of Draco's head. He laid his arm - the stump - across Draco's shoulders. His elbow twitched inside his robes. He sighed heavily and tried to convince himself that it didn't bother him that he couldn't hold Draco as close as he had once been able.

"It doesn't matter," Draco murmured against Harry's throat, "I'm still yours."

Harry stiffened at Draco's words and moved his arm to lay on the back of the sofa. With a sigh, Draco pulled away and turned to lean over the arm of the sofa. The clinking of glass told Harry that the empty bottle and piña colada glass had been overturned and he briefly wondered what Draco was rummaging about in search of. He could only raise a brow when Draco returned to his seat holding a torn parchment receipt and a blue-ish tinted pencil.

"Eyeliner?"

"Well, Pansy has neither quill nor ink in that bottomless cavity she calls a purse and," Draco shifted once more so that he was facing Harry, straddling his lap; gripping Harry's jaw softly he pressed the pencil to Harry's lashes, "you've always looked good in it, and," releasing Harry's jaw, Draco pressed his lips to Harry's before climbing back to the sofa, "it's tradition for one man to give the other his Floo number at the end of a conversation."

Harry smiled. "I already know it."

"I know." Draco glanced briefly at Harry as he jotted an address on the worn parchment; he crossed a 't' with a final flourish and tucked the parchment into the breast pocket of Harry's robes. "But maybe this will remind you of why you know it."

Harry watched in silence as Draco stood and brushed off his robes, always the left side first, his hand - his right hand, Harry noted with some jealousy - smoothing the fabric gently. Draco nodded once to Harry before walking towards the exit. Harry watched the Draco leave and didn't bother trying to convince himself that he was looking at anything other than the swirl of green robes or the soft gleam of bar light off blond. Draco was halfway out the door before Harry could move his lips.

"Why?" he called to the retreating figure.

Draco stopped, turned and smiled briefly. "Because life without you is like a broken pencil." He glanced at his palm briefly before tossing the contents to Harry, who caught it awkwardly. "Pointless."

Draco stepped into the street. The door swung shut and Harry was left sitting on the sofa with only a mild headache and a group of rowdy Quidditch fans for company. Raising his hand to check the parchment, he noticed that he was still holding the object Draco had tossed at him - Pansy's eyeliner.

The sharpened tip was digging into his palm.