Differentiating Thresholds

Chapter 2-A Gun to the Head, A Scar on the Chest

Draco didn't need to open his eyes to know there was someone sitting off to his right. The heat radiating off the body was enough to warn anyone. He willed himself not to move, face relaxed, breathing at a steady rhythm. And then the man - he knew it was a man, no woman smelled like that - leaned over him. There was hot breath on his face and he could feel the other man's eyes boring into his face through his closed eyelids. Then suddenly, the breath was gone and a minute of tensed silence stretched between them.

"Open your eyes, Malfoy. I know you're awake."

Potter. Of all the people in the world, it just had to be Potter.

Draco opened his eyes to find a pistol, his own at that, aimed at his chest, Harry's face staring placidly at him from behind. There was a split second of panic before understanding set in. This was just a scare tactic, one to show that Potter was in charge. If he had wanted to shoot him, he would have done so already.

Slowly, he reached out and placed a hand around the barrel of the gun. "Come now, Potter, you don't really want to shoot me."

"Don't I?" He brought the pistol up to aim it directly between Draco's eyes. "Truth is, Malfoy, I really should after all the crap you've done to me."

They stared at each other in silence for a minute before Harry chuckled. And just like that, he pulled the pistol back and stuck it in the waistband of his jeans. "I think I need a little more information first, like what the hell were you doing in Saint Michael's?"

"That's none of your business," Draco snapped as he sat up. There was a throbbing at his temples and his vision blurred for a second until he blinked and everything was clear again. He had to get out of here.

"I'm leaving."

He started to pull back the sheets but stopped when he realized he was wearing nothing beneath them. "What the hell have you done with my clothes?!" He yelled at him. He tried not to think of the fact that Potter had seen him naked, all of him.

"I hung them up to dry. I couldn't exactly leave you in them. You were soaked through," he said calmly.

"Well, I'd like them back. I want to get as far away from you as soon as possible." He crossed his arms haughtily over his chest and glared at Harry.

"You're not going anywhere, Malfoy. You're still running a high fever and you've been out of it for two days. I won't be responsible for your death."

"What? Are you a nurse now, Potter? How sweet. But I don't give a shit what you think. I'm leaving--"

Whatever else the blond had been about to say was silenced the second he found the gun pointed at him again.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter? Have you gone completely mental? Why would you even want to keep me here?"

"I told you, Malfoy," he sighed. "I don't want to be responsible for your death is all. I'll bring you some food. You can eat, rest up a bit and then in the morning, if you feel better, you can go. I won't stop you. But not till tomorrow. Deal?"

Draco let out a frustrated growl and plopped back down onto the pillows. "Fine, whatever." Harry lowered the gun and stared at Draco for a minute, then spoke.

"I'll be back with some food in a bit. Rest up," he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

What the hell is going on with him? Draco thought angrily. The second he opened his eyes, he expected to be thrown out on his ass. Instead, he was being held here against his will. Not that he really had anywhere to go. After spending the last two months sleeping on the streets, it was like heaven to wake up in a nice warm bed instead, even if it was Harry Potter's. So one more night couldn't hurt, right? It'd be a free meal and a free place to stay and then he could go on his way and forget he had ever seen The Boy Who Lived.

Resignedly, Draco lay back and drifted off to sleep. It was almost an hour later when he woke up to Potter shaking his shoulder.

"You need to eat," he murmured, close to his ear. He helped him sit up and propped a couple of pillows behind his head, then placed a tray over his lap. Draco took one look at the bowl of soup and slice of bread and started devouring it instantly. It felt so good to finally have a nice hot meal in his stomach. It had been so long since the last one. He only slowed down when he heard Harry chuckle beside him.

"What?" His tone was defensive and he glared at the dark-haired man.

"Hungry, Malfoy?" He laughed again and walked out of the room, shaking his head.

Draco was tempted to throw the bowl of soup at his retreating back. Fuck you, he wanted to scream, but held it in. He took a few deep breaths trying to calm himself. Potter frustrated him to no end. Even during their Hogwarts days he had done the same, but at least back then he could tell what was going through the Gryffindor's mind. His emotions had been etched there on his face, clear for all to see. And now? Now he couldn't read a damn thing. When had that happened? When he grew up, a voice inside him answered. Draco thought about that and supposed it was true. It had been almost nine years since he had last seen Potter, nine years since he had last seen anyone from the wizarding world. Because of the things that had happened since then, he liked to think he wasn't the same petulant child he was before. But when Harry was near him, he couldn't help the snarky remarks. It just seemed so...natural. And yet here they were both grown men and Draco still felt like they were back on the quidditch pitch fighting it out for dominance. It was stupid really, completely and utterly stupid.

He turned back to his soup and realized it had gone cold so he set the tray on the floor beside the bed and within minutes had already nodded off again.

~*~

"Who are you? Get out of my house this instant! I say-what are you-no! Please, no! We'll give you anything you want. Anything." The man's eyes were wide with fright.

Tears ran down the woman's cheeks as she looked him. Please, her eyes begged silently. Please don't do this. He looked away. He had to. Now was not the time to let his emotions get the better of him. If he noticed...he shuddered at the thought and out of the corner of his eye saw one of the other men glance at him. He needed to pull himself together; this wasn't the time or the place.

The man was on his knees now, begging, the woman behind him, shaking violently. "Please, you can have anything," the man pleaded. "Please--"

A violent burst of green light filled the room.

Draco bolted upright in bed, his heart almost bursting from his chest. No, he told himself. No, no, no, no, NO! It had been almost six months since the last one, six long bloody months and he thought it was over. They were supposed to gone. The nightmares were supposed to be gone. And yet here he was in Potter's flat of all places when they decided to come back. Had he heard him? He froze at the thought and then heard music filtering in from one of the other rooms and let out a sigh of relief. There was no way he would have heard him over that.

Curiosity and his aching bladder had him climbing out of bed. His clothes were folded neatly on a chair by the bed, the one Potter had been sitting in earlier, and he slipped them on. He noticed the holes from when he fell the other night were repaired and made a note to thank him later. Right now, he needed to find the loo. He went to the bathroom, relieved himself, and took a long look at his reflection in mirror as he washed his hands.

He looked terribly thin, he noted. His cheekbones were more pronounced than usual and his eyes had dark circles under them. His hair was much longer than he preferred it, reaching almost chin length now. He dried his hands then quickly ran his hands through it in an attempt to straighten it. It could be worse, he thought. Draco shrugged, and then walked out of the bathroom and down the hall towards the music.

The beat was heavy and dark, almost mesmerizing. A woman's voice weaved in and out, hauntingly slow. He thought it quite fitting, remembering the look in Harry's eyes that night in the church.

The door to Potter's bedroom was wide open and Draco peered in to find the other man lying flat on his back, shirt unbuttoned, cigarette in hand. He brought it up to his lips and took a long drag. Draco watched the smoke rise from between Harry's lips and parted his own in return, mimicking the other man's movements. Realizing his actions, he began to back out of the room when Potter's voice stopped him.

"You can come in if you want," Harry drawled. He didn't move, just took another drag from his cigarette, eyes trained on the ceiling.

Draco stood on the threshold, uneasy. He desperately wanted to turn around and head back to his room, but Potter knew he was there so there was no other choice. He stepped through the door and looked around. It was like being bathed in milky whiteness: white sheets, white pillows, white rug, the list went on and on. The only thing that broke the monotony was the darkness of Potter lying smack dab in the middle of it all. Draco's eyes quickly took in the other man but stopped when he caught sight of the numerous scars across his chest. One stood out among the rest, bright pink on creamy skin, as if it was only recently made. Draco had to admit it looked like it had to have been pretty painful.

"Go on." Harry's voice sounded unnaturally loud and he looked up to find him still staring at the ceiling. "You can ask."

Draco leaned casually against the dresser. "Did he do it?"

"Voldemort? No."

Draco was a little surprised at that fact and then felt a shadow creeping over him. "Then who?" What if it had been his own father? Is that why Potter was keeping him here? As some sort of revenge?

Harry was quiet for a few minutes but when he spoke there was such sadness in his voice, he felt a pang of regret for even asking it.

"Someone I once considered a friend."

There was finality in his tone that Draco didn't want to challenge, so he stood there awkwardly, watching Potter take a last drag from his cigarette before crushing it into the ashtray at his side. He brought himself up on his elbows, finally turning his eyes to the blond.

"Is there anyone you need to contact, let them know you're okay?" Harry asked.

"Why Potter, is that your way of asking if I have a girlfriend?" came the sarcastic reply. Draco groaned inwardly. Why the hell did he say that? Maybe he still was that same petulant child after all.

Harry just shook his head and dropped back down onto his back. He closed his eyes and lay silent.

Draco wanted to kick himself. Potter was trying to be civil; he could at least do the same. He walked over the bed. "No, there isn't anyone to contact."

Harry's eyes shot open and he turned his face toward Malfoy's.

"Oh."

And then he just stared. And Draco stared back not knowing exactly what to do except that.

It was the screeching of a woman's voice that brought them out of the trance.

"Potter? Where the hell are you? You better be home!"

"Shit!" Harry bolted upright and quickly started buttoning his shirt.

Draco stepped back, not quite sure of what had just happened.

"Potter, get your arse out here right now!"

"Girlfriend?" Draco asked with an amused smirk as he watched Harry rushing to make himself presentable.

"No," he grumbled. "Granger."