Harry Woke Up

Draco watched as Potter turned his back on the main part of the room, hiding in his bed and attempting to shut out the world and find some privacy. With this room, privacy was a joke, but of course Potter didn't exactly know that. Frustrating as his lack of hearing was, Draco wondered what not being able to see was like. At least, Draco had immediately seen Potter after he had crashed into the back of the chair.

Upon waking that morning, Draco could see all his strange surroundings, even if he didn't fully understand them. He was in a room that appeared to be special and also used for some magical purposes. On his side of the large room resided his bed, some belongings and a wardrobe with clothes. In the central portion of the room was a sitting area with a coffee table, a sofa, and two high-backed armchairs. A washroom was behind the sitting area, positioned a fair distance between the two beds, or bedrooms, if they could be called that.

On the far wall was a door to the outside, but it was firmly locked. Draco had already tried that. To the right was a small kitchen. No oven, just some warmers, a toaster, and some food that magically seemed to appear on the counter or in the refrigerator. At least, that had been his guess after having breakfast that morning.

Completely opposite from his bed was the side of the room where Potter's bed was. That morning, Draco hadn't realised that anyone was in that bed. It was dark on that side of the room and Draco had gone about his business, finally settling down on the armchair with a book, wondering why he was there and whether anyone would show up to explain exactly what was going on.

That's when Potter collided with the chair, shocking the life out of Draco as he sprang onto his feet and stared at his former arch rival.

Potter.

Why was he locked in a large room, which was more like a flat without walls to divide the separate spaces, and why was Potter blind and himself deaf? Was this some sick joke? Was it part of a hospital, an experiment gone wrong, cruel Death Eater torture, or some really bad dream?

Draco was left to endure the torment of the questions by himself, as Potter dozed away on the other side of the room or at least pretended to. He took to investigating the flat again, trying to discover some of its secrets or at least a way to communicate to whomever had locked them up in there.

It must have been near lunch time when Draco glanced at the kitchen and noticed something out of place. Two plates were sitting on the counter, which had been empty moments before. Furrowing his brow in thought, Draco approached the kitchen to inspect the plates, which were loaded with some steaming, delectable dishes. The smells pleasantly assaulted his nose, and he cast a glance across the room, wondering if Potter was still fast asleep, or if he had noticed anything.

The brunet was sitting up in his bed, head cocked to the side. He was listening, Draco guessed, and he thought he heard a sniff. Blind though he was, Potter must have smelt the food.

Draco averted his attention back to the plates and noticed a handwritten note sitting between them.

Mr Malfoy and Mr Potter,

You must have many questions. Consider this room your new flat. Make yourselves at home. Some of your belongings have been placed in your respective bedrooms, and you'll find that food and other necessities never run out. This room is magically replenished with whatever is needed.

Likewise, on the matter of magic, your wands have been detained so as to keep you from performing magic and interfering with the room or with your recovery.

Yes, recovery. The two of you enrolled into an experimental therapy program, which is staffed and operated by trained Healers and mediwizards. This program is one of many held under a subdivision of St Mungo's services. You are not at St Mungo's, but at a facility in relation to, but not in near proximity to, the hospital.

You might not remember enrolling in the program, nor the few days spent in operations and healings that the two of you underwent. Both of you were subjected to horrendous dark curses in a battle against Death Eaters. The curses were sensory in nature, and if treated properly and immediately, they can be stopped, reversed, or detained. For now, the curses have been detained.

Mr Malfoy's remaining curse damage is limited to his hearing, while Mr Potter's curse damage has affected his vision. In this program, many experimental treatments will be performed to try and reverse the curses or remove them. Everything, as I said, is experimental. You may endure unpleasant side effects or strange reactions. Everything must be observed and recorded.

It is uncertain how long you will each be here. We want to make your recovery as quick as possible, but you should still plan on spending at least a couple of weeks, or more, living together in this flat.

At this time, we are unable to provide private quarters for either of you. We hope you'll both be comfortable in this shared flat.

As we have more information, or as we see fit to provide more information, we will do so via letters such as this. Meals will appear three times a day, everything else will be replenished automatically.

Sincerely,

A. H. S.

(Augustus Hippocrates Sarathustra)

When Draco turned away from the letter, he noticed Potter standing from his bed.

"There's lunch if you're hungry," he grunted, trying his best to call out across the room and hoping he was heard. It really didn't seem just to be able to speak but not to be able to know what it sounded like. For all he knew, his voice had become feminine and whinging. Merlin forbid...

Draco tore his eyes away from Potter, who had obviously just said something in reply. Draco was no lip reader, and he much preferred to have his hearing back and never have to learn the skill.

The blond had been busy poking around at the food on the plates and rummaging for cups and drinks from the fridge when he felt a vibration in the floor. His motions halted, and he turned abruptly to watch Potter, who, gauging from his stance and expectant pause, had just stomped on the floor to get Draco's attention.

What an intuitive little prat. Draco couldn't hear, but he could certainly feel sudden, unexplained vibrations.

Speaking of which, Potter stomped again, repeating the action with two swift stamps from his right foot. Both amused and irritated, Draco put the problem together quickly. Potter had successfully caught Draco's attention, but his blindness prohibited him from knowing that.

"Yes, Potter?" Draco spat. He watched the brunet's lips move and then huffed in response. Silence, or what he assumed had to be silence, filled the space between them. He turned back to the kitchen but felt another stomp on the floor.

"What?" he barked.

Potter's lips moved with speedy irritation, and the only thing Draco would read was 'Malfoy'.

"Malfoy, I can see that; you've said my name, but I can't read anything else. I don't know what you want, Potter. I can't read your lips, and I can't read your mind!" He meant for his voice to come across loud and frustrated, but whether it really did, he was unsure. He watched as Potter balled his fists for a moment, and then the man's shoulders slumped, and he tentatively began edging his way toward the sitting area.

Draco, feeling charitable towards the poor invalid, and feeling snarky about referring to Potter in his mind as such, decided to carry both plates of food over to the table near the sofa and chairs so they could eat together. He was hungry and thought Potter would be too.

When he reached the table and set the plates carefully near each other, he noticed Potter had reached the back of the tall sitting chair into which he had bumped earlier that morning.

"There's lunch on the table," Draco stated, trying to keep his voice emotionless. It was probably a vain attempt.

Potter's mouth moved in response, his head titled slightly towards Draco's direction, but Draco merely rolled his eyes and shifted around the low table down by his knees.

"No matter how many times you try speaking to me, I can't hear you. I don't know what you want." Draco shook his head - a useless gesture.

Taken slightly by surprise, the blond watched as Potter's arms flew out and his legs shifted, clearly preparing to move again. His body was turned towards Draco's in an attempt to find him. Draco stood in amusement, unmoving and waiting to see if Potter could actually locate him. The brunet bumbled around the sitting chair, and then his shin hit the corner of the low coffee table. Potter paused, cocking his ear curiously as though listening for something.

"I'm still here," Draco muttered, wondering why he was helping. Potter's shoulders squared, and he progressed the last few feet carefully. His fingers brushed Draco's arms, and then his palms were patting along stomach and chest, finally reaching Draco's collar and pausing.

Draco wasn't stupid. Obviously, Potter wanted to do something or communicate some matter, but the touchy-feely approach was not favoured by Draco, not by any stretch of the imagination.

"Do you think you could stop feeling me up, Potter?" Draco sneered. That won him a look of frustration and a very firmly set jaw.

Then Potter's lips moved, and Draco thought he might have said 'look' but he wasn't certain. Swiftly, Potter's hands brushed against Draco's chin, sliding over his face in general, and then the hands were gone. Curious, Draco watched as Potter mimicked something, using two fingers as though drawing lines from Draco's face or eyes. Potter repeated the action a few times and Draco fidgeted.

"Uh, you want me to look at you?" The unruly black hair waved in the air as the head attached nodded vigorously in the affirmative.

"All right, I'm looking at you. What?"

Potter pointed at himself, jabbing his finger into his chest repeatedly.

"You..." A nod confirmed Draco's guess. Then Potter paused, head tilted upward as though he was thinking. Teeth chewed absentmindedly on the lower lip, and he exhaled. Draco crossed his arms and watched in amusement as Potter turned on his spot, his back to Draco. Then the brunet spread his feet apart, lowered his hands so they were hidden somewhere near his crotch, and let his head fall back slightly.

Obviously he was miming.

"What, Potter? You need to wank off?"

In a flash the man had spun around and was scowling ferociously in the direction of Draco's chest. The blond chuckled, and Potter crossed his arms, huffing as though smoke would start rising from his nostrils.

"You need the loo?" Draco guessed again. This scenario could prove to provide many opportunities for Draco to show is prat-like qualities.

Potter was nodding up and down very hard, and Draco decided to end the man's misery. "Follow me, it's over here." He side-stepped Potter and continued in an even line towards the door of the loo. Potter was only a couple paces behind him, tentatively following as though expecting to crash into something any moment.

"There's nothing here, nothing in your way. Look, this is the door, all right? I trust you can figure out the rest by yourself?"

The brunet answered with something that looked like a 'yes', and then fumbled around Draco and found the doorknob, opening it to go about his business.

A few minutes later, what certainly seemed longer than normal, Potter was emerging from the loo tentatively, careful to shut the door and pause in self-orientation.

"Lunch, come on," Draco reminded, not bothering to watch the painstaking progress the man made from the loo to the sofa. Draco was already sitting on the sofa, part way through his meal. The last few years had turned him into a quick eater, never knowing when the next meal would be or how long he would have to finish it. He tended to shovel his food down without taste, where once he had considered himself quite the prim and proud connoisseur, knowing exactly how to decipher a delicacy from common food. In his hunger and the strain of the war and battles, most foods had taken equal footing with him now so that it was all merely sustenance - no longer a fine art.

Potter was at the sofa now, shifting as he used his shins to find the sofa's edge and the table's edge, probably trying to remember the arrangement or make a mental image. At last, he lowered himself down onto the sofa. He wasn't right next to the far armrest, nor was he sitting right next to Draco. He was somewhere in the middle.

He was still, perhaps listening or thinking; who knew? His hands felt around the sofa cushion on either side, and then he turned, running hands on the space between himself and Draco until his fingertips bumped into Draco's lower thigh. The blond considered his companion thoughtfully and watched wordlessly as Potter's hands returned to his own knees and the table in front of him.

It was entertaining watching Potter while Draco ate his own lunch with no problem. Mean, twisted, sick. Draco would merely claim he was a Slytherin, and that settled it. Potter's hands found the table and eventually the plate that was slightly off centre from his location. He dragged the plate in front of him, apparently determined to do everything he could manage without help. He halted, though, considering the plate before him.

Draco tried not to laugh as Potter's hands slowly and carefully lowered right down on top of the food, his palms resting on the chunks of meat, the mound of vegetables, and the sauce-covered potatoes. He was feeling his food and making a right mess of his hands, and eventually the table, as he reached around for a fork. He might as well have eaten with his hands for all the good it did. He continually had to use his fingers to make sure he'd loaded his fork with a bite of food, then had to carefully get the food to his mouth.

Frankly, it was a disaster.

Chortling, Draco took both plates away to the sink. He had learned a bit of household duties in the last couple of years, but he usually had his wand for such things. He scowled at the sink, wondering if he could convince Potter to wash the dishes. He turned to glance back at Potter and saw a small part of him through the doorway of the loo as he stood washing his hands. Returning his gaze to the sink, Draco nearly gave a start as he noticed the dishes were missing. Apparently they magically disappeared the same way they magically appeared.

No cleaning; Draco could deal with that.

He turned to watch Potter again. A blind flat mate - room mate almost.... Now that, he didn't know if he could deal with...