Harry Woke Up

The next day passed quite similarly to the first day in the flat. Draco read; Harry slept. They ate a messy meal together, although Potter had attempted to only get his fingers filthy, rather than his entire hands. They tried writing again, but Potter's writing was no better and Draco's reading still unsuccessful. Potter's frustration was increasing with the inability to communicate added to his inability to see. Draco was finding it slightly harder to laugh and sneer at the boy when he was obviously having a very difficult time.

Of course, that had never stopped Draco before, but admittedly, working against Death Eaters and helping the so-called 'good side' had taken its effects on him. Helping people such as Potter, Weasley, Granger, Longbottom, other Weasleys, other Gryffindors, his old Professor, Lupin - well, their insistence about justice and goodness rubbed off on outsiders a little and Draco found himself becoming more and more aware of his unkind tendencies and his inclination toward outright cruelty. Mind, Draco still indulged such tendencies, but now...

It was harder, somehow, knowing that Potter could make Draco's deafness like hell he if wanted to, but Potter wasn't. He was doing his best to work with Draco, meanwhile suffering his own kind of hell in blind darkness and lonely miscommunication.

The day passed without any more news or developments and Draco had watched Potter fumble in his wardrobe for a second night in a row, only to give up with a sigh and crawl into his bed wearing only his boxers.

Interesting.

It was their third day stuck in this flat for this supposed recovery. Breakfast had been a hit, consisting of kippers and some fruit. Draco and Potter sat on the sofa afterward in their usual silence. Potter sighed and flung his head back against the couch, eyes closed. More often than not Potter's eyes would close when Draco would expect them open, or he would have them open when Draco expected them to be closed. It was strange, but he realised it didn't make a difference to Potter.

"What are you thinking?" Draco blurted out.

It was stupid of him to ask. Potter couldn't answer. And if he could, would he even tell Draco? And even if he were willing, why would Draco care what Potter was thinking? He didn't care.... No. But perhaps he was feeling his own isolation in Potter's silence. If he understood the situation correctly, he and Potter would be each other's only company for at least the next two weeks. Finding a way to communicate would greatly increase their success at keeping their sanity, but that whole 'finding-a-way-to-communicate' thing was the problem...

Potter's lips were moving but it was lost on Draco. He didn't let an irritated response slip from him this time. Draco watched him for a moment and was surprised when Potter's entire body halted. Abruptly Potter's hands came up in front of himself, and Potter moved a finger against his own palm. It made no sense to Draco, but apparently Potter was having an epiphany.

Potter had his left hand outstretched to Draco, but the blond hadn't a clue what was wanted.

Potter shook his left hand, demanding something. "I don't know what you want."

Potter's left hand fell on Draco's knee and the blond tried not to stiffen at the physical contact. Draco wasn't fond of a lot of touching, but he was quickly realising that Harry was demanding it. Draco theorised that it had to do with his blindness and not some deep dark secret Potter had about craving affection.

Potter's left hand patted around Draco's leg until he found his hand resting there. Potter took the blond's left hand, stretching it across Draco's body so he had to turn to face him. Draco scooted closer as Potter held Draco's left hand, the back of his hand resting against Harry's open-palmed left hand, his thumb curled slightly to hold Draco's hand still.

Draco watched Potter's right hand move in, his finger trailing along Draco's palm. It was unclear what Potter was getting at, but the tracing of his finger along the skin of Draco's palm was... well... odd. It tickled slightly but not in a really ticklish way that would make him jerk away. It just felt strangely nice and pleasant.

Apparently Draco had missed something, however. He didn't suppose Potter had had a great idea about tickling Draco's palm. Draco frowned, shifting slightly.

Potter lightly slapped against Draco's palm, and grey eyes flew up to meet vacant green ones. There was an expectant look there.

"I, uh... I don't..." Draco stammered. Potter mimed writing with a quill over their left hands still resting together. Writing... Was he writing something?

"Try again?" Draco suggested feebly. Potter pressed his lips together in a look of consternation. Slowly he moved and Draco concentrated all his efforts on Potter's finger writing against his palm. The actions were slow and deliberate, every ounce of Potter's desire for Draco to understand radiating off of the brunet's tense and focused form.

C... a... n... Y... o... u...

"Can I...?" Draco voiced. Potter paused, furrowed his brow for a moment, then his forehead relaxed and he nodded.

U... n... d... e... r... s t a n d ?

"Yes!" Draco uttered, his voice mixed between enthusiasm and triumph.

Really? Potter traced the letters onto the palm in his hand.

"Yes! It works!" Draco was amazed. It was unconventional, but at least he could figure out what Potter was spelling, and ultimately, what he was saying. Potter wrote something very quickly, catching Draco off guard.

"Can you do that again? Slowly?" Potter nodded.

I can't believe it. I can actually talk to you.

It would be difficult to write out long sentences or thoughts; it would be tedious and slow, but Potter was right. At least they could talk - more than they could before!

Draco felt a slap on his hand again and stared up at Potter's expectant face. He realised that he had just ignored the writing on his hand. This would take some getting used to.

"Uh, can you do it again?" Potter sighed.

Does this bother you?

"Writing on my hand? Uh... no. Feels strange though."

Really?

"Yeah. It kind of tickles at first."

You didnlagh

"Er, again?"

You didn't laugh.

"No, not a tickle that makes you laugh, but... it's just strange. Not bad though. If it works, then it's great." Draco shifted and faced Potter fully, watching both the brunet's face and hand as he wrote.

You talk too loud.

"What?"

Your voice is too loud.

"I can't hear it." Draco frowned. He didn't take criticism well.

I know. But if yorgo igtal yos-

"Stop. I got lost. Again?" This hand-writing thing worked but it was a task that took a lot of effort for the writing and the 'reading.' Draco couldn't let himself get distracted, and if Potter got ahead of himself and started writing quickly then the whole thing fell apart.

If you're going to talk you should... speak the right volume.

"But I can't hear myself. Who cares as long as I'm heard?"

You would care. Potter paused. If you heard yourself you wouldn't like sounding too loud.

Draco didn't know how to answer that and frowned.

I know you. You'd want to sound like you used to.

"I can't fix it. I can't hear if I'm too loud or too quiet."

Maybe youca felit.

"Again?"

Maybe you can feel it.

"How?" Potter paused, still holding Draco's hand as his slate, but he was clearly thinking about how to remedy the problem. Draco had to give Potter some credit - begrudgingly though he would insist it was - the boy wasn't an idiot. He worked to figure out seemingly impossible or at least very difficult situations. And to prove this train of thought, Potter sat up in the excitement of a sudden idea. Clearly he thought it was a good one.

Keep talking, okay? Potter wrote on his hand.

"All right. I'll talk. I don't know about what, or what you're doing, but I'll try to keep talking." When Draco paused, Potter made a motion with his hand for Draco to continue. The blond made up some rubbish while he watched his companion.

Potter still had Draco's left hand, gripping slightly so he could guide their hands together. It couldn't, by any means, be called holding hands because they weren't holding. Potter was guiding their hands to a position together.

All this touching was quite irksome.

Draco continued speaking nonsense while Potter brought their left hands up to Draco's mouth. Potter signalled with his free hand for continued speech. Draco could see his hand in front of his face, immediately before his mouth. Potter tapped Draco's palm, then held both of their hands in front of his mouth again. Draco couldn't hear the words he was saying but he could feel breath against his hand.

Potter pushed their hands closer to Draco's mouth, accidentally colliding with his lips, and then guided their hands away. Draco could feel the puffs of his breath getting softer and softer, the further away from his mouth their hands moved.

Potter wanted him to judge his volume from the feeling of his breath.

Could that work? Unbelievable. He could feel his volume. But he wasn't sure what a normal volume was. It sounded like a great idea, but surely it wouldn't really work. Potter and his hare-brained schemes...

Potter took Draco's hand away and wrote on his palm again. Feel it?

"Yeah, but how do I know how loud I am?"

Feel. Your breath.

"I know, but I don't-"

Potter guided Draco's hand now in front of Potter's mouth. The brunet's lips were moving and he was obviously talking but it meant nothing to Draco. However now, with his hand before those moving lips, he felt air pushing out against his palm. His hand wasn't but a few centimetres away.

Normal voice, Potter wrote. He moved Draco's hand again.

Potter's lips were moving, but the air puffing out collided strongly against his palm. Their hands moved further away until the breath stopped making contact.

Yelling. Too loud.

Potter repeated the action, this time having to nearly touch his lips to Draco's palm in order for the breath to be felt.

Whisper.

"So I feel how much air is coming out? Won't I look stupid?" Draco asked sarcastically. It occurred to him that he shouldn't ridicule a plan that was solely for his benefit and was better than anything he had come up with, but talking with a hand in front of his mouth sounded absurd.

Practice. I can tell you if yorool oud orto-

"Stop, uh, slower?" Harry huffed impatiently.

I can tell you... if you're too loud or soft. Then memorise.

"Memorise how loud to speak?" Draco asked sceptically.

Yes, how it feels inside. Potter paused and Draco didn't respond. Like I memorise number of steps.

"You memorise the number of steps everywhere?" Draco asked, a bit amazed that he hadn't figured that out sooner. Harry merely nodded.

The boys worked together to perfect Draco's volume. It took a lot of practising and correcting. The writing on the hand was helping for communication, but it in itself was a chore. The work was slow and tedious. Potter was patient while Draco wasn't. Eventually they took a break to welcome lunch, both in considerably better moods now that communication seemed possible, even if it wasn't ideal.

It was late afternoon and Draco was settled on the sofa with a book in hand. There wasn't a lot else to do in this flat so he had started going through the books in the bookcase. Meanwhile, Potter had quite the knack for sleeping. Perhaps he was catching up for all the years he had spent losing sleep. He had also developed a headache sometime after lunch and thought he might be able to sleep it off.

Draco was tolerating the book, though not particularly enjoying it, when he felt a shock vibrate through his feet. He snapped his head up to see Potter standing by his bed waiting for some kind of answer, running a hand through his mauled-looking, bed-head hair. Although, on second thought, bed-head hair was an improvement for Potter.

Draco watched his flat mate's lips move and thought he read his name there.

"I'm over here," Draco responded, hoping that was what Potter had wanted. A head nod responded and a yawn followed. Potter shuffled across the room in his counted steps, nearly bumping the armchair but stopping just in time. Soon he was plopping down on the far end of the sofa.

"Sleep well?" Draco asked, looking up from his book. Potter nodded.

"Headache gone?" At this question, Potter made an uncertain face and half shrugged, half nodded.

"Am I too loud?" Draco was trying to remember the feel of his volume but found that it wasn't a precise science. Potter shrugged and shook his head, eyes closed as though it were easier than forcing them open only to remain in blackness.

"Potter?" Draco asked, slowly dog-earing the page he was on and closing the book in his lap. He had been thinking for a while, distracting himself from reading, and now he wanted someone to talk with, if what he and Potter did could, in fact, be called talking.

Potter frowned in response and his hands travelled along the cushions between the two of them. Potter had to lean over and stretch to make his fingers finally find Draco. Still frowning, Potter shifted and shuffled until he was sitting next to Draco, close enough for their knees to bump when Potter let his fall to the right, which he was doing. The brunet slumped with another yawn and turned his face toward Draco, expecting something to follow the previous question that had been posed in his name.

"Potter, do you think we knew we'd be stuck together when we signed up for this therapy thing?" Draco watched Potter's face, taking in an expression that was slightly masked. Potter's mouth expressed thought while his eyes remained void of expression. Then he shook his head 'no.'

"No? Why not?"

Potter's hand brushed along Draco's lap, finally gripping one of his hands that had been resting on the closed book. Potter turned his hand over and started writing a response.

Would you ever agree to live with me?

"No," Draco answered quickly. It had fallen from his mouth and he wondered, at a second thought, if it was a bit too bluntly honest, but it was honest. He would never knowingly agree to live with Potter.

"I don't know what this is actually doing for us. Sure, there are some potions we're taking, but can't we do that at home? Why do we have to here?"

Observation? Potter had carefully noted his writing with the question mark.

"Seems like a lot of trouble. Why did we agree to this? Do you think we knew what we were getting into?"

Potter shrugged.

"Do you remember anything? Do you remember going blind? Or any operations, or signing up for this?"

Potter shook his head. Draco sighed. He wanted to talk, but he felt like he was talking to himself.

"Do you hate it here?"

Potter made a resigned look on his face and shrugged.

"Can you do more than nod or shrug?" Draco snapped, pulling his knee away from Potter's in an effort to isolate himself in his irritation. Potter sighed, pulling Draco's hand over to write.

Don't hate it. Don't know what to think.

"Is that all?" Draco sneered. Funny how he could almost hear his old git-self coming back.

No, not all. Too much to write.

Potter let their hands rest in his lap as his head fell back against the cushion. His eyes were open and they were roving around quickly, eyelids blinking abnormally rapidly.

"Can you see anything at all?"

Just black.

"Do you think you'll ever see again?"

Potter shrugged, then started to write. I hope so.

"What do you miss most?"

No point.

Draco studied Potter. It was true that trying to write out all his thoughts on Draco's palm would probably be a disaster. However there was more to it. Potter was closed off, unwilling to open much of himself up. Draco wondered if it was because he was Draco Malfoy or if Potter was always like this.

"Sometimes I start to wonder what I'm doing here," Draco confessed evenly, hoping a bit of honesty might spur Potter on to more open communication. "I wonder what I'll do after this. And then I remember I don't know how long I'll be here or if there is even something after this. And I get angry because someone's keeping us here, and I feel like they're keeping information from us..." He paused for a moment, then continued quietly, "I can't believe I agreed to this."

Potter's face was turned toward his, listening. Slowly he reached for Draco's hand and wrote.

I know. I... I...

Potter was tracing lazy letters, apparently hesitant to write more. Draco watched his face and saw that Potter had given up writing for speaking. His lips were moving, his expression solemn and disconcerted. Whatever it was, it was either too much to write, or he was unwilling to do so.

"I can't hear you... Write it..." Draco requested, frustrated at their impasse.

Potter started to write letters again but they were so fast that it made no sense. Draco grabbed his wrist to slow him, and Potter lazily drew a few more letters but clearly it wasn't working. Potter shoved Draco's hands away, then hunched over, his hands flying into his messy hair, holding his head as he leaned on his knees. If there was a posture that belonged with 'frustration' in the dictionary, this had to be it.

Finally Potter sighed, leaned back and felt along Draco's lap again until he slid the book away, letting it fall into his own lap. He ran his hands along the cover, tracing edges and turning inside to the pages. Draco watched him flip lazily through the pages, finding nothing variant to catch his fingers.

"I was reading that earlier," Draco said quietly. Potter paused, then reached a hand toward Draco's lap yet again, but Draco met him halfway, providing his palm for their conversation.

What about?

"It's not any good, really. It's a dated piece about people living during a revolutionary period in the seventeen hundreds."

You have books.

"They're on the bookshelf, but they're not mine. I figured they must be here for us to read."

For you to read.

"Right," Draco muttered. Obviously Potter couldn't read. He handed the book back to Draco, then cocked his head oddly toward the kitchen. Draco followed the direction leading from Potter's ears and saw that two plates bearing their dinners had appeared on the counter top.

"Did you hear something?" Potter nodded. Perhaps the plates made a noise similar to the noises made in Apparation and Disapparation. Draco didn't know and it didn't matter to him any more - at least for now.

The flatmates ate dinner, managing to keep their table clean and most parts of Harry's hands unsoiled. Afterward, Potter took several more tours around the flat, making sure he hadn't forgotten where anything was. He was doing so well, moving fluidly in the end, hardly bumping in to anything. A couple of times Draco had tried speaking to him and a couple of missteps left Harry with bruises, but all in all, Draco thought he was doing admirably.

But he'd never admit that to Potter.