Harry Woke Up

On their fourth day in the flat, a note came with breakfast. This was the only communication they received from the world outside their flat. For all they knew, the world could be falling apart outside, and they were clueless. Whoever was in charge of their care, a Mister A. H. S., informed them that they were increasing the strength in Malfoy's potions, and also experimenting with new potions for Harry. Harry didn't know much about whatever potions Malfoy was consuming, but Harry himself hadn't been taking any.

He wondered just what they were up to.

It was curious that he couldn't remember exactly what had happened between the battle with Lucius and waking up in the flat, blind. Apparently, however, the blinding was magical in nature, else it would seem futile to try and cure it with magic. Frankly, the number of unanswered questions Harry had was disconcerting, but there wasn't much he could do about it. It then occurred to him that perhaps enough potions could help him remember why he had ever agreed to being locked up in this flat away from everything and everyone he knew.

Harry woke up today and found that it was well past breakfast. The note the previous day had included a watch for the blind. He could flip open the plastic cover and feel the hands on the watch with his fingers. Carefully checking the watch hands, he found it was nearly eleven in the morning. Nearly lunch time.

Harry rolled out of his bed, disentangling from sheets, and stumbled to his wardrobe where he pulled a T-shirt off a hanger and felt some cotton shorts that seemed comfortable enough. He had thought of wearing the jeans he'd been wearing, but realised they were missing. This was troublesome because he always tried to put them in a place where he could find them again. He wondered, then, about cleaning his clothes. Would the flat magically whisk the clothes away to clean them, then place them back in his wardrobe? He hoped so.

Harry shuffled across the room to the sitting area. This was common practice after several days. The sitting area was the neutral ground. Neither boy ventured onto the other's side of the room, except when Harry was 'seeing' the room a couple of days ago. Instead, they would meet in the middle, if they so desired.

"Potter, what is that you're wearing?" Malfoy laughed. Harry thought he could hear a mean spirited sneer in the laugh. Out of habit Harry tilted his head down as though he could see his clothing, but it was a useless gesture. Instead he scowled in Malfoy's direction and continued his progress toward the sofa.

When Harry found the high-backed sitting chair, he changed his mind and decided to sit there. He made a motion of picking at his shirt, pretending to look at it, and then gazing in Malfoy's direction. He meant for Malfoy to tell him what was wrong with his clothing, but instead he was met with one of his many re-occurring problems. He had no way of knowing if Malfoy was watching him or not.

Harry remembered why they often ended up sitting on the sofa together, rather than on the separate pieces of furniture like normal people.

He sighed and made to change seats so he was nearer to Malfoy. His mind attempted to understand such a foreign concept as desiring nearness to Draco Malfoy. Harry found the blond sitting again with a book, then he attempted to capture Malfoy's attention and repeat the gesture about his clothing.

"What? Your shirt?" Malfoy asked patronisingly. Harry moved his hand between his shirt and the shorts, then held his hand palm-upward with his eyebrows raised in what he hoped was a gesture asking 'why' or 'what's wrong'.

Malfoy laughed at him. It was Malfoy's laugh, not from Hogwarts, nor from some far-fetched idea of him being friendly. It was his laugh from the last five years, a laugh that wasn't as cruel as Hogwarts, but it was nonetheless a mean laugh at the expense of another person, expressed without any concern or remorse.

"You look disgusting," Malfoy smirked. "You've got on a purple T-shirt and red shorts, and it's the worst thing I've ever seen." He was still sniggering at Harry.

Harry thought for a moment. He would never wear purple and red, together, nor rarely even separate. But the colours meant little to him now, and he wouldn't be leaving this room so the effort to change seemed ill spent. Then he thought of some witty comeback or a dig he could take at Malfoy. The idea died quickly, knowing that the only way to communicate it would be to write it on the blond's palm, and somehow he didn't think it would be as effective.

Harry's shoulders sagged and he slumped against the back of the sofa, defeated in his blindness and the inability to properly communicate with his companion.

"Don't you have anything to say?" Malfoy sneered. Harry felt the back of Malfoy's hand rest softly on his knee, offering it for Harry to use and write on. Harry frowned and pushed Malfoy's hand away. He heard a sigh but ignored it, frowning in the direction of his knees and thinking.

They sat for some time in silence. Harry wondered if Malfoy was thinking too, or if he was just sitting there, staring. Harry's hand went toward Malfoy, feeling his leg near to Harry's own. He heard no response as he patted along Malfoy's leg, his fingers brushing against something hard in his lap. He felt an edge and thin lines. Quickly he put together the image of an open book, then felt Malfoy's fingers resting on the page near the bottom.

Malfoy was reading again. Or was he staring at Harry, having been interrupted? Momentarily tempted to feel Malfoy's face and find out, Harry shook the idea off. It would make little difference knowing the information, and Malfoy had made it clear that he wasn't a fan of touchiness. Harry reckoned that Malfoy allowed some of it because there was little else Harry could do. But touching Malfoy's face seemed to be even less desirous than any other action.

Harry went back to frowning and thinking while Malfoy presumably read.

Finally a POP! announced the arrival of lunch, but Malfoy made no move to get it. Harry slung a hand at Malfoy, smacking him near his shoulder.

"What?" Malfoy spat. Harry instinctively answered audibly about lunch, but followed by pointing in the direction of the kitchen.

"Oh. Lunch." Harry heard the book close and fall onto the cushion, and the feeling of Malfoy's presence was gone.

Lunch was a messier ordeal than it had been lately. Harry was frustrated that something so simple as eating was turning out to be so difficult. Meals always left him feeling humiliated and utterly unsatisfied. It didn't help knowing that Malfoy was sitting there watching the entire fiasco. Sometimes Harry heard noises that he knew indicated Malfoy's need to cover up a snicker or chuckle. It was frustrating. Somehow meals managed to reduce Harry Potter, defeater of Lord Voldemort and all his minions, into an utter and complete mess, incompetent, inadequate, and embarrassing.

One thing was certain, however. If there was any doubt about Malfoy's personal growth since Hogwarts, Harry was sure his wordlessness as he cleared away their plates was proof. Perhaps Harry was mistaken, and instead it was simply no fun to take the mickey out of Harry when no one was around to laugh besides themselves. He wanted to think that the last five years had done something to change the bigoted, mindless twerp of a Death Eater's son into a man who might actually think for himself and consider human beings to be actual humans rather than his own personal tools to climb the ladder of success in life.

Hope... Hm...

The two boys were sitting on the sofa again after lunch, and Harry wondered at the boredom their flat seemed conducive to. He grabbed Malfoy's hand and began writing.

What were you reading?

"A book," Malfoy responded mulishly. Harry shoved him and scowled in his direction.

"It's a story. It's about a man taken to another planet. I haven't read very far into it..."

Magical? Wizards?

"No, Muggles, but it might as well be magical for all the bizarre things in it." They sat for a moment, Harry's hand resting on Malfoy's as they both thought.

Nothing to do here.

"I think we should complain," Malfoy leered. He was almost being friendly. Harry wondered if it was easier to deal with Malfoy when he was consistently a prat.

"Do you... want to read?" Malfoy's voice was gruff and he coughed after he spoke.

Can't.

Harry frowned. Did he say almost friendly? He meant insensitive.

"I could read to you," Malfoy muttered. Harry cocked his head toward the blond sitting next to him. Insensitive? Maybe he meant absolutely strange.

It was silent for several minutes. Harry wondered if Malfoy would take back his offer or second guess it. He felt a tension in the air as though Malfoy was considering it, yet Harry wondered if he was just inventing the pregnant tension. If he wasn't, he reckoned the blond was too proud to change his offer, as though he had been wrong or too amiable, on second thought. Harry was considering the offer, but doubt plagued him concerning Malfoy's intentions. He supposed it couldn't hurt, and if it did, it would only hurt him and he'd been through worse. Why not entertain the thought?

Sure.

"You want me to read to you?" Harry answered by nodding his head.

"All right." A brief pause and turning of pages. "Chapter one." And without further ado, Harry relaxed into the cushions, allowing Malfoy's voice to wash over him. At some moments he was absorbed in the story, and at some moments absorbed in Malfoy's voice. His characteristic drawl was ever present in his normal speech, but it left him as he read. His voice was low and even, careful to pronounce words properly and in a steady rhythm. When dialogue arose, his voice altered slightly, though he never made a real attempt for women's voices. Toward the end of the second chapter, his voice was getting scratchy and raw, which strangely enough sounded pleasant. They paused when he finished the paragraph and took a break so he could get something to drink. Each man remembered then to take the new potions prescribed to them, and after a few more minutes break, they progressed into the captivating story.

While Harry appreciated the reading more than he would ever admit to Malfoy, he also hated that he couldn't return the favour. He hated it, mainly, because it left him feeling indebted to the blond, which was absolutely unacceptable. He listened to the story with a slight tinge of discomfort, unable to remedy the situation unless he asked Malfoy to not ever read to him again.

After four chapters they took another break, and Harry was surprised when another POP! told him they'd been reading all afternoon. He hadn't even checked his new watch one time. Malfoy apparently hadn't noticed the arrival of the meal again, and in an effort to make some kind of repayment for the reading debt, Harry decided he would retrieve dinner for them. He was fully independent and completely able, after all, no reason why a blind man can't do something so simple.

But it didn't turn out to be quite so simple.

Harry had the two plates in his hands and he was making confident steps toward the sofa when Malfoy noticed him.

"Dinner! You should have said so!" He sounded pleased. Harry smiled and took a step but then realised he had completely lost track of what number step he was on from the kitchen to the sofa. Swearing in his mind, he tried his best to guess. It proved fatal.

Not but a few steps later Harry was colliding with one of the high-backed chairs, full force. One plate of food immediately crashed to the ground, splattering food and shattering ceramic across the floor and erupting into the calm silence of the room with a clanging annoyance of brokenness. The other plate was balancing precariously in Harry's hand as he tried to keep from losing his own balance and winding up on the floor with the food.

In the shock, Harry distinctly heard another voice swearing.

Then hands were on Harry's shoulders and a hand was pulling the single plate of food out of his, echoing with the sound of plate landing on table a moment later.

More cursing and shuffling about. "Sit down, Potter." It was a disgruntled command.

"I can clean it up," Harry argued, forgetting that Malfoy wouldn't hear his protest. He lowered himself to the ground to feel about for the mess he had made. He had spent years cleaning, so it was no real problem.

"Move. I said go sit down," Malfoy barked. Harry felt hands on his shoulders again, pulling him up and steering him away to the sofa.

"I can clean it!" Harry raised his voice through gritted teeth, balling his fists. He was ashamed and disappointed in himself and he wanted to make it right.

"Bloody hell, Potter, I can't hear you. Haven't you figured that out? Now get out of my way so I can clean up your mess!" Harry huffed but there was nothing for it. He sat brewing on the sofa, listening as Malfoy cleared away the plate and food.

Such a small thing. And yet, Harry hated himself.

Needless to say, dinner was a sordid affair. Harry was forced to take half of the food from the one remaining plate, none of which he wanted now that he felt absolutely worthless. His appetite had left him. This, of course, only infuriated Malfoy further who was not known for his patience, forgiveness, or mercy. It was the biggest disaster they'd yet encountered and neither had passed the test with flying colours.

In fact, they failed miserably.

Harry walked to the loo to clean his hands, skulking in inner turmoil as he berated himself. They had been getting along so well that day, and he had ruined everything. He was useless.

Exiting the loo, Harry fully intended to escape to the comfort of his bed and its privacy but even that idea was shattered when he ran smack into a tall and solid body.

"Augh! Potter, watch where you're going!" Malfoy growled. Harry put out a hand to find the wall and orient himself.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled.

"What?" Malfoy spat. Harry held out his hands, asking silently for Malfoy's hand to write on. After a moment's delay, the hand was shoved roughly into Harry's.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you, and I'm sorry about dinner. I didn't mean-

"Stop. Do it again."

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you. I'm sorry about the food-

"Potter, it's too long." Harry tried again, slightly disgruntled and writing faster than he had been before, not on purpose, but because he was losing his desire to apologise and attempt peace.

"I don't know what you want or what you're trying to tell me," Malfoy sneered.

I wanted to tell you how sorry I was because you were actually decent today reading to me and I didn't mean to muck everything up, I just tripped, but I ruined dinner, I just wish you weren't such a prat because you're making this very difficult-

Harry was writing very fast and without breaks. It was a stupid thing to do.

"Stop that!" Malfoy shouted sharply, jerking his hand away from Harry. The brunet clambered to find the hand again, feeling around until his hand closed in a tight grip on Malfoy's wrist. Harry began writing again.

"I don't know what you're saying!" Malfoy shouted, pulling at his hand again. Harry stamped his foot in frustration, scowling in Malfoy's direction.

"You think this is all about you," Malfoy sneered nastily, keeping his hand away from Potter's grasp.

"Poor Potty, he can't see, can't talk to Draco, wants to make his life a living hell. It's always been something with you! First your parents die, you hate your aunt and uncle, the Dark Lord's going to kill you... You're pathetic, Potter, and you always have been!"

Harry rocked on his feet, heat rising all around him, hands fisting at his side.

"Granger didn't want you and the Weaslette wasn't good enough, was that it? And let's not forget poor Potter and his dead mentor. Let's all go cry for the poor Potter boy and his trouble." Malfoy was sneering nastily and Harry was seething, images flashing through his mind, transporting him to a tower, high and dark, watching Malfoy aim his wand.

"Nobel Potter, saving the world and let's all feel bad for him and the dementors and Death Eaters trying to kill him. Isn't Potter great? Let's all give him a pat on he back... Such a tough life, oh poor, poor Potty, so mistreated."

Harry was quaking, breathing difficult, but he heard Malfoy's voice change from his mean spirited taunting to full blown menacing stabs.

"The truth is, it's all your pathetic fault but no one wants to admit it! You were lucky, that was all! And the longer you kept escaping the Dark Lord, the more people died, more people you loved, people you killed! At least I had an excuse. I was brainwashed and taught to do what I did. But I broke out. I helped the goody-goodies, but you never got it. They all died because of you, and here we are, supposed to feel sorry for you-"

WHAM!

Without any time to really think about what he was doing, Harry felt his body explode in response to Malfoy's infuriating tirade. His left hand flung out to grab at Malfoy's lapels, and not a second later his right fist had collided with a crunch against what Harry could only hope was Malfoy's face. Harry's entire body was shaking with rage, seething as angry heat radiated inside of him.

Then the wind was knocked out of him as a punch landed hard in his stomach. Harry doubled over, trying to catch his breath. He heard an infinitely small movement and thrust his forearm up, hearing even as he felt the crack of two bones colliding as he successfully blocked Malfoy's next punch.

Hands were gripping clothes and shoulders as the two boys grappled, struggling and huffing, shoving and pulling. Unable to see, Harry quickly found himself toppled onto the floor, Draco's weight atop him. Fast as lightning Harry threw his weight and forced Malfoy over, underneath Harry. The blind brunet threw wild punches at the body below him, never quite certain of his aim.

Unwilling to allow the abuse, Malfoy grabbed at Harry's arms and rolled him over, then two quick punches landed hard and painfully on Harry's face. Harry groaned and winced, hands rushing to his aching face. Liquid; there was liquid. And huffing, heavy breathing, two bodies heaving and chests expanding.

"Oh, Merlin, Harry," Malfoy muttered gruffly. Hands that were not his own were brushing against Harry's face, pushing at the hot liquid on his face. "You're bleeding," the blond murmured.

Enraged and refusing to allow Malfoy to treat him as a victim, Harry heaved a fist upward with all his might, hearing a crack as fist met skull. Malfoy cried out in pain and Harry took the moment to roll the boy back over underneath him. Feeling wild punches weren't the best tactic, Harry grabbed at Malfoy's shirt and shoulders and proceeded to shove his body against the floor, lifting him just enough to feel the thud as body fell against wood floor.

"Stop it!" Malfoy shouted angrily. He threw a punch against Harry's side and knocked him nearly breathless again. Harry was back on bottom underneath a vicious Malfoy. The blond had ahold of Harry's shoulders now and he was crashing both of their weight repeatedly against the floor.

Harry yelped has his head cracked against the floor, and cried out when it happened again. Unwanted tears edged at his eyelids, having sprung up automatically from the pain searing through his skull. Harry's hands fell on top of Malfoy's who had just stopped his pounding when everything flew apart.

That is to say, Malfoy and Harry flew apart, neither of their own accord.

A rush of magic sent the two boys skidding across the floor in opposite directions, flying into what would properly be labelled as each other's bedrooms. Harry was nearly certain that the magic had been his own. He had done things like this before on accident, and he couldn't say he was sorry for it now. He moaned in agony, holding his head and wiping his eyes on his forearm. He could hear shuffling across the way, a sigh and a small groan.

Harry forced his body up, breathing in laboured breaths, still refusing to let go of his hold against his head. He was positively throbbing in pain, a pain reminiscent to the worst when he used to be affected by Voldemort. He painstakingly righted himself and began slowly progressing across the room toward his bed. Bed, that's all he wanted. Bed. Sleep. Relief.

But Malfoy was in the way.

Halfway to his bed, somewhere around the loo where it had all started, Malfoy's hand caught Harry's arm.

"Harry, I'm... I'm sor-" Harry stiffened and started to pull away. "Look, you're bleeding. Let me help you." Mafoy's hands were tentatively against Harry's face, once again rubbing against the hotness on his skin. Harry grimaced, shoved Malfoy away and stalked off to his bed.

Stupid, useless, pointless, worthless, embarrassing...

Agonising...