Harry Woke Up

Draco awoke to a silent room the following day, though that was not out of the ordinary. He had slept longer than usual in an effort to avoid any unnecessary time spent in Potter's presence, but the effort seemed ill spent. As per usual for Potter, he was choosing to laze the day away in his bed, no doubt wallowing in his own self pity.

Perhaps Draco should feel some remorse for what he had said. In truth, he had long forgotten his words and found himself reflecting more on the actual physical fight. He and Potter had spent most of their years fighting with wands, but there was a certain satisfaction in feeling actual physical pain as fists collided. But their brawl had some interesting curiosities.

For instance, Potter had been able to blindly block one of Draco's punches. Alarming, but apparently just luck as he had only managed it once. Another shocking experience had been watching Potter's face disappear under thick red blood, caused by nothing other than Draco's own hand. He couldn't deny that something made the act more personal when it was done by fist rather than wand. It also made him second guess such a move. They weren't supposed to be enemies, yet they still acted like it. But the sight of blood pooling on Potter's face had done more to frighten Draco than he wanted to admit. Something just felt wrong about it.

Potter's strength had been another startling realisation. Blind he may be, but weak or incapacitated he was not. Draco still refused to admit such a thing to his flat-mate, but it didn't change its truthfulness.

If it was up to Draco, he would choose not to have another battle of strength with Potter. He was certainly never agreeing to it again if it involved anymore of that blasted wandless magic. It was cheating, even if it was involuntary. But the wandless magic was purely disturbing. Draco could count on one hand the number of wizards he knew who could achieve wandless magic past their childhood.

Harry was a powerful wizard and was not to be crossed.

Again, another thing Draco would never actually admit out loud. For his own part, Draco hadn't felt right wailing on a blind man, even if the man was Potter. He had no trouble aiming and landing punches while Potter's had been wild and reckless. Draco winced. They had still hit the mark, however.

He sighed, pushed the sheets off of himself and rose from bed to stretch away the soreness and make himself ready for another day sitting around their flat. The mysterious A.H.S. had changed his potions and Healing Draughts again so he was starting a new regiment today. He could only hope that this one might achieve something.

Yawning, Draco rubbed his face and then wished he wouldn't have. His skin and muscles were tender and stiff. By the time he made it to the loo and the mirror, he saw very distinct discoloration. His right eye was tinged slightly purple while other shades of black and blue faintly coloured his cheek and jaws. Potter had landed enough punches to do some damage, though he would never see it. of course.

Stupid Potter.

Leaving the loo, Draco willed himself not to spare a glance for the irritant in the ruffled up bed nearby. However his determination faltered and Draco glanced toward the rumpled bedding. He was both disconcerted and surprised by what he saw.

Potter lay sprawled out on his bed but he was very actively wrestling with his sheets. A prolonged gaze confirmed Draco's suspicions - Potter's eyes were closed and he was very much asleep. Draco could only guess that the boy was making a lot of noise as his face contorted and his mouth made motions of speech and exclamations, possibly even grunts. Potter flipped over, curled up and clutched his head in both hands, panting against his pillow.

Draco wanted to pretend he hadn't just seen the wretched display of torment, but something stopped him. He was concerned.

Not concerned.

No, he wasn't concerned for poor little Potter, not in any kind of tenderly affectionate way. He was concerned because the scene had been utterly disgusting in a stomach-churning kind of way that made Draco not want to wish that kind of sleep on even his worst enemies. Much as he often despised Potter, the wizard was not, even in a stretch, his worst enemy.

The floor vibrated, throwing Draco out of his thoughts. He turned back to Potter and saw that he had fallen completely out of his bed and was sitting dazed and bewildered on the floor, palms down, feet out, sweating like he had just run a marathon.

Contrary to popular belief, Draco could act like a real human being. If he wanted to.

The blond padded the rest of the way across the room to where Potter sat shaking in apparent fear and uncertainty.

"Potter," Draco said softly. The brunet cocked his head so his ear was pointed in Draco's direction. Draco lowered himself next to the man on the floor.

"You were dreaming," he continued quietly, placing hands slowly onto Potter's shoulders. The sweaty brunet was breathing hard, clearly shaken and distraught. He began to make his way back up onto his bed, allowing Draco to guide him. The blond silently handed the sheets to Potter and sat on the edge of the mattress, watching him settle. Apparently he intended to continue sleeping. All for the better, Draco didn't really want to talk to him.

But a funny uneasiness filled him as he watched the brunet still shaking, still panting, clutching at his forehead, screwing up his face painfully, then letting go again. Finally he lay on his back, still. He was sweating profusely; it didn't seem healthy.

Tentatively, Draco reached out his hand to Potter's forehead, resting it gently over the scar and the heated skin. Sweat immediately slicked his palm and the skin there was more than warm, it was hot to the touch. Then Potter's lips moved in words and he shoved at Draco's hand, rolling over away from him.

Draco sighed and left Potter alone. Something didn't seem right.

..:..

Draco passed the day, deaf to any noises Potter may or may not have been making. He tried to ignore the thrashing of the boy on the other side of the room, but he couldn't claim too much success at that. He was uncomfortable about Potter's behaviour, and worst of all, he didn't know what was causing it or what to do about it. It was very unlike Potter. Sure he had been known for dreams and sudden pains when in Hogwarts, but Voldemort was gone now and all the pain and nightmares with him.

Some time not too long before dinner, Potter finally stirred from his bed. Draco felt the foot-falls on the floor and looked up to watch the brunet's approach. Without a hitch, Potter made it all the way to the sofa and placed himself at a respectable distance from Draco, sighing as his body sagged against the cushions. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday and dried blood was now caked every where it had run the night before.

He looked revolting.

"You okay?" Draco asked stiffly, peering at his companion uncertainly. Potter nodded.

"Sleep all right?" Draco inquired, betraying no emotion. Potter shook his head.

"Feel like talking?" Stupid, stupid, what a stupid thing to say. Draco watched as a cynical smirk appeared on Potter's face. Then it faded and Potter shook his head. The lack of expression on his face was discomforting to Draco. Something felt off about Potter. Perhaps this was how he reacted after a fight. Draco wouldn't really know; he had never fought with Potter and had to wake up with him the next day. They always tended to keep a safe distance from each other and avoid such problems.

"You still have blood on you," Draco said evenly. Potter raised a hand and rubbed it against his face, frowning.

"Will you let me?" Draco interrupted. Potter sighed, lowered his hand and tilted his head toward Draco's voice, then gave a very small nod.

"All right, just a second." Draco retrieved a face cloth from the loo and wet it down with warm water. When he sat with Potter again, he sat close enough for their knees to bump, facing him as he began to scrub gently at the dark red, dried blood. It was nearly black. Curious how blood changed from so bright to so dark.

Draco had his left hand holding Potter's head still while his right hand scraped the blood away with the cloth. Potter was grimacing and fighting off the impulse reactions to pull away from the pain. Draco gripped tighter, careful not to push against the discolored bruises on his face.

Draco pulled away, the blood gone, and Potter slumped back again.

"You've got blood down your shirt, too." Potter responded with an angered frown. As Draco moved to return the cloth to the loo, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Potter skillfully crossed the room and opened his wardrobe. His shirt and shorts fell to the floor and were replaced with freshly and magically laundered jeans and a plain white T-shirt. Blast Potter and all his Muggle clothing. He grew up Muggle and knew about clothes, but still always chose those sloppy T-shirts.

When Draco returned to the sitting area, Potter was curled up on one of the high-backed sitting chairs, looking fresher in his clean clothes, but still appearing pitiful with his arms curled around his legs, head buried against his knees.

"You sure you're okay?" Draco asked.

Stupid Draco, he wasn't supposed to care. He didn't.

Potter gave no response. The evening progressed and Potter communicated very little. He had no desire to write on Draco's hand, and spent most of the evening away from him, on the chair. Potter nodded or shook his head but really just seemed extremely isolated and... And something else.

What was it?

Draco could never be accused of being an expert on Potter's moods - far from it. He had no idea how to read the temperamental hero. He could be sad, but that word seemed wrong. Draco thought he would be mad after their fight but that wasn't right either. He seemed more lost than anything. Distant, unreachable, inconsolable. The curious thing was, Draco didn't know what he needed consoled about.

Draco frowned and closed the book in his lap. He had offered to read a bit to Harry, thinking it might pave the way to comfort or peace or communication - something. Potter raised his head as if to look at Draco.

"Potter, are you hurt? Do you need something? Is there a reason why you're so... so..." His voice was scathing and shorter than it had been all day - a sign of his frustration. At least he sounded more like himself. He was used to shortness with Potter.

The brunet furrowed his brow, breathing slowly and apparently thinking about a response. In the end, he shook his head. Draco sighed and moved in quick fashion, sitting on the low coffee table between the sofa and chair, and he grabbed Harry's hand.

"Talk to me," Draco demanded. He wasn't pleading. Stupid Potter could forget it if he ever expected Draco Malfoy to beg for anything. It was a demand.

Draco held Potter's wrist, urging him to write something on the outstretched hand Draco had offered. Potter was breathing heavily and, if he had had proper sight, he would have been glaring at Draco's arm. After a long silence, Potter wrenched his wrist out of Draco's grasp. He stood abruptly, startling Draco who had to lean about out of the way to avoid a face full of head-on contact with Potter's body.

The brunet stalked across the room and left Draco brewing in his own anger.

..:..

The next day began so similarly that it was haunting. Draco couldn't ignore the agonizing expression on Potter's face as he slept the following morning. The mattress and sheets seemed to be losing the battle against Potter, who was once again struggling and writhing. Upon closer examination, Draco saw wetness leaking from his eyes, and he didn't have the indecency to stare or use the information for torture later.

Potter was experiencing enough torture.

Draco shook him awake, startled at Potter's heavy breathing and rapid-fire reactions as he prepared to overthrow the attacker waking him from sleep.

"It's just me."

Potter's body lost its tension and his breathing eased up. Then his hand went to his head and he grimaced and doubled over. He was shaking.

"What's wrong?"

Potter shook his head and swallowed, looking pained as he raised his head in pride, feigning control. Draco shook his head and left Potter sitting there. In his own time, the man rose from his bed, took a long shower, feigned actual grooming habits and threw his jeans and white T-shirt back on from the day before.

Meanwhile, Draco had written a note to send back with the empty breakfast plate when it was whisked away by magic. Even if Potter wasn't talking, Draco was sure something was wrong with him. He had simply written that Potter was sick and that some one should check on him. He hoped it worked.

Then, that afternoon proved to be the most unroutine afternoon they had ever experienced in the flat.

Draco and Potter were sitting on the sofa, Draco reading through new information about his potions, and Potter sitting silently at a safe distance. Draco glanced at Potter, checking on him as he had done often that day, but this time Potter was alert and on edge about something.

Potter was sitting up, head lifted in concentration as he listened to something. Draco followed the direction of Potter's ears, rather than his eyes, and found himself looking at the door. Had there been a noise?

For an answer, Draco watched as the door to their flat swung open. A Healer emerged into their room dressed in pale yellow robes, dark hair tied in a bun on top of her head, clipboard and quill in hand. She said something, and in behind her walked another girl. A girl Draco knew...

There she stood, bushy hair falling in a classy cut around her shoulders, bright brown eyes gleaming in some positive emotion, Draco wasn't sure what, and robes billowing behind her in her entrance. The yellow-robed Healer nodded curtly and left the room, closing the door tight behind her.

Blimey. The unopenable door had been opened, and there it was, closed again.

Potter was on his feet, having apparently been called out to by Granger. Draco watched curiously as Potter crossed the room and reached out for his friend. Granger moved into his arms and they hugged for a long moment. Draco wanted to look away but found he couldn't. Granger had tears in her eyes and she was speaking something into Harry's ear as they stood together in the embrace, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

Then Granger pulled back slightly, Potter's hands still lingering at her waist. Her hands moved to his face and she held him near, staring into his blank eyes and speaking something to him. Her face looked very serious and also very heart felt and relieved. She planted a kiss on his cheek and wrapped her arms around him again, bushy hair falling around them.

Potter took her arm and led to over to his bed. They sat on the edge and talked together. Draco was surprised to see some new expressions on Potter's face. He smiled, a bright and real smile. He laughed lightly, and he concentrated hard. Draco tried distracting himself but he still saw more than he would have liked.

There were affectionate touches on knees and arms and shoulders, soft brushes of hair, easy exchanges of words and even a few of Granger's glances in his direction. She sat so closely to him, and they seemed so comfortable, so relieved and happy and normal. Draco had seen Granger every now and then over the past few years. He was pretty certain that she had married Weasley and he thought they even had a couple of kids. But her tenderness and affection for Harry spoke volumes.

It made Draco cringe and feel hurt and disappointment that he hadn't expected.