Harry Woke Up

Draco stood by the loo, toothbrush hanging in his foamy mouth, as he watched a Healer in her pale yellow robes lead Potter back into their flat and straight across to his bed. She made rather an ordeal of getting him under his blankets and settled.

A fluffed pillow, sheets pulled straight, and a brief chat from the looks of it.

He knew he was staring and while he didn't care what the Healer thought, he did need to finish brushing his teeth. Ducking back inside the door, Draco used the toothbrush that had been hanging out of his mouth to finish the job that had been interrupted. A few spits and a rinsed out mouth later, he returned to staring, standing almost warily, uncertain of what to do.

The Healer was standing now and she smiled to Draco but otherwise gave no indication of explaining the last three days. He wondered if Potter would share the details of his mysterious disappearance after the very scary episode of passing out and curious sickness.

In that moment as he stood watching, Draco realised that the list of things he would never admit out loud, and much less admit to Harry Potter himself, was growing to become quite extensive.

He would never admit that he had been worried. The lethargy, withdrawal, nightmares, headaches, and finally the blacking out had all calculated in his head into something very serious. In his Hogwarts years, Draco would have been thrilled. Now, with Potter as his only companion, both of them suffering from similar conditions for similar reasons, even if they couldn't exactly talk about it, it was unsettling to think of Potter not returning to the flat, or having something even more dangerously wrong with him than merely being blind.

Blindness could be dealt with, but some other lingering Dark Curse or some incurable unknown sickness - those thoughts gave Draco's stomach a twinge with a feeling he rather didn't care to label.

His mind had run the gauntlet of possible explanations: potion reactions, a common cold or malady...

But then there were more troublesome possibilities. It could have to do with the fight and all the punches thrown. His stomach turned a bit and he refused to think of what that meant. Or perhaps it was something left over from the Dark Lord's affect on Potter, something reminiscent of his antics in Hogwarts. It could be a Dark Curse from the Death Eaters, possibly even set on a time delay. Draco knew those weren't impossible for Death Eaters. And there were countless other maladies of a serious nature, even Muggle ones, that had no real cure or healing in the Wizarding or Muggle world.

Seeing Potter shifting under his sheets, Draco could only hope it was nothing too serious.

Draco sat on the sofa, antsy and fidgeting. He had spent the last three days in the flat alone and it wasn't an experience he wished to repeat. Add that to the ever-increasing list of unadmitable thoughts. Maybe their conversation was non-existent and their demeanours not always amicable, but they did live together. He and Potter shared their living space and thus their lives. They ate together and sat together; Draco had read out loud to him a few times, and of course they had experimented with writing, communicating, and altering Draco's voice and volume.

Maybe they weren't friends. But they were something.

Of course Draco hadn't missed Potter. That wasn't even thinkable. Of course he hadn't. He had hoped Potter was all right, and he had awaited his return quite nonchalantly.

He hadn't sat around thinking up what could possibly be happening, imaging the worst and watching the video play out in his mind. He hadn't thought about finally seeing Potter return to their flat. He hadn't flipped mindlessly through books, imagining having an audience, and he definitely hadn't explored a dozen different conversations they could have, or... conversations they couldn't have.

Of course he hadn't done those things.

Draco stood from the sofa and approached Potter's bed, watching carefully to see if he was awake. Potter turned slightly and the sheets turned with him.

"Potter?" Draco asked tentatively when he grew near. The man in bed stilled and his head cocked slightly, listening.

"Are you..." Draco cleared his throat. "Are you all right?" Potter's expression seemed a bit hazy, but then he frowned and nodded slightly. Slowly Draco lowered himself to sit on Potter's bed. The brunet must have felt his weight settling, because next thing Draco felt was a leg under a sheet brushing gently against his bum.

Potter had developed a funny way of trying to keep in contact with whatever or whoever was nearby. Draco wanted to understand this, but he didn't really.

"Do you need anything?" Draco asked, paying no attention to the leg touching him. He didn't mind as much as he had on their first day. And today he felt nothing would bother him because finally Potter was back and was at least alive, and would hopefully provide some answers.

Potter's hands were extended and searching for something. Draco watched for a moment and felt stupid when he realised Potter was reaching for a hand to write on. The blond obliged.

Water.

"Sure, I'll get you a glass," Draco answered immediately and started to get up but Potter's hands were clutching his arm, prohibiting him.

"What?" Draco asked, a little alarmed as he watched Potter grimace and his eyes scrunch up in response to something. Pain in his head was Draco's best guess. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Potter nodded, then relaxed again and used his finger to write against Draco's palm. He paid attention hard, trying to ignore the tingles that floated through his hand. Tingles didn't help him, but letters would.

I'll be okay. A few days to recover.

"Where did you go?"

Like St. Mungo's.

"I... I'm glad you're back." Potter offered a tired half-smirk, then frowned. Draco was beginning to despise the plethora of frowns. A short film of Harry's happy reunion and conversation with Granger played through Draco's mind before he could stop it. Potter frowned a lot less around Granger.

Draco felt himself starting to fidget again, so he stood up. "I'll get you some water." Potter nodded and seemed not at all alarmed at what Draco had felt was a sudden change of pace. Stupid Draco. Where was the suave, unconcerned, couldn't-be-bothered Slytherin?

Draco and Potter passed the day with Potter mostly sleeping or lying in bed, occasionally accepting water or potion from Draco. The next day was quite similar, but unfortunately a little more eventful.

"Here's your potion, Potter. And lunch just arrived, if you feel up to eating." Draco stood, handing Potter the small bottle he was to drink around midday. The brunet took a swig and settled back warily. All seemed well and Draco even thought Potter was doing much better and would be back to life as normal sooner than expected.

Then Potter frowned. He clutched his stomach and sat very still, obviously paying attention to something. Normally it was his posture when listening carefully, but something told Draco he was listening to something inside his body this time. Potter swallowed with great difficulty, leaning forward in a jerky fashion. His breathing was difficult and he shifted again.

Startled, Draco watched as Potter's head ducked forward slightly and his body jolted and then suddenly his hands flew out and he was manoeuvring out of his sheets and attempting to climb out of bed.

"What's wrong?" Potter was in a hurry and grabbed onto Draco, pointing with one hand in a direction across the room, the rest of him struggling to stay standing and rush for his destination.

Potter's face was scrunched up and looked miserable. A funny watering of his blind eyes added to the peculiar jerky moves, the mouth clamped shut and the arm around his stomach.

Merlin, they had to hurry!

Draco dragged a trembling Harry across the room to the loo, bursting through the door and watching as Harry clambered to the floor and the toilet. Watching another person retch helplessly could not be a favourite past time for any one on this wide world. It was gross and awkward for the watcher, disgusting and humiliating for the active one involved, no doubt.

Potter emptied his stomach and clutched pitifully at the seat, head resting on his arm as he waited to see if anything more would happen. After several minutes of silence, it looked as though Potter just might fall asleep by the toilet.

"Finished?" Draco asked, careful to keep his voice soft but emotionless. Potter replied with the most miserable expression Draco had ever seen. It looked like someone who was about to cry, torn up, embarrassed, sad, and sick. Then Potter clutched his head and slowly started to get up on shaky legs. Obviously he wasn't going anywhere on his own, so Draco reached out to steady the brunet and made him stand by the sink for a minute.

Draco found a wash cloth and ran warm water over it, feeling a strange sense of dejá vu. Potter tried to move and continue out of the loo but he couldn't get around Draco and he was much too out of it to accomplish much anyway.

"Hold still." Potter obeyed and Draco was careful as he lightly touched Potter's chin, holding his head still and wiping the warm cloth over his mouth and face, watching a strange expression pass over the man. He looked confused but not unhappy. Sleepy and unsure, but not alarmed. Draco checked him over for any more signs of spit or vomit, wiping at his arm where Potter had rested his head.

Cloth aside, Draco led Potter back to his bed where the brunet promptly curled into a ball and fell asleep.

Draco sighed. He wanted his roommate back. He wanted the Potter that sat on sofa with him, wrote on his hand or listened to him read. He wanted the Potter that shoved him when Draco said something too sarcastic, and he wanted the Potter who worked hard to solve even the most impossible situations.

He didn't miss him. Of course not. That was just... absurd.

Another day, and perhaps a little better, but Draco refused to say anything just in case life decided to prove him wrong again. But today Potter did seem better. He even got up and tentatively edged his away across the room, counting steps until he arrived at the kitchen to take his own potion. He then turned and his lips moved but the meaning was lost on Draco's deaf ears. Potter frowned and walked carefully toward the sitting room.

"I'm here," Draco said quietly. Potter paused, blinked his blind eyes, then continued until he was sitting on the sofa with Draco.

"Feeling better?" Potter gave a noncommittal wave of his head, then shifted along the sofa until he found Draco and positioned himself next to him. Their legs were touching. Unnerving though it was, Draco realised Potter had no idea how it looked for blokes to sit so close on a sofa when no one else was in need of a place to sit.

Potter should know; he should remember things like that even if he couldn't see any more. Maybe he forgot. Maybe Potter didn't care since there was no social world to please, no social-interaction-law-makers to call them out for disobeying their rules.

"I'm glad. I don't like it when you're sick." Draco almost smiled, then his face fell. Potter winced and leaned forward, holding his head slightly. Draco swore under his breath.

"Spoke too soon." Harry's body jerked and he was leaning over his knees still, steadying himself. Draco leaned close, watching for a sign of what to do or how to help. He tilted his head, wishing he had a clue how to fix Potter. Those incompetent Healers; that was their job. Potter's body relaxed and in an instant he shifted and turned, head angled toward Draco.

Blast Potter's blindness.

Draco was frozen inches from Potter's face, who was oblivious to the fact that Draco had leaned over to peer at him. Potter seemed to be listening but the room was silent, deafeningly silent as they sat, faces too close together, breathing almost normal, grey eyes darting over a scar and eyebrows, smooth skin, dry lips and useless but vivid green eyes.

Draco licked his lips nervously, his mind screaming at him to stop being such a buffoon and pull away from the ignorant blind man who had no clue. Noses and fringe, staring and unseeing eyes, and flushed cheeks didn't belong so close together. This immediate proximity was definitely breaking those laws of social interaction.

So much for personal space.

He felt trapped for a moment in that piece of time locking them so closely together while Potter remained unaware, but it wasn't a proper place for Draco. He didn't think he could stand such prolonged nearness to the arrogant, selfish, spoiled Hero of the world who only cared about himself and had no real idea what a troubled life was like...

Blind or not, it didn't change who he was.

Draco pulled back, distancing himself in space and in mind from Potter. Sometimes Draco could swear someone had invaded his mind and forced someone else's thoughts inside.

Oblivious, Potter grimaced again and hesitantly got to his feet, walking toward the loo.

"Er... You okay?" Draco mumbled.

Potter proceeded to the loo, stood wearily for a moment, then turned back toward Draco. His head jerked toward his bed, blindly indicating his plan to return to sleep and rest. Draco wondered if he ever felt stupid making such gestures, never knowing if Draco was actually watching him.

"Maybe you'll be up for dinner?" Draco asked, providing a response for assurance. Potter shrugged, back turned to him, and climbed into his bed.