Harry Woke Up

Draco had been minding his own business yesterday as Potter was slaving over organising the DVDs he couldn't see. Really, Draco didn't understand what was so important about it.

That turned out to be the least of his worries.

Worries? Not worries. Not even concerns. What then? Blimey, distractions. That what it was.

First it was the Weasel and his wife. Funny how that fool had managed to procure love so much earlier on than the rest of them. Whatever it was Weasley had, it was a mystery to Draco. He couldn't imagine what such a clever and intelligent girl was doing with him. And yes, Draco could admit that Granger, er, Weasley, Weaslette? Mrs. Weaslette? Whatever; she was clever and he knew it. But knowing it didn't mean he had to admit it or ever tell the truth about it.

Drat that ever-increasing list.

Draco had glanced across the room, surprised to see action transpiring behind his deaf ears. There the little threesome stood, hugging and carrying on. Then he spotted it. The Weasleys' procreating talent was working its magic again, but Draco laboured hard to stop all thoughts on such subject, as he really didn't need a visual image of Weasel and Mrs. Weasel going at it.

And after yesterday, it didn't take much more imagination to envision Potter and the little sister Weaslette sweating up the sheets. Not that he wanted to imagine such a thing, because he certainly did not.

Nor did he want to spend the entire evening averting his gaze in his own flat because Potter wanted to take a roll in his bed with the little sister.

In all fairness, Draco supposed it was little more than a roll. After all, he accidentally noted two fully clothed bodies lying on the bed long past the time Draco thought it proper for the little runt to leave their home. Maybe Potter was forgetting that he shared the flat and, though they referred to their beds as 'bedrooms' they had truly been allowed no such luxury.

Thus, a most miserable afternoon and evening had passed along painfully slow as Draco worked with all his might to pay attention to his book and not to the rustling movements behind him. Changing chairs didn't help, and he was taunted with his own unnatural curiosity to watch.

Sick.

But watching just left him with a stomach ache. They were lying on Potter's bed - that's right, lying, not sitting. And they definitely weren't talking any more. She had kissed him. Draco hadn't meant to see it, but he did. Potter sat there for a moment and Draco tore his eyes away, trying to focus on the book in his hands. The next time he had chanced a glance, Harry was lying on his back with the Wealette curled up next to him, arm across him, head tilted toward his as they alternated between just lying there and taking moments to snog.

A good snog. Draco hadn't had one of those in awhile.

Getting up from the sitting room, Draco made a move for his own room, seeking to distance himself as best as possible. For once in the last couple of months, he found himself glad that he couldn't hear what was happening. He didn't need the reminder of any slurping noises to draw his attention back. In truth, his attention was having enough troubles of its own.

It was clear that the Weaslette had quite a thing for Potter. She always stared into his eyes when she spoke to him, even though his gaze was unseeing. Her hands often found their way against his skin - either his face or Potter's hand or along his leg. She had thrown all caution to the wind and was flat out pursuing Potter with every ounce of passion in her, or so it seemed.

And then a quaking feeling in his gut caused Draco to stutter step.

Two months with Potter and all it took was the presence of the Weasleys to bring an effortless smile to his face. Half an hour with the little Weaslette and she was coaxing kisses from him. Who knew what she would get him to do in another day, if given the time.

Draco sighed.

Such thoughts and images should only bother him because their activities were indecent, rude, and inconsiderate when sharing a room such as they did. And of course, those were the only reasons he was bothered.

Of course.

While the list of things Draco would never admit out loud, and much less to Potter, was growing larger every day, the blond began to feel an inkling of another list developing, a list unbeknownst to him because he didn't have the gumption to put it together.

The list of things he wouldn't admit even to himself.

And that's why such a list didn't and couldn't exist. If it did, it would mean he had admitted such things in his own mind.

Two months with Potter, and finally Draco was comfortable with the random brushes and touches and the way Potter always reached out. But Potter never let his fingers linger. Two months with the man and Draco could read the strange new expressions on Potter's face that had appeared only with the newly born blindness. The expressions were usually vague and hazy, more difficult to detect and interpret than the blatant passionate ones that always told Potter's emotions in school. But Draco could read them now almost flawlessly, even if he chose to respond incorrectly.

And yet, Draco thought he had never seen Potter offer him a smile that wasn't provoked by a funny scene in those DVD things or some joke they had exchanged while watching one.

He never recalled Potter smiling when Draco spoke to him, just because he was speaking to him. But that's what he did with Ron and Hermione. And even the Weaslette was pulling smiles.

More than smiles, she was drawing out those guarded tender expressions that rarely ever showed themselves.

Blast the stupid flat and its lack of proper walls and privacy.

When Draco finally moved into the kitchen later that evening to take his final dose of potion, he noticed the door to the flat opening out of the corner of his eye. Healer Divitz had returned and was speaking toward Potter's bed. Draco's gaze moved cautiously and he caught the brunet pulling himself up from his bed and rubbing sleepily at his face, a hand going through his hair and doing more to mess it up than to fix it.

Beside him the Weaslette was pushing herself up, smoothing her hair out and adjusting her clothing. She yawned and smiled sweetly to Potter, then frowned a bit because no expression responded to hers. Her hand fell against Potter's face again and she kissed him full on the mouth.

A sheepish smirk followed.

Stupid Weasel girl.

And in a surprisingly untarried fashion, the redhead rose from the bed, said goodbye to Potter and followed the Healer out of the room.

Potter sighed, leaned back and folded his hands behind his head.

Draco rolled his eyes and slammed the refrigerator door.

..:..

Their days were quickly shaping up to be much more eventful this month. Whether that was a good thing or not all depended upon what day it was, what happened, and who was being asked.

This day turned out much better than the surprise visit from the Weasleys a few days ago.

Bi-weekly exams were turning into painful events for Draco, who didn't appreciate the instruments being stuffed into his ears. They then insisted on beeping things at him, only he didn't know they were beeping, only flashing lights. A disgusting potion was meant to reveal inner ear damage but it failed to react the way it should. When asked if he wanted to learn about communicating with other deaf people, Draco informed Healer Johnson none too politely that he wanted to actually hear again, instead, thank you very much.

Potter's examination produced much better results.

The brunet slid onto the sofa next to Draco as the flat's door closed behind Healer Divitz. A long quill was in Potter's hand and a content expression layered his features. Draco surveyed him, taking his time as he put together his words to ask about the new toy.

But Potter was not as patient.

A hand closed over Draco's and his arm was dragged over to Potter who fitted the quill against Draco's fingers.

"What is it?" he asked uncertainly.

Potter sat still, torn between something he was considering, then he uncurled Draco's fingers, extracted the quill and lifted it into the air. When he let go of it, Draco expected it to fall, as normal objects obedient to gravity always do. But it did not.

It's called a Thought Writer.

Draco stared, mouth falling open as the quill began to move in mid-air and a strip of parchment materialised right underneath it. The letters scrawled against the parchment, which was growing to fit the length of the sentence. Draco glanced at Potter, then back at the quill.

"A Thought Writer?"

Yeah, it's bewitched. And they made it just for me. This way I can make it write whatever I think and you can read it.

"Wow. So it'll write everything you think?" The immediate problem rose without delay in Draco's mind. As much as this would help their communication, Draco wasn't sure he was ready to endure Potter's every thought.

Every thought.

Draco shuddered. He certainly didn't want that quill moving if the little Weaslette came around again. Or maybe he did.

I can turn it on and off.

"Really? How?" Now Draco was intrigued. This was brilliant! Why had they gone on so long with Harry drawing letters on his palm when there was a possibility of something so much more efficient?

In my mind, I cast a wandless, nonverbal spell to turn it on and it starts writing everything I think. Though, I have to be careful about what I think.

Draco smirked. This could be interesting if Potter forgot his every thought was being written out.

"This is great, Potter. No more hand holding!" For that, Draco won himself a smack on his shoulder, poorly aimed but still successful.

It's not hand holding. You didn't mind. You said... Blimey. Shut up, Harry.

Draco laughed an unheard laugh and realised Potter had done the very thing Draco thought would happen: think thoughts he hadn't intended to be written.

You laughed.

Draco furrowed his brow. "Yeah."

You haven't laughed much. It sounds nice.

"Don't go getting soppy on me, Potter, just because you can say more than five words now." His voice was even and controlled - a non-threatening sneer, he liked to hope.

I could always say more than five words, you just couldn't hear them.

"Tell me something I can hear," Draco sighed, but he realised he hadn't exactly meant to sound so dispirited.

You heard me the other day.

"What?"

You heard me; you heard something. You kept asking what I said.

"Oh. Yeah I heard your voice but I couldn't tell what you were saying." Draco peered curiously at Potter, taking in the man's features as they talked. He didn't recognise the expression. Something pleasant...

Can you hear anything now?

"Not a thing." Grey eyes lingered over long fluttering eyelashes and he watched the hopeful expression fade.

Sorry.

"Why, is it your fault?"

No. You know what I mean, git.

The quill was still and Draco sat fidgeting with his hands and wondering what to say in their new found ability to converse. It was weird to have spent so long interpreting Potter and his silences, his expressions, moods, body language and gestures. Now they could actually share substantial words but he found it odd, if also perhaps unnecessary. What he needed to know from Potter he had usually managed to figure out. Now it was extemporaneous information. Ideas. Opinions. Or, perish the thought, emotions.

So I guess we're both sticking around for another month?

"Yeah, I want to hear. I keep telling them that, so I don't know why they keep asking if I want to learn about being deaf." Draco was scowling but Potter was chuckling. It was unheard, but Draco relished in the sight of his companion finding humour in what Draco had said and bestowing a rare grin upon him.

A grin. Hadn't he just been thinking how rarely he had seen those on Potter while in his presence?

Do you think it'll work? One more month?

"I have to think it will because I don't want to think it won't." Draco held back. The truth was he thought it would always be 'one more month' hoping for a cure or healing.

Did they say anything to you about changing flat mates?

"No. No, did they say something to you?" Draco looked at Potter curiously, but his face was carefully drawn. This was the first he had heard of such an idea. Changing flat mates. It had its advantages, but... He had spent two months learning to live with Potter, so if he was staying in the program he didn't fancy starting all over again with someone new.

Er... No, I... They... Blimey. No, they didn't.

"Potter, if you're going to lie with that thing, you'll have to do better."

Bloody...

"Potty, you and that dirty mouth of yours. Or is it a dirty mind now?" Draco was positively smirking with pratful delight. Harry swayed a bit, trying to fight the amusement in his expression.

If they did ask you if you wanted to change flat mates, what would you say?

"Is there a point to this? Are they moving us?" Draco asked, a little irritated with the continued subject.

Just curious...

"I think I liked you better when I didn't have to listen to you," Draco criticised.

You still don't have to listen to me.

"Oh, very smart," he sneered. Potter had a pleased grin on his face and Draco felt his normal desire to wipe it off his face. Arrogant git.

"If they asked me," Draco began, watching as the grin on Potter's face relaxed and his head cocked toward Draco's voice. "I'd probably tell them to leave well enough alone."

Potter frowned slightly but nodded. Draco wondered what answer he had expected. Was he losing it because he knew he wouldn't jump at the chance to rid himself of the Boy Who Lived? Maybe so.

I wish they would have come up with this Thought Writer ages ago.

Draco was startled to see a new message on the parchment. "Yeah, it would have made life a lot easier."

I think you make Ginny nervous. The quill paused and Potter was smirking.

"Only her? I must be losing my touch if I don't have the same affect on Granger and Weasel," Draco scoffed.

Weasel and Weasel, you mean! Then Harry appeared to roar with laughter. I mean Weasley and Weasley.

"I forgot, they join and reproduce," Draco scowled, but a laugh danced upon his own features.

You might, some day.

"Me? Ha, not now. Purebloods don't appreciate damaged goods," Draco paused and saw that Potter was thinking of some Gyffindor-ish response, so he ploughed on. "Anyway, I noticed you and the Weaslette getting cosy."

Whatever Potter had been thinking left him as he followed the new train of thought.

You were watching, you sick prat!

"It was hard to miss, snogging like there's no tomorrow!" Draco argued defensively.

I am not your personal entertainment to watch and get off on!

"Watch it, Potter," Draco warned.

You're just jealous!

"Jealous? Of the Weaslette? Are you kidding me?" Draco shot back. He watched the cogs turning in Potter's brain and suddenly realised what he had said.

Jealous of her? I meant jealous that I was getting action and you're not. Blimey, what...

"Yeah I know what you meant. Same difference," Draco insisted haughtily.

Almost.

Potter, if he could see, would be most certainly gazing in Draco's direction. Then his head turned away, as though contemplating something, and returned again, tilted toward Draco. His brow furrowed.

Which way do you swing, Malfoy?

Draco would have killed to hear a tone of voice with that question; as it was he had to congratulate Potter for sheer bravery.

"I'm not particular," Draco shrugged, careful to speak in the most unconcerned manner he could manage.

Really?

"No, I'm lying to you. I'm celibate and plan to become a priest." He managed it with a straight face, but the smack across his chest made him burst out in laughter. Potter responded with his own grin.

I always guessed you were pretty straight for the hot, pureblood girls.

Draco wasn't sure what how to respond, so he posed his own question. "What about you, Potter?"

Girls. I like girls.

The quill wrote quickly, and Draco wondered, had Potter spoken it, if he would have doubted the tone of voice accompanying the answer.

"Only girls? Never had a thing for a boy? Never got curious?"

No.

"Ah, you goody-goody Gryffindors probably wouldn't ever think of such a thing," Draco taunted.

Not true. There were some boys who... you know. Draco laughed and Potter frowned.

"Not once have you even thought another man was attractive?" Draco asked again. He was investigating purely for research purposes. It was important to know about one's roommate, after all.

Well...

"You are kidding me, Potter. That was practically a yes! Who?" Draco felt for a moment like a giddy schoolgirl, whatever those felt like, and thought he should fix that.

I just thought he was good-looking, I guess. Ginny and Hermione thought so, too...

"Who, already?!"

Cedric Diggory.

"That Hufflepuff pretty boy that died in the Triwizard Tournament?!" Draco asked in disbelief. He watched as Potter's face fell, and realised too late that Diggory's death was a long time sore spot with Potter.

"Whatever really happened in the maze? I mean, really?" he questioned, wondering if this was a bad direction to take the conversation.

I told you. I told everyone.

"He was killed by the Dark Lord?"

Wormtail actually, but it was the same difference.

"But, what really happened? How did the Dark Lord get into the maze?" Draco almost remembered hearing these stories years ago, but the details had been lost, especially since he hadn't believed Potter at the time.

The cup was a Portkey. Cedric and I both grabbed it at the same time. We ended up in Tom Riddle's father's graveyard. You know who that is, right?

"Yes, I know."

We only just arrived when Cedric was killed just for showing up with me. I watched the green light, watched his eyes freeze and he fell...

Potter seemed to still, his eyes closed as though he was seeing the whole thing in his mind again.

Voldemort showed up, er, he was reborn. He took some blood from me, we duelled and there was this Priori Incantatum between our wands...

"What'd you see?" He was better versed in spells these days than he had been at Hogwarts.

Cedric, again. An old man, a woman, my mum and dad...

"They were real?"

Like ghosts. Dumbledore called them echoes. They spoke to me, helped me get out of there. Cedric told me to take his body back, so I grabbed him and the cup and that's when I showed up back at Hogwarts.

Draco remembered Potter holding onto the lifeless Hufflepuff, howling in misery and exclaiming to Dumbledore about whatever he had just seen.

"Wow. I... I never believed you."

I wouldn't have expected you to.

"Fourth year, right?" Potter nodded. Draco was unhappy with the feeling settling around him, a feeling sympathetic to Potter's facing such a thing when still so young. After all, Draco hadn't stuck his head into the game until he was nearly seventeen. If all the stories about Potter were true, he had been facing Voldemort long before anyone else...

"I... I didn't want to kill Dumbledore that night... on the tower." Where the words came from, Draco wasn't sure.

I know.

"You do?" Draco had long since become aware of the fact that Potter had been on that tower that night, as well. But it was also a subject normally out of bounds for the two of them.

I could tell. You didn't want to do it, and you weren't going to.

"I could have. I was going to!" Draco protested. Potter shook his head, infuriating him more.

I'm not going to tell you whether you could have or not. But you weren't going to. And I'm glad for that. Killing someone... it's not...

"I thought I wanted to do it. But..."

You don't have to explain. I've felt it before.

The room grew still, though Draco's voice and the scratching of the Thought Writer had been the only movement before hand. Potter scratched at his eye and Draco shifted, sliding down the sofa a few centimetres. The last lines from Potter and the parchment underneath it vanished so only the quill hung in the air, poised for another thought. Draco wondered if he had turned the quill off, or if he really wasn't thinking anything.

I, uh... Draco's eyes flicked up to the words appearing on parchment. I didn't mean to use that curse on you, sixth year.

Draco remained silent. He didn't want to acknowledge that fact, but he also thought he had known it all along. It wasn't a curse meant for the well-intentioned to use, which Potter always was, or at least usually was. Somehow Draco knew how to manipulate the ill-intentions out of him. Must be a talent.

"It healed. I did a lot of stupid things that year, and I don't feel like talking about them, honestly." Potter didn't answer, except to nod and turn his face so he would be gazing ahead, if he actually had vision.

Hey-

The word appeared in the air, and Draco just barely caught the quill's movement, drawing his eyes over.

"Yeah?"

What about you?

"Me what?" Draco asked edgily, irritated at not knowing what Potter meant.

Has there ever been a boy you fancied? Potter was smirking, delighted at getting the dirt on him, so it seemed.

"You could say that," Draco answered elusively.

You could say that? You could say that! That's a yes! Come on, I told you. Who?

"You wouldn't know them, Potter. Blokes I met after Hogwarts." Potter's face fell slightly, unhappy in the lack of triumph.

No one at Hogwarts?

"Nah, I was a little distracted back then." It only occurred to Draco as an after thought that half of his distractions revolved around Potter. Luckily he didn't have a Thought Writer or such a situation would have suddenly turned mortifying. As it was, Draco refused to follow wherever that reminiscent thought would lead him.

Girls? What girls at Hogwarts? Parkinson for sure, right?

"Yeah a few girls. Parkinson I just tolerated because, well... I was supposed to."

Supposed to?

"Family thing, you wouldn't understand." Potter scowled. "There was another Slytherin girl, a few years older than me. And one of those Beauxbaton girls, fourth year."

Fleur?

"No, not her, another one. Forgot her name, though." Potter's face was scrunched up in a snigger. "Like you've had much of a track record with girlfriends! What, you've had two?" He knew he had turned on the arrogant sneer again.

Two at Hogwarts.

"And you've been with the Weaslette ever since. That's sweet," he simpered.

Not exactly.

"Trouble in Paradise?" Draco smirked.

We sort of separated after sixth year, and we've never really...

"Did you break her heart?" Draco asked in mock concern.

Will you shut up already? The line was accompanied with a shove against his shoulder.

"All right, all right."

We've tried a few times since then, a date here or there. But Auror training kept me busy and she started a mediwitch program. We just... I don't know, it feels weird. I care about her, but...

"You certainly didn't mind snogging her the other day. That's called leading a girl on, Potter."

This, coming from someone who couldn't care less about other people's feelings.

"Touché," Draco grinned.

She still wants something between us, but I don't feel it. I don't want to hurt her. I kept thinking it would come back to me. Sometimes it would be there, then next time it was gone. She wants something from me and I can't give it to her. She means well but... I don't think I can be what she wants or what she needs... And now, well, I'm doing well enough just to get by, myself.

Potter ended with his body falling in an unheard sigh. Draco scanned through the paragraph of writing a second time.

"Can't you just tell her?" Draco asked honestly.

I should. I kept hoping my apathy, or whatever it was, would pass. But it's more than that.

"Just tell her and hope for the best. You can't keep stringing both of you along on something that's not working."

Yeah.

They fell silent again, Draco untucking his shirt and picking at the hem of it while Potter scratched along his forearm at something unseen. Draco watched his companion yawn and rub absently at his eyes. Something about being able to communicate, really communicate, was leaving them both in a much better mood than they ever had been since waking up in a flat together.

And it was certainly more interesting.

Well, I'm tired. Going to bed.

"Thanks for the report," Draco smirked. Potter elbowed him, then stood and walked confidently across the room to his wardrobe. It was habit now to watch Potter yank off his shirt and trousers and crawl into his bed without ever reaching up and finding the pyjamas on the top of his wardrobe.

Draco was tired too and opted to take his final dose of potion for the day before heading for his own bed. He wondered if it was difficult to be blind. Being deaf wasn't a thrill but somehow he always thought being blind might be worse.

Draco closed his eyes, hand resting against the back of the sofa. Then he tentatively edged his feet across the floor, fearing every moment that he would run into something. It was taking an annoyingly long time to make it across the room, and before long he was peeking to make sure he was still pointed in the right direction, rather than making circles.

Having peeked and already cheated, Draco gave it up for a bad job and strode the last few steps to his bed. He was glad not to be blind...