Harry Woke Up

"I think they put that movie in here on purpose," Draco stated, gazing unseeingly at the coffee table.

Obviously, the Thought Writer answered.

Draco and Harry sat side by side on the sofa, Harry picking at his jeans and Draco contemplating the movie. It was one of those dramatic romantic comedies, which wasn't his favourite kind but they had watched all the action movies long ago and had finally submitted to the delirium of a romantic comedy.

But this one starred a blind bloke. Draco wondered if the powers-that-be had managed to slip in a movie about a deaf fellow, too. He laughed to himself, considering the good-intentions of the Healers.

What's so funny?

"Nothing, Potter."

But the movie had given Draco an interesting insight to Harry's world. The blind man met a woman who didn't realise he was blind, at first. The man wore sunglasses and was so conscious of everything around him that he appeared to be able to see. But he couldn't. The most curious scene was when the bloke wanted to see the bird, which of course he couldn't really, but he got it in his mind that by touching her, he could see her.

The words on the screen fell silent as Draco watched the hands brushing along the woman's face, seeing her, feeling her, memorising her, and putting together an image of her features. He wondered if that really worked, or if it was just for movies. He couldn't imagine constructing a picture of a person just from feeling their face...

Later the movie showed the man trying to restore his sight with some crude Muggle operation. It didn't really work out for him because apparently his mind couldn't connect what he was seeing with what he had always felt but never seen.

Draco wondered if that would happen to Harry, but he supposed that since Harry had spent so much of his life seeing, he could easily remember everything he had seen before. But what if he met a new person or a new object?

Harry's hand smacked against Draco's shoulder and he realised he'd been ignoring his companion. The brunet gestured to the Thought Writer.

What are you thinking about?

"I was wondering," Draco began abrasively, then he lost some bravado as he considered how to word his thoughts. "I was wondering if all that really worked. If you can really see someone by touching them. If you can tell how big a house is by the way the rain falls and echoes... That's not all real, is it?"

Draco watched Harry's face under close scrutiny, eager for his doubts to be confirmed.

Well, it's sort of right. I can tell that the loo is pretty small based on the way the sounds echo differently... I can usually tell if someone is near me, either because I hear them breathing, feel their footsteps, or feel the air get warmer. It's weird, you know? I guess it's not really seeing, maybe a different kind of seeing...

Draco frowned in consideration, wondering how his own senses made up for the lack of hearing. He felt things more, like small vibrations or movements that accompanied sounds.

I've never done the face-touching thing before. I think it would be difficult...

Potter was frowning now too, eyebrows furrowed as though deep in thought.

"I guess the next new person you meet, you'll have to ask if you can feel them up as your new way of seeing," Draco sniggered, then ducked to avoid a smack from the wizard beside him.

"Hey, I've got an idea. Why don't you try it with me?" Draco suggested, still fighting off his own laughter.

But I know what you look like!

"Surely you must have forgotten by now," Draco chuckled.

No, I haven't. Scrawny, ferret-faced, girly blond hair, evil grey eyes, and a sneer to send the bravest soul running.

"Sod it, you do remember!" Then Draco roared with laughter, finding the sarcasm utterly sublime. At least, he hoped it was sarcasm. Surely it couldn't be a true assessment of his features. He had always considered himself quite the handsome bloke.

"Well, then it'll be easier for you to match up what you feel with what you see," Draco suggested, wondering if it would even work. Then he shuddered slightly at his own suggestion. What was he saying? Could he even handle Harry's hands on his face? That was a bit... er, intimate.

You hate touching.

"I don't hate it, Potter," Draco said shortly. "I just don't fancy it much. I didn't grow up with the most affectionate family."

Neither did I. And it's not affection, it's... it's... I can't bloody see!

"All right, don't go stroppy on me. I know you can't see, Potter. But I'm not offering again."

I want to try it. You know, before I'm in a position where I might really have to see a person that way... I want to know what I'm doing, and... not embarrass myself.

Draco gulped and steadied himself for what was coming. Touching wasn't so bad. Even face-touching wasn't. No big deal; people everywhere did such a thing.

Who was he kidding?

Harry's left hand reached out, feeling along Draco's shirt until he reached the skin of his neck. Draco fought off a shiver and wondered if this was ever an unpleasant experience for those people in the movies. He watched Harry's face, frozen in concentration as his thumb and fingers brushed up along Draco's jaw. His palm slowly flattened against Draco's cheek, and the blond felt a muscle tighten in his own arm.

It was slightly weird.

Harry turned to face Draco more squarely, and his right hand joined the exploration. Both hands rested along Draco's face, slowly creeping up and brushing the lines of his hair. Potter let his fingers slide between some of the hair above his ears, but then the hands moved again, and thumbs brushed over eyebrows, then back and down the bridge of his nose and across the skin below his eyes. Draco closed his eyes, wondering if it would help calm his nerves.

Slightly weird? It was really weird.

The hands moved further down, fingers resting along the sides of his face while the thumbs felt down alongside his nose, to the skin under his nose and finally along his lips. Harry's movements were slow and methodical as he lined the features of Draco's face, taking time on the strangely tender skin of his lips. It was an absolutely unreal feeling to have fingers on his lips. Lips weren't meant for objective, clinical 'seeing.' They were meant for something more sensual, something more like kissing...

Weird? This was beyond weird; it was absolutely bizarre!

His hands were moving once again, this time thumbs gliding over the skin of Draco's forehead, smoothing the skin there before running his palms down over skin and cheeks, thumbs falling across closed eyelids, and fingers finally curling under the sensitive skin beneath his chin. It almost tickled to have fingers dancing along near his neck. Then the fingers stopped moving and slowly Harry drew his hands away, tilting his head curiously as he folded them in his lap.

The Thought Writer was scratching out a message.

You still look like you, but maybe a little less pointy.

Draco stared at the words, then at Harry. His face was softened in a kind and amused expression, his eyes half-open in the lazy habit they had of doing so. But something felt strange. The air was warm and everything seemed oddly still. The Thought Writer no longer moved, and Harry sat merely breathing, waiting, listening. Draco scratched at his knee but otherwise sat mostly unmoving, watching Harry.

He could hear his heart beating in his head. Nothing in his vision moved. He let his eyes dance along Harry's face, considering the half-covered green irises, the straight angle along his chin, and the irritating mess he called hair.

Then Draco cleared his throat, for something to do.

For all the loathing he felt toward touchiness, it seemed to be producing a most unexpected affect on him. Unable to master the ridiculous impulses racing through his mind, he followed them, uncertain of where they might take him.

Harry's leg was nearly flush against Draco's, and their shoulders kept bumping. Slowly Draco watched his own hand creep out from his body, reaching towards Harry's midriff. The brunet gave a small jolt but didn't seem altogether surprised by the touch. Perhaps without vision, one became accustomed to unexpected touches.

Draco's fingers brushed lazily along Harry's stomach, slowly inching upward. His movements were making no sense in his mind, but they were ruling his body and sparking his pulse.

Why would laying a hand along Harry's chest cause Draco's heart rate to quicken?

He shifted, turning toward Harry as he watched the wizard's face. He was passive, allowing Draco to do whatever it was he was doing. The expression gave no hint of Harry's thoughts or feelings. Draco slid his hand upward, resisting the tremors that raced through him. His hand was on another man's chest and it felt so strange and odd and good. He turned more, and laid his right hand on Harry's shoulder, still inching his left hand over collar bone.

Harry's lips moved and he said something, but Draco didn't know what. Obviously he had turned the Thought Writer off and forgot about it. Draco paused his hands, peering into the brunet's face, aching to know what he was thinking. But he didn't know what his own mind was thinking. Tempted to halt, he resisted and pressed on, knowing he would probably regret it later; still he followed a path his impulses were leading him on, clueless as to what trouble he might find.

Draco's hand was resting along the base of Harry's neck, and slowly the blond was leaning in, inching their faces nearer and nearer. Harry was not moving. He remained motionless and passive, still and drawn. Draco's nose was nearly brushing Harry's and he wondered if Harry could feel how close he was. Draco tilted his head, angling himself for perfect aim. Their lips were so close.

What was he doing? Too late to ask that. Do it.

He could feel Harry's breath and wondered if Harry could feel his. A wave of unfamiliar shyness washed over him and Draco backed a centimeter away, still peering uncertainly at his companion.

Don't think, don't think.

Draco tilted his head the opposite way, leaning close again, testing the water, checking for a proper angle. He was so close, as he closed his eyes, he could feel the warmth radiating off Harry's skin. Draco's hand crept upward, sliding around Harry's neck and holding him firmly. The brunet felt tense. Two of Draco's fingers slid under the collar of Harry's T-shirt.

Then, achingly slowly, a soft brush of lips passed between them. A brush of lips.

Was it a kiss?

It was contact. Draco pulled away, gulping. He had to do it. He had to really kiss him.

But instead, the strange, tender, tense moment crashed into pieces around them.

All Draco knew was a sudden sharp and agonizing pain against his chin as he was thrown back off of Harry, and he reeled, sprawled back on the sofa and groaning in agony. Watching him through slitted, watery eyes, strained by the pain, he saw that Harry had jumped up from sofa in a motion so quick that it had nearly knocked the life out of both of them.

He was standing with a hand tangled into his unruly black hair, holding an apparently painful bump on the top of his head. His chest was heaving with laboured breaths and he was bent over slightly, trying to recover from the collision with Draco's chin.

Draco's mind was racing. Harry was in shock. Draco had done something really stupid. How could he have allowed himself to do such a thing with Harry Potter, of all people?

Stupid, stupid, stupid...

Wincing and trying to pointlessly hide his shame from the blind man standing nearby, Draco suddenly realised that Harry was moving. His ear was tilted toward the door and now he was making his way there. Draco snapped his head around quickly and found what had caused Harry to bolt. Or at least, it was one cause...

Standing and holding the front door open was the yellow-robed Healer Divitz. Striding through the door looking distraught and bedraggled was a fiery-haired, long and lanky Ron Weasley.

Draco breathed again.

As Harry continued counting steps and approaching Ron, whom the Healer must have announced, Draco wondered curiously at the wizard's appearance. A normally cool and laid back man, the red head was anything but, today. In fact, it was very unsettling seeing him. He was standing and clearly talking to Harry who was only steps away. He was also unabashedly crying, wet tears covering his face before he swiped a hand over his eyes to remove them. His eyes. They were red and puffy, blood shot with the appearance of a man who had not seen sleep in awhile.

And then the breath was knocked out of Draco again.

Harry reached out, found Weasley's arm, and pulled the man to him, hugging him fully against his body. The two friends stood, hugging tightly as more tears littered Weasley's face and he grabbed forcefully onto Harry's shirt, apparently howling and shaking as he tried to speak into Harry's neck. Harry's hands were holding onto the red head, pulling tighter, rubbing gently, then a hand into his hair, trying to still the trembling form.

Draco couldn't imagine what would reduce a man to such a state.

The two friends began to separate, Weasley rubbing the heel of his hands into his red eyes, and Harry still holding a hand onto his friend's arm. They continued talking and the tears seemed to have subsided. Harry looked very somber and pained. Somehow Draco knew that all thought of the moments before Weasley's arrival, even all thought of the bump on his head, had completely vanished.

The two men were still talking together, and Harry put a hand on Weasley's shoulder. Then they turned to Healer Divitz, standing nearby and spoke with her. After she replied, the two friends turned in toward one another. Their faces were very close together, discussing something important, perhaps both ignoring Harry's occasional tendency to forget about personal space when he couldn't see how close he was. But Draco didn't miss the tender look Weasley gave Harry, or the trust and love and need in Weasley's eyes as he gazed at Harry, awaiting some kind of answer.

Weasley was happily married, and he and Harry were best mates. It made no sense why their closeness was gutting Draco, causing anger and hurt to swell in him, and a desire that he could be so close to Harry, no questions asked. Draco swallowed and bitterly dragged a hand through his hair.

Weasley and Potter looked over at Draco and spoke together again. The Healer handed Weasley a piece of parchment and a quill. He wrote something, then approached the sitting area. The redhead was near the sofa, gazing through his bloodshot eyes uncertainly at Draco, finally arriving and handing over the parchment.

Harry's coming with me to St Mungo's.

He has leave from the Healers.

I'll bring him back sometime later.

Draco looked up at Weasley questioningly, catching the form of Harry in the distance behind him, standing by the Healer with his head tilted to the floor. Draco wanted to say something, ask something, but his voice caught in his throat. Weasley caught his eye, nodded, then turned and retreated to Harry's side.

Draco watched as the two men exited the room together, arm in arm, and the Healer followed, shutting the door behind them.

And Draco was alone.