Harry Woke Up

Draco didn't sleep well.

He tried with tremendous effort to forget about Potter and where he had disappeared to, but his efforts were even less successful than the last time the wizard had left him alone in their flat.

His mind was torn simultaneously in two different directions, both equally frustrating and painful. He was convinced that he had flat out lost his mind. He'd gone mental. There was no other explanation for why in the world he would have such strange impulses and, why, if such urges even did exist, he would ever respond to such absurdities. He was also convinced that it wasn't merely Weasley's appearance that had sent Harry leaping away from Draco.

It was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Harry Potter, the Wizarding world's hero, was having enough trouble just sharing the living space with Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater Failure, attempted assassin for the Wizarding world's previous hero, and arch enemy of current hero.

They weren't enemies though. It was really time he started admitting that. It was then that it occurred to him that all those things he was refusing to form into a list to admit to himself - those things were going to come out anyway. Draco didn't hate Harry. In fact, at the moment, he was probably Draco's closest friend.

Friend.

It was bittersweet in his mouth. Potter wasn't meant to be his friend. But he could not deny the hours upon hours they had spent together, becoming properly acquainted, even sharing stories from their lives. He didn't know everything about Potter, but he knew enough to know they had completely got off on the wrong foot as kids, and it was, perhaps, possible to be amicable with the brunet.

Perhaps.

But what the bloody hell was yesterday about, Malfoy?

And that's where his thoughts stopped, and he always changed directions. He couldn't answer that question. He didn't want to answer that question - for more than one reason. The brunet's flight from the room certainly hadn't helped the situation. He was stuck alone contemplating what had just happened, or had not happened, or had almost happened, and he didn't have a bleeding clue what was going through Potter's mind.

Sleep had consisted of closed eyes and mental pleadings to be put out of his misery and be able to see the dreamland to which he so desperately wanted to escape. That only proved problematic when he dreamed of Potter.

Dreamed of him!

Draco Malfoy did not dream of Harry Potter.

That wasn't allowed. He lived with the man all day along, and it was absolutely impermissible for the creature to creep into his one escape. And as for the dream - well, some things were better left forgotten, never dwelt upon, and erased completely from memory.

When he finally awoke, it was at his normally early hour. He yawned, rubbed his face and sat up slowly. His eyes peeled open and he glanced across the room. He scrutinised the bedding, peering through the semi-darkness.

Potter was home.

Now that second train of thought hit Draco. Just where had Potter gone? What was wrong with Weasley? Had something terrible happened? Was Potter okay? Were his friends? Malfoy didn't care about his friends. And he could lie to himself and pretend he didn't care about Potter, but, well, as he already admitted, that would be a lie. However, it was determinedly too early in the morning to quantify that 'care' for Potter and whatever that meant.

Draco moved about his side of the room, changing from pyjamas into dark trousers and a light button-up shirt. A quick hop into the loo gave Draco a better vision of Potter, lying tangled in his sheets, soundly asleep and not moving a centimetre. When the blond was finished brushing his teeth and washing his face, he ambled across to Potter's side of the room, hoping to wake him up for breakfast and find out where he had gone the previous night.

Draco stood by the brunet's bed. Potter's hair was squished at odd angles by his pillow. His mouth was parted as he breathed rhythmically without a hitch. His legs were curled up toward him, and his arms were pulled in to his body. It was a different position from how he normally looked in the morning - sprawled out and stretched across the entire bed.

The blond wizard sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling slightly shaky as he did so. He immediately commanded the feeling to stop. He took a breath, reached out for Potter's shoulder and shook him gently.

Potter moved, pulling away from the hand, frowning in his sleep, and withdrawing into himself and away from Draco. The blond watched him for a moment, then tried again.

"Potter," he said softly, grasping the man's shoulder again and shaking. The brunet's mouth moved and his expression looked unpleasant as his hands appeared to push the unwanted presence away.

"Wake up, Potter. Where were you?" Draco asked, his voice a little louder, cutting straight to the point.

Potter's mouth was moving again and he turned away from Draco completely, onto his other side.

"I'm deaf, or don't you remember? Turn on your bloody Thought Writer," Draco instructed him. He could hear himself becoming irritated. What had he thought would happen? That the man would suddenly become a morning person and have a nice long chat about all of last night's events and follow the talk up with a good, hard snog?

Draco shuddered.

Let me sleep. The Thought Writer was on and taking Draco's attention away from his own thoughts.

"What happened last night? What's going on?" Draco asked.

Please, Malfoy. Potter turned onto his back, and Draco could see his face bearing a pleading, albeit sleepy, expression.

"You just disappeared and you didn't tell me a bloody thing!" Draco accused. That thought had turned over and over in his mind, but he hadn't exactly expected it to come out.

I'll tell you. Later. What time is it?

Draco checked his watch. "It's nearly eight. Breakfast time."

The Thought Writer let a few expletives scribble on the page, making Draco grin despite himself, and then more fluid thoughts filled the magic parchment.

I didn't get back till after five. Please, I'll talk to you later.

The brunet turned his back to Draco again, curling up and looking as though he had immediately fallen back into slumber. Draco sat, knowing he should be leaving the bed and going about his own business to let the man sleep. Instead, he watched Potter. If only Draco was a Thought Writer, he might be able to read the other wizard's thoughts. And those thoughts were far more important to him than Potter getting his proper beauty sleep.

There wasn't enough sleep in the world for that.

Draco sniggered to himself and got up from the bed. Beauty sleep. Potter. He chuckled again, but the grin fell from his face. He stood half way between Potter's bed and the flat's sitting room area. He turned to look at the sleeping wizard again. Draco crossed his arms over his chest and stared unashamedly. No one was there to see him, anyway. Even Potter wouldn't notice if he were awake.

Beautiful was the wrong word for a man. Even if it were a suitable word, it couldn't belong to Potter.

Draco sighed. He decidedly didn't like where his thoughts were taking him. Something about their direction left him with a defeated feeling. Yet he stood, his eyes taking in the sleeping body, only now realising another reason why Potter looked different. He was fully dressed in his jeans and T-shirt from the day before. A foot was sticking out from the sheets, and the leg of his jeans was visible, cutting a straight line across the tan flesh of the foot.

The sheets were tangled over his legs and hips, disappearing underneath him so his T-shirt and upper body remained free of their covering. A line of skin stretched across Potter's lower back, between his jeans and T-shirt.

Draco swallowed, unfolded his arms, and reached up to scratch at his neck.

What was he thinking?

Breakfast. It was time for breakfast. He was hungry. He should eat breakfast. It was the most important meal of the day. He liked eating in the morning. There had to be breakfast in the kitchen by now.

Draco turned, clearing his throat, and found the single plate of food waiting for him. Somewhere in the last month or so, the Healers, or whoever sent the food to them, had decided to stop wasting their efforts on a breakfast plate for Potter.

Clever of them, really.

Draco ate breakfast alone, fighting with himself to stop stealing glances at the bed across the room. Instead, he found a nice book and spent the morning poring over its pages, or at least, trying to.

It was turning out to be a long day when Potter slept through lunch. Draco ate alone again, this time freely glaring at the sleeping form still in its bed, and mentally trying to send messages to prod the man awake. The plates of food disappeared and Draco decided to get a shower. For all he knew, Potter planned to sleep the whole day away.

A nice, long, warm shower was the perfect thing to clear one's mind.

Usually.

Draco emerged from the steamy room wearing his towel, and heading straight for his wardrobe. Living with a blind man left him free to wander around the flat nude, if he so dared. Potter would never notice, if he were actually awake.

He was.

The brunet was in the kitchen taking potions. Draco continued to his wardrobe to get redressed, thinking vaguely of how to start the conversation he so desperately wanted to have. He knew he should start by asking what had happened that was so horrific to cause a grown man to cry like a baby and steal Potter away from him. But that wasn't exactly his first concern. Even if it should be.

Draco took his time thinking, and dressing. His clothes were getting out of hand in the wardrobe, so he paused to fold them up properly. He was perfectly busy folding and thinking when he felt a vibration through his feet. His head snapped up and he saw Potter sitting on the sofa in his alert and listening position.

The Thought Writer was hanging in the air, bearing words too far away from Draco to read. He abandoned his clothes, half pleased that Potter was awake and ready for company, half irritated that he had taken his sweet time and then demanded Draco's attention, half nervous about what they were going to talk about, half afraid of what Potter would say in response, and half scared of what had happened to Potter's friends.

Then he realised there were way too many halves, and he instead had two and a half wholes.

He stepped over near the sofa and read the Thought Writer.

Where are you?

"I'm here," Draco answered. Potter twitched and turned slightly backward toward him, as though he wanted to see Draco.

Oh. What are you doing? Potter's brow furrowed.

"Nothing. Getting dressed." Draco finished buttoning the open buttons on his shirt.

Did you just wake up? The wizard's expression was shocked.

"No. I just took a shower," Draco supplied. He didn't need the Thought Writer to spell out the 'Oh' that Potter responded with.

"So, what happened? How's Weasley?" Draco asked, moving backward to close the wardrobe doors behind him. When he turned back, Potter was frowning.

Why are you staying over there?

Draco didn't respond, but wondered if Potter merely missed their normal sitting positions when they talked, or if there was another reason he wanted him to come closer. Draco left his shirt untucked, and ambled over to the sofa, sitting immediately next to Harry. It was no good sitting farther away. The brunet would just move closer.

Draco grinned at that thought.

I was at St Mungo's last night.

"What happened?" Draco asked, making the effort to put concern in his voice.

It's Hermione. They... They were pregnant, you know. Don't make a joke.

But Draco wasn't going to. Why had Potter said, 'were pregnant'?

They lost the baby...

Potter looked upset. He looked like he was thinking more than what the Through Writer wrote. He had more to say, Draco knew it.

"Are they okay?"

Not really. Hermione should be fine in time, and hopefully they can have more children, but... They're not really okay. Ron... He's a good dad, and he... Hermione just hurts and feels bad and... It's really hard for them. They wanted me there, you know. Because we... we're friends...

"You're important to them." Draco watched his companion carefully. Potter faced upward, toward him, and nodded.

We've been through everything together. But now there are some things we can't go through together. I don't know what to do. I just know it hurts, and I care about them.

Potter sighed, his body releasing the tension he was obviously feeling. He slumped slightly against Draco, letting his shoulder press against Draco's.

Draco didn't know what to say. If Potter thought he was useless at the situation, Draco was more so. And he didn't even like the Weasleys. Maybe by extension, because they were Harry's friends, he could almost, sort of like them. He understood pain and loss, anyway. He knew Potter and the Weasleys were close - much closer than he was with any of his old school chums.

Then Draco felt a bit melancholy. Maybe it was the depth of tragedy Potter was pouring onto him. He hadn't imaged anything involving the loss of a baby. Maybe it was the idea of being close to someone, close to friends, close with Harry... And feeling so far away from attaining such closeness.

He swallowed. Harry was scratching his hand and Draco tapped his foot against the table leg in front of them.

The flat was still, and they sat in the reticence. Draco was thinking. He made an unpleasant face and reached back to scratch at his head. His hair fell through his fingers. He liked his soft hair. It felt nice - nicer than Harry's coarse hair. He still remembered that night they slept on the floor together. It was almost as vivid as the memory from yesterday... Had it meant anything to Potter, or had he forgotten the whole episode in the aftermath of his friends' turmoil?

Harry's leg nudged against Draco's. He noticed the Thought Writer waiting expectantly.

What're you thinking?

He let out a short, amused breath. "Something completely unrelated and, in comparison, completely unimportant." He sighed.

Words ended between them again. He noticed Harry swallow and turn his head away in the other direction. The brunet shifted against him.

"A-about yesterday..." Draco began. He immediately felt Harry stiffen next to him.

"Look, I just think... I know no one wants to talk about these things, but I think we should."

What's there to talk about? The brunet faced resolutely forward.

"Potter, don't play games with me. I know you're not the idiot I always thought you were."

It was a backhanded compliment; he only noticed it after it had left his mouth. He also noticed the way Potter moved away slightly, removing himself from any contact with Draco.

Well, that's not certainly going to win me over.

Draco imagined the sound of Harry's angry voice from Hogwarts. He didn't like that voice. It suited him back then, but it was the last voice he wanted turned on him now.

"Stop it," Draco bit back.

No, you stop it. What did you mean by it? What were you thinking?

Did he really just ask that? Oh, Merlin. They were really going to have this conversation, and already it was off in the wrong direction.

"I... I wasn't." Draco's eyes searched the brunet's face, looking for something, anything. "What were you thinking?"

Silence from the other man. It was killing him. He needed to know something, anything, whatever it was.

Potter's lips moved, slowly, as though he was speaking quietly and carefully. The Thought Writer moved with his lips and Draco stared between the two.

I wasn't either. I... I was just feeling. It's easy to think you're alone and distant when you can't see anyone. But when someone touches you, it's like they actually come into my world... But it's more than that. People communicate in so many ways. I can't see facial expressions. I can't see the looks in my friend's eyes; I can't read their body language... All I have are words and tones of voice but expressions and looks and body language - it says more than you know until you lose it. So, I... I wasn't thinking. I was just... just feeling. I can't explain it.

Potter leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees and pulling further away from Draco. Then he sighed, and his whole body sighed with him.

It was stupid... I just wanted to feel. I don't have much else... No one understands what it's like to feel so removed... I know it's just eye-sight. Hermione tells me to stop being unhappy about it. But...

To Draco's horror, he glanced away from the words towards Potter's face and saw that he was getting choked up. He was actually upset.

I can't see her eyes any more when she tells me those things. I can't see Ron's smile when he laughs at my jokes. I can't even see them exchanging those little glances that people who are in love exchange. I can't see your expression when you say something to me, I don't know if your eyes still look... well, like they did, and I've almost forgotten what your sneer looks like when you always teased me. It's easier to forget your expressions because I saw you less than I saw Ron and Hermione. I have to imagine those things and there's so much held in them... So, I... yesterday... It was something to be touched... to feel it, to not be the one touching... To have something enter the darkness I live in...

And although Draco always lived in silence, the next moment undeniably fell dark with a long and heavy silence.

He watched as Harry pushed himself up from the sofa and strode away from him, toward his bedroom. His shoulders had lost the squared confidence they usually held.

"Wait."

Harry stopped and Draco leapt up, moving quickly to stand immediately before him.

"Potter... Harry..."

Draco took a deep breath. Then, he slid his hands onto Harry's waist, watching the other wizard hold his breath, but remain unmoving. Draco leaned close to the brunet, close enough to whisper to him.

"Was yesterday anything... more?"

He felt, rather than heard, the heavy breathing that answered him. The wizard before him remained silent, the Thought Writer hanging in the air empty.

"I could... try again, and see... if it's something you like..."

Draco leaned closer, crossing the necessary centimetres to bring their lips into nearer proximity. Harry turned his face away, and Draco held his breath, mentally cursing himself and feeling his heart lurch.

Malfoy, I'm not... I told you... I don't...

Potter seemed pained to admit the words. Draco's hands slid up his stomach, over his chest and shoulders, holding his neck, and placing his thumbs on the other man's lined jaw. The blond forcibly turned Potter's head toward him. Draco watched him closely. The signals were mixing in different directions, and knowing which ones to follow seemed impossible. Harry let out heavy breaths that fell against Draco's face. They stood like that, concentrating.

Then, the world stopped again as Harry tilted his head down slightly, turning away from Draco with a pained expression.

I can't.

Immediately Draco pulled away, backing off but watching Harry silently. The brunet's shoulders fell, his head hung, and his hand ran through his hair as he moved toward his wardrobe. Draco considered him, trying to wrap his mind around his own thoughts, trying to make sense at the emotions warring inside him. He didn't know what to do with himself.

Then Potter's head popped up, cocking toward the kitchen.

Draco knew that response. He had heard something.

The blond moved towards the kitchen, leaving his companion and the whole earth-shattering scenario behind him. He couldn't think of it. It was easier to get away, let it be, pretend the whole last hour had never happened, pretend he hadn't really just put everything on the line, then watched as it was shoved back to him, pretend it didn't matter...

It didn't...

In the kitchen, where their meals usually appeared was a letter of parchment. Draco quickly opened it and scanned its contents. It was a letter about a meeting with Creyson that afternoon. They hadn't seen him since their consultations the previous month before. He wondered if it was to be a serious meeting. Perhaps something was going wrong with their potions. Or maybe it was time to end the program...

At this point, Draco would seriously have to consider such an option.

"Creyson's coming here in an hour," Draco called out across the room. He glanced up, saw Potter nod in response, and then Draco retreated to his own bed. This day was not going as planned, nor as hoped. But what exactly he had planned or hoped, Draco wasn't sure. Whatever it was, it certainly hadn't been this.

..:..

Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy, please take a seat, there on the sofa.

Professor Creyson was instructing them an hour later, using a quill to write the words on magic parchment, much the same way Harry's Thought Writer worked. Creyson was speaking, however, so Draco supposed the written text was just for him, while Potter got the vocal version. They stood awkwardly near him at the door for a moment before following the request. Today felt strange. They never held consultations together like this.

Draco watched as Professor Creyson took a seat in one of the armchairs, turning it slightly to face the sofa more squarely. The blond scowled, noting the need to turn the chair back later so Harry wouldn't bump into it and start cursing about moved furniture. Obviously Creyson had never lived with a blind man.

Said blind man was currently sitting on the far end of the sofa for once, no where near Draco, as though touching him would somehow contaminate the man. Or maybe he was afraid Draco could no longer control his impulses at all, and the slightest graze would set him off to take Potter there and then, right in front of Creyson.

Stupid Potter.

"We have now passed the three month mark for your therapy and it is time to come to terms with your conditions being permanent. There is always the chance that our facility will develop some break through in the coming months or years, but there is nothing more that we can now do for you, beyond further Independence Training, which would be suitable to co-ordinate from your homes, rather than keeping you here any longer. I'm sure you will be glad to be free of this place."

The portly man smiled good-naturedly and chuckled. Draco didn't really have the energy to humour him. He wasn't exactly sure if he was glad to be leaving, or glad to be accepting permanent deafness, even if he had already seen this coming, or glad to no longer be living with Potter.

Draco sighed.

"Now, Mr Malfoy, during last month's consultation, we spoke about living arrangements after program completion. I am pleased to inform you that we've arranged a house for you, as requested. There is a kind landlady there who rents the house out and has agreed to work with our facility for our recovering patients."

Draco mumbled something about not being a recovering patient.

"Mr Potter, you've proposed leaving the program in your friends' care. We've contacted your rather relentless friends, the Weasleys, and Miss Weasley would like to take you to St Mungo's with her tonight to join the others. You'll be free to leave with her as soon as she arrives."

Potter was leaving that night. Talk about short notice. Couldn't they have at least warned them? Draco scratched at his hair and frowned. He didn't like the way his stomach knotted up. Nor the way his mouth had suddenly grown dry.

"And Mr Malfoy, you'll be leaving in the morning with Healer Johnson to be relocated to your new home. Now, some more good news I think! Mr Malfoy, I have here for you your very own SpelloScribe. It's also affectionately known to us as a Speech Writer. You may have witnessed similarly enchanted objects used by journalists or during interviews. This is also a variation on Mr Potter's Thought Writer. Obviously the Thought Writer worked well for the two of you living together, but now as you part ways, Mr Potter will be able to clearly speak his thoughts, and instead you'll be needing a transcript for anyone choosing to speak with you. I think you'll find this tool very handy, though of course it can not be used among Muggles. In that case, you should rely upon lip reading and sign language. Anyway, carry this SpelloScribe quill with you, and it will write out whatever words or conversations you are needing to hear."

Draco glanced up at the quill writing the words; it was the same quill Creyson had indicated would now be his. It was, indeed, very similar to Potter's Thought Writer, and he wondered why he had never considered this scenario in the first place. It made much more sense than a Thought Writer, really.

"Also, gentlemen, here are your wands. Thank you for trusting us to keep them. We also have some specially designed spells and charms to help aid you, using your wands. Healer Johnson will show you in more detail tomorrow, Mr Malfoy, but your wand can be charmed and set to vibrate with noises in your house. You can change the sensitivity and even adjust it to glow in colours to alert you as to which room emitted the noise. Such spells will be very useful to you as you begin an independent life as a deaf man."

"Mr Potter, we have also designed a special charm for your wand. When the charm is set, your wand can be used much like a walking cane for the blind. Your wand will retain its normal size, however moving it back and forth will produce a tapping noise to help lead you where ever you are going. If there is an obstruction in your path, the wand will also vibrate. Healer Divitz can also show you the spell she has improved upon, which will read parchments and books aloud to you, though I'm afraid the voice setting is currently set to Healer Stonewry's, but I think you'll find her voice pleasant."

"Now, gentlemen, you will find suitcases located near your wardrobes. Please pack up anything you would like to take with you. I believe Miss Weasley will be here shortly to collect you, Mr Potter. If you have any questions for me, or from our facility, please never hesitate to call upon us. We continually work to improve the spells for those wizards left impaired beyond repair. We will, of course, contact you with any new developments that could help you in any way. Have you any questions?"

Potter's lips moved and Draco was sure he had said 'no'. Draco frowned and shook his head, and watched as Creyson lifted himself from the armchair, not bothering to return it to its previous position. Then he was gone, and there Draco sat on a sofa with a man he had quite recently tried to come on to, only to be rejected, and then told he'd be parting ways with in a matter of hours.

Draco clutched his head. This was confusing.

What did Potter want? Was he supposed to try and talk to him again, or just leave well enough alone? They shared their three months together, learned to be friends, and then left never to see each other again... both happy to live the rest of their lives free of the other.

He could do that. Of course he could.

But living alone, that seemed a little daunting. Potter was going off with his friends who would no doubt do every little thing for the poor crippled hero. Draco wondered what would happen if someone broke into his house and he didn't hear it. Or what if someone called through the floo but he couldn't tell?

He could try and get a roommate, but that seemed like a real laugh. Deaf Wizard Needs Roommate. Must be able to Hear and See. Most of his old mates had disappeared from his life, either by war or by hard choices. He was essentially family-less, and the closest thing to it... well. Draco was convinced there was nothing that could persuade him to live with Draco.

And given the recent developments, or what would soon become the repression-of-recent-developments, it probably was a terrible idea anyway.

I guess this is it.

Draco glanced up at the quill, noticing that it was Harry's Thought Writer and not his new SpelloScribe.

I guess there's no hope for us.

Draco's breath caught in his throat. He was sure that the direction his mind had immediately taken had not been Potter's meaning at all. What was he talking about?

We're stuck. Blind and deaf.

And Potter's body fell in a sigh. Draco did, however, find it curious that the brunet kept speaking of 'us' and 'we'. Curious, but not hopeful. The man had been quite clear earlier, even if his words had been rubbish. Draco knew what he meant; he knew the message he was communicating.

Say something.

"Yes, I'm deaf and you're blind. Surprise, surprise. At least now you can live with people who can hear, and I'll... I don't know, find someone who can see, just live by myself, I don't know." His voice was bitter and he knew it. His scathing sarcasm was coming back. Perhaps it was a self-defence mechanism.

Potter seemed to have no response, but looked thoughtful as he smoothed out his jeans.

I'm... I'm sor-

"Don't say it. Don't think it, whatever. Just don't," Draco growled. He stood and left the sitting room. It was time he started packing and stopped thinking about the wizard on the sofa.

It was less than an hour before their flat's door opened again. The little Weasley girl was striding into the room, cheerful and radiant. He noted the same feelings were not mirrored on Potter. The two stood near his wardrobe, talking as he stuffed the final things into his suitcase. The redhead took the things back out and folded them before placing them back into the case.

Stupid girl. Didn't she know Potter liked to do things on his own?

Then she put her hand on his arm and the brunet stopped moving. They talked, looking more serious now. Neither seemed upset, but both intent. Draco didn't really want to watch though. He had had enough of watching Potter and his little pathetic life.

He had his own life now. Somehow. Somewhere. Even if it wasn't with someone.

When he glanced over again, the redhead was hugging Potter, then trying to lead him across the room. Potter gently pulled away from her and Draco recognised his expression as the one he always got when he felt he was being coddled and treated as an invalid. They were nearly to the door when Potter paused again.

If he had vision, he surely would have been gazing in Draco's direction.

Potter stutter-stepped hesitantly. Then he set his suitcase down and started across the room. When he reached the sitting room, his lips moved. Draco remained silent, but Weasley apparently answered Potter, giving him Draco's location. He tried not to glare at her for that.

Potter moved around the sofa toward Draco's bed. His hands were out, trying to feel for him.

Where are you? The Thought Writer wrote.

Draco didn't answer. Potter continued until he found the bed, squatting down to see if Draco was sitting there. His shoulder bumped into Draco's hip and the man stood up, feeling tentatively over Draco's torso and shoulders in a manner that he was well used to. Potter was orientating himself.

I, uh... I guess I'll see you later, then.

"I guess so," Draco answered shortly.

I, erm... Okay.

Then Potter looked torn over how to say goodbye. He stood there for a moment, hands moving uncertainly, then he haltingly moved against Draco, pressing their chests together and pulling his arms around him. He hugged Draco briefly, and Draco responded by sort of patting him on the back awkwardly.

S-sorry.

The Thought Writer actually stuttered. Draco was curious what Potter was apologising for. Then Potter's hand found his, and shook it formally. Draco couldn't help feeling the warmth in his hand as he did so, nor did he miss the tingling feelings dancing across his chest and back where Potter had embraced him.

Stupid tingles.

Potter had released his hand and strode back across the room before Draco had a chance to think anything else. He watched wistfully, experiencing an emotion he really wasn't used to nor had he ever wanted to experience, as the brunet gathered up his suitcase and became the blind leading the seeing, as he refused to let Weasley steer him. Potter knew what he was doing, after all.

But Draco didn't.