Harry Woke Up

Potter's hand gripped lightly at Draco's elbow.

What was most unsettling about this contact was the way Draco's mind kept returning to the sensations on his arm where the other wizard's fingers rested. What was worse about this continual distraction was the small jump in Draco's stomach that accompanied any little brush or movement of the fingers.

Draco fingered his coffee cup as they walked along the silent and dark street to his house. He had successfully Apparated Potter to the safe Apparation point, and now they just had a short distance to go until they were home.

Until Draco was home, that is.

He was fairly certain that Harry's mind was not focused on his fingers against Draco's arm. This action seemed to be something he had picked up in the last few months, as a way to be led when he was unfamiliar with a place. While Draco didn't mind obliging such a need for the blind man, he felt it would have been much better if Potter kept his fingers and hands and embraces all to himself.

It was, frankly, surreal that Draco was walking next to Harry along the road to his house. He had, he supposed, thought there was a small chance Potter would be at the banquet that night; in all honesty he thought Potter considered himself above such things and at odds with the ministry, even if he had been an Auror who worked for them.

No, Draco had gone that night with the hopes of seeing some of his old school chums. Some of them had been in hiding or had fled during the ruckus with Voldemort and the vengeful Death Eaters. He had thought, perhaps, such a celebration might bring them out of the woodwork and set them free from their lives in hiding.

He had had no such luck.

In truth, he felt it would have been better if he just would have stayed home with his friends that night, as they had all begged him to do. He definitely would not have been bringing Harry Potter home - not that he was, exactly; he wasn't bringing him home, he was just...

What was it that had possessed him to do such an idiotic thing like inviting Potter to come see his house?

Early in the evening he had spotted Potter across the room at the banquet. Worse than seeing him, he had continued to watch the brunet as he moved gracefully around on the arm of Granger, smiling when she told him to and otherwise seeming uninterested but not unhappy. After a good couple of hours observing the man, Draco had felt a kind of guilt settle in his stomach. He wasn't used to feeling such a thing, so he wasn't even sure if that was what he should call it...

It just hardly seemed right that he could endure the entire banquet, watching Potter the whole time, leaving him oblivious to the fact that Draco had been there. It didn't seem fair to the blind man, who really had little way of knowing such a thing. That, and Draco was curious about how Potter would react upon seeing him again. And even if it was down right absurd that Draco Malfoy was considering what was right and fair, it was more like him to take pleasure in making someone feel very uncomfortable.

It had been a while since he and Harry had lived together in that flat, since he shared stories with the man that few others knew, since he had felt the tingling of writing on his hand, since he had, he swallowed uncomfortably, kissed Harry, and even tried it a second time... since he had felt that awkward hug that had left him completely dumbfounded and strangely lonely...

Who was he kidding? It had been over six months, and try though he might, he could not say that he hadn't been counting.

Loneliness - that was a new one to try on. Lucky for Draco, it hadn't lasted long. Once he had moved into his home and settled in, he immediately fell back into place with his old Unknowable mates and had completely forgotten about his former roommate.

Completely.

At least, that's what he told himself, and he was fairly certain he should trust himself on that.

He had told his friends a little about the facility and about having to live with a blind man. He felt under no obligation to tell them who the blind man was. There wasn't a witch or wizard in Britain who didn't know Harry Potter's name and he really didn't want to be associated with him, nor have to answer any number of questions about the man.

He had also neglected to mention anything other than platonic encounters transpiring in the flat. His mates knew he wasn't particular and at some time or another fancied either men or women, but he had neatly skirted around any inquiry about whether he had fancied the bloke he'd been forced to live with. He felt his friends had remained fairly oblivious, with the exception of one, Dennis, whom they all called D, and who was rather keener than the others and quite good at reading between the lines.

That was slightly irritating, when it came to this, but thoroughly helpful on the field.

The fingers on Draco's arm moved, sending annoying jolts along his arm, and Potter cleared his throat.

"We're almost there," Draco said, then sipped his coffee.

"This coffee is pretty good." The SpelloScribe wrote in the air, and Draco had to squint slightly to read it in the darkness.

"It is, but yours is mostly sugar," he smirked.

"I happen to like sugar."

"I can see that. And it is amazing to me why you remain skinny as a rail," Draco jeered. He nearly choked when he realised what he had just blurted out. A comment on Harry's figure wasn't exactly what Draco had planned on.

The faltering step from Harry made him wonder what he thought of Draco's comment and obvious perusal of the man's body.

"I am not skinny as a rail, thank you very much, or have you gone blind as well?"

Potter turned his face in Draco's direction, his eyes trained on his forehead, rather than on Draco's eyes, and a playful smirk was dancing across the brunet's mouth.

"Have it your way, Potter," Draco responded sarcastically. He grinned at the blind man until he saw the smile fade from the other wizard's countenance. The brunet turned his face away, as though watching the street he couldn't see, and the grip on Draco's arm lessened in pressure.

With a painful tug in his heart, Draco wondered what he had done wrong, why he had caused the smile to leave Harry's handsome face. Then he questioned why he should care at all, if he had, as he always told himself, forgotten about Potter and had no use for him.

"Er, we turn left, and it's just up here," Draco said quietly as he led Harry up the walkway to his front door.

In a matter of minutes, the two men were indoors and shedding their coats. Draco took Harry's from him, feeling their fingers brush but forcing his mind not to dwell on the contact. He hung their coats and turned to Harry.

"So, what can you tell about my house without seeing it?" he asked curiously.

Harry seemed to immediately still, and he lifted his chin and tilted his head. Draco had become so familiar with the way his head tilted when he was listening or paying attention to something. He had known that gesture so well when they had lived together. It was strange now to see it and feel a kind of longing for those familiar reactions he had become so accustomed to.

"It's fairly open, not a lot of walls. There might be an upstairs. There's a window past the door. You have hard wood floors, at least in this main room. And you like it cold."

"Anything else?"

"Not without exploring."

"You're right so far. All of the rooms down here are fairly open. Sitting room, dining room, kitchen, and the stairs to the second floor," Draco confirmed.

"What's on the second floor?"

"A loo, my bedroom and a guest bedroom," he answered. "Shall we sit down?"

"Sure."

Harry's hand returned to Draco's arm, light in pressure but steady. He led the blind man over to the sitting room and positioned him in front of the sofa with instructions to sit down.

"Excellent sofa. You just fall right into it, it's so comfortable."

"I know. It's infinitely better than the one we had at the flat," Draco grinned, sitting down in his favourite armchair, immediately next to the end of the sofa where Potter was sitting.

"Are you not sitting?"

Draco looked at Harry and the quizzical expression on his face. He wondered if the other wizard wanted Draco to sit next to him on the sofa, to be near him, to share what they had at the flat. He swallowed.

"I've got my favourite armchair, next to you," he answered.

Potter leaned forward and his hand that had been resting along the sofa's armrest began creeping along it until his fingers stretched out and bumped against the armrest of the armchair. Draco stilled his fidgeting hand and waited until Potter's fingers found his, brushing with light, tentative movements that were so tender and soft that it was annoying Draco with his sudden inability to breathe.

He recovered, however. Potter's fingers rested against the top of his hand on the armrest. He had almost forgotten the way Harry liked to be in contact with whoever was talking to him. Perhaps it was innocent enough for a blind man, but Draco was having a hard time getting his mind off of those fingers. It was unsettling how intimate it felt for hands to be touching like that, especially after all the 'hand-writing' they had done. It was one thing to be touching each other's hands all the time because of some purpose, such as communication. It was quite another when the purpose was solely for touching.

Draco didn't dislike touch. In fact he was liking it, and also hating it, very much at this moment. He simply wasn't used to it and therefore came across as someone who didn't desire it. Most of his friends understood that and tended to pour on their affection, trying to force Draco to get used to it, and never minding that he wasn't very good at offering it.

Potter wasn't very good at it either.

"So, what have you been doing since we left the program?"

The other wizard was leaning back, trying to make himself comfortable, but leaving his arm extended so his fingers remained atop Draco's hand. The blond stared at their hands, unbidden to change his focus since Harry was none the wiser. The brunet relaxed against the back of the sofa, and his unseeing gaze fell in an unfocused manner towards Draco's direction.

"Starting life as a deaf wizard, I suppose. I got in contact with the Unknowables and they've taken me back in. I haven't been on the field yet, but I'm doing a lot of sensory honing and training." Draco glanced up at Potter, studying his face, then continued.

"They've got me training extensively with lip-reading. Turns out you were right. My boss nearly wet his pants, he was so pleased at having someone who could read lips. Last week I just started something they call profiling. I watch interviews and other exchanges or interrogations. I study the wizards carefully and draw together patterns and analyse the logic, psychology, and behavioural quirks. I'm still learning how to do it, but it's amazing how much you can learn about a person that way."

"Really? Are you going to be a full Auror again or will they keep you behind the scenes?"

"Well, I've never been an actual Auror, Potter-"

"I know that-"

"But for right now I won't be doing the field work. I'm hoping eventually I'll be trained enough to go out on the raids and runs, out there undercover again... For now I'm in the office a lot, and they're also considering having me teach lip-reading at some time. It's been really great. It's good just to have something to do again, you know? Instead of being locked in that flat all the time. It's good to have a life again."

"You have a life?" Potter smirked.

"Yes, I have a life, and that's more than you can say, living with grandma and grandpa Weasel," Draco sneered. He watched Potter's expression harden and his jaw set; the fingers disappeared from Draco's hand. The other man swallowed and turned his face away. Draco sighed, feeling as though perhaps he shouldn't have said that. He wondered where that Potter was who always fought with him in Hogwarts. If he was honest with himself, he knew he'd rather see the Potter who had been his roommate, whom he had felt close to on some level. He knew saying such things as he had just said wouldn't help him find that man, but realistically, the way he figured it, he would never find him.

"Don't call them Weasel. They've been good to me."

It appeared as though Harry had bit the words out, but of course the SpelloScribe didn't record such details.

"Stop being a pansy, Potter. It was a joke. Blimey... So have you been out much besides tonight's banquet? Have you met anyone to practice your face touching on?" Draco was smirking again, recovering from the brief moment of tension and creating a new kind of awkwardness. He rather liked making people squirm, and he felt certain that the same image of face touching that entered his mind at that mention must have also appeared in Harry's.

The brunet scratched at the back of his neck and turned his face forward, so Draco could see at least three-quarters of his expression as he spoke.

"No, I haven't tried it again." Potter tugged at the collar of his shirt.

"Me either," Draco laughed uneasily.

Potter immediately rolled his eyes but appeared more at ease. He leaned forward a bit, stretched his hand out and took a swipe at Draco's, shoving his hand in what Draco could only consider a playful manner.

"Of course you haven't. People would think you're mental."

"They might think you're mental, too," Draco answered, replacing his hand on the armrest so his fingers fell against Harry's.

"They would not! I'm blind!"

"Well spotted, Potter," he smirked. Harry slightly shook his head, then the lines of his face fell again and he turn his head a small fraction away from Draco and chewed his lip for a moment. From all of Draco's recent work on watching behavioural patterns, he had to guess that something he had just done had bothered Potter, but what it was, he wasn't certain.

"Er... any other new developments in your life?"

This question rather shocked Draco. Whatever he had thought would fill the sudden lull, that hadn't been it. The question was innocent enough, he supposed, except that he instantly wondered if Potter was asking for something more specific.

"Developments? What, like my hearing suddenly coming back? Or my parents returning from the dead? Unicorns taking up residence in my backyard?" He was taking the mickey and he felt absolutely no remorse for it. Potter should know by now to speak straightforwardly with him, or not speak at all.

"You great prat...."

It looked as though Harry had muttered this, and afterward he pulled back from Draco again, slouching against the sofa until his shoulders had fallen quite far down the back of it. Both of his hands were now resting in his lap, and in place of the missing contact through their hands, Draco watched the brunet's legs scoot outward along the floor until Potter's knee bumped his own. The knee stayed there, resting against his own, forging that connection Harry was so eager to keep.

Was he eager to keep it because he was blind, or eager because he was with Draco?

"You finally admit I'm great then," Draco grinned mischievously. It didn't matter that Potter couldn't see it; he had a funny feeling the man could still hear it.

In response, Potter's head fell back against the sofa, his mouth opened in amazement, and Draco's heart skipped a very, very small beat.

"Impossible, that's what you are."

Harry angled his head toward Draco again and was glaring at his chest. The blond purposefully paused and allowed the room to go silent before he replied very carefully.

"For whom?"

Draco posed the simple question with a clear and even voice, deliberately using the right mixture of solemnity and seductiveness to force those two words into bearing up a much heavier and weightier question than what was actually said.

Harry's response told Draco that he had achieved his goal, as he let the words hang in the air. The other wizard's eyes grew instantly wide, then narrowed, moving around unseeingly as a blatant indication of the cogs turning in his head. His breathing seemed to abruptly halt before coming in a forced even slowness. Then in no speed of haste, Harry turned his head in even measures, directed first toward the floor, then toward the kitchen, and finally at his knees. He swallowed and began picking at the hem of his shirt where it had come untucked. Harry's knee moved nervously against Draco's, pulling away, then coming back, away, and then touching again.

Those two words could have very easily meant nothing, but it was obvious that Harry had read very much into them.

Draco watched wordlessly, refusing to break the strange air that now hung between them. It was Potter's turn to answer and he was certainly taking his sweet time. Harry was fidgeting; there was no mistaking that. He looked as though he was struggling to figure out what to say, and whether he wanted to say whatever it was. With a deep breath, the man leaned forward and pulled himself up from the back of the sofa, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned closed.

Draco continued to watch, waiting with the utmost patience, calculating very telling move.

"Look... I... There's something..."

Draco read both the SpelloScribe and Harry's uncertain lips. The brunet stopped speaking, swallowed, stretched his neck, and scooted out to the very edge of the sofa, pulling in close to Draco's armchair.

Slowly, the blond moved to his companion, studying his expression, copying his posture and waiting to see what was coming. Near him now, black hair stuck out at odd angles, and Draco was close enough to see the individual hairs, forming messy chunks and cowlicks. If he only moved a few more inches, he'd be close enough to feel it brush across his forehead. But he couldn't do that. He stared into the unseeing green eyes, for the first time noticing the little flecks of darker and lighter greens layering the irises.

"See, I've been thinking... "

Harry frowned and scratched above his eyebrow, took another breath and turned his face directly towards Draco.

But Draco never found out what Harry had been thinking.

His wand started vibrating madly in his pocket, and Harry's entire body had jerked, turning to face the entryway, positioning himself in his familiar listening posture. Draco mimicked Harry's response, and stared around at his front door.

"You're home! We weren't sure you would be!"

"What's goin' on, mate?"

His home was quickly flooding with men of various sizes, along with their accompanying coats, jackets, scarves, and hats. They were shedding the warm clothing at the coat hooks near the entryway, while the last of the men shut the door behind them.

Some of his best mates, Shiloh, D, Thomas, Ian, and Evan, erupted into the house, boisterous and lively as ever. Draco, of course, couldn't hear them, but the SpelloScribe was working frantically to try and convey all of the passing conversations and greetings. Draco quickly flipped around and peered at Potter, seeing his hand clutching the armrest tightly, and his eyes roving in over time as he took in all the bombarding sounds that were lost on Draco.

He had certainly not planned this.

"We wanted to catch the game on the Wizarding Wireless, and who are we kidding, you've got the best place!" Shiloh said, leading the pack of men.

"You don't mind do you?" D echoed.

"You said we could come over any time..." Thomas interjected. "We've got Ian and Evan with us, too."

"Yes, but I told you to floo or knock first!" Draco responded, as his eyes followed the movement of his friends into his sitting room.

"Really, we didn't think you'd mind. I figured you had to be bored out of your mind from the hoity toity banquet you went to. I mean, since when did you go to banquets?" Shiloh continued, popping a piece of candy from his pocket into his mouth.

"I used to..." Draco mumbled, shifting and remembering many occasions when his family had spent hours as such parties, impressing all those who needed impressing.

"Ooh, but we had no idea you'd be bringing someone home!" Thomas cooed.

"He's, er, just a friend-" But he was interrupted, and Harry, at the same time, was pulling far back into the sofa.

"Blimey! That's no friend, that's Harry Potter!" Evan appeared to burst out.

The men displayed a fantastic silent uproar, clambering to see the famous wizard sitting on Draco's sofa. Evan and Thomas were both particularly interested in him, though Draco thought part of that had to do with their personal sexual preferences. Thomas was very much 'out' while Evan - well, everyone had their speculations.

"What's Harry Potter doing here?" D asked gruffly. Draco didn't assume that his friend didn't like Harry, just that he wasn't so quick to hand out his trust.

Draco cleared his throat. "All right, everyone, this is Harry. He's um... my friend. Harry, these are my mates, Dennis, Shiloh, and er, Thomas, and Evan and Ian."

Shiloh walked very amicably over to Harry and stuck out a hand. The room was awkwardly tense. Shiloh glared.

"He's blind!" Thomas blurted out. Draco groaned.

"Blimey! He's the... He was your flatmate! Harry Potter! Crikey, Draco, you've got to be taking the mickey!" Shiloh exclaimed, rounding on him.

"Yes, yes, all right. Harry and I were flatmates," Draco gave in. He felt a hand land on his shoulder and turned to see Thomas sitting on the arm of his chair, curling an arm around him. Thomas was a highly affectionate man, and he happened to be younger than Draco, Shiloh, and D, and they often liked to remind him of that. He, Evan, and Ian were still in training, while Draco, Shiloh, and D were very nearly their mentors.

Thomas, in some ways, resembled Draco to the point that Shiloh insisted on referring to them as brothers. Thomas had short blond hair that was famous for its softness; he insisted everyone 'pet his hair,' which had been used as a pick up line on more than one bloke. But beyond the blond hair, Draco missed the resemblance. Thomas was shorter, more effeminate, had blue eyes, and loved to indulge in fun, play, and affection.

This was why it was no shock to find the boy, as Draco thought of him, draped over his shoulders and chair as the others searched for their own seats.

"It's nice to meet you lot." Potter appeared to croak the words. Draco was so distracted, he barely caught his movement out of the corner of his eye.

"A blind guy and a deaf guy, that's incredible." Ian spoke up for the first time. Draco didn't know either him or Evan very well, but they apparently spent a lot of time together, and Ian tended to remain reserved.

"Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, that's what's incredible," Shiloh corrected.

"So what are you two doing? Are we interrupting?" D was quick to read situations and Draco was slightly mortified that he might read it wrongly.

"No! No..." Draco quickly answered in response. Potter's head jerked toward him and the blond felt a strange pang in his stomach as he wondered what he was thinking.

"Oh good. I would hate to have to leave you, Draco." Thomas' words appeared on the SpelloScribe magical parchment and with a glance at his face, Draco knew he had turned on his pouty, flirtatious act. Their lot was quite used to it.

Potter's head tilted and ducked down a small fraction. Draco didn't miss it, and felt an annoyance with himself for being so keen on Harry's every move.

"England is playing Uganda tonight. Turn it on, Ian. This is rare, lads. England is in the top ten for the upcoming world cup. If they beat Uganda tonight, that means only five more matches to make it to the cup!"

D was making it very clear how important this game was. He was the most enthusiastic of the lot, when it came to Quidditch, and very little could distract him.

"You weren't always blind, were you?" Evan asked Harry, tossing his shaggy dark brown hair out of his eyes. For a moment he looked like a very star-struck fan. He reminded Draco of a little fair-haired kid who used to run around behind Harry at Hogwarts.

"Ev-an!" Shiloh appeared to scold the younger man. "That's a bit rude to blurt out. Besides, he's Harry bleeding Potter! Of course he wasn't always blind! Don't you think we all would have read about it by now?"

Draco found himself grinning as he sat among his friends, belatedly remembering Harry again, near him, and wondering if it was terribly awkward. Next to Harry, Shiloh and D were seated on the sofa. Ian was sitting against the far armrest, while Thomas still occupied the one on Draco's left. Evan, appearing every much the little boy they always teased him about being, was sitting on the floor across from Harry, separated only by the coffee table. His back was turned to the WWN, which had been turned on and was emitting pre-game announcements, as Evan gazed up at an unseeing Harry.

Potter, for his part, was remaining very still and very quiet, though Draco could tell he was listening to everything and staying very attentive.

"Thomas! The hair!" Draco scolded, suddenly ducking his head away from the hand that had laced into his locks.

"What, Draco? You know I like to play with you hair, even if it's not as soft as mine. You should consider cutting it, too. You've kept it that same length ever since you got out of the facility. You know, I could cut it for you-"

"No!" Draco batted his hand away. "No, I like my hair. There will be no cutting of my hair."

Thomas appeared to huff or sigh very exaggeratedly and he crossed his arms and turned toward the WWN to catch the scores. Draco peered over at Harry, and saw him leaning closer, his lips moving. He looked up at the SpelloScribe to read his words.

"I like your hair."

Draco thought he must have whispered because none of his friends turned to look at Harry, not even Thomas, though he was leaning down at the moment to take the mickey out of Evan for something Draco wasn't paying attention to.

"You can't even see it," Draco replied in a low voice, while the others were distracted in their conversation surrounding the starting Quidditch match.

"I did once, though. "

Draco hadn't forgotten that one moment that Harry had actually seen him back in their flat, and had admitted liking his hair.

"Hey, Draco," Shiloh called over. The previous words faded from the SpelloScribe and Draco found that he was glad his friends weren't reading it.

"I've got a question for you. How did you two communicate, again? You said you did something before you had that quill. How did you talk if you couldn't hear him and he couldn't see you...?"

"Yeah, how?" Evan echoed, looking up excitedly at Draco as though it were story time. He liked the dark haired boy well enough, even if he did seem to act a bit young at times.

"We managed. Do you want to show them, Harry?" Draco asked, turning toward the brunet. He thought he saw the corner of Harry's mouth raise as he patted his hand around the armrest and over to Draco's knee, in search for his hand.

Harry's hand found his and turned it into the old familiar writing position. Draco couldn't help wondering if Harry was holding on a little more tightly and possessively than he had done at the flat, but it could have been his imagination. Then, Harry's right hand index finger moved along his palm, bringing the tickling, tingling sensations Draco had once been so used to.

Unknowables?

"Yes, they are," Draco answered him.

"What'd he say?" Evan wondered aloud.

"He asked if you were Unknowables," Draco replied.

"How does he know about us?" D asked, pulling his attention away from the WWN for just a moment.

"He is an Auror," Draco shrugged.

"Was..." Harry echoed.

"Of course," Ian replied.

"I knew that!" Evan piped up.

"A blind Auror?" Shiloh questioned.

"A deaf Unknowable?" Harry countered, smirking smugly.

"Touché," Draco said mildly.

Just then the room erupted as England made a goal that put them ahead of Uganda. Draco took the moment to watch Harry, wondering if he would rather not be among all of Draco's friends, if he wanted to leave, or if he wanted to be alone with Draco. Layered painfully on the brunet's face was a look of longing as his eyes followed an imagined Seeker that the WWN commentator was describing.

Draco had been flying since the accident, and had even played a few pick-up games of Quidditch, but it was indeed something Harry had forever lost. And Harry had loved flying and Quidditch immensely, everyone knew that. He was good at it, too.

He was better at it than Draco.

While his friends were still distracted with a second goal for England and a near-miss by Uganda's Seeker, Draco leaned forward and gently set his hand on Harry's knee. The man looked startled and turned his face toward him.

"You all right?" Draco tried to ask quietly.

"Y-yeah."

"You don't mind my friends?" Draco said quietly again, watching his mates high-five and clap each other on the back after another score.

"Oh, no, no... Not at all. It's great." There was such an exaggeration of his waving hand and none-put-off facial expression that Draco wondered if he really did mind. Maybe he just felt awkward with so many new people at once.

"Draco, do you have something to drink? I'm dying of thirst." Thomas was pouting on his left again, and another annoying hand crept into his hair. The boy was incorrigible.

On his right, Harry's head tilted and his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. His jaw set and he turned his focus back onto the game, catching the groans as Uganda scored. Draco couldn't help noticing how acute Harry's senses seemed to be when it came to Draco and Thomas. He wanted to know what Potter was thinking.

"Yes, help yourself in the kitchen. And don't make me remind you about my hair and you keeping your paws out of it. You've already mussed it up." Thomas appeared to giggle as he got up and left the sitting room, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Impossible, that one," Draco muttered to Harry.

"Is he... Are you two... together?"

Draco nearly gagged as Potter turned to him and waited for a response. He had not expected that question, nor the way it implied Harry's interest in Draco's affairs, and the possibility of jealousy or possessiveness. Of course, those were just absurd, because Harry had absolutely no claim on Draco whatsoever. Still, it was very interesting that he asked...

"Why do you ask?" Draco replied cruelly, knowing he was being absolutely awful to Harry. He didn't care.

"Forget it." Harry scowled, pursed his lips in frustration and turned away. Draco rolled his eyes and frowned.

"No, we're not together and he's not my boyfriend. He, Evan, and Ian are in their Unknowable apprenticeships, and me, D, and Shiloh are full agents. Er, I was. I've been bumped back, of course..." Draco supplied.

"Is Thomas gay?"

Draco sniggered slightly at the question. He'd never heard Harry even speak the word.

"Yes he is. Why, are you interested? I'm sure he is..." Draco smirked.

"No! No." Harry shook his head and looked alarmed. Draco laughed and watched Potter's expression soften in amusement.

"Lucky for you, he leaves straight blokes alone," Draco teased.

Potter didn't laugh. The grin on his face stuck halfway and he stilled, blinking a few times.

"Do you have food, mate? I'm starving," Shiloh called out.

"Ooh, that popcorn stuff you made last time!" Thomas was back, sipping on a butterbeer.

"Hey, where'd you get that?" Ian asked Thomas.

"I'll make some snacks, ease up lads. And there are plenty of butterbeers. Just make sure you tell me the score when I get back," Draco offered. Sometimes listening to games on the WWN weren't that exciting to Draco, since it always entailed reading it from his magical quill, and he could read about them just as easily the next day in the Daily Prophet. Someone had suggested he try the new wireless imaging network, though he wasn't sure what it was, exactly. It sounded a lot like the TV and DVDs that Harry had introduced him, too, only they were made by wizards, and something he could watch instead of read while his friends listened. He made a mental note to find out how to get access to the imaging network for the next game.

"I'll be back," Draco murmured to Harry, patting him on the knee. Since he was Draco's personal guest, he felt a little more responsibility towards him; the others had merely shown up, uninvited at that. It wasn't, however, very unusual. Draco's home was known to be an open house and at least once a week found his sofa occupied with a friend who had crashed there for the night, or the afternoon.

Harry nodded and Draco disappeared into the kitchen to prepare snacks for his mates. They were good at consuming large amounts of thoroughly unhealthy junk foods and insane quantities of butterbeer. The popcorn took awhile to prepare specially. He had tried making it the magical way, but one day a girl in the office had shown him the Muggle way. With a bit of experimentation, he found a fantastic combination that made for delicious buttery popcorn that didn't stick to one's hands. He was quite proud of his discovery, and didn't mind that much that he had used a bit of Muggle wisdom.

Not that much, anyway.

Draco leaned in the wide doorway of the kitchen, reading the words on his SpelloScribe as his friends talked, and waiting for the popcorn to pop. He watched Harry, sitting among his mates. He seemed to fit, even if he was a bit more reserved than Draco remembered him among his Weasley friends. He had always thought that Potter liked to be the centre of attention, the star of the show... He wondered if he had been wrong about that. Perhaps he had always been thrust into that position, but had never wanted it...

That would be an interesting pill to swallow, if it was the case.

He peered at the popcorn, checking on it since he was unable to hear it. When he turned back to the sitting room, he saw Harry whispering to Shiloh. Draco titled his head and looked at the SpelloScribe but the words had been too quiet to be picked up on the magical device. Shiloh spoke quietly back to Harry, nodding toward the hall next to the stairs, then nodding up toward the second floor. Harry nodded and got up from the sofa.

For a moment, Draco was afraid that Harry was leaving, and suddenly he felt a tight clench somewhere inside him, not wanting the man to leave, and certainly not without saying goodbye. But Potter didn't head for the front door. He moved toward the stairs and Draco wondered where exactly he was going.

Nearly forgetting about the popcorn, he turned back to it just in time to stop it before burning. He had to make it just right, or else it lost its uniqueness.

Some moments later, Draco carefully made his way back into the sitting room, met halfway by Ian and Evan who helped empty his arms of the butterbeers, snacks, popcorn, and sweets. They loaded the coffee table with the treats and began to devour them immediately.

"Uganda's up by thirty points, England almost got the Snitch but a Bludger caught their Seeker." D filled him in on the highlights of what he had missed.

Draco glanced over at the empty corner of the sofa and wondered where Harry had disappeared to.

"Where's Potter?" he asked to the room at large.

"Loo. I sent him upstairs 'cause Thomas has claimed the one down here. You know him," Shiloh answered.

Draco groaned at Thomas's occupation of his downstairs loo, afraid of what lovely fragrance might linger there for hours on end. The boy was known for his frequent visits to the facilities and the enduring scents left behind.

Wordlessly, Draco left his mates in the sitting room and headed for the stairs. They were fine enough on their own and didn't need entertaining. Besides, Shiloh, D, and Thomas had been there quite often without Draco even present. He trusted them to his place and was fairly certain nothing would be destroyed even if England lost. At least, nothing would be permanently destroyed or left unrepaired.

"Harry?" Draco called out as he topped the stairs. He glanced at the loo and noticed it was unoccupied. He looked to his SpelloScribe but it was blank.

"Harry? Are you up here?"

Draco continued to his own bedroom where the door was halfway open. He pushed it wider and immediately spotted Potter standing between his bed and wardrobe, fingers trailing along the straight edges of the closed doors on the wardrobe.

"S-sorry..."

Potter's hands fell to his sides.

"It... It's okay. What are you doing here?" Draco asked curiously, leaning against the doorframe.

"Just, just looking. Exploring, I mean. I didn't mean to-"

"Potter, I don't care. You're not going to see anything you shouldn't. Feel something, maybe," Draco smirked, his voice, he hoped, carrying a light note.

"I like your room."

"How do you know it's my room?" Draco inquired. Harry let out an amused breath.

"It smells like you."

Draco watched Harry and the smile on his face. The blond swallowed.

"It smells like me?"

"Yeah. I mean, you know..."

"Doesn't my whole house smell like me?" he asked, crossing his arms.

"Only a little bit. This room... in here it's really powerful."

Draco wondered what he smelled like and greatly hoped it was a pleasant scent. He could only guess, from Harry's lingering in his room and smelling it that it couldn't be unpleasant.

"Well, if you're done exploring, maybe we can go back downstairs and join everyone," Draco suggested. He uncrossed his arms and picked at his pocket. "I didn't know they'd be coming over. I really hope you don't mind. They're just my mates and they're always over here, you know..."

"No, it's okay. I like them."

"You do?"

"Yeah. They're nice... And I like your house." Harry stuck a hand in his pocket and held the other out as a feeler in case anything jumped into his way as he walked over to Draco.

"Thanks... Er, come on, then..."

Draco turned and led the way out of his room. He expected Harry to remain beside him, or else grab onto his arm but he did neither. The brunet trailed his hand along the doorframe and wall, then followed the line of the wall as it ended the hallway and turned to the opposite side. Draco paused and watched Harry continue his exploring. His pinky finger ran flush against the wall as he took small, weary steps. Then his hand hit a doorway and closed door.

"What's this?" He turned as though looking at Draco.

"Just storage, like a wardrobe."

Harry continued moving along the wall until he came to the second door.

"And this?"

"The, er, guest bedroom. But there's nothing in there, really. Just a bedroom. Don't you want to listen to the game? I really think England might win. I hope they do." Draco cleared his throat and tugged at his shirt. His feet moved anxiously toward the stairs.

"Can I see it, first?" Harry asked, with his hand on the doorknob.

"Er... Sure... sure," Draco nodded, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Harry opened the door and moved forward and Draco took a deep breath. The brunet's hand began to trail along the wall as he had done in the hallway. Draco moved behind him and leaned in the doorframe, nervously watching the wizard's progress.

"I, er, wanted to try some different things in here, you know. Creativity, outside the box, all that nonsense..." Draco muttered and sniffed uncertainly.

He watched as the brunet's hands carefully brushed along the wall. Harry started to move but his feet quickly halted. He was touching the wall where the chair rail ran, dividing the top two-thirds from the bottom; he furrowed his brow uncertainly at it. Then Harry leaned down and felt the engraved vertical lines leading up and down the wall to the chair rail. His hands moved upward and he touched the fleece surface of the material on the upper half of the wall. His hands paused, then continued moving back and forth between the two textures.

Harry was wordless as he continued along the wall, lazily and delicately letting his fingers brush along the fleece. He came to the corner of the room, turned, and his face was completely hidden from Draco. The blond scratched at his shoulder, crossed his arms, and watched Harry's feet halt again. The other wizard's hands were now feeling the length of the far wall. It was laid with thin strips of bamboo, running up and down the length of the wall. Harry let his finger graze the surface quickly and then slowly, pausing to consider the wall before doing it again, repeatedly.

He continued along the wall, delaying briefly again at the window. He reached the next corner and turned, showing his face again. There was definitely a lingering smile or at least a look of amusement there. His hands landed on the third wall and his mouth fell open. His fingers slowly wove into the shaggy surface of the material lining the wall. It wasn't normal decoration, but it was soft and certainly creative.

Harry leaned his forehead into the fur-like lining on the wall, then let it tickle against his cheek. He looked like a child who'd just received his first stuffed animal. Again his hand trailed admiringly along the shaggy fur until he bumped into the night table next to the bed.

His next inspection was of the bed and its bedspread. Again his fingers moved along the surface, taking in the soft plush feeling of the bedding. It was the softest material Draco could find. Apparently it was pleasing to Harry. The man sat on the bed, still letting his fingers trail over the softness beneath him. His other hand reached out to inspect the bedside table. After feeling the alarm clock there, he picked it up, only to find it was attached to the wall with the Muggle electricity.

This was, after all, originally a Muggle house, not a wizarding one. The device, surprising to Draco, had been a Muggle one his friend had helped him find.

Harry leaned close now, letting out a breath as his fingers ran over the surface of the simple digital clock. He set it down and his fingers pressed the button on the top.

Twelve thirty-eight.

It looked as though the brunet jumped backward. He recovered and found the button again.

Twelve thirty-eight.

He tilted his head, grazed his fingers on the bedspread again, then reached out for the clock.

Twelve thirty-nine.

Harry got up from the bed, trailed along its edge, and inspected the final wall, which was mostly a long mirror lining the wardrobe. He left unseen fingerprints on the cool, smooth surface of the mirror, and then he moved slowly back to the bed. It was strange to watch him, as though he were drawn to it. He rested easily against the bed, halfway sitting on it. Or maybe he was just leaning against it.

Potter was running his fingers along his hand, then popping a knuckle. He pulled at his trousers to straighten them, then scratched at his hair.

Draco shifted and moved away from the door. The wardrobe extended out beyond the door, and Draco moved forward to lean on the small wall space next to the opening of the wardrobe. It had the kind of door that could slide open on either side, like lots of glass doors for Muggle balconies or back porches, at least, the ones he had seen in those Muggle DVDs.

Now positioned closer to Harry, Draco crossed his arms and watched his companion in the silence that always filled his own world.

Harry appeared to be speechless, and Draco, for his part, felt it was painfully obvious what he had done with this room. Coward he may have once been, but there was no use dancing around the topic any longer. Worst case scenario only left him just the same as he had been for the last few months.

"Harry... I... I know you're rather attached to the Weasleys, but if you ever got tired of them... I know this deaf bloke, he's horrible, really, but," Draco paused and took a breath, "he's got extra space in his home."

Draco laughed what he hoped was a nonchalant laugh, though he immediately second guessed his attempt at humour. Once upon a time, many months ago, there had been moments when he had thought it wouldn't be so bad to have his old roommate back. Now he thought it was a joke. He watched for Harry's echoing laughter, but didn't get much more than an amused, half-hearted chuckle and a slight frown.

Harry looked anxious as he leaned against the bed, sitting only partially on its edge, causing ridges in the covers. He was picking at his fingernails and fidgeting. The silence looked like it bothered him. He rubbed at his eye, then ran a hand through his hair, resting it on his neck as he hung his head for a moment.

Draco frowned, longing for the Thought Writer in exactly that moment.

Whatever had brought them there, together, at that moment, owed Draco an explanation. Was Potter sorry for coming to see the house? Had it bothered him to completely drop all communication with a person he had lived with for three months? Did he ever think about their time together, the rows or punches or the more pleasant moments spent reading together, watching movies, or, perhaps, memories of contact, of touch, of closeness...

Or did such memories cause a revulsion in him?

Draco watched as Harry's head lifted as though the brunet was gazing at him. Then his weight shifted and he was standing from the bed, taking small and slow steps away from it, toward Draco. His hands were out in the usual position employed when he was waiting to feel contact.

A few more steps and Draco remained in his controlled stillness as Harry's fingertips made contact with his torso. He peered at Harry curiously, now wishing his companion had retained more efforts at facial expressions. Draco could read nothing from his features and yet it was that information that seemed so vital. Harry stood immediately before him, fingers still lingering against Draco's body, brushing lightly and sending electric sparks in their wake. The air was suddenly full of Harry's scent, the room immersed in his presence. It was numbing, having him so close after all that time apart.

Confusion haunted Draco. They had shared touches, closeness, even lips, but Harry had turned away and spurned it all. This wasn't making sense; this closeness was all wrong.

Then fingers were creeping up Draco's chest and neck, finally anchoring against his face as Harry leaned in, closer than was normal, closer than was appropriate. Draco's vision was full of dull green eyes, unruly black hair, and a faint scar. It was too much...

Draco's breathing seemed to stop as he felt lips fall off-centred against his mouth, tentative and slow, but warm and brave...

The blond's hands flew up between them and pushed at Harry, separating the two of them in a heartbeat followed by a huff.

"You can't," Draco growled, huffing in shock and glaring at Harry's startled features for taking such an action. He barely had a moment to do so before Harry was crashing against him with aggressive enthusiasm, pushing his mouth against Draco's forcefully and adamantly.

Nearly suffocating, Draco threw his hands up again and shoved hard against Harry's chest, sending him reeling away from him.

"Stop it, Harry!" Draco barked, pulling himself up to his full stature and fisting his hands angrily. Harry stood awkwardly but not meekly, hands shaking at his side and his breath panting in and out.

"What are you on about?" Draco shouted, wishing Harry could see the daggers he was shooting him. "What do you think you're doing?"

"I... I..."

The SpelloScribe hung in the air still, now stuttering for Harry.

"Look, I don't know what you think is going on here, but this isn't happening. I won't allow you to start something that you won't finish! And don't look at me like that, I know you won't finish it," Draco contended heatedly.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't give me that, Potter." He tried to spit the name out nastily, and hoped he had actually done so. "You were quite clear about what interests you have and don't have... And where the hell have you been for the last six months?!" The anger was boiling up in him, strangely intense after such a long and pleasant evening in the other man's company.

"I told you..."

"No, you didn't. Why haven't you owled, or visited, or anything? It's not that hard to find out where I live. All you had to do was ask the program! Hell, address a letter to Draco Malfoy and any owl could find me! Why, why, Harry, has there been nothing for six months and now all of the sudden you want to pretend we never left that Merlin-forsaken flat?!"

"Hey! You knew I was at the Burrow, we even talked about it before I left! But you didn't write or floo or visit either!" Harry argued defensively.

"That's rubbish, Potter," Draco retorted scathingly. "It doesn't work for you and I'll tell you why. I was pretty obvious with you about what I wanted, before we left. You were the ambiguous one, and you even went so far as to make it clear that you weren't interested. So don't give me that nonsense! It was up to you to contact me and you didn't do it! You have no excuse!"

"I wanted to, but I-"

"And the last thing I knew, you were Mr Straight-as-an-Arrow-Hero still wrapped up in a relationship you were too cowardly to end because you didn't want to hurt the Weaslette's feelings! What was it you wanted, Harry? What do you want? Because you have no right...!"

"But I didn't think-"

"I don't want to hear it!" Draco bellowed. "Just because you're Harry Potter, saviour of the world, I'm supposed to- mmph!!-"

Lips crashed against his own, interrupting his impassioned tirade.

Harry had charged him at full force, grabbed his lapels harshly, slammed Draco against the wall, and crushed his lips to Draco's, kissing hard, deep, and aggressively.

Draco tried to push Harry away, but blast Harry's power - that same power Draco didn't like to admit existed. His firm grip held Draco plastered to the wall, shoving him back every time he tried to escape. Harry's mouth was ravishing his, and the brunet's hands slid into his hair, tugging and holding him at will. While lips and hands and arms kept Draco trapped, legs and hips and torso stayed mournfully further away. Feeling betrayed by his body and emotions, Draco struggled against Potter's full strength pressed against him, attempting to win the battle and escape the heated embrace.

But he was failing miserably.

As hard as he tried to pull away from the lips kissing him, he couldn't do it. He tried to speak, but the message was impeded by lips and lost in humming murmurs until finally he had to submit. He couldn't win the fight against his own body. The room was blazing hot and the mouth against his was pressing so hard it hurt, but it felt good, too, and Draco wanted more - more passion, more heat, more pain, and more of Harry.

Draco's hands slid into dark, unruly hair and it felt perfect in his grip. He responded with eager enthusiasm, and lips, tongues, and hands moved and worked together. Harry's hand fell to Draco's waist, holding him, claiming him, and tantalising him. The other wizard tried to pull back for air, but Draco followed him, reaching for his face to keep him near.

Harry pulled away a bit farther and his lips moved in speech. Draco cast a quick glance at SpelloScribe and felt a woeful pang wishing he could hear Harry's voice.

"How's that for being obvious?"

"I think I get the point," Draco whispered against Harry's ear as he pulled him close again.

The kisses slowed from their frantic passion and the heat melted into soft tenderness. Again and again Draco took kisses from Harry's mouth, pulling away only to come back and steal another one. Harry grinned with closed eyes, breathing heavily but leaning in every time he anticipated another kiss.

Draco's hand slid again through Harry's dark hair, over his ear and across his face, watching carefully as his features softened. There was something about touch that seemed to soothe Harry. He pressed a few kisses to the brunet's jaw and neck, careful, slow, and methodical.

Then Harry's hands were around his shoulders and moving through his blond hair longingly. Draco pulled the other wizard against him, hugging him and feeling their chests rise and fall together.

"So," Draco whispered, resting the side of his face against Harry's cheek, "does that mean you'll be my house mate?" Then he pulled back to look into Harry's unseeing eyes, wishing they could meet, wishing he could read them. Instead, Harry breathed in a few very controlled breaths. His head ducked down slightly, then slowly nodded.

Draco grinned to himself and slid his hand against Harry's neck, forcing him to rest on his shoulder, and holding him close as they both stood there in the room Draco had designed with Harry in mind.

The branches outside scraped against the window in the breeze. The second-hand moved in measured steps along the clock face that resided at the top of one of the walls. Harry's hair tickled his cheek. Each moment felt like a stolen, perfect moment. Harry had come back. They would be flatmates again. Harry didn't despise him, and, hopefully, if Draco were lucky, things would never be the same again.

"Hey, think we ought to head downstairs?" Draco asked reluctantly. Harry pulled away from him, taking a deep breath and letting his hand trail along Draco's arm.

"I guess." Harry half-smiled.

"They might have heard us up here shouting, anyhow," Draco said, realising too late that his whole sitting room could have heard the row and guessed at what transpired next.

"They might have heard you, you mean. Your fault for being so loud." Harry smirked.

"I don't want to hear it, Potter," Draco warned, then grinned.

"Yeah, let's go," Harry decided, and his hand fell down along Draco's forearm and finally to his hand. There his fingers moved gently along his palm and Draco took Harry's hand in his, slipping his fingers between Harry's. There was something strangely intimate about holding his hand that way.

This had to be a dream, or else a nightmare. Potter didn't even fancy blokes.

Maybe he did.

Draco could only hope that now there would be ample time to discuss such things and a hundred others. They exited the guest bedroom and Draco dropped Harry's hand as he closed the door. Harry didn't seem to mind and Draco wondered if the brunet was ready for the world to know. He would give it time and let Harry go at his own pace, so long as Draco was included in it.

It was unreal.

They were downstairs in a few moments, and from the looks of it, the lads had taken no notice of what had gone on upstairs. Draco wondered just how loud the game on the WWN was for them to miss the shouting from the second floor.

"What's the score?" Draco asked as he and Harry took their previous seats.

"England's at two-fifty while Uganda has two-eighty, four near misses for the Snitch," D supplied.

"This is a long game," Harry commented. Draco looked at him and had to fight not to smirk. If he wasn't careful, he'd be explaining just what had happened upstairs and he was sure Harry wasn't ready for that to be the topic of conversation for the night with all of Draco's friends who he had only just met.

"You know how they go..." Shiloh replied with only a glance at Harry.

"What was the longest one? Ten days?" Evan asked.

"I think so," Ian answered.

The night passed on, and the game endured for another half-hour before the Snitch was finally caught. England just barely won and the sitting room erupted with roars and cheers. It was rare for a Quidditch game to be on the WWN so late, but since it was an away game, the time zones bumped it later. After a more than adequate celebration, the lads broke down into yawns and Draco saw that it was time to send them all off.

"Do you need us to Apparate you home?" Evan asked Harry excitedly.

"N-no..." Harry answered, picking at the sofa's armrest.

"He's staying here. We've got plans tomorrow, so it's just easier this way," Draco lied nonchalantly.

"Oh. Are you sure? It's no problem." Evan tried again.

"Evan, leave the bloke alone," D broke in.

"My, my, Draco. Keeping the lad over for the night, are you?" Thomas was prattling on again and Harry, behind him, blushed slightly.

"My, my, Thomas, going home all alone to an empty house again, are you?" Draco sneered.

"That hurt!" Thomas exclaimed in mock pain. He blathered on in that fashion quite often often.

"Come on, come on, out, out," Draco shooed the lot of them toward the door. "It is no business of yours what I've got planned with the famous wizard."

"Oh Draco, keeping him all to yourself, how could you?" Thomas whined as he often did when they discussed straight men in an interested manner.

"All right, lads. Let's go. Leave your superior alone." D was ushering them out the door as they zipped up coats and jackets.

"Superior?" Thomas appeared to ask sarcastically. Evan and Ian were not familiar enough with Draco to tease him. He had a feeling they were both a bit intimidated by him, still.

"See you tomorrow, mate." Shiloh waved.

"You start on the afternoon shift, yeah? Don't forget to bring in that report," D reminded him.

Draco assured them he would see them later and remember the report before finally watching them disappear along the road toward the safe Apparation point. He closed the door, and finally he was alone with Harry again.

Harry was slouched tiredly against the sofa, feet splayed before him, and hands curled along his stomach. His eyes hung half open in that funny manner they had when Harry wasn't really paying attention to anything.

Draco approached the sofa and sat down, falling into its plush depths and slumping against Harry, letting his left shoulder relax on top of Harry's right. He turned to look at the other wizard and found that Harry had turned too, and was smiling nervously. His green eyes still held their half-lidded gaze and reminded him of what he had once overheard the Hogwarts Slytherin girls referring to as 'bedroom eyes.'

They were alluring.

Draco cleared his throat and set his hand on Harry's leg as he pondered what to say. That old familiar companionship seemed to fill the air in the sitting room, reminding him of the comfort they had had at their old flat. He wondered if Harry was serious about staying with him at his house. He wondered what that meant, if it was more like having a roommate, or like having one's boyfriend move in with them. He wasn't exactly sure what he was ready for. It seemed like a rather serious commitment, and he and Harry were, well... They were only still just possibly beginning something...

"I'm sorry."

Draco glanced at the SpelloScribe and realised it had writing on it. He turned to Harry again.

"What?"

"I'm sorry. I... I was afraid. I was stupid. I wasn't ready... I was a coward. I was a lot of things but I wasn't right..."

"What are you talking about?" Draco asked, feeling as though his words were caught between misunderstanding and softness.

"I should have found you. I thought staying away would fix things... I thought I could fix me... I just never thought... It never even entered my mind... and with you..."

Harry appeared to be rambling and struggling and generally mucking the whole thing up.

"It's fine, Harry. I know. I understand. I was there once, and you don't have to explain it. If I was unforgiving and mean, it's because I..." he paused, losing some momentum and looking up into the brunet's face. "Well, because I wanted you... and I wanted you to like me... to want me too... Well, that, and because it's just in my nature to be cruel and unforgiving." Draco grinned, trying to keep the conversation from remaining too serious.

Harry let out an amused breath, but didn't seem ready to let Draco go with his joking manner. He was obviously still thinking about something.

"Look, I... I don't know what all this means... I don't really know what this is..."

Honest though the words were, they weren't what Draco wanted to here. Potter, apparently, was the overly self-critical sort.

"Harry," Draco shifted so he was more turned toward the man next to him. "Are you gay?"

Potter swallowed and almost undiscernibly tensed up. His lips moved but nothing appeared on the SpelloScribe. He had either mouthed them, or whispered them.

"What?" Draco asked, nudging him gently.

"I don't know."

"What do you know?" Draco was surprised when the temptation to speak the words was not to make them biting and angry. He almost thought his voice had resorted to the objective, neutral evenness he had worked so hard to achieve as a Death Eater and then as an Unknowable on the field or undercover. But the way Harry's face softened and his head ducked down, Draco knew he must have sounded just like he did in his head - tender, pleading, hopeful...

Dread the thought. What had happened to him?

Then Harry's head came up and Draco felt certain that, were Harry able, he would have been staring straight into his eyes.

"I don't know if I'm gay. Maybe I am. I've tried to figure this out... My limited dating life, my lost interest in Cho, my irreconcilable feelings toward Ginny... I've wondered, if I am gay, why I've never liked any other blokes. Okay, maybe I found Cedric attractive, but that doesn't mean anything. But that was the same year I fell for Cho, or started liking her. Maybe I was deflecting my interest... Then, with Ginny... my sixth year, that was the same year I spent following you all over school. Ron and Hermione, they... They accused me of being obsessed with you... And that's when I got all these pent up urges to maul Ginny and snog her senseless... I mean, is that how the situations were meant to be read? Did I always avert any feelings I could have had for men in the past?"

"Harry-" Draco tried to interrupt but Potter continued like a steam engine, now lowering his head as though looking at his knees while he put his thoughts together into words.

"Or is it all nonsense? But how does that explain... what I've felt... what I feel... Can I blame my feelings on blindness? Can I say that the tingles and shivers and butterflies that come when you touch me, that it's just because I'm blind? Would it be different if I could see you? And what if I could see you? See your face, your eyes... Right now that doesn't seem like it would do anything but make it worse, you know?"

"Harry, slow down," Draco broke in, turning more and grabbing Harry's arm. The other wizard's attention jerked upward, and he appeared ready to listen.

"You don't have to have this all figured out. I remember all the same kind of questions. Just slow down, okay?" He ran his thumb up and down along Harry's arm and the man gave a small nod.

"You might be gay, you're still figuring this out and accepting it, and you're also obviously confused... But what I need to know is... are you confused about me? Are you interested in me, Harry? Because I don't want to be the bloke you get with so you can experiment, so you can prove the theory wrong, or so you can try it out and decide if you like it. I'm not a free sample, if you catch my meaning..."

Harry's head was inclined towards his again. He was very still and seemed to be working hard at something internally. He chewed his lip, tilted his head, breathed in and breathed out. He swallowed and finally the SpelloScribe moved.

"I like you."

The room was still for a moment, and Harry's eyes moved to the left, down, and then to the right. His breathing was coming in heavy efforts through his nose.

"I like you. And I might be gay. I might be bi. I'm confused, but I'm not confused about you. I'm confused about me and who I am. I'm not anyone's hero. I'm not the boy from Privet Drive. I'm not even an Auror any more. And now, I'm not your enemy, and I don't even want to be just... your friend... And believe me, if I only wanted to test out this 'gay theory', I could find someone a lot more tolerable who gives a lot less lip..."

Draco smirked, unbeknownst to his very serious-faced companion.

"But maybe it's not fair to you, because you have got everything figured out... But I want to try. I don't want to try being gay, I mean... I want to try being... with you."

Green eyes lifted and stared somewhere around Draco's chin. His thumb took up strokes along Harry's arm as he tried to figure out how to respond.

"Just call me a glutton for punishment," Draco grinned.

"You prat." Harry smacked him on the chest and scowled.

"What?"

"You weasel your way out of any moment where you might have to be serious and talk about something." Harry shook his head.

"Do not associate me with a Weasel. You should know much better than that, Harry. And you should know better than to expect anything else. Besides, we did talk." Draco shrugged and smirked, watching Harry roll his eyes and grunt.

They grew quiet as the need for any more conversation left them. Draco relaxed against Harry again and they sat together, mulling over the evening's events. Harry's hand found Draco's and began to move along his palm and fingers, but it felt very different than the kind of hand-touching they had shared in the flat. It sent the kind of tingles across his skin that Draco could be confident of. He most decidedly liked the touching sensations at that moment.

Glancing up, he noticed the SpelloScribe had scribbled out a question.

"Is that room really for me?" It looked as though Harry had asked this quietly and Draco wished he could be sharing a gaze with him in that moment.

"Yeah," Draco whispered. He had always thought he'd been stupid for designing the room, and he had never really thought Harry would see it, at least, not recently had he entertained such notions.

"I love it."

Harry turned to face him as best he could as he spoke the words, swallowing, waiting for a response, and smiling.

And for now, that would do, for Draco. It was as good as saying 'I love you,' except it was better because Draco wasn't even sure if he was ready to speak of love. Would he even recognise it if he felt it or experienced it himself? He didn't know. But for that night, 'I love it,' was all that Draco could have wanted and asked for.

Draco sighed contentedly and smiled, sliding his hand into Harry's as they remained sitting on the sofa together. The brunet's face held its own smile and he gently laid his head against Draco's shoulder, looking happier and more at peace than Draco had seen him since waking up with him in that flat so many months ago.

And Draco found that his life was never the same again after Harry woke up.

THE END.

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Author's Note: There may possibly be a sequel in the distant future... If you enjoyed this, please let me know what you think and whether you have any interest in a potential sequel. Reviews are greatly appreciated. I always read them and even respond! Thanks for sharing this story with me.