Italics = flashback to seventh year
Chapter 13
Ghosts In My Head
There's a candle flickering in a lone window on the second floor of Shell Cottage, the little flame so dismal a sight when compared to the vast twinkling stars overhead that are shinning so incredibly bright.
Thousands and thousands of stars burning so fiercely we can see them all this way through time and space. I wrap myself up in their company and let my eyes trace their shapes in the endless black of the night. Pulling the thick jacket tighter around my ever thinning frame, I quietly recite the constellations, motionless against the salty breeze that cuts through me atop the cliff.
"Couldn't sleep?"
I shake my head lightly. "You?" I ask as Potter lowers himself down onto the cold jagged ground beside me, his eyes sliding longingly and painfully down the worn path towards where Dobby's grave stands.
The grave Potter dug with his own strength, laying the freed house elf who had given his life in rescuing us all from the Manor down in the ground like a respected citizen. I never understood their relationship, not really, not until I saw the knife embedded in Dobby's chest, smiling with his wide mouth as Potter held him. Not until that moment when the tears had welled in his green eyes and spilled over his dark lashes as he covered his deceased friend with dirt.
"Too much on my mind." Potter answers quietly and I find myself nodding again.
It's been three days since we escaped, three days of staying in Bill and Fleur Weasley's cramped home. Three days of Granger slowly recovering from her extended torture, three days of Weasley camped by her side. Three days of started sentences and quick endings, three days of silence and mourning. I haven't seen much of Potter in all that time and when I do it's always strained and quiet, always only broaching one topic.
How we're going to break into Bellatrix's vault in Gringotts and steal the next horcrux - Helga Hufflepuff's cup. It makes sense the Dark Lord entrusted her with one of his detached bits of soul, she's his most crazed and unshakably devoted servant.
I've been mostly trying to stay out of everyone's way. Isolating myself with my tremulous thoughts and shielding away from the glares of Thomas, the knowing smile of Lovegood, the confusion of the eldest Weasley, and the guilt of looking at Granger's pale expression.
Potter hasn't brought up the unexpected kiss or how he shoved me out of the Manor, so to speak, and neither have I mentioned it. It has become our gigantic pink elephant in the room and I can't even shout at him about it no matter how much I want to. Because, besides the fact that he's rather depressed about the house elf, I haven't been able to get the feel of his mouth on mine off of me and my mind keeps replaying those few seconds where he seemed to be trying to tuck me into himself.
I keep thinking about the look in his eye as he pushed me backwards, like he wanted to leap forward and catch me and at the same like he was trying to hold back tears. And I found myself suddenly realizing one morning during a silent breakfast as his gaze focused on me only to jump away the moment I glanced up for the hundredth time just what exactly it is I've been feeling towards the Boy Wonder that has been creeping up on me for the last few months.
I haven't wanted to face it, haven't wanted to name it, but now with just one taste of him I can't ignore it any longer.
It's glaring at me, demanding I pay proper attention to it.
At least I can't be disowned all over again because of it.
But then...he hasn't SAID anything, hasn't even hinted at anything and maybe it was just some sort of manifestation of fear at us dying. Or perhaps it was something even smaller, a ruse to knock my senses from me enough that he could have the house elf take me away without a hitch. Maybe that was all it was and I hate that that thought is keeping me up at night and making me feel stupidly depressed.
There are far more important things to be contemplating, far more horrible things to be depressed about...
Plus I think the world would stop turning if Harry Potter actually fell for Draco Malfoy. I know I feel as if it has just from that one brief kiss.
"How's Granger?" I continue to trace the stars overhead and huddle closer into myself. I haven't seem much of her lately. It feels strange...wrong somehow for me to be near her now, when she went through hell in my grand old home.
It's just my luck that as soon as everything was going smooth between the four of us that something like this would happen.
"She's getting better I think. She's strong." Potter nods to no one in particular as he speaks and there's a small cloud of his breath rising to mingle with the night as he exhales deeply. "What about you? You mentioned your mum...?" He asks after a moment’s hesitation, his shoulder nudging lightly into mine.
I draw my wand from my pocket and hold it between my hands, my eyes narrowing and focusing in on it completely. "This is MY wand you know." I mutter and Potter cocks his head, a question on his lips. "She had it. My mother. She came to me holding it like it was her own. I didn't even realize it wasn't hers until after we buried Dobby."
He reaches out and runs a finger around the width of it, his face scrunching in concentration. "Why do you think she did that?"
"I think she wanted us to escape all along." I explain with a tinge of melancholy. I've replayed those moments with her over and over in my head and that is the only explanation that makes any sense but that means..."Right before I attacked her she told me," I pause and drag in a breath, hearing her voice float through the night and straight through my being. "She told me to remember her kindly."
"So your mum helped saved us." Potter concludes and I nod a bit reluctantly.
I almost wish she hadn't because even though I know there's a good change things would have turned out differently if she hadn't, she's now being subjected to the Dark Lord's wrath. And he is ruthless and evil and god I can't stop hearing her voice twisted in an awful distortion of her elegant lilt.
I don't even know if she's still alive anymore.
There's a good chance that she's not.
He nudges me again and I blink away the tears that are trying to form behind my eyes, she would not thank me for them. His hand reaches out, his fingers coming to a jerking halt halfway towards my face, before a muscle in his cheek twitches and he carefully tucks a piece of my dirty fringe away from my vision. "She loves you." He says quietly and it feels too much like her funeral’s already been and gone.
Only I wasn't allowed to attend. Wasn't allowed to say goodbye.
"She did I think." I mutter and miss the touch of his fingers the moment they fall away. "Let's not discuss it anymore." I announce abruptly, the emotions pressing forwards towards me too much to handle right now. If ever. "You know, I think Thomas might be planning on murdering me in my sleep." I monotone, rounding my eyes wide in a way that always makes him chuckle.
I'm forever grateful that he senses my need to switch topics and let's it go, an easy laugh rumbling from his chest. "Oh no! Best keep my eye on you then." He smirks, his lips curling expertly and I can't help but smile inwardly at how good he's gotten at it lately. Add on a curved eyebrow and slick his hair and he could fit right into Slytherin.
Until he opens his mouth anyway.
"Shouldn't you be keeping your eye on Thomas? I'm the probable victim here." I point out, tapping my own chest in emphasis.
Potter snorts. "Victim? Nope, don't buy it." He says, propping his hands behind him and leaning back on them. "Slytherins can't be victims to Gryffindors, it's universally impossible. Especially you." He tact's on, his eyes shifting up and down me purposefully.
"That's rather self-righteous of you isn't it?"
"Naw just the truth. But if it makes your faint heart feel better, I'll guard you all night."
I frown and smack his arm, trying to ignore the images that one little comment is weaving in my mind. "I do NOT have a faint heart Potter! I have the courage of a -"
"Lion?" He supplies with an infuriating smile that looks just too damn kissable.
I gape at him for a moment before regathering my composure and turning it into a sneer. "No, not a lion you pompous arse."
"Oh? Than like what?"
I open my mouth then close it a few times like a blubbering fish as my amazing ability to banter completely fails me. "Stop trying to turn me into a good little Gryffindor!" I finally growl, blaming my ineptitude on the hell these last few days have been and not on how he's staring at me with deep set emotions that touch on humor and something more.
"I don't have to TRY Draco." He says in a voice dripping with false sugar as he reaches up and condescendingly pats my cheek. "Deep down in that icy little heart of yours you're already one, aren't you."
"You take that back." I demand, appalled at the very idea of cladding myself in Gryffindor virtues - but at the same time I can't help feel the spike of joy in my chest because I've missed this, missed talking to him so freely and hearing the tangible emotions course through him. Potter shakes his head and I lean menacingly towards him. "I'll have you know I'm the very definition of Slytherin." I hiss and fight the urge to smack him again as he smiles.
"Really? The very definition huh?" He wets his lips and presses further up on his hands, bringing himself dangerously close to me, to the point where I can feel his warm breath on my face. "Shouldn't you be trying to kill me then?"
My body dips towards him at the darkness overtaking his gaze, my hand finding purchase on the ground on the other side of him. "Is that a challenge?" My voice is huskier than I'm used to, his eyes widening than falling nearly shut and I feel his chest brush against mine as he sucks in a breath.
"Why? Do you have some sort of sinister plan?" He chokes a little on his words, his gaze slipping down to my mouth.
"Perhaps, so you should probably be a good little lion and make a run for it." I mutter, my heart thumping like someone's beating a war drum in my chest. He's so close, another inch and I could feel his lips on mine again...
"What if I don't want to?" He shifts even nearer, his pinky creeping across the dirt to run over the joints in my thumb, a shiver shrilling through me at the innocent and enticing touch.
Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to be a little bit Gryffindor, to steal a little bit of that famous courage, I could use some right now because the Slytherin persona in me is quelling away from the enormity that this situation could potentially hold. But there's no denying the attraction any longer, not with him nearly in my arms, my body lighting at the heat and closeness of him, and his breath coming in heavy drags that drifts tantalizingly sweet over my mouth.
I'm just settling on tossing away all cation and attacking him when the wind shifts and brings on its crest a sharp scream of terror that I intimately know belongs to Granger.
Potter and I jump back from each other, both of our glances pulled to the window starting to life in the little cottage. There's a shuffle of shadows and not soon enough but eventually her cries are falling away in rolling and retreating waves. I let out a breath that had gotten lodged in my chest and feel my ears ringing long after the air grows quiet and still around us once more.
I clear my throat and chance a glance at Potter, his back stiff as an arrow with his gaze glued to the glowing window. "Do you need to...?"
He shakes his head after a moment, a twitch taking up in his hand on his knee. "No, she doesn't need me now." He replies a bit sadly and I think I know what he means as memories of the ginger haired boy holding her shaking form flips through my thoughts.
I nod in understanding and let us fall into the dense silence that's been following us around since coming here, swearing inwardly that we were interrupted only to curse myself all over again for being so selfish about it.
She was TORTURED for Merlin's sake and I'm pouting because I didn't get to try and kiss Potter? What the hell is wrong with me? Maybe I was right, maybe I am pure evil Slytherin.
Potter coughs after several longs minutes, his legs and hands fidgeting in a nonsensical rhythm. "So I've been wanting to talk to you actually..." He trails off and I swear I can smell the nervousness that suddenly rushes violently over him. "To apologize. You were right, I shouldn't have sent you away like that." He kicks at the ground as he talks haltingly, his shoulders heaving with a deep breath. "I just...I didn't want you to get hurt."
Well, I wasn't expecting that.
I glance sideways at him, contemplating the way he's looking anywhere but directly at me as he chews his bottom lip and tugs at his hair nervously. "I don't need protecting." I tell him and he winces a little.
Is that how he seems me? As insignificantly small and unable to defend myself? I suppose there's something fitting about that but god I can't stand that being true. I've been seen as less than him my whole life and I thought that recently...well that he had started seeing me as some sort of equal. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking.
"I know that, it's just..." He growls lowly at himself and I feel a little smile twitch at the corner of my lips. "You know Ginny? Of course you do, ha, but um yeah...Ginny's strong and capable but she's...she's..."
"Potter." I wait till his troubled gaze flicks up briefly to mine. "Is there a reason your raving about your girlfriend right now?" I raise an eyebrow, trying to dispel the sudden rise of jealousy that bursts through my chest at the mention of the she-weasel.
I had forgotten about her and now I feel utterly foolish. Of course he doesn't want me...not when he has the ginger slut.
"She's not my girlfriend." He blurts out and even in the darkness I can see a flush spread over his cheeks but perhaps it's in the way he shifts and bends his head down awkwardly that gives it away more than the change of color. "I mean, we broke up over the summer. But anyway what I'm trying to say is Ginny DID need protecting even though she's a pretty strong witch."
"Are you comparing me to that redheaded bint?" I ask incredulously, having no possible idea where he's going with this but I do not like it. Not one bloody bit.
Did he hit his head or something? I feel very much like snapping my fingers in front of his face and demanding he tell me how many fingers and then maybe hexing something just to remind him of who I am. Because MERLIN, how am I and that little whore even being thrown together like that in a single thought?
"NO! Well...yes...I mean, kinda...er not comparing really...just um yeah..." He laughs anxiously and starts tugging at the high collar of his wool jacket like it's choking him.
"You are making less sense than usual Potter." I drawl and try not to smirk at his obvious discomfort. There's something distinctly...cute...about it. Damn it. "Just spit it out already."
"Right um okay...so, right." He clears his throat and turns towards me, his head tipping, deep swirls clouding his eyes and dragging my breath away from me at their intensity. "So Ginny, I mean...ask me why I um...why I, er, kissed you." He stammers through his words, the last little bit coming out with a hushed squeak like he could barely make himself voice the words 'kiss' and 'you' in the same sentence.
I narrow my eyes and lick my suddenly dry lips, my heart starting to hammer at the odd jumbled request. "What does that have to do with her?" I ask, unable to tear my eyes from his.
"Just do it."
"No Potter you -"
"Harry." He corrects me, his own name coming out like a plea on his tongue as he leans forward, gently capturing my lips with his, effectively chasing away all thoughts of the weasel whore at the overwhelming flood of sensations that the press of his mouth sends rushing through me.
The stars could have all burnt and died, winking from existence in that moment and I wouldn't have noticed, wouldn't have given a damn.
The kiss ends too quickly, never pressing further than a light shiver inducing brush, before he pulls just a breath away, my body following his movement without any prompting on my part. My eyes flutter open as my stomach continues its somersaults, to find him staring expectantly at me.
He's flushing deeply, his lip between his teeth, and his thick lashes are lowered over his vivid eyes in bashful nervousness. He looks like a frightened pup and I find myself wanting to just keep staring at him from this distance for the unforeseeable future for some inexplicable reason.
Maybe it's because the Harry Potter that's sitting almost pressed to me - with the tip of his nose slightly redder than the rest of his face, his hair windblown and smelling of sea salt, his breath coming in sharp intakes through his noise while his eyes search me with a quiet desperation that has my pulse quickening all over again - is so completely different than the hero the world sees and even if it's not true, in this moment, it feels like he's all for me. That this nearly tangible want and the anticipation making his chest hitch is for me alone to see and experience.
I watch my hand lift like it's separate from my person, the back on my knuckles pressing tenderly against his cheek and I swallow thickly at the hot flesh that meets me despite the cold. His eyelids flutter as a grin splits across his features, his hands reaching out to tangle in my hair as he drags himself into me, his lips crashing into mine with a passion and fervor I've never felt before.
It knocks all sense from me as I grip him to me, his body so warm and hard in my grasp, his mouth so hungry and pliable beneath my own, a moan that could be mine or his or both of ours filling the air as we battle for dominance. It's intoxicating and I feel like I'm spinning as my tongue fights with his, his scent and taste filling me so completely that I never want to stop - driving me to a point of desire that makes me want to kiss him for all eternity. His hands tug at my hair, one of my own against his back - keeping him secure against me - the other tangled in his raven locks, bending his head back so I can devour him more deeply.
He groans loudly, the sound vibrating against my tongue and through my chest and I can no longer feel the cold or the biting wind or the salty air - all I can feel and think and know is him. There's a dizziness in my head as we press into each other with nearly painfully desperate hands and kisses that are turning to little nips and gasping for breath without even really leaving the others lips with open mouthed pants that never move further away than a brushing touch.
"Harry." I moan into his mouth, his given name feeling like a bursting release as I speak it.
"Draco." He tears his mouth from mine, drawing out a whining protest from me, his hands slipping down to hold my cheeks - his eyes hooded and dark like an oncoming storm. "So long." He mumbles and through the heaviness of my mind it barely registers that I should ask what he means by that but then he's moving closer, his legs slipping over mine until he's sitting on my lap, straddling me - his mouth descending back onto mine and all coherent thought goes flying out the window in a spine tingling, toe curling kiss.
His arms wind around my neck and I deliriously find my hands slipping through the flaps of his newly opened jacket - the thick black buttons inexplicably having come undone beneath my fingers. I bunch the material of his shirt into my fist at the small of his back, letting my other hand run the length of his side and up to curve around his recently exposed neck. I can feel his hot erratic pulse beneath my fingers and it sends little jolts of pleasure skipping through me as I lean further up into him, our kiss quickly turning sloppy with the speed and force of our moments.
And somewhere the world is surely shifting on its axis as we pour our mutual desire into each other, the air humming with soft moans and gasping groans that the roar of the ocean is trying to drown away. But they fill my ears anyway and make everything distance and fuzzy and heady and with Potter's legs wrapping around my waist I don't know if I'll ever be able to think straight again. I'm quickly growing drunk on his taste and his feel and his sounds and no kiss has even been like this before.
My eyes drift open to stare at his closed lids, my arms tightening around him as he moves over me with a frantic clip to his hands as they run all over my body, setting fire to my skin even through my layers of clothing. That little word that keeps trying to make itself heard in my heart comes pressing hotly forward and in an effort to bat it away once more, I flip him roughly - his back smacking into the ground with his legs still hooked around my hips.
He blinks up at me with a foggy dazed gaze and kiss swollen lips and before he can speak, I rock forward making my lust for him boldly know against his own. His eyes roll back as he arches like a bow strung tight and groans - his hands fisting once more in my hair and yanking me back down into another battle of tongues.
And I know I've fallen, even without naming it. I know it with all that I am.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
****
It's time.
That's what Bellatrix's phantom had chanted in my head in her crackling voice that always dripped with her madness. My dreams had been plagued with her, just as I knew they would, the glimpse of her in the market unleashing a storm of memories to ravish my unconscious mind. It was hours of relieving painful torture at Amycus's hands - the dark haired wizard who preferred muggle techniques of breaking the body while he spouted pureblood superiority and worshiped his recently defeated Lord.
You would think he would have noticed the oxymoron in that.
Between the times I'd spent locked away with him, I was subjected to Bella dancing in and out of my drifting mind that was fast detaching from time and reality as she came to me newly broken each day. And last night she flitted through my subconscious again, prying and searching and I awoke more times than I can count screaming or in a petrified cold sweat.
Potter had been there each time, his arms around me, brushing back my sweaty hair and murmuring soothing words that I couldn't focus on in my ear until the shaking stopped and I'd sag into him. I clutched him, allowing myself to let him wash away the fear and deepest pains the memories drudged up - and he let me sink my nails into his back, let me muffle a scream with my teeth in his shoulder, gratefully didn't mention my tears, never asked about what had woken me, and even laid their calmly as I nearly hyperventilated and just stared wide eyed and unblinking into his green orbs while he ran his hands up and down my back.
That had been the time I had sprung awake from the worst of the dreams - the time it felt like she was in the room and trying to rip my soul open.
Morning came with great difficulty, bringing with it its glowing light and chasing the shadows away, to be swept into the corner for the time being. That soft light brushing through a crack in the curtain is what pulled me from the light sleep I had just managed to fall into only an hour before. I had blinked my puffy red eyes and instead of peeling myself off of Potter immediately as I should have, I had run my fingers down his lightly defined arm and gave myself a moment to soak up a portion of his strength before having to face the day.
He woke a moment later and only then did I realize I had been watching the soft lines of his sleeping face, afraid that if I blinked he'd slip away like dust through a crack. He had smiled at me, brushed a hand through my hair, pressed a kiss to my forehead, and didn't say anything as I pulled reluctantly away.
Because with the morning comes reality and in that reality I do not belong in Potter's arms.
Most of the day passed in a surreal blur, like I haven't been able to completely shrug off the drags of sleep. After a quiet breakfast that Potter had to make because my hands wouldn't stop shaking, I left for the gym and he went to meet Granger and Weasley who were portkeying in soon. I did my circuit, pushed myself to my limits, spared with Caleb and few of the other fighters I haven't really bothered to learn anything about, then took the long way back to my flat for a blood pumping runners high.
All the while the press of my Aunt in the back of my mind like an invasive plague.
Now I'm standing across the street to a cozy, softly lit Italian restaurant marketed completely towards tourists. I can see Potter with his friends sitting at a little table by one of the twin windows and I swallow through a scratchy throat, my hands clamped tightly around the black strap of my messenger bag running across my chest.
Why did I agree to this again?
I tried to talk him out of it, stating that they probably wanted to spend their first day here with just him but he had insisted, digging his heels in per usual. And now I'm expected and judging from the way Potter keeps glancing up towards the door and tapping his fingers against the table, I'm late. Ignoring the little crack, crack, crack in my ears that sounds horribly like Bella's laugh, I square my shoulders and march across the road, a tiny little bell above the door trilling high and light as I push through the door.
Potter catches my eye the moment I step towards their table, his lips curving up into a relieved smile and I realize from the quick blink of his eyes that accompany it that he was nervous I wasn't going to show. I find my own mouth lifting in return and there's no mistaking the quickened thump in my pulse or the sudden dimming of her deranged crackle in my ears as he moves to stand.
I don't want to think about how much I've missed and needed him today.
"Oh Draco!" Granger bounds from her seat and I shift my gaze to really take her in for the first time in seven years. All the rambunctious curls and frizz has left her brown hair that's falling in silky sheets around her shoulders and is pulled lightly back on one side with a deep red clip gleaming with little gemstones. Her figure has filled out nicely, adding a softness that the year we spent together had sharply stolen from her. But most of all I notice with an inward smirk that she still tilts slightly to the left, a by effect of lugging around such heavy book bags for so long. The cut of the dress she's wearing screams practicality but fits her nicely, the black and grays merging elegantly on it.
"Granger." I feel my smile tighten as I come upon them, her arms that hold surprising strength wrapping around my neck and pulling me into an awkward and unexpected embrace. She's never hugged me before. "Long time." I mutter into her hair, briefly catching Potter's amused gaze through her silky strands.
She smells like old parchment and ink and there's something about that that pulls comfortably at my heart.
She pulls back and I feel her large brown eyes searching my face with an unsettling scrutiny. "Too long." She mutters, then shakes her head, taking a deep breath and grinning at me once more. "It's so good to see you." I don't really know what I was expecting when I finally saw her again but this wasn't it.
I didn't think...well I didn't think she'd care to ever think about me.
I'm saved from having to force out some sort of reply as Weasley stands smoothly at her side, his long limbs still a tad awkward on his tall frame but not drastically so any longer. He's grown out his hair, the bright red locks neatly brushed and pulled back into a small ponytail at the back of his head, somehow lending on air of distinction to his boyish features. He sticks out a thick hand with a reserved smile and I clasp onto it firmly.
"Hullo Malfoy." He says simply and find myself easing a little bit, glad that at least his reaction is normal enough.
It's so strange having them all here, after all this time.
I nod and let go of his hand. "Weasley." I say, at a loss for anything further to add to it. What do you say to someone who was at best an acquaintance and at worst a hated rival nearly a decade ago?
They slide back into their seats as I pull the bag from my shoulder, rounding the table to claim the empty spot next to Potter. "Hey." He says as we both settle into the solid metal chairs, his hand finding mine beneath the table with tentative fingers that hold their own question. "How was your day?" He asks, the little inquiry holding so much more than a simple polite investment in how someone’s day typically goes.
I twine my fingers through his and find myself wishing I could confide in him that no matter how hard I pushed myself today that my Aunt was till drilling herself through me - my tongue growing heavy with the desire to tell him I missed him. "It was fine." I reply instead, letting the tightening of my grasp on his convey the anxiety I don't feel comfortable speaking aloud.
His gaze seems to soften and harden all at once, reading so clearly between the lines in a way that I used to think impossible for him. It's strange being so open with him in this way and yet...freeing.
"So Draco, how long have you been in Thailand?" Granger asks, breaking the silence that had claimed our table.
"About six months now." I mutter, after quickly calculating the days in my head. It's the not the longest I've ever stayed in one place before but it's definitely getting up there.
She smiles fondly, toying with the wine glass before her, a wistful look in her eye. "It's beautiful here isn't it?"
"Quite." I agree, grasping my water glass and sipping down its icy liquid, my gaze straying to the window and the street beyond.
"Harry tells us you’re a...what was it again?" Weasley asks with his arm stretching across the back of Granger's chair. "Some sort of fighter right? Boxing?"
"Muay Thai." I correct and watch as Granger leans into the table with the gleam in her eyes that always takes light when she's about to learn something new. "It's Thai boxing but vastly different than the Western equivalent."
"Nope can't picture it." Weasley chuckles, a friendly smile on his lips even through the admission of his disbelief.
I open my mouth to tell him that he's not the only one, that sometimes, especially in the beginning, that if was hard for even me to believe it of myself but Potter beats me to it. "He's brilliant. You should see him compete Ron." He says with a broad almost triumphant smile.
I turn towards him with a raised eyebrow. "Brilliant?" I quip. The only time he's seen me in a real fight, aside from sparing at the gym, was the first night I saw him. The night I lost.
Potter nods enthusiastically and it'd be almost a bit comical if it wasn't making my stomach flutter funnily. "You know your good and you're rather amazing to watch."
"I thought you didn't approve?" I fight a smile, a warmth spreading through my chest at his praise.
He brushes his thumb over the inside of my wrist in slow circles. "It's not the sport I don't approve of." He mutters, reaching forward and lightly touching the upper corner of my cheekbone where there's the barest blemish left over from the gruesome beating - near invisible unless you knew where to look. "It's some of the fights you get yourself into that I don't like."
"I'd love to hear some more about it Draco." Granger announces and I push down a flush as Potter's fingers fall away, uneasy with the way her eyes are bouncing back and forth between us. "I hear there's quite the tradition wrapped around it?"
I nod, retrieving the square package from my bag and handing it over to her, her brow pulling together in curiosity as she takes it from me. Weasley and Potter exchange glances, watching as she loosens the string of the burlap bag and draws from it a thick hardback book. "I thought you might enjoy learning about it, I haven't read it myself but it's supposed to be the most detailed volume on the subject." I explain, feeling unnecessarily and suddenly nervous of my gift.
She grins as she runs her fingers over the cover. "Muay Thai Through the Ages." She reads the title out loud, hugging the book to her chest and inhaling the pages deeply. "I love it. Thank you Draco."
I incline my head gracefully and ignore the large smile breaking out across Potter's face as she thumbs through the pages reverently.
"So where's my present?" Weasley snickers, the teasing tone taking me by surprise. I don't think he's ever joked with me before.
"My unparalleled company of course." I drawl and he scoffs loudly, taking a large swallow of his beer. It's almost nice, sitting with these people who've know me since I was a spoiled child, with no hostility on their lips, only...joy it seems.
For so very long it's only been me, and then Potter added himself to the mix, dragging with him a sea of issues, but now here I am - holding his hand silently beneath the table, his touch drowning out the madness, his friends smiling at me like they've missed me. It's wonderful and horrible at the same time and I can't really even explain why.
Soon enough we're ordering our dinner, the conversation weaving around what the two of them have been up to since Potter last saw them. Granger's promotion to the deputy head of the Magical Law Enforcement department, Weasley's newest cases as an Auror, their recent engagement (although I couldn't help but be somewhat surprised by this, assuming they would have tied the knot and pumped out a dozen little Weasley's ages ago). They recount the latest news of various friends - Ginny married Neville a few months ago, Fred and George are making near millions in their joke shop, Luna has taken over the Quibbler and wants to know when Harry's going to send in an article, ect...
I sit quietly through it all, smiling tightly and nodding at the right intervals, eating my pasta and taking careful sips of my wine - all the while keeping one eye carefully trained out the window. I'm not sure what I'm looking for, perhaps Madame Safiya, perhaps another vision of Bella, perhaps an Earth ending flood that's bound to hit at any moment because this is all too normal.
And nothing is normal and quaint for me anymore. Not for long anyway.
It's all very surreal hearing about everyone from my youth, listening to how their lives have turned out - all of them so nice and settled. Even Neville, a Professor at Hogwarts with a ginger headed adoring wife. It's strange because when you haven't seen someone in so long they freeze in your mind in the moment you last saw them and to me they all should still be there - standing still in that snapshot. It's like a slap across the face to have that image so blatantly demolished.
Funny, because I hadn't even realized that I was holding onto those pictures until they shredded them.
"We're thinking of having the wedding over the Holiday's." Weasley pushes the plate he's scrapped clean of every last smudge of food away from him.
Granger beams at her fiancé, placing a light hand on his atop the table. "We know it's been awhile since you've wanted to come home Harry but you have to be there." She pleads with her friend and I can feel Potter shift uncomfortably beside me.
"Of course he'll be there, he's my best man, right mate?"
I cast a discreet sideways glace at Potter only to find him watching me in the same way and I can't help but wonder why he doesn't want to go home, why he hasn't been back in so long. He's never talked about it before and I've never asked. But there's an unsettling little gnawing in my stomach at the thought of him leaving which is absurd given my mission to get him to leave with them at the end of the week.
"Wouldn't miss it for the world." Potter answers after a beat too long, his smile oddly stretched at the corners like he's making himself try to look overly happy.
"See Moine, there was no need to fret." Weasley chimes, seemingly completely unaware of the tension stringing itself through his best friend as Potter toys with his fork, spinning it through his half eaten fettuccine. "She's been going on about how we might not get you back for it for ages." He rolls his eyes dramatically and I narrow mine, almost wishing to reach across the table and slap that silly smile off his goofy face.
How can he not see how uncomfortable Potter is?
Granger notices though, a little frown in her expressive gaze, a sad quiet sigh on her lips. "That means a lot to us, thank you Harry." She shifts her hand off the oblivious redhead's and stretches it out to grasp Potter's. He squeezes her fingers and offers her a smile of his own. "You’re welcome too Draco, it'd be nice to have you there." Her penetrating eyes swing over to me and it takes all I have not to grasp onto the table at the sudden sense of vertigo.
It tips through me with a crackle of 'it's time, it's time, it's time' and I suck in a breath, glancing quickly out the window and catching a flash of a wild black mane and twirling skirts. I feel a hand squeeze just above my knee and grasp onto it, my fingers causing Potter's nails to sink into my flesh, the touch and sting grounding me again.
"That's very kind but I think I'll have to decline." I reply, shaking my head and finding her gone from the street corner in the next second.
"Well if you change your mind." Granger says diplomatically and I'm grateful she doesn't push, her eyes flicking out the window once before settling back on us with a question she doesn't voice. "Oh Harry, I thought you were going to quit." Her voice is the perfect pitch of a disappointed parent, a deep frown on her pursed lips.
Potter shrugs as he finishes shaking a cigarette from its carton and places it between his lips. "Well I didn't." My brow knits itself together at his snippy tone, unused to hearing it from him.
Granger and Weasley exchange knowing glances as Potter sends the end aflame. "What about the potions? Weren't you going to give them a try again?" Weasley probes, sounding more like he's approaching a skittish wounded animal than his lifelong friend.
Potter pulls in a drag, holding it in his lungs for far too long, his jaw thrust forward, and I can see the rising defensiveness grow in his eyes. "I don't like them." He mutters after finally exhaling, Granger waving her hand in the air like the smoke is going to knock her over dead right there. "They make me feel all fuzzy."
"Potions?" I wonder aloud, curious as to the real reason behind his smoking, his thumb digging sharply into my knee like a silent punishment for asking.
"For the shaking." Granger supplies which only fuels my confusion and curiosity, her eyes glued to Potter's hand holding the smoldering stick between his fingers.
"Shaking?" I repeat and I hear Potter sigh heavily, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath. I watch him carefully, remembering the quiet tremors that starts in his hands as he's pulling out his vice. I had assumed they were some sort of anxious tick or beginning withdrawals, but perhaps not, perhaps there's something more to it. "Your hands?" I expand and he slips his palm out from under mine, holding it up before himself, studying the long digits like they belong to someone else.
"Yeah." He grumbles, jabbing the cigarette in his mouth like it's personally offended him, leaving me feeling very much like our roles have switched. Because now it's me pressing for information that he clearly doesn't want to give and is making him mightily uncomfortable.
"Why?" His lips tighten around the stick, his throat taunt and I hear Weasley grumble god knows what as Granger sighs again.
When he doesn't answer she says his name very softly, holding layers of meaning in her tone, and he closes his eyes and nods. "Yeah alright. The official diagnosis is Complex Post-Traumatic Stress disorder with a helping of Traumatic Grief and a smidgen of Somatization disorder." He lists out, curling his fingers in as he does so.
"What does that mean?" I ask, my brow furrowing.
He sighs and drops his hand back into his lap. "It means they had no bloody clue what to do with me after the war."
"You mean you stubbornly refused to fit inside one of their little boxes." I point out, knowing that they would have been desperate to label him neatly and pack him away after the final battle.
He bites his lip and gazes past me and into his own memories. "Something like that." There's something about the distance in his eyes, the vacant quality of his voice that tugs at me, almost wishing we were alone so I could pull him into my arms and bring the life back to him.
Although I suppose its better that we're not, better that I don't.
"And the Healer said you should be taking your potions for it Harry." Granger chides again, Weasley purposefully avoiding her eye and thus keeping from having to verbally agree.
"And I told you that the cigarettes work better." He snaps before a shadow of humor curls his lip up on one side. "I got the idea from Blaise you know."
"Zabini?" I clarify, glancing around the table, completely taken aback. What in the world?
"Yeah he was my, er...roommate." He explains, Granger clicking her tongue and shaking her head, her eyes narrowed so far down that it's surprising she can still see.
His roommate? Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini were roommates? My former closest friend and my...whatever the hell Potter is were damn roommates? When? Why? What the hell?! It simply does not make any logical sense in any sort of the word. "When was this?" I demand, feeling rather like I've been thrown through a sinking hole at the strange news.
"Er mate maybe we should get going..." Weasley mutters but I pay him no heed, my eyes locked with Potter's, trying to pull the answer from him with sheer will.
"After the war." He mutters, breaking eye contact and standing up abruptly.
"I figured that much Potter." I snap as he tosses more than enough money down on the table to pay for our meal. I'm not sure why this is bothering me so much, why it's pricking at my heart.
He cards a hand through his rumbled locks and when he looks back at me it's with eyes that are brimming with a weary calm. "Just...later?" He asks quietly and I nod, unable to push him with the haunted look shadowing his green irises.
We shuffle out of the restaurant with strained goodbyes that are filled with probing glances from Granger, uneasy shifting from Weasley, and outright avoidance from Potter. I swallow my relief when Potter stays by my side as we part ways with the other two, his steps quiet and contemplative as we trudge back to my flat.
We don't speak as we get ready for bed, don't break the silence as I flip the lights off and he tugs the curtains roughly shut, both of us lost in our own thoughts that this evening has brought to the forefront of our minds. I can't help but dwell on Potter's diagnosis and just what it means exactly and why he's suffering so deeply from it - besides the obvious of course - as well as how Blaise comes into play in all of this. All the while I turn it over and over there's Bella dancing through me, and as I slip beneath the covers I find myself nearly breaking into a cold sweat just at the thought of repeating last night.
But then Potter's sliding in next to me without me even having to ask, his arm slipping around my waist to grab my hand that's resting beside me, his chest fitting close against my back. I should probably put some distance between us but I don't, instead I let out a breath, close my eyes, and let the sound of his breathing and the rise and fall of his chest behind me loll me into a fitful sleep.
Tomorrow will come soon enough and with it my hopeful meeting with Granger that I requested in a little slip of paper folded between the pages of the book I gave her.
