Ambivalent Lucidity

When Harry woke up again—when had he dozed off?—he found that it was no longer the actual Draco lying beside him, but the clingy, weepy persona, who was lying on his side with arms wrapped around Harry’s elbow. Blinking heavily, Harry pulled his arm away and watched as Draco squirmed around on top of the blankets before grey eyes opened, and he met a green gaze. “Are you hungry?” Harry asked groggily, rather disappointed that Draco had not returned for good so that he could have some semblance of a life back. Draco seemed to not comprehend what he was saying, so Harry sighed and picked out clothes for him.

Dressing Draco was a brief affair, and afterward, the pair headed down for lunch. Harry tried to avoid letting Draco cling to him for support, and to his surprise, the other was content to walk closely beside him, though he never strayed more than a foot or so. The Great Hall was relatively empty due to the beautiful weather outside, but this certainly did not stop the whispers the moment the two rivals stepped in and sat down at the Gryffindor table. Seamus and Neville were seated across from the two, and Seamus shot his companion a strained look before he cleared his throat a little. “You slept in late, Harry,” he said quietly, his gaze carefully avoiding Draco at any cost. “You feeling okay?”

Harry sighed and gave a shrug. “I s’pose I feel as well as can be expected, Seamus. I don’t like the situation any more than—”

“We know,” Neville cut in, and he smiled quietly at Harry. “It’s really nice of you, I think. Even though he’s a pain in the arse for all of us, you’re taking the most damage. You should get a plaque or something– I would have gone nuts by now. I mean... You could have said no, but you didn’t. That’s decent.” These words made Harry feel slightly better, even as Draco’s empty persona took him by the hand as he ate in silence. “You’re a.... a god amongst men!”

These words made all three of them laugh aloud, and Harry felt more accepted by his housemates for it. If no one else, at least Neville understood, even if it was only because Harry knew Neville would give anything for his parents to be released into someone’s care if there was any chance that they could get better. He gave Draco’s fingers a squeeze before he took his hand away so that he could use his fork, but he did not mind so much when a pale hand rested on his knee. As long as it was not the real Draco, it was all right according to Harry.

After lunch, Harry escorted Draco outside for a walk of the grounds. Figuring that a walk might do Draco’s health some good and that it was a beautiful autumn day anyway, Harry led his charge down to the lake to walk alongside the shore. The gentle lapping of ripples against the muddy beach seemed to soothe Harry’s soul, and when Draco leaned in against his side, he freely wrapped an arm around Draco’s shoulders. This empty personality made a good friend, he thought, in that he never argued, never fought with him, never disagreed, but Harry found himself wishing that he could chat with this mysterious person. He wondered what he thought about, if anything, what he wanted, and what he dreamed about when his eyes closed. Perhaps he was reading too much into an empty shell, but perhaps not—when this person cried, it was real, as though Harry himself was crying.

Harry found a nice spot in the taller grass far from the castle to sit in with his companion, and they sat for a long time there, the wind caressing black and blond locks alike, sweeping them back like a lover trying to see her sweetheart’s eyes. No voices carried this far into the grounds, and Harry was not self-conscious when Draco lay down in the grass with his head on Harry’s mid-thighs, and his hand automatically took the wind’s place in fingering the hair from Draco’s brow. Slowly, Draco rolled onto his back and looked up to the sky, slate-grey gaze occasionally catching a green one before blinking very rapidly. “Potter?”

Harry’s hands jerked out of Draco’s hair, and he felt his cheeks begin to burn as neither of them made another move. Their eyes were locked, and though this stare-down was not menacing, both could feel an odd sort of tension present between them until Draco’s hand reached back to take his companion’s. He broke their shared gaze to look out over the lake as he placed Harry’s hand back on the top of his hair, and he closed his eyes as uneven fingernails tentatively tickled his scalp. The only break to their silence was the whistle of the breeze, until: “Do people laugh at me?”

“What?” Harry asked, looking down to watch his arch-nemesis pluck a blade of grass and place it strategically between the sides of his thumbs. “Laugh at you? I honestly don’t know what there would be to laugh about, but I think... I think everyone—in my house at least—is pretty pissed off about the whole thing. They don’t get it.” He shrugged a little, realising that it did not make him feel strange to run his fingers through the actual Draco’s hair. It felt just like the other personas’ hair. “I’m not even sure I get it, honestly, but—”

He was cut off abruptly as Draco pressed his lips against his thumbs and blew, the grass between them emitting a high-pitched screech that made him wince. He blew three long, earsplitting notes before dropping the blade and beginning to laugh, like it was the greatest joke ever told, and he pressed his palm to his forehead in mirth. Harry stared at him until that laughter evolved into tears, and he did not know what to say as the person he once hated as much as Voldemort rolled into him and pressed his pale face against his stomach to sob out his frustrations. Harry did not try to pretend to understand, but he rested his hands on Draco’s shoulder and back in the only indication of comfort that he could muster the courage to give. Thin arms wrapped around his middle, and they shifted together so Harry was lying back, propped up on his elbows with Draco’s face hidden in his stomach.

“Oh look, there he is,” Hermione said with a smile, nudging Ron with her hip as they themselves took a long walk of the grounds. “I thought he might be down here...Where’s Draco, I wonder?”

Ron shrugged a little and shook his head. “Honestly, I hope he isn’t down here. We haven’t spent any time with Harry alone, really, and Quidditch tryouts start next week. We have to practise flying—I hardly got to all summer!” he growled, gesturing to the beautiful blue sky with an indignant hand. “Look at this weather. Look at it! There couldn’t be a more perfect day for a ride!”

Hermione frowned and stopped walking, staying out of earshot of Harry to lecture Ron. “Look, Ron, Harry’s got a lot on his plate right now without you whinging about not getting a fly in this week. Maybe I’ll talk to him later, get him to let me take Malfoy for a while, but if not, please don’t complain. We’re his friends—we’ve got to be sensitive to the situation.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and glanced over to Harry just in time to see Draco sit up from the tall grass and lean heavily against her best friend’s shoulder, and she sighed lightly as his arm came to rest around thin, pale shoulders. “Maybe... Maybe we should leave them alone, Ron.”

Ron blinked at her sudden change of heart over seeing Harry, but when he turned to see the pair practically cuddling in the field, he found himself suddenly nauseous. “Er...Yeah, let’s go back to the castle. I think I’m gonna be sick,” he mumbled, his ears tinted pink, and he allowed Hermione to turn him away towards the castle. She cast one look over her shoulder, and Ron knew that she felt like crying seeing Harry like that. “We can have some sweets or something in your dorm, how’s that?”

“Fine...” He managed to resist turning around to have another look as they wound their way back towards the castle, knowing that if he saw them again, he would not be able to control himself.

Slowly, Draco fell almost perfectly still, and Harry’s hand lightly patted his shoulder. “You all right now?” he asked in a whisper, reluctant to end the perfect silence of the afternoon. He felt his companion nod, and he released a deep sigh of relief. “Good. Er... did you want to head back up to the castle, or—?”

“No, thanks,” Draco replied, his voice unstable from his previous state of distress, and he allowed himself to tuck his face in against Potter’s collarbone. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I really don’t feel up to moving right now. I’m weak.” He did not spare a moment to think about how strange it was, him cuddling up to the Gryffindor he had always hated so much—he knew that Potter was his only hope of recovery short of drastic medical measures that would not only be very painful, but very expensive—and instead let his eyes fall shut. “Sorry if you’re uncomfortable.”

“N-no, I’m not,” Harry stuttered immediately, and he felt his cheeks light aflame before he gazed down to stare at Draco in his arms. They looked like a couple, sitting there in that field and wrapped up together, but Harry knew that Malfoy needed comfort that only he, his caregiver and only friend in the world, could provide. Anyone would understand that. His hand rose to bury in Draco’s hair, and he squeezed him there in the field, all enmities forgotten if only for that moment, and Draco fell limp against him shortly before his breaths evened out, and he slept.