𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄

Chapter 3

      Harry woke alone.

      He'd worked open his eyes to the wrong-colored wall--blurry--and remembered. Guest room. Draco.

      Quickly, he'd flipped from his stomach to look.

      Twisted skeins of cold white cotton lay there. As always.

      He stared at them dumbly for a moment, replaying last night in the guest room through the dissipating haze of sleep. Then he rubbed his face, plucked his glasses from the bedside stand, and put them on. The clock came into focus. 8:21.

      Harry sloughed off the sheets and staggered from the bed, trying to recall when he'd fallen asleep...he'd meant to stay awake, to listen to Draco's steady breathing, and he'd closed his eyes to better feel that warmth, nearer than ever...

      He opened the door with a silent sigh. Working fourteen hours a day, every day, left him too tired to stay awake much. To think much, except at the office. Harry went into the corridor and padded toward the kitchen, adjusting his boxers. Maybe some toast, then he'd get ready for work.

      He ambled through the living room--and stopped short. Draco was rising from the kitchen table, impeccably dressed and frowning down at the morning's Prophet. He turned to the living room and started moving to the fireplace, a thick portfolio of papers under one arm.

      Harry cleared his throat before Draco bumped into him. The blond head shot up.

      Harry watched surprise flash over the sharp features, then fade to mask. Draco looked at Harry, his gaze level.

      "Morning," Harry said quietly, at last, when Draco dropped his eyes and seemed about to step around his obstacle. At Harry's voice, he paused, not quite mid-stride. His eyes were still averted to Harry's chest.

      "Busy day?" Harry asked, his throat taut, when Draco didn't move past him right away.

      Draco's eyes flickered. Over Harry. Not up to his face. "Yes," Draco finally replied. He said nothing more, but his feet remained rooted to the carpet and his eyes, to Harry's torso.

      "I can--come home early and get dinner ready," Harry said, even more softly than before.

      He regretted it almost instantly. Before he'd finished speaking, Draco was moving again. The blond tossed the newspaper onto the coffee table, then sidestepped Harry.

      "No," Draco answered without looking up, too blankly to even be cold. "Don't bother. I don't know when I'll be back."

      Harry heard robes swish, flames roar, and Draco calling out, "Gringotts Bank" behind him. Harry didn't turn--Draco wouldn't be looking back.

      But he knew Draco had been looking just a moment before. It had been weeks...months? A while, since Draco had looked at him quite like that.

      Draco had been staring at him. Not with distance or disdain. With longing.

***

      That night at the Ministry, Kieran came into Harry's office at the usual hour. Harry busied himself with quill and parchment and managed to flash Kieran an apologetic smile, saying something about how the higher-ups had discovered that Harry was comfortable with a workload of overwhelming proportion. Kieran circled around Harry's desk, laughing an I-told-you-so before leaning down to kiss the messy hair. With a squeeze of Harry's shoulder, a playful nip at Harry's ear, Kieran left.

      Harry relaxed and looked at the clock. He tried not to think about Kieran, and thought about going home, before Draco went to bed.

      Maybe Draco wouldn't mind.