Draco stays in his room until past noon, but Remus can’t bring himself to go back up.
The shower runs for about an hour as Remus washes up after lunch.
Finally, around one-thirty, when Remus is sorting old student essays apart from his class notes, Draco’s door opens, and he very slowly descends the staircase.
Setting his papers aside, Remus goes to the doorway to meet him before he passes.
“Draco?” He calls when Draco pauses on the second floor. Draco doesn’t answer, but his footsteps resume.
He reaches the first floor a long moment later, and appears wrapped in his duvet like an ill-fitting parka. He has dark circles under his bloodshot eyes and a line of spit dried across his chin. It’s a very sad picture, indeed.
“I would like a very strong drink, please.” He croaks. Remus moves instinctually to hug his pillowed form.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Remus says against the top of his head. “But I’ll get you a hot chocolate, is that alright?”
Draco grunts, which Remus takes as a reluctant yes.
In the kitchen, Draco folds himself up on his usual chair, the duvet casting a shadow over most of his face.
“I’m very sorry for walking in on you this morning.” Remus says softly. “I thought you were having a nightmare.”
“I was.” Draco says dully, gaze fixed on the light above the sink. “I just… thought it was a good dream, at the time. Rather, I didn’t realise I was dreaming at all.”
Remus certainly knows the feeling.
“I’m sorry.”
With two frothy mugs of hot chocolate, Remus brings them back up to the drawing room, where Draco becomes a lump on the sofa, his mug cradled in front of his face.
“Are you still cold?”
Draco shakes his head.
“Good.”
Blowing on his chocolate, Draco squirms around to get more comfortable, buried deeper in his duvet. He’s almost completely covered, hidden from view by folds or shadows. Only his fingertips peek out from the red cottony material.
“Have you had sex since Sirius died?”
Er.
“Ronald Weasley told me in his sex class to ask questions in a respectful and straightforward manner.” Draco adds.
“I- no, I haven’t.” Remus says blankly. He can’t imagine why Ron Weasley would be teaching a class on sex. Nor why Draco needs answers regarding Remus’ sex life.
“Would you?”
Remus stalls for a moment by taking a sip of his chocolate. He'd completely dismissed this sort of conversation as something Draco might need to discuss with an authority figure, but looking back, that was presumptuous.
“I would, yes.” Remus says carefully. “With the right person. Someone I trust and who respects my history and limitations.”
“What limitations?” Draco immediately asks. Remus can’t get a reading on his voice, and his face isn’t visible now. That was probably his goal.
“I’m a werewolf, that takes its toll on my body.” Remus says, gesturing at his greying hair.
“So you’re… you feel old.” Draco says. The duvet twitches slightly like he’s tilted his head. “You’re not… you don’t have any trouble… getting it up.”
