Away Childish Things

Chapter 3

The next morning, Harry woke in a bed again. Blinking his eyes open, he reached for his glasses. When he put them on, he saw a silver fox, which stood up, turned around, and trotted off through a wall. This time Harry didn't panic, finding his wand on the bedside table before he began to make the bed. Perhaps he should ask Draco about that bed-making spell. It was probably in that book Draco had given him, but Harry hadn't read the book as he was meant to, and then Draco had made it disappear. Harry wondered whether Draco would like it if Harry asked for it back. Then again, he didn't plan to keep sleeping in Draco's bed. He hadn't meant to sleep on it again this time; he must have fallen asleep and Draco had magicked him into it, as well as into a pair of pyjamas.

Harry half expected another knock on the door, just like the morning before. It didn't come, so when he was done with the bed he opened the door and looked out of it to find Draco, working in the lab. His clothes were different than the day before, as posh as ever, but the smudges under his eyes were more pronounced.

"Good morning, Harry," Draco said, smiling.

"You put me in your bed," Harry accused.

The smile faltered. "You fell asleep."

"Where are you going to sleep, if you keep moving me around?"

Draco waved his wand and the silver fox faded, sucking back into Draco's wand. "I'm sorry, Harry," Draco said quietly. "Next time I'll ask your permission."

"Where did you sleep?" Harry repeated, feeling petulant.

"You needn't worry about me," Draco said, in that quiet way. "I can-"

"Because you didn't sleep." Harry heard his own voice rise and wasn't even sure why. "You stayed up all night working on some dumb potion to try and fix me!"

Draco's eyes grew from five-p coins to fifty-p ones.

"But I don't need fixing," Harry heard himself saying, and he didn't even know why he was saying it; it was like his mouth wasn't connected to his brain. "I'm just fine! You just don't want to have to spend time with me!"

"Oh, Harry," Draco breathed.

"I'm going to the loo!" Harry shouted, stomping over to the hall with the stairs. "I don't understand why it's all the way upstairs!" he added, just because he felt really angry for no reason.

At the top of the stairs, the silver fox appeared. Harry wanted to yell at that too, because he knew Draco had sent it to follow him and he didn't need a bloody magic fox watching him use the toilet, for heaven's sake. But Draco was downstairs so yelling about it would be a lot of effort, and Harry wasn't even sure why he was yelling about it in the first place.

After using the toilet, Harry put down the seat and sat on top of it, feeling miserable, mostly because he'd yelled at Draco for no good reason. Maybe Draco would find Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia and send Harry back to them until Draco got the potion worked out. Or maybe Draco would lock Harry in a cupboard, even though that was tyrannical. Maybe Draco wouldn't do any of those things, because he was the nicest, most magical man ever, but after this Draco certainly wouldn't like him, and that made Harry's chest hurt.

Not wanting to go back out there and look at the fox staring at him, and certainly not wanting to go back down to Draco, Harry finally decided to have a shower. Under the warm spray he tried not to think of anything, using Draco's nice-smelling soap to scrub away at himself until he was really clean. Aunt Petunia always said he was dirty, and Harry thought she might be right.

When Harry got out of the shower, Harry put his glasses on to find that clothes were waiting for him and the pyjamas were gone, just like the day before. Knowing Draco must have spelled them in, Harry felt even more mortified than before, because it meant that Draco had found out Harry was showering and still liked him enough to make magic clothes for him. Feeling like the most complete prat in the world, Harry dried himself as slowly as possible and then tried to take even longer dressing, not knowing what he would do when he was finished.