Cicatrices- Marks That Remain

Eggs and Bacon

Harry didn't know what exactly possessed him to make breakfast for both him and Draco. The last time he attempted to do it- Draco did not take to it well- Harry wondered just how rude he was capable of being.

But since having watched him at church, the way he was seemingly absorbed by the music, how he listened to what was said by the priest with utmost attention (which was something that Harry himself was not capable of, he found the droning voice a bit too easy to completely zone out to), the way he watched for people's expressions as they tasted his lemon-blueberry bar, the look on his face when Harry told him he liked it a lot.

"It's brilliant! I might just ask you to make it again one day."

And so here Harry was, making breakfast for them both the next morning for no explainable reason other than having felt compelled to when he woke up.

Draco hadn't woken up yet, and Harry figured it would be fine as long as he woke up by the time that Harry served, and if he didn't, then Harry could place a stasis charm over the food. Eventually, Draco did venture from his room, and when he noticed Harry holding two plates of food and on his way to the table, he was surprised, to say the least.

"Potter, what are you doing?" Draco asked, his eyes flickering between Harry and the plates of food. Harry placed the plates on the table and motioned for Draco to sit across from him.

"I made us breakfast," Harry said, trying to keep his tone casual. He didn't want to make it seem like a big deal, even though it sort of was. "I figured... since I was making something for myself anyway."

Harry hoped that Draco wouldn't put enough thought into it to realize that Harry rarely cooks since living in Draco's flat with him, even less so for him and Draco since he gave up after the first time.

Draco looked at Harry incredulously, as if he didn't quite believe what was happening. Harry could see the shock written all over his face, but he didn't say anything for a few moments. Instead, he sat down across from Harry and stared at the food in front of him, his eyes lingering on the scrambled eggs and bacon.

Harry watched closely as Draco put a hand to his stomach. Harry wondered what he was thinking. He and Draco never really acknowledged each other at meal times. More often than not, they'd eat separately- Harry on the sofa bed, bent over piles of notes, and Draco in his room. Really, for all Harry knew, Draco didn't even eat every day. Only occasionally would Draco eat leaning against the kitchen sink, or, even less often, sitting at the actual table, the way he was about to now.

Harry couldn't help the anticipation that was building within him. Hell, he'd thought that now Draco might be a little bit more open to-

"This looks... good," Draco said finally, looking up at Harry. "Thank you."

Harry smiled, feeling a sense of satisfaction at seeing Draco scoop up a bit of food in preparation for a bite.

The few times that Harry had observed Draco eating, he noticed how slow he was in doing so, and today was no different. He was holding the food up to his face, free hand still on his stomach. Harry wondered why it was taking so long for Draco to take his first bite.

"Is there something on my face?"

Harry blinked, abruptly sitting back in his own chair. Blimey, in all the time I spent watching Draco, I never began to eat either. Harry cleared his throat.

"No, uhm, no. I just-"

"I'd appreciate it if you stopped staring, then."

"Right. No-yes. Of course..." Harry avoided eye contact now, feeling heat rush to his face.