The Standard You Walk Past

Chapter 10

When Harry woke up, it just dawn and the sky was a beautiful array of colours. For once, he didn't have that feeling that something was off, because he was there, in Draco's bed; and somehow during the night, he and Draco had closed the distance.

Draco was already awake, head angled to a book floating above the bed and absently running his hand through Harry's hair. A shiver of warmth went through him.

Draco turned, a smile, free, on his face. "Good morning, Harry."

Harry smiled back. "You're not grouchy in the morning."

Draco arched an eyebrow and smirked. "If grouchy turns you on, I can certainly be grouchy to you all the time."

Memories of the kiss—the snog—flooded back and Harry flushed. "I guess I really am gay then," he said quietly.

"And Cho Chang and Ginevra Weasley?" Draco scoffed. "You certainly looked smitten then."

"You and Pansy Parkinson?" Harry countered.

"My best friend," Draco scowled.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You're the one who started it."

Draco poked Harry in the arm. "What I'm trying to hint, Potter, is that there's no need to box yourself in with Muggle words. Merlin, we even go shagging other species."

Harry wriggled in the bed. "I didn't think of that." He turned his head to Draco. "Thinking? That must be a first for you, Potty."

Draco opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Harry cut in again.

"For Merlin's sake, is that the best you can come up with? Something original, perhaps?"

"Better," Draco muttered. He drew his wand, flicked the curtains back and rose smoothly from the bed. "If you've stopped bickering with yourself, it's time for breakfast."

"Alright." Harry made no move to get up though, content watching Draco enter the bathroom first.

*

When Harry caught sight of the newspapers that were delivered to Draco, he felt his heart skip a beat. The Daily Prophet was still writing about Dumbledore.

"I don't understand," Harry mumbled under his breath, just trying to get the feelings out.

"The Prophet?" Draco looked up from the Quibbler. "What's there to understand?"

Harry gestured at the paper. "You don't mind that...and Ron and Hermione don't. Then why does the Prophet?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Skeeter, of course. Judging on her history, she no doubt lives on scandals, both figuratively and literally."

"Yeah, but—why is it a scandal?"

Draco shrugged. "You expect me to understand the thoughts and feelings of the wizarding public?"

Harry scowled. Draco seemed to be willfully obtuse.

Draco looked back impassively, but he lowered his newspaper. "You do not want to be seen with me in public," he said flatly.

"No, I—not in a close way." Harry ruffled his hair, agitated when Draco continued looking at him blankly. "I want to wait until all this dies down first."

"You are willing to be in a...a secret relationship."

Harry smiled weakly. "Is that what we have? A relationship?"

Draco's lips pressed into a thin line. "I assumed you understood what I meant last night."

"Yes," Harry hissed. "Merlin, why are we fighting already? Just, let me talk."