Just Not Cut Out for Torture (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 14: Storage Room - Part 1

Aaaand I'm already late. Sorry. :-/ This week has been... not the best. I was waiting to write the second half of this, but maybe I'll post this as part 1, and put part 2 up no later than Monday.

Harry POV

Harry swore softly as he banged his shin on yet another bloody useless coffee table. "Dracoooo," he whined, "Can't we call it a day, or at least a morning? It's got to be past lunchtime – I'm starving!"

Draco huffed. "Fine." He blew a strand of pale hair out of his eyes, and Harry stood, transfixed, as it fluttered.

"Harry?"

He shook his head, shaking off the strange compulsion to tuck the strand behind Draco's ear, and turned to wade back through the junk cluttering the room. "Why do Purebloods insist on keeping so much crap?" he asked, exasperated, as an incredibly ugly table threatened to fall on him.

"The Blacks do seem to have been more prone to packrat tendencies than most Pureblood families," Draco agreed. "I wonder – "

Harry turned back, frowning, when Draco's voice abruptly stopped, expecting to find him staring raptly at some ugly chair or something, historical lecture on his lips. He was momentarily distracted by the thought of those lips, curving up into those shy and delightful smiles Draco had started showing him... and then he remembered that he was looking for the real Draco, and tried his best to shove his imaginary Draco out of his head. His Draco. He wished, suddenly, that it could be true – in real life as well as his increasingly disturbing fantasies, and felt his face heat as he was forced to admit it to himself: He was attracted to Draco. To Malfoy, the constant pain in his side since they were eleven. Malfoy had always managed to get under his skin, to get a reaction from Harry when no one else could. Draco still had that ability – he just caused a different reaction now. Harry felt his thoughts spinning out of control, felt himself getting lost in the what-ifs. He needed something to eat. Failing that, he needed something solid to keep him grounded.

Harry swept his arm over the piece of furniture that appeared suddenly before him, fingers questing before his mind fully caught up. Before he had time to wonder what he was doing, his fingers were closing around an object that had been sitting on top of the table. Waiting for him. He scowled and felt a shiver run up his spine. There hadn't been anything on top of any of the other furniture. They'd checked. He couldn't tell what it was – just that it fit comfortably into the palm of his hand, all buttery-smooth wood and gentle contours. And it pulsed with magic.

He nearly dropped the thing in revulsion, but found that his fingers wouldn't loosen their hold. He began to sweat with the effort of unclenching the hand. Nothing. And then he remembered Draco. Draco, who hadn't made a sound since his abruptly silenced wondering. Draco, who, Harry was suddenly certain, wasn't in this room anymore.

So Harry did the only thing he could think of. He strode quickly across the room, unmindful of the corners that banged his shins, the table legs that seemed to reach out to trip him. He could feel where Draco had been standing, could feel his feet unerringly take him there. He didn't question how he knew; the most important thing to do was to find out where Draco had gone, and how to bring him back. Harry realized, abruptly, that he no longer wished to be alone. He'd thought he wanted silence and solitude, but it seemed what he really wanted was sniping and snarking, witty repartee and childish insults, and that unique combination of sneers and smiles that Harry had never found anywhere else. That he'd never known he wanted, and now knew he could never live without.

He reached the spot where Draco had stood, still shaken from his sudden realizations, and frowned. It looked like any other spot in this godforsaken storage room. Where the ugliest furniture in the House – possibly the entire wizarding world – came to die. He poked and prodded at everything he could reach, studied the carvings, the floorboards, the ceiling.

Nothing. It was like Draco had never stood here. Never said...

Harry started. He'd almost forgotten. He clenched his fingers around the small statue he was holding, reached out to touch the carving in front of him, just as he could see Draco doing, in his mind, and whispered, "I wonder..."

And then the room was spinning around him, and Harry clutched the statue like it was a lifeline, like it was his only way back.

And maybe, his thoughts whispered, that's not so far from the truth.

Harry landed with a thump, sprawling inelegantly on the floor.

And then he heard the most welcome sound he could imagine, and felt the tension drain out of him.

"Well, Potter," sneered Draco, prodding him with the toe of his shoe, "I'm almost impressed. I've not seen anyone come out of apparition quite so clumsily."

Harry sighed. "Can it, Malfoy." Then he frowned and sat up, shoving away his sudden exhaustion. "Wait – apparition?"

"Yeah. Didn't you recognize it?"

"No." Harry frowned. "Well, sort of, I guess. But it was different somehow." He looked down at his hand, still clutched around the small statue, and sighed with relief. He hadn't lost it, then.

"Harry?"

He looked up warily. "Yes?"

"What are you holding?"

He debated baiting Draco, but he was too tired for that, really. So he just held out his hand, forcing his fingers to uncurl enough that Draco could see it.

"Oh!" Draco's breath caught, and he had to work to keep some of his excitement from his voice. "Well, done Harry. You found it!"

"Found it?" Harry was puzzled. "What's it? Were we looking for something in particular?"

"Yes and no." Draco said absently, still studying the statue. "May I?"

Harry was strangely reluctant to let go of it, but he trusted Draco, so he sternly commanded his fingers to relax, and eventually they did.

Draco was watching him oddly. "It's strong then." He said, as if this would make sense to Harry. Who was still utterly baffled.

"Uh, Draco?"

"Hmmm?"

"Would you just look at me for a second!"

Draco turned to him, forehead creased , "Sorry, Harry. What were you asking?"

"What is that thing? Where are we? Why did I find that, and why was it so difficult to hand it to you? And when are we going to have lunch?" Harry paused, panting, and was surprised to find his fists clenched by his sides.

Draco just laughed, which only fueled Harry's frustrated anger. He glared at him. "Draco..."

"Oh, here. You'll be impossible to talk to until you've some food in you." Draco fished around in his pocket, withdrawing a shrunken apple and sandwich, which he restored to their original size before lobbing them at a surprised Harry, and then an identical meal for himself.

Then he plopped unceremoniously down in the grass. Harry just stared at him. "Well," Draco said, suddenly flustered, "come on then."

Harry stood, turning the apple over in his hands. It had never occurred to him that you could shrink food. Suddenly life seemed so much simpler. Draco startled him out of his thoughts.

"Come on, Harry. Sit down and eat before you fall over."

Harry felt his knees buckle and abruptly dropped onto the ground beside Draco. After a second where they both stared at one other in surprise, Harry shrugged and bit into the apple. He half expected it to taste of sawdust, and was relieved to find that it tasted of apple instead, exactly as it should.

"So..." he prompted, after they'd both finished their meal.

Draco tapped his fingers idly on his knees, which Harry had quickly learned meant he was thinking, and interrupting would only provoke him to insults. He quelled his patience and forced himself to sit still, idly twisting blades of grass together, while he waited for Draco to speak.