Turn DRARRY

Chapter Four

Harry's nose itches.

Sleepily, he wrinkles it and frowns without opening his eyes, but when it soon becomes clear that the irritant is reluctant to be dislodged, he forces his eyes open.

"What do you want?" he asks wearily, blinking myopically at the small black eyes and the flickering tongue that continues to swipe across his nose, even though he's clearly awake now.

"You have so many smells," Frank replies. "Many people."

"Yeah... but couldn't you have maybe waited until I was awake to start licking me?" Harry complains, batting Frank's head away from his face until he retreats, disgruntled, onto Draco's empty pillow.

"Not licking," the snake says disdainfully. "Was merely keeping you company. Think you should be grateful for such a decorative companion."

Harry laughs, irritation dissolving into the cold air. "Of course. Do you happen to know the location of my other, er, decorative companion?"

Frank rests on his coils with such exasperation that Harry can't help thinking that he'd sigh and raise an eyebrow if it were possible. And if he had eyebrows.

"Downstairs, making more smells... " The black tongue flickers in demonstration. "Obviously."

Harry frowns, both at the statement itself and the barely-veiled insult, but when he sniffs at the air and detects fresh coffee, bacon, and toast amongst other mouth-watering scents, he understands.

Still, he thinks, dragging himself out of bed and searching for a pair of non-scary jeans, someone ought to teach that snake some manners.

Later.

For now, he needs food, caffeine and time to process, probably in that order, because despite definitely not being hungover, his head is full of whirling images, colours, snatches of sound and faint new memories that stir his heart and send him off balance at the same time.

"Take the unknown road now," he murmurs to his reflection as he pulls a long-sleeved t-shirt over his head, shoves on his glasses and ruffles at his messy hair. "Turn. And he did. He fucking did."

"What on earth are you wittering on about?" the mirror demands crossly. "And don't swear."

Harry stares at his own eyes, bright and confused, barely hearing the question. "I suppose the real question is—where's my purple fish?"

"Going without you," Frank advises from the bottom of the bed, and before Harry has time to respond, he's disappearing around the doorframe and heading for the stairs.

Harry sighs and follows him before the mirror offers any further opinions.

"I haven't got anything for you," Draco is saying, looking down at Frank's curiously-waving head and brandishing a spatula. "This bacon is very expensive and the toast would get stuck in your silly digestive system."

Harry leans against the counter and watches them both in silence. Frank is clearly on the scrounge, tilting his head this way and that and coiling himself attractively at Draco's feet, and Draco looks... Harry swallows dryly. Dressed simply but at no doubt terrifying expense in dark, fitted jeans and a soft green sweater, he radiates warmth and contentment, and his angular features are arranged into a genuine, clear-eyed smile that yanks at Harry quite without his permission.

"No dice, Frankfurto," he continues, poking playfully at the snake with his spatula. "Go and catch yourself something disgusting."

"You know he can't understand you, don't you?" Harry manages at last, voice scratchy.