All Life Is Yours To Miss

Chapter 31

When Gryffindor Open House rolls around the following evening, Draco waits for the first student with a degree of impatience. He knows that the size of the queue will almost certainly reflect the effectiveness of Jasper's punishment, and he holds his breath as he opens the door for the first time and glances quickly along the corridor.

"Hello, Emilie," he says, waving her inside and hiding a triumphant smile at what he sees. He can see two or three first-years in the queue, but nowhere near as many as he has had in recent weeks, and that must be a good sign.

She jumps up into an armchair at his invitation and is so small that her feet dangle a good six inches off the floor. Draco sits opposite her and tries to look welcoming, even though the only thing he really wants to be supporting is his quilt, and possibly an extra blanket.

"How can I help you?" he says anyway, because he's a professional, and because he likes Emilie, and not just because she definitely has a little bit of Slytherin in her.

"I wanted to say thank you for letting me come to flying lessons," she says, expression painfully earnest. "And to tell you that I'm not going to come any more."

"Why not?"

"Winston doesn't need me there. He isn't frightened of you any more." She smiles and wrinkles her freckled nose. "I don't want to take time away from him or Surya. You'll probably get a lot more done if you don't have to keep pretending to help me."

Surprised and rather impressed, Draco nods. "That seems fair. Winston is lucky to have such a thoughtful friend."

Emilie wrinkles her nose again and shrugs, attempting to brush off the compliment. "I don't know. Surya is my friend, too, you know. We joined the Chess Club together."

"Good," Draco says. "I was in the Chess Club once. I'm afraid I wasn't very good at it."

"Neither am I," Emilie admits, sliding out of the chair. "Surya is, though. She's teaching me. See you tomorrow."

She practically skips out of the room, blonde waves bouncing, and then is gone. Draco follows her to the door, taking a deep breath and hoping that everyone else in the queue will be so easy to help.

**~*~**

By the end of the session, Draco has arrived at three important conclusions.

One-that listening to the problems of teenagers is infinitely easier when one has had one's full quota of sleep; two-that the most efficient use of everyone's time will be for him to spend Friday evenings tutoring Surya, and Saturday mornings tutoring Winston, and three-that suppressing one's feelings isn't as easy as first thought, especially when everything reminds you of the person you are trying not to think about.

He has always seen Harry everywhere but now it has become more than an inconvenience; it is downright maddening. He's in the kitchens, where the house-elves speak fondly of him and enquire after his health; he's in the broomshed where Draco has mended the broken racks and is now in the process of cleaning and whitewashing the walls; he is in McGonagall's office with tea and the watchful portrait of Dumbledore; he is in Hagrid's hut and Poppy's office and Draco's living room.

Draco's everything, in fact, and every day it gets a little bit worse.

He's there in Winston's stubborn face and Jasper's sulky one and every first-year who can now successfully turn a small piece of wood into a neat roll of parchment. He's lying in his bed every evening, just like always, smiling at Draco like he's the most brilliant thing he's seen all day, and he has no idea. None.

And that's good, he tells himself, because Harry doesn't need to know about this. In the brief, ridiculous moments when he entertains the idea that he would tell Harry how he felt, and that Harry would reciprocate, he easily brings himself back to earth with the certain knowledge that it would never work. Harry does not want or need a grumpy, jaded Transfiguration teacher with a decidedly dodgy past. Harry can do better than that with his eyes closed and both arms tied behind his back.

He sighs, pushing up his sleeves and staring at the faded Mark. In the bed next to him, Harry is sleeping peacefully with Stanley tucked into his side, and Draco doesn't really know why he's still there at all. It must be one o'clock in the morning and he is weary all over, but he can't bring himself to leave. The root of all his problems, he supposes, is that he doesn't know what he's doing and he never has. He looks up and startles to see Harry looking right at him.

"I thought you were asleep," he says, retrieving the glass plaque.

YOU WOKE ME UP WITH YOUR WORRYING, Harry says.

"I'm not worrying," he lies. "Just thinking."

SAW YOU STARING AT THAT THING.

Draco glances reflexively at the Mark and shrugs. "Sorry."

YOU ALWAYS COVER IT, Harry says.

"Yes, of course. Do you expect me to walk around school with it on display?" Draco asks, knowing he sounds defensive.

FIRST YEARS DIDNT CARE.

Draco lifts an eyebrow. "You remember that?"

REMEMBER LOTS OF THINGS, Harry says, and Draco's face heats slightly at the memory of some of the stories he has shared.

"Yes, well," Draco says awkwardly.

Harry's eyes glint in the lamplight. HIDING MEANS IT STILL HAS POWER.

"No, it means that I don't want to remind people of my past," Draco argues. Every fibre of his being urges him to pull down his sleeve but he knows that he cannot give in.

ARE YOU ASHAMED.

Draco frowns. "Yes, of course."

LONG TIME AGO.

"Yes, it was. I don't know what you're trying to tell me."

Harry rolls his eyes. STOP HIDING. He pauses. SHOW IT.

"Harry, I can't do that. I couldn't, even if I wanted to."

WHY. WHO CARES.

"I do!"

BET YOU NOBODY NOTICES.

Draco releases a small sound of disbelief and leans forward. "Bet me what?" he challenges.

Harry's eyes crinkle, sending a shiver through Draco. WHATEVER YOU WANT.

Draco's mouth turns dry. He stares at Harry for long seconds, trying to remember how to breathe.

"That's a dangerous offer," he says roughly.

DO YOUR WORST, Harry blinks. MALFOY.