Scattered Pieces (Drarry Fanfic)

Chapter Nine: So Long, Lonesome

***AN: From here on out, I'm writing this story in the Present Tense. When I have the time, I'll go back and fix the previous chapters.🖖🏻✌🏻!

~oOo~

The question hangs in the air between them. Draco stares at Harry, trying to read the Auror's inscrutable expression. From the look on Harry's face, he seems to be doing the exact same thing. Draco catches the telltale furrow appearing on Harry's forehead; the same one that appears only when Harry is stumped by something. Draco is familiar with it. He's seen it more times than he can count during their days at Hogwarts. He wants to reach out and smooth it over. Draco just barely holds himself back. He knows that it would be inappropriate and Harry would, more than likely, hex him six ways to Sunday.

Harry's gaze is intense and Draco feels exposed, vulnerable. He begins to question if Harry is a Legilimens. Just to be certain, Draco examines the walls he's erected over his mind. He's an accomplished Occlumens himself. It was one of the reasons he's managed to survive the War. Draco wants to look away but he can't bring himself to admit defeat. Not to Harry. So he does the one thing he's good at—he falls back to what's familiar between them and lashes out.

Draco sneers, "I did not pose an Arithmancy question, Potter. I merely asked if you wanted seconds. There's no reason to hurt yourself thinking about it."

Harry blinks, taken aback. And the moment is broken. A wry smile tugs at the corner of his expressive mouth as he raises an eyebrow at Draco. "Wow, that had me rolling my eyes so hard, I literally saw my own brain." Harry retorts dryly, rising to his feet. He collects his Auror robe and stretches, exposing a line of taut abdomen that Draco couldn't help but ogle.

Pulling himself together, Draco wrenches his gaze from Harry's exposed skin and belts back effortlessly, "Good to know you've managed to confirm you possess a brain." Draco smirks, inordinately proud of himself. Its rather childish. He knows this, but he just couldn't help himself. Harry has always been able to easily get under his skin. He's always felt out of control when dealing with Harry James Potter.

Harry pauses at the kitchen doorway, turns and levels an amused stare at Draco. The blond rises from the table, their empty plates in hand, quirking a challenging eyebrow at the Gryffindor.

"That's a good one." Harry chuckles, slinging his robe over his shoulder. "How are you feeling?" He asks, surveying Draco with the detached air of a professional.

"Better." Draco shrugs, carrying the plates to the sink. "I made it to the kitchen without keeling over at least." He turns the faucet on and glances over his shoulder at Harry, "Thank you for the potions. They're helping."

Harry shakes his head, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets, "Its the least I could do. Besides, they're your Healer's orders. I'm just the messenger."

Draco turns back to the sink, watching the running water. He knows Kreacher could easily clean everything up with a snap of his bony fingers but there's something about washing dishes that Draco has found comforting, almost therapeutic. "Thank you, all the same." He murmurs, placing his hand under the warm water. "For everything."

The silence in the kitchen is palpable; only broken by the soft splash of water as the blond begins to wash the plates. Draco doesn't need to elaborate on what he meant. He knows Harry understood him well enough.

After a moment, Draco hears a muted shuffle, quickly followed by the sound of Harry's receding footsteps. "Thanks for dinner, ferret."

Harry's voice softly echoes in the cavernous kitchen and Draco sighs. Barely a few days in and he's already struggling with controlling himself around Harry. He doesn't even want to think how he'll manage for the next few weeks.