BLIND SIGHT - drarry

Ch. fifteen

Harry arrived back at the beach where he had landed only a few hours previous.

Shaking with reaction he collapsed to his knees and retched. Dry heaves shook his form, he wasn't sure how he would react to carpet travel so he hadn't eaten before he left, but he regretted that decision now, as it hurt less to vomit when there was actually something in his system.

Spitting pink-tinted froth onto the sand, he collapsed backwards, wordlessly waving at the mess and trusting it would disappear.

Still shivering, he closed his eyes and tried to focus. He knew where Draco was, he had seen him, he had... Harry had attacked him.

Pictures of Draco as he had last seen him flickered against the blackness of his eyelids. That beautiful face, glowing in the sunlight, smiling softly, then frozen in fear, fear Harry caused. He was so close, he could have said something, could have explained, and instead he did the first thing that came to mind.

And it was a mistake. Draco was afraid now; a stranger had assaulted him in his work and left him, possibly hurt, on the floor.

What Harry wouldn't give for a Time Turner. He had been told that his impulsive nature would cause him trouble, but things always worked out, until now.

Now he would have to resort to some Slytherin tactics.

He sighed and opened his eyes, studying the vivid blue of the sky overhead.

He knew Draco's address. That would have to be his first stop.

(12345)

Draco woke up with a stiff back and a splitting head-ache. According to his audible watch it was half ten in the morning. He was still on the floor, Patsy Cline moaning about 'weeping willows' and 'walking after midnight .' Bogart had moved away at some point in the night, but Draco heard the quiet crunching of dry kibble a few feet away. More than once over the past few months, the dog had dragged her food bowl into his bedroom so she could keep an eye on him.

Stretching carefully, he rose. A muffled beeping from the other room told him he had some phone messages, but he didn't feel like checking. He knew he didn't want to talk to anyone.

But there were still things to do.

Draco settled at the small kitchen table Charlie picked out. According to the red head it was a lovely mahogany piece, a well-maintained antique; but Draco could feel the pits and gouges of hard use in the smooth surface. Still, he ignored the 'exaggeration' and grew to love the table. Sitting down at it now, he followed the trail of familiar scratches to the notepad and pen he kept in the center next to the napkin holder and a small jug of flowers.

He briskly rubbed the pen against the silk of his robe, in case any dust had settled on the plastic surface overnight, and then laid it on top of the blank paper. A special charm would allow the pen to move in concert with his thoughts, making clear and legible notes.

In the weeks since Charlie left, the apartment was too quiet, and Draco had taken to narrating his actions and thinking out loud, just to fill the silence.

"Someone is looking for me. Could be Death Eaters, could be Harry. Almost not sure which one I'd prefer right now.

Harry said he didn't want to see me again, but that was six months ago and he could have changed his mind. Whoever was in the office kissed me."

Draco pressed his fingers to his lips. The kiss had be hard, forceful—

It wasn't a 'Harry' kiss.

"If it had been Harry he would have said something. I mean, I was scared, and Harry would have told me who he was, held me, not—not pushed me into a wall.

But Harry doesn't want to see me anymore, he said so. So it had to be someone else. I just don't know who."

Draco's voice trailed off and he buried his face in his hands, head spinning with possibilities both wonderful and horrible.

Even though Draco stopped talking, the pen continued to trace his thoughts on the page. Most of them concerned Harry, and the way he must have looked when he was ordering Draco out of his sight.

A knock came at the door, and Draco stopped the pen, tucking it into the pocket of his robe. Wrapping the dark fabric tighter around himself, he walked over, standing roughly in front of the peephole out of reflex.

"Who is it?"

"Someone who thought it might be more polite to use the door for a change."

It was a familiar voice, but Draco was too rattled to put a name to it.

"I brought presents. Come on, Draco, open the door. My arms are about to fall off."

Draco knew who it was now, but he couldn't resist the urge to torture the whining Gryffindor, so he waited a few more minutes.

Until he realized the Gryffindor could torture him right back, and a low off-key crooning started to seep in through the cracks around the door.

As fast as he could, Draco undid the wards and unlocked every latch.

"Merlin Charles, get in here before the whole building goes deaf."

"Oh, you know you love it."

The warm scent of Charlie's cologne paired with something sweeter moved past him and into the apartment.

Draco heard the rustle of plastic bags, and smiled as the dense warm smell of fresh bread filled the room.

"My mum's been baking, bread and some of those little fancy cookies you like. I took as much as I could carry, figured you probably weren't eating properly without me to push you, and by the looks of things," Draco felt the redhead's gaze rake his form, "I was right. Merlin, Draco, you look terrible, have you been sleeping at all?"

Draco felt a weak smile cross his face, "Just a little, here and there, to keep in practice."

Somehow the Weasley family always gave off an air of comfort, and Draco felt that surround him as Charlie rushed over and took him up in the best hug he'd had since the last time he'd seen Molly. Worn out from his hours of worry, and the fitful nap on the living room floor, Draco let himself collapse into that embrace, and to his shame and dismay, found himself crying again.

Charlie's warm hand settled on his back, and over the sound of his hoarse sobs Draco could hear Charlie softly mumbling.

"It's okay, Draco. It's okay. You'll be okay."

After a few minutes, Draco started to calm down. His face was warm from crying, and from the massive blush he knew he had sprouted. He swiped at his cheeks with the sleeve of his robe and stepped back, Charlie releasing him instantly.

"What happened, Draco?"

Charlie's voice was calm, but Draco didn't want to answer.

"Nothing. I was just stressed out, you know. Not used to being on my own."

"I don't buy it," Charlie was implacable; "You're too strong for a few weeks on your own to bring you so down. What happened?"

Draco made his way back to the kitchen chair he had been sitting in and settled down. Taking a deep breath, he began to explain; the job, the kids, the attack.