Drarry - Baby Steps

Fourth Step.

"Hey, look at this." Harry holds up the bottle and a short giggle escapes his mouth: "We drank all of it!"

"Well, how do you feel?" Draco asks, hoping his voice doesn't betray the mayhem in his head.

"I feel like I really don't want to get up." Harry answers  matter-of-factly and slowly looks at the ceiling, "Everything's a bit  blurry around the edges. It feels like each of my eyes is seeing  separately."

The lump in his throat keeps Draco from breathing properly and yet he  keeps looking at Harry's profile, slightly nodding along to his words.

Then Harry continues in a self-sceptical-tone: "I also feel old. Like  a lot of time has passed since... since Hogwarts. Since you rang my  doorbell. Since we put Teddy to sleep."

Silence. Breathing.

"You should go to sleep too." Draco advises softly, his elbow supporting his head.

Harry shrugs. "Can you help me get there?"

"...Sure."

They stand up shakily. Like a slow, disoriented parade they make it  into the hallway. It's just Harry leading the way and Draco following a  few steps behind, but neither of them addresses the fact that Harry  could've done this easily on his own.

Harry tries finding the light switch and advances into the black when  he doesn't, but then he stops halfway into the bedroom. Draco almost  bumps into him. "What is it?"

Silence. Breathing.

Harry's voice is quivering when he replies: "I... I can't stand the dark."

"Lumos."

Between them, Draco's wand lights up, spreading its fuzzy, warm light.

Still shaking, Harry stares at it, all exposed in his weakness and  conflicted because he'd promised he was done with magic. He needed the  break from it to feel occupied, but now there's Draco, in his bedroom,  shining a light.

He feels himself quieting down.

He slides onto his covers and finds the switch of his nightlamp.

"Thank you."

Draco, still standing in the centre of the room, extinguishes his wand wordlessly and puts it away.

"You can stay." Harry offers sheepishly. His skin looks like cream  chocolate in the dim lamplight and Draco wants to touch him so badly it  hurts.

He clears his throat. "I'll take the couch then." Draco nods, the hint of a pained smile on his lips, and turns to leave.

"Good night." Harry calls after him, and even if there was an answer  he didn't hear it because he was already slipping away into a deep  sleep.

Harry dreams.

They're in Tonks' house, and she's holding Teddy.

Both her and her son's hair are bright turquoise.

Harry doesn't sit too far away, so he hears her sing in her raspy voice: "Werewolves  scowl and werewolves howl / The moon is full tonight / Werewolves fight  and werewolves bite! / You're in for a fright!" She laughs unrestrainedly and starts tickling her baby, who squeaks with joy.

I know that melody! Harry realises triumphantly in his dream, feeling  a light pressure on his hand. When he looks down, then left, there's  Draco holding his hand, smiling cautiously like he knows something Harry  doesn't.

That's when he startles awake uneasily. For a while he keeps laying  down, re-playing everything as long as he still recalls it. Aren't  dreams supposed to be prophetic? He wonders, growing more confused with  every second. Maybe it's all just because of the whiskey?