Running On Air

Chapter 13

As morning rolls across the sky, Draco suggests to driving to Brighton but Harry pleads exhaustion and they check in at a local bed-and-breakfast. The receptionist — an elderly woman who types with only one finger, one painful letter at a time — can't seem to stop staring at them. Harry is suddenly aware of his rumpled robes.

"Are you together?" the receptionist asks.

"No," Harry says.

"Yes," Draco says.

The receptionist pauses.

"Yes," Draco repeats firmly, and the woman nods, turning back to the computer. "She meant if we're paying together, Potter," Draco mutters to Harry.

"Well, we're not," Harry says, slightly embarrassed but trying to cover his error. "I've got some Muggle money on me — "

"Don't be stupid, I've got my card. I'm paying."

Harry subsides into — if he's honest with himself — a sulk. Draco pays for two rooms and makes the fatal mistake of inquiring about the east-coastal walking track; the woman immediately launches into an enthusiastic (if one-sided) conversation about the local flora and fauna. Draco manages to politely extract himself fifteen minutes later and they make their escape to their rooms.

Draco is directly across the hallway, Harry notes as he unlocks his own door to reveal a spacious and neatly-presented room. There's an excellent ocean view but he's too tired to appreciate it. "I'm having a nap," he tells Draco, half-expecting him to say he's going for a walk. But Draco just nods and unlocks his own room, disappearing inside.

Harry shuts his door, crosses to the bed, and collapses upon it.

Within minutes, he's asleep.

They explore the cliffs the next day. The lighthouse, Harry learns, is called the South Foreland Lighthouse. The lighthouse went out of service in 1988 and has been converted to a small museum, manned by an elderly guide. Draco lingers over a wall-mounted diagram of the electric light and is accosted by the guide, who latches with enthusiasm onto Draco's apparent interest and proceeds to deliver a fifteen-minute lecture on carbon arc lamps. Harry, though greatly amused, takes pity on Draco and rescues him.

"We should get going," he says, walking over to Draco and tilting his head towards the door.

"Yes, quite," Draco says casually, though there's a hint of gratitude in his voice, and he politely nods at the guide before retreating hastily. Once they're safely out of earshot, Harry starts laughing and Draco frowns.

"They always do that," he says, looking peeved. "Always. I'll be standing there, minding my own business, and they'll come up to me and start chatting away. It's maddening."

"How awful," Harry teases. "People being nice to you. How do you put up with it?"

"Very funny, Potter." Draco turns onto the coastal walking track. "My father was quite masterful at appearing cold and aloof, discouraging anybody approaching. I rather hoped to have a similar effect on people."

Harry pauses to study him. "You don't, you know. Quite surprising, really, but you don't." It's true, he thinks. Strange...in school, Draco always gave off that cold air. But now...sometimes he seems distant, but in a different way. Whether he's gazing silently at lighthouse diagrams or standing patiently in an inn's reception, he seems the sort of person who might not be a good conversationist, but certainly a good listener.

He tells Draco that.

"You're a good listener. People like that."

Draco doesn't seem to know how to respond to that, but Harry catches the faint flush in his face.