Bitter Transmutation : Cruel Transformation || Drarry

Part 4

Draco stretched. The sheets rumpled and caught on yesterdays wrinkled clothes. He felt, still tired, but more manageably so. Less like he was going to start seeing illusory ghosts and hearing whispers and more like he just needed a day or two's rest.

There was a sigh from the chair set beside Draco's bed, a chair Harry Potter had apparently slept the entire night in. Draco held himself still, peeking out from under his eyelashes as Potter moved slowly, waking up with every twinging pulling muscle he moved.

Potter muffled a groan in the back of his throat as he sat forward, tilting his head and rubbing his neck with a grimace. His glasses were hopelessly smudged with fingerprints, and his hair was loose, looking to be more tangles than curls. Draco's hands twitched to comb his fingers through that black hair until it was smooth and soft again.

But that was a foolish thought that he had no interest in entertaining.

"That's what you get for sleeping in a chair," Draco said.

Potter jumped in surprise and shot him a glare.

Draco smirked.

"Shut up," Potter muttered, looking away.

"You should have transfigured it into a cot, or slept on the couch," Draco said, and realising what he was implying, added hurriedly, "Or left. I never said you could stay."

"There's no way-" Potter yawned, dragging both his hands through his hair, sweeping it back for a second before it fell back around his face, "-I was gonna leave you when you're so weak."

"I'm not weak," Draco said.

Potter rolled his eyes.

"I'm not," Draco hissed and pushed himself up.

"Are you blind? Cause I'm not," Potter said, "and right now you are, Malfoy. Are you really so proud you'd rather die than ask for help? Because that worked so well in the past."

Potter's head smacked back into the chair with a satisfying thump as Draco hit him with his pillow as hard as he could. He threw back his bedsheets as Potter was sputtering and headed down the stairs. He desperately wanted to take a bath, but there were more important things to do first. He was starving.

"Where are you going!?" Potter shouted after him.

Draco ignored him, beelining to the table where the house elves had helpfully delivered food enough for both of them. He sat on the edge of the couch and grabbed a scone breaking it in half with his hands. He smeared it with butter and so much jam it dripped from the sides and Draco had to lick it from his fingers. He glanced up after finishing the first scone to see Potter staring at him wide-eyed and grabbed another scone, eating it as quickly as the first.

Potter cleared his throat and looked down at his feet.

"Hypocrite" Draco said between bites.

"What?" Potter's head jerked up.

"About asking for help. You didn't."

Potter narrowed his eyes, "I couldn't. I didn't know who to trust and those that I could, they were- they were risking themselves enough as it was."

Draco rolled his eyes with as much disdain as he could and took the last scone, "So who was I supposed to trust again? My death eater father? Or maybe my death eater aunt? Or maybe one of the other death eaters living in my house? One of those?"

Potter sighed and sat on the other end of the couch, "There has to be someone you trust other than- there's your mother."

Draco barely spared Potter a glance before looking back at his plate, focusing on eating.