I Understand

Quiet Mornings

Harry woke up to another nightmare. Not a scream-because-you're-about-to-die nightmare, a subtle one, that gets your heart racing because you know. You know someone is behind you, you know you're about to die, but you can't scream, can't turn around, and you don't know when you're going to die. One of those nightmares. But at least it wasn't that early in the morning.

He quickly got dressed and headed it the new 8th year common room. He didn't feel like waking Ron, but also didn't want to sit and listen to his snoring. Honestly, you'd think he'd learn to put a silencing charm on his bed by now. But that was Ron, and no one else seemed to mind. And sometimes Neville's snoring was bad too. 

The new common room was larger than the one in the Gryffindor tower. It had twice as many chairs and sofas, and a large fireplace on the opposite wall from the door. It had all four banners hanging, and the furniture was also in one of the four main colors. The floor was a brown and black stone pattern, with a few worn rugs thrown around. There was also a few portraits of wizards who were sleeping, and of a witch who was knitting. She looked up briefly at Harry and went back to her work without a word.

Harry was walking over to the fireplace when he saw he wasn't alone. Someone else was in a chair slightly angled away from Harry, but he knew who it was. Draco Malfoy had let his hair grow out over the summer, that and the fact his hair wasn't gelled back, made it seem longer. He almost looked like his father, but his mothers traits made his face softer. Harry noticed he was drawing something, he made long strokes with his drawing quill and traced it over carefully. His legs were pulled up onto the chair with him, and the bottom of his sketch pad rested on his knee, while his left hand held it with his fingers clutching it from the top.

Draco looked up and met Harry's eyes. Draco clenched his jaw and became stiff. Neither boy said anything, and Harry looked away first, he continued to the fireplace, and sat down in front of the low fire. He felt Draco's eyes on him as he sat down, but ignored it. If it had been another time of day, or last year, he would started something, or hexed him, but he didn't. He just let it slide, because both boys should probably still be asleep, but for reasons, they were not. So Harry ignored Draco's presence and began doing what he always did when he was alone with his thoughts, he pictured his happy place.

Well, he would call it happy, more like peaceful. The muggle counselor had told him to go there when ever he felt upset, or sad, or like everything was his fault, so he ended up there a lot. He was sitting on his broom, above a vast forest, and the sun was rising. The wind gently caressed his face, and he could hear the sound of bird calls below him. There were mountains in the distance, and he knew there was a lake behind him somewhere. But he didn't go anywhere. He stayed still on his broom and looked down at the tree tops.

He felt calm, alone, and at peace when he was here. There was no one around him. No voices, no expectations. Just him. Just him and this longing to fall off his broom. Not to die, just to free fall toward the beautifully green tree tops. Forever falling, never hitting anything. Maybe his happy place self was going to it's own happy place, and that's why he felt like falling. Not that it mattered, he wouldn't fall. Because he knew that just because he was alone right now, didn't mean he would be alone for long. He knew that soon he would need to do something, that people expected him to do something, but he just sat there. Maybe that is what made it beautiful, and so amazingly peaceful. The fact that he was putting everything off, and just sitting there. Who cared that he was probably needed somewhere? Or that someone needed his saving? They could wait, because Harry was going to do something for himself for once.

He was staring at the fire and his eyes began to dry. He must have been sitting there for 20 minuets, and his butt was starting to ache. He blinked a few times and listened to see if anyone else had came it, because the fireplace was the only thing in his view. But all he heard was Malfoy's quill scratching away at the drawing parchment. Harry wondered what he was drawing, but resisted the urge to ask. Just because they weren't hexing each other did not mean they were friends. Besides, by the end of the day they would be at each others throats because that is what was normal. Also Ron had already said he didn't like having Malfoy so close to their dorm.

But for now, he sat in silence, as the other boy drew behind him.

~*~*~*~*~

Draco didn't know why he was drawing Potter, but he was. It might have been because he hadn't talked to him, or maybe simply because he could.

Draco was really glad Potter hadn't said anything, he really didn't feel like starting things this early. But he was prepared for it when Potter walked in. Thankfully Potter understood that it was indeed to early to argue with anyone. But he knew if it was Weasley, he would have been hexed, or just told to sod off at the very least.

But there was something about Potter being quiet that intrigued Draco. Something about Potter being up this early. Maybe he had gotten tired of all the snoring that came from his room. Last night Draco could hear it through the walls, and then finally someone had put a silencing charm on the room.

Honestly how could anyone sleep with that racket? They probably could because they had spent the last 7 years with each other that they didn't seem to notice any more. Was it maybe Potter that was snoring? Draco's bets were on Weasley though, Potter didn't seem like the type to snore.

Draco looked over at Potter for reference. He was drawing Potter with his back toward him, and his knees drawn up to his chest, though you couldn't see it, you knew that's where is legs were. He drew the fire light illuminating a small circle of area around Potter, then it slowing fading out into nothing. 

The size of the fireplace made Potter seem tinier than he really was, but Draco liked it like that. It seemed to emphasizing that the Savior of the Wizarding World was still young. 

And maybe it made Draco feel better when he thought that Potter was young, because that meant that he was also young, and had so much life left. That the events that took place here wouldn't be it. There was more, so much more.

Draco looked up again at Potter, and let his eyes linger. He sketched Potter with his eyes, moving them along his back and hair. Then he went back to the parchment, and drew in Potters wildly perfect hair.

He drew strands halfway shining with firelight, other just seemed to be black lines in the light. But this was exactly what Potters hair looked like. As if someone had came by and placed each tuft of hair in opposing directions.

Draco ran his fingers threw his hair and flipped it to one side. Draco wondered what was going though The Chosen Ones head that allowed him to sit still for almost 30 minuets. Draco could barely sit still for 5 if he had nothing to fidget with. But it didn't matter. 

Draco then realized that he was relaxed. He hadn't really been thinking about much, just drawing Perfect Harry Potter, and he had somehow relaxed. He guessed drawing really did help.

About 5 minuets later, Potter sighed and stood up. Draco looked down at his drawing, it was almost finished. Saint Potter walked out of the common room without looking back, and Draco finished up the drawing. 

He sighed the parchment at the bottom right corner and closed the sketch pad. He looked around the room, it felt emptier than before Potter had shown up. He swung his legs down and was about to stand up when he thought of something.

Both he and Potter weren't able to sleep. He gave a short laugh. Perfect Saint Harry Fucking Potter had something in common with Draco Malfoy, a wizard disaster.

The same wizard disaster Potter had defended at his trail, and his mothers.

This year might actually be okay. If he survives it.