Cabin Fever (dm.hp)

T W O

☽ ☽ ☽

Harry woke suddenly with a gasp, hot pain searing across his forehead. He fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table, and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. Anxiety coursed through his body as he scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. The memories of the last 24 hours flooded back into his mind. I'm safe, he thought. Safe in Dumbledore's cabin. With Malfoy.

"Malfoy..." Harry whispered to himself. He wondered if the prat had decided to jump ship and flee into the night, back to father dearest. With a groan Harry rolled out of bed and put on a pair of grey joggers, tucking his wand into the low sitting waistband. Pointless even having a wand, Harry thought. No underage magic. At least he didn't have to worry about getting hexed in the middle of the night, that is if Malfoy even thinks the rules apply to himself. He opened the door slowly, hoping to remain undetected if his "housemate" was still awake. The cabin seemed so much bigger at night, the moonlight casting all sorts of shadows as it poured in through the windows. The snow outside seemed to twinkle in the light. It was peaceful, like a black and white photograph. Harry glanced over the railing of the landing before gently tip-toeing down the stairs.

The clock on the wall read 4:25 in the morning. Running a hand over his face, Harry sighed and turned to go back up to his room when he heard a muffled sob. He had half a mind to ignore it and leave Malfoy alone in his misery, but he realized that he likely wasn't the only one struggling in the midst of their isolation. Against his better judgement, Harry padded softly into the living room and saw Malfoy curled up in the corner of the sofa, still wearing the clothes he arrived in. His hair looked even brighter, less blonde and more silver in the glow of the moon. His bag laid on the floor, torn open with the contents strewn around the room. He was shaking with quiet sobs, his breathing heavy.

"Malfoy?" Harry whispered. The blonde's body went rigid, clearly panicked to be discovered in this vulnerable state.

"Piss off, Potter. Whatever you think you're doing right now, just stop." Malfoy's tone was venemous. He remained in the same fetal position, completely still, waiting for Harry to leave.

"I'm not doing anything." Harry replied. "I needed some water and thought Moaning Myrtle had found her way here."

"I said, PISS OFF!" Malfoy shouted, standing up with tears still streaming down his pink cheeks. He kicked his bag, shouting in frustration and stormed past Harry. He thudded up the stairs and slammed his bedroom door, sending a sound like a gunshot throughout the cabin.

Sighing with exasperation, Harry rubbed his tired eyes and shuffled into the kitchen. He poured himself glass of water and went back upstairs to his bedroom. No sound came from Malfoy's room. Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and put his face in his hands, wondering how in the hell they were going to make this work. He finished his water, placed his glasses back on his nightstand and laid down. Sleep didn't come easily, as his mind filled with worry about the weeks, potentially months to come.