𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

Saturday: Part III/Sunday

Harry still had his firm grip on Draco’s waist when they Apparated back to his apartment. It was dark and quiet, the only light coming from the kitchen overhead which, in his haste to leave the apartment and search for Draco, Harry had left on.

Draco seemed more hesitant about his normally aggressive invasion of Harry’s space. Once they had released each other, Draco waited in the living room, watching Harry walk around to switch on various lights.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked, pausing on his way upstairs.

“Pardon?” Draco looked nonplussed, almost like he had never seen Harry’s apartment in the light before.

“You look lost in thought….or something.” He walked over to Draco, taking his hand in what was an obscenely awkward means of reassurance. Draco looked down at his arm, then back up at Harry’s face.

“Or something.” He said decidedly. “I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten all day; what with your clumsy upsetting of the cereal and all the ill-treatment of my character, it’s remarkable that I haven’t passed out.”

Harry rolled his eyes and headed off to the kitchen to search for food. The only thing he could find were the ingredients for peanut butter sandwiches, which were met with loud protests.

“Peanut butter comes from a jar? How disgusting.” Draco was examining the label as if ‘possibly toxic’ might be hidden in the fine print.

“Did you think it just magically appeared on the bread?” Harry asked, biting into his sandwich.

Malfoy glanced up from his intent studies of the jar label to say, “Yes, Potter, actually that’s exactly what I thought.” He shot Harry a halfhearted sneer.

Harry let them sit in silence for a few minutes, each absently chewing, before blurting, “So your clothes are here now.”

Malfoy paused, mid-chew, and then swallowed cautiously. “Yes?” He had put his sandwich down, as if he might need his hands to physically defend himself.

“So that’s….” Harry was trying to phrase this well, “…new.” Disaster.

“Yes?” Malfoy repeated, leaning back in his seat. Harry was coming to realize that the things that never came out of Malfoy’s mouth usually communicated themselves in his body language. He was tilting back in his seat now, looking to any casual observer as if he was completely relaxed. What he was really doing was putting substantial distance between them.

“I just thought….it was….you know…”

“Weird?” Malfoy interjected, “Sudden? Clingy?”

“What, no…”

“Presumptuous? Annoying? Startling?”

“No…not like that…”

“Charitable? Vulgar? Obtuse?”

“No…Malfoy, could you just stop…talking for a second?” Malfoy fell immediately silent. Looking at Draco’s face, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the blond could have gone for hours on his vocabulary alone.

“I thought it was nice.” It was simple, but it was true. And the surprised look on Draco’s face was priceless.

“Oh.” Malfoy paused, “Well, alright.” There was a long silence; for a second, Harry almost thought Draco was going to thank him. Silly thought, really, considering that Draco’s next comment was: “But you should know you can’t wear any of it.”

“What? That isn’t fair, you wear my clothes constantly!”

“Yes, I know, Potter. But firstly, I do not believe in ‘fair’. And I advise you to abandon any and all notions that I ever play ‘fair’, because I don’t. Secondly, you wrinkle everything.” He recommenced eating his sandwich, watching Harry open and shut his mouth in anger.