Post-peace Chaos (Drarry)

Chapter 31

[Harry]

With a tray of hot soup at the control of his wand, he really ought to be focusing while he was hobbling out of the door. Nevertheless, Harry's mind was onto something much more imprinting.

Oblivious prat. Oblivious prat. Oblivious prat.

Oblivious. The word appeared, yet again, in their conversation. It was well informed this time, and there was good reason for Draco to use it. However, the word dwelled on him, it kept coming clawing back at him. What was he oblivious to? Why did Draco always seem to be smirking when he used that particular word? Could it be...

No. He was thinking way too much, putting in too much insight, seeking too much hope.

"Oi! Watch where your wand's pointing at, Potter!"

He woke up from his thoughts and he found he nearly sent the tray of steaming soup straight into Draco's face. Hastily lowering his wand, he set the tray onto the dining table, almost knocking over an unlighted- Thank Merlin- candle.

"Not everyone can afford to have ugly bumps on their faces, Potter," Draco smirked at him.

"Harry. Seriously Draco, you're living proof of old habits die hard."

"Sorry, it changes automatically when you're doing something stupid," he replied sweetly.

"Arse," he muttered under his breath as they both sat down at the table.

Harry had to admit, he really pulled it off this time. He smiled, extremely pleased as he scanned over the meal he had compiled- the soup was pureed nicely, his croutons were just the right shade of golden brown, his homemade salad dressing was shimmering brightly as the bowl of salad sat beside it, very green and very fresh.

Draco popped a few croutons into his soup and sipped a spoonful.

"Mmm," he commented, which made Harry's blood sing in merriment.

"I've got to say, Harry, I'm impressed," he said between mouthfuls of crouton and tomato soup. "'Tis the best I've had in ages."

Draco was draining out his soup quickly and hungrily but still managed to stay in the elegant manner Harry had been so used to. It amazed him thoroughly.

Harry beamed at him as he dug into his own. "Thanks, Draco. That means a lot."

They ate in silence for a while, savoring the creamy, rich, and velvety contents the bowl offered. Harry noted that there was an undeniable improvement. Some motivations, Harry smiled to himself, recalling the bewildered look on Travailler's face when he passed his potions examination effortlessly a few hours ago. (Merlin, Potter, maybe the bump on your forehead was some help after all!)

Harry decided to break the comfortable silence. "You know, I've been meaning to ask- if you don't mind answering, that is-" he added hastily. "About- about your dream?"

Draco didn't respond immediately. Instead, he dipped his fork into his salad and munched on the leaves, his eyes searching the ceiling, deep in thought.

"This dressing is really good. What did you use?"

"Passion fruit," Harry answered a little impatiently.

"Passion fruit. I've got to remember that." Draco chewed on for a while. Harry looked at him expectantly. Finally, "What about it?"

"Erm- what was it about? It seemed pretty bad..." he trailed off. He decided to try a different tactic. "I've had some pretty awful ones too, since fifth year. I kind of know what it does to someone."

"I dreamt about Voldemort," he said shortly. "The real thing. Torture. Sixth year, 'cause it took too long for me to complete my... mission." Draco's voice didn't waver. He wasn't looking at Harry, but he didn't seem afraid, either.

"Can I see it?" he asked softly. Even though Harry didn't tell him what, Draco understood him. Slowly, he unfastened the cufflink on his left arm, rolling the sleeve halfway up, revealing his forearm.

Harry saw it. The imprint of a skull and a snake, no longer writhing or menacing, faded, but still existing. Harry laid down his fork. "May I?"

Draco nodded faintly. He reached across the table, gently laying a finger onto the Dark Mark. He never saw it for real, he knew he was on the mission, but never proved he was branded with the mark. He ran his finger up his forearm, tracing the lines of the snake. Draco winced, just slightly and barely noticeable. But Harry pulled back quickly.

"Sorry."

"No- don't be." Draco gave him a small smile.

"You had no choice," Harry declared to no one in particular.

Draco thumbed over the mark himself. "Ironic, isn't it?" he said with a sad laugh after a moment.

"What do you mean?"

"That I got the mark. The others- Greyback, Scabior, more... they didn't. They did loads, and I was just a teenage boy. The mission made Voldemort give it to me- it was required, but it was also a brand of my father's cowardice. A punishment. Nothing in this mark- says loyalty."

Harry was silent for a moment. "Why didn't your mother get the mark?"

"She had a choice. She wasn't her target- and she didn't need the mark to be tortured. The mark given to me was torture enough."

After another moment of silence, he spoke up. "Can I ask you a question?" Harry asked quietly.

Draco nodded. "The night... at the manor. You knew it was me. Why didn't you turn me in?"

Again, Draco didn't answer right away. He merely gave him a soft smile.

"Let me ask you this then, Harry. The room of requirement- why did you save me?"

"Of course I would save you! You're innocent, and that alone is a good enough reason to be picked up from a fiendfyre. Regardless, I'm not one to kill- just like you."

Draco looked into his eyes. The silver mass swam and swirled in his pupils. He chuckled.

"You really are an oblivious prat."

Oblivious.

Then he felt a pair of lips on his own.

His lips were so soft, so tender, so welcoming- he kissed back without hesitation, gripping his forearm, leaning in to taste him with his own lips... He tasted warm and sweet, with a hint of passion fruit... He barely registered a wine glass shattering on the floor, but he didn't care, he didn't care- all he wanted, all he knew was him, Draco, the one he longed for so, so much...

They pulled back simultaneously, foreheads touching, breaths mingling.

Grey eyes met green, and they both let out the softest laughs.

"You're right," Harry breathed. "I really am an oblivious prat."

Harry didn't wait for him to react and leaned in on his own.