Drarry One Shots

'Only in Your Dreams, Potter!' (Part Two)

The following morning, Draco found he couldn't face breakfast. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself. His epiphany of the previous evening that he was in love with Harry was all so hopeless. Yet it all seemed so obvious now, more so in the cold light of day and completely sober. Yes, he was pining after the unattainable as a form of self-punishment because he couldn't properly accept his sexuality.

He knew that was the starting place in all this. There was no point in dealing with the issue of Harry, it was, after all, pointless, but he could at the very least begin to love himself for who he was. Perhaps, that way, he might stop being so self-destructive.

Still, it left him feeling hopeless and not wanting to face the day. Or Harry.

The furthest he got was opening his patio doors but then he crawled back into his bed. He lay there listening to the sea rippling softly outside and the gentle murmur of voices and the trill of birds and chirping insects. A gentle breeze blew at his lightweight white curtains, occasionally lifting them. Another perfect day in paradise; just the constant tender whispering of crystal water swishing back and forth across shallow sands beneath a perfect blue sky.

It was mid-morning when there was a knock on his veranda door and he heard Harry call, 'Draco...'

'Go away,' he mumbled into his pillow.

'I brought you croissants, fruit, and a coffee from the buffet because you missed breakfast,' Harry said, ignoring him and stepping across the threshold. He looked at Draco with a raised eyebrow, as if waiting for an explanation. 'Did you go to the bar and carry on drinking cocktails without me?'

'No,' Draco groaned.

'You haven't got sunstroke, have you?' He rushed over and put the breakfast down on the bedside table before reaching out to feel Draco's forehead with the back of his hand. 'You don't feel hot.' He still went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle and poured a glass of frighteningly cold water for Draco.

Draco watched with wide eyes, following his every move, the fluidity and confidence that had been missing for so long. Harry was at ease with himself around Draco once more and Draco wished he felt the same. Especially when Harry sat on the edge of the bed, making Draco feel doubly uncomfortable because he not only looked good but smelt good too. And at this proximity, Draco was all too aware of his nakedness under his bedsheets.

'Potter, I'm in bed...'

'I'm aware, but you need to drink some water. I'm looking after you...'

'I don't need looking after. I'm not a baby.'

Draco pushed back his bedding and not caring about either his nudity or Harry's presence in his bedroom, tramped off to the bathroom and switched on his shower. Okay, maybe he couldn't quite let go of making Harry squirm but honestly...

He felt marginally better after showering and downing the water Harry had left on his bedside table. He took the plate of food and the coffee that had been left under a Stasis Charm out to his veranda where he found Harry sitting and writing in his notebook once more.

'What are you doing?' Draco asked as if the last interaction hadn't just happened.

'Writing,' said Harry without looking up.

'I can see that. What are you writing?'

Harry put down his notebook and put the lid on his pen before laying it carefully beside the book. He looked at Draco intently. 'A year ago, Ron and Mione bought me this notebook, the ink pen, and a journaling book for my birthday. The thought was that I should write up aspects of my life as a way of sorting through everything that happened. I sort of started and then stopped as year eight progressed. Everything was becoming too convoluted and I couldn't separate past from present. I needed space to rethink it all. My plan for these two weeks was to pick it up again, start over with some of the threads I'd been unpicking. There's stuff I need to get my head around, like everything that Dumbledore planned out to the slightest minute detail, including me somehow disarming you and gaining the allegiance of the Elder Wand after you'd done that to him. And all the shit that went on with Snape—mayherestinpeace—too. That goes back to my mother's childhood and that leads to my aunt's jealousy and her subsequent treatment of me as a child under her care. Everything is complex and interwoven and difficult to unpick and not really stuff I want getting out into the public domain so I feel pretty protective about it, as I know you've noticed. I'm currently writing up some of my childhood memories. It's under the heading of "Memories, Dreams, and Visions". You see, one of my earliest memories is my mother being killed when I was fifteen-months old. Only, this morning at breakfast, I realised it wasn't my memory. It was Voldemort's. It was always from his perspective even though I've seen it multiple times, even when the Dementors replayed the visions. I wanted to write it down while I remembered. It's not a huge thing but it's something. As I say, all very interwoven because it impacts on my own memories and tarnishes them. Sometimes it's hard to unpick what's real—what's me—and what's not.'