Samsara's Curse (Drarry Slowburn)

IN THE MEANTIME

"But what if they're closed!" Draco strained, hanging on Harry's arm as he attempted to leave.

"Then I'll come back," he promised, "But either way, I have to go. I don't want to be late on my first day."

Draco frowned. He planned on going straight to his book after Harry left, since he'd be able to visit him at work once he finished reading it. He let go of the Gryffindor's arm with a sad expression. His eyes flicked over his shoulder at the sound of Kreacher approaching.

Harry acknowledged the House-Elf warmly, "Please make sure he eats lunch while I'm gone."

Kreacher bowed low, "Of course."

Harry turned back to Draco, hands on both of his shoulders, "And from you, I just want to hear three little words."

"I love you?" Draco said, with the sweet cadence of a question.

"That's cute, but try again."

Draco folded his arms and glared at Kreacher, knowing exactly what Harry wanted him to say, "I'll be nice."

He didn't have enough time to coax out an honest promise, so he settled for that. "Perfect," grinned Harry. He planted a kiss on Draco's cheek before stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

The lock clicked, and Draco was alone. Contrary to what he wanted to do, Draco didn't run upstairs to retrieve his book right away. There was a strange void within him now, and no amount of ignoring it could cause the dull pain to fade.

Kreacher growled, still not entirely warm towards the Slytherin.

Draco only looked at him for a split-second. "Ugh," he harrumphed, turning away and trudging upstairs. Even if he felt lonely in Harry's absence, he knew that being around Kreacher wouldn't make him feel any better.

Just to ground himself, he took to reading the rest of his novel in Harry's bedroom. There were only a few dozen pages left, so that wasn't hard to do. He got comfortable in the wrinkled bed sheets as if they were the cozy sticks of a bird nest.

He managed to clear through twelve pages, losing himself in the strange world created from words on paper, when an incessant ringing sounded from atop the dresser—Harry's phone.

Draco jumped out of his skin, tossing the novel clumsily into the air. He had lost his place, but there was only about half a page left to read, anyway. It wouldn't be hard to find where he left off. He picked up the cellular device and inspected the screen. INCOMING CALL: HERMIONE.

There were two options in the form of buttons: green and red. Draco pressed the red button, which thankfully quieted the ringing, but the action didn't answer the call like he intended it to.

"Oops," he winced. "Wrong one."
But the phone rang again, and Draco knew the only other option had to be the correct one.

He answered the call, but his accomplished expression morphed swiftly to one of pain. Hermione was not happy. "How dare you hang up on my call!" she shouted.

Draco pulled the phone away from his ear, feeling like he had just opened a Howler. A small wave of fear shot through him, "Sorry! I've never really answered a phone call before."

Hermione calmed down immediately, probably glad that she didn't have to lecture her best friend on phone etiquette. All she had to do was deal with a technological neophyte. "Where's Harry?"

"He's at work," said Draco sadly, drooping like a wilted rose.

"And he left his phone behind?" Hermione asked, like a tired mother scolding a child.