Bond (Drarry)

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

October 9 - October 14

Day 11, Friday

Draco woke up and groaned. Shit. That had been rather vivid. He turned over in bed, automatically checking that Potter was still asleep.

Thank god, yes. He'd been afraid he'd been talking in his sleep, and considering what was going on in his dream, that would've been awkward to say the least.

That was the second time these last two nights he'd woken up this dissatisfied; he'd given up counting the times he'd woken up to sticky sheets instead. Thank god for Marcus Flint's cleaning spells, or he'd have to explain to Potter why he needed to have his bedclothes washed every day. He tried to ignore the discomfort and go back to sleep for precisely ten seconds before getting out of bed and heading towards the washroom.

"Malfoy?" Potter's sleepy voice stopped him. "You all right?"

"Um, y-yeah," he stammered, cursing Potter's timing.

Potter sat up slowly. "No, you're not. What's wrong?"

"Er, nothing, I... I have to go," Draco mumbled, shutting the door and leaning his back against it before taking care of business as quickly and quietly as possible, relief flooding him as he finished. He stayed leaning against the door, floating down from the high, then cleaned himself up and waited for a few more minutes, hoping to find Potter asleep when he went back to bed.

He took a deep breath and quietly opened the washroom door, realizing as soon as he did so that Potter was still sitting up in bed, arms clasped about his drawn-up knees.

"Are you all right?" he repeated as Draco came back to bed. Draco nodded.

"Er... should we talk about this?" Potter said quietly.

"What's there to talk about?"

"I... I know what's happening," Potter said in a rush, "Pomfrey said-"

"Yeah, well, so now you know." Draco was grateful that the room was too dark for Potter to see the blush heating his face, and grateful also that his voice sounded perfectly matter-of-fact. "What's there to talk about?"

"I just thought - I mean, is there - um, is there anything, um... oh never mind." Potter lay back down and turned over, giving up.

Draco lay watching him, noting the tight, uncomfortable line of Potter's shoulders, feeling his restlessness and confusion.

He blew out his breath. "Potter."

"Yeah."

"Are you having dreams too?"

Potter sighed. "Yeah."

"Since when?"

"A few days. I don't know, it's hard to tell."

"What about?"

"What do you think? Pretty much what Pomfrey said." She had informed them with clinical detachment that they could expect the normal night-time teenage male fantasies to start becoming more and more specific and focussed on one another, instead of random images, sensations, or people.

There was a long, strained silence.

"I was really hoping this wouldn't happen," Potter said softly.

"You were hoping for a platonic bond too?"

"Yeah."

"You knew it wasn't likely. Almost impossible. We're not brothers, or lifelong best friends."