One Thing at a Time
Harry’s mind was reeling.
What was I thinking? The feel of Draco’s face in his hand, of their breaths intermingling, the electric fizzle as they nearly…
He can still feel that most minute brush of his lips against his.
Harry should have known not to advance on Draco, the way he did. But he couldn't help himself. Draco's presence had gone past the point of enthralling and was now wholly intoxicating, and Harry had been drawn in, and he couldn't bring himself to escape.
The memory of Draco pushing him away, the way his face looked when he was so close, the way he said "no" was burned into Harry's mind, making his chest tighten with guilt and shame.
And then there was the matter of Draco's arm...
Harry was worried for the man, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Draco had not been as well off as Harry had assumed (and even then, Harry didn't think he was doing well off in the first place). Harry didn't like the fact that Draco had been hurting. It's been difficult enough for Harry, seeing Draco clean when he's stressed, watching him obsess over the doors and drive himself into anxious frenzies over it- it was driving Harry a bit mad. part of him wanted to seize Draco by the shoulders and ask him to just talk to me, please. I want to help you.
But alas.
After a half hour of moping, Harry got word from Ron’s ministry owl that they were to meet at the ministry to go over details from the day's events. Harry sighed. All he wanted was to stay in Draco's flat, figure out what bloody mess he'd gotten himself into, and be near Draco.
Harry spent the night alternating between fits of restless sleep and lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering about Draco and what was going on inside his head, and whether he was okay, and whether Harry would even be welcome near him at the moment. By the time the sun was beginning to rise, Harry gave up on any sort of rest, no matter how sluggish he felt, and readied himself for work. Draco came out from his room when Harry was nearly ready to go, making him jolt, suddenly anxious to explain that he'd need to be gone, and that Draco would be watched by Auror Dawlish in the meantime, but he was able to get it out. Draco feigned disinterest and boredom. Harry's heart stuttered. After several minutes of awkward waiting, Harry was able to leave the flat certain that Draco would be safe, and he appeared straight into the ministry's auror department.
As soon as the team gathered, Mordecai stood with a sigh. "There was no DNA on the tool roll. At all. But, we were able to get some more information on our murderer. The bottles in the tool roll had a Muggle drug called propofol in them. It can only be found in hospitals."
Harry furrowed his brows, absorbing the information.
"So," Ron began, "Our killer needs to have frequent access to hospitals?"
"A healer?" Harry couldn't help the face of disgust that came over him. The idea that people's lives might be entrusted to a psychopathic murderer. The thought that someone is saving lives during the day and taking them at night...
"Either that, or someone with connections to a healer," said Mordecai.
The room grew dark. Mordecai cleared his throat.
"Anyway, We need to sign off for our letter upstairs so we can get our Muggle police permits to investigate nearby Muggle hardware stores."
Mordecai revealed a parchment and a quill, offering it out to Harry and Ron. The two of them signed and Ron sent it off as a departmental memo.
The rest of the time at the Ministry went in a bit of a daze, to Harry. The tool roll's evidence reports had served useful, since the drug that was being used, presumably to sedate victims, was identified. However, it didn't prove useful past that. The three began to map out all of the Muggle hospitals and hardware stores in London, as well as how to approach gathering information from them.
"Do we know when Zabini's autopsy report is going to come in?" Harry asked, at one point, having remembered what Zabini said in St. Mungo's.
"Hopefully seven days, maybe a few more, if they don't work on the weekend," replied Mordecai. "Why?"
"Before he died, Zabini said that he'd scratched him. Maybe they'll find something under his fingernails-"
"I'll have it expedited," declared Ron. "They'll pull a weekend shift."
Harry smiled at Ron. "Brilliant." Ron nodded in affirmation.
By the time they were wrapping up, Harry was exhausted. His stomach was growling, and all he could think about was getting home. He wondered how Draco was doing. The thought of Draco made his stomach flutter.
When the group parted ways, Harry apparated straight to the front door of his flat. He knocked a few times.
"Dawlish?"
The auror opened the door with a grin.
"Potter! I was just finishing my cuppa."
"Oh, sorry for keeping you, Everything is well, I assume?" Harry replied.
"Oh, yes, nothing happened." Dawlish said, "However," he continued "Bloke hasn't stopped cleaning. Looks a bit barmy if you ask me. He also kept checking the locks on the doors. I couldn't get through to him, but maybe you can."
Harry's brow furrowed.
"Thanks," Harry replied, nodding. He was already heading toward the kitchen.
"See you!" Dawlish called, stepping out. Harry turned, waving, before shutting the door. As he stood silently at the entrance, he took in his surroundings.
Small streams of sunlight were filtering through grey clouds to the sitting room window. There was an air of sterility to the place. Harry knew that to be the work of cleaning products. Everything was orderly, not a hair out of place, and the surfaces were immaculate.
Harry pressed his attention, trying to puzzle out where Draco was, when he heard movement coming from the open bathroom door. He made his way over, stopping at the entryway to see Draco on his knees, using a brush and cleaning product to scrub at the tile walls in the shower. Harry cleared his throat.
"I'm back..."
Draco ignored Harry, concentrating on the task of scrubbing. Harry furrowed his brows.
"How long have you been cleaning?"
The man remained unresponsive, scrubbing the walls with unending fervour. the tips of his fingers were pink from the pressure he was exerting on the brush. Harry wanted Draco to stop pretending as though he couldn't hear him.
"Er, maybe you should take a break," Harry tried. "Dawlish said you've been at it nearly the whole time I was gone. Did you ever have lunch?"
No response. Harry pressed his lips into a thin line, concern washing over him.
"Are you alright?" At the lack of response, Harry sighed, trying again. "Draco,"
"What?" he snapped, nostrils flared in frustration.
"Are you feeling alright?"
Draco huffed. Harry could see his anger minutely simmering down.
"Why do you keep asking me that?"
Harry was taken aback by the question. He was acting as though last night... and really the last few months... hadn't happened. As though it wasn't obvious.
"Because I care about you."
Draco's expression wavered. The air grew thick with silence. "You don't really."
Harry couldn't help the feeling of concern that continued to stir itself up in his chest, making it tighten. His heart clenched. He didn't understand the urge, couldn't begin to comprehend the strength of his want to take away Draco's apprehension and distrust.
"You know I do..."
And Draco finally, finally turned to make eye contact. His mercury eyes made butterflies flutter about Harry's stomach. Harry huffed a breath, trying his best to subdue the emotions rising within him. Draco was going through a lot, right now. Harry needed to be there for him.
"Is this about Blaise? How have you been after that?"
"Blaise?"
"Yeah... I know you were close, and... I'm sure it wasn't great, seeing him the way you had."
Draco was staring at Harry, now, looking unguarded and a bit stunned. The brush he'd been holding slipped from his hand and clattered against the shower floor. He blinked down at it for a moment, staring at it as though confused.
"Draco..." Harry began, kneeling down next to the man. "Are you sure you're okay?"
Draco swallowed. Harry placed his hand on his shoulder. He'd be lying if he didn't admit the touch sent sparks up his arm and through his body. He put his thoughts away from that. Draco didn't need that.
"Draco, I need you to talk to me, please. You can tell me anything. Anything you're feeling, anything you need... Last night was-"
“No-”
“Let me finish,” Harry interrupted. He took a deep breath, organizing his thoughts, hoping they come out right. “I messed up, okay? I shouldn't have... I'm sorry. Really, I am. I won't do that to you again." Harry bit his lip, nervous, and hoping that he could get through to Draco. "But that doesn't change the fact that I care. I mean- really, really care. And I... I'm here, for you. You can talk to me."
Draco's eyes closed, his brows pinched together and his lips downturned slightly in a frown. Harry wondered what was going through his head at that moment, and hoped that he wasn't pushing him away. Then, he felt Draco sag.
"It's... hard. I don't know how to talk about it. I don't even entirely know what to talk about..."
"It's okay," Harry replied, his voice gentle.
Once Harry was able to coerce Draco out of the bathroom, away from his compulsive cleaning, sitting with a cup of tea while the two waited for frozen ravioli to finish boiling, he felt himself relax, if only marginally.
"Where do I even start?" Draco whispered, so quiet Harry nearly didn't hear him. "I... It's a lot..."
"You don't need to talk about everything at once... let's go one thing at a time. Just talk to me about one thing. The first thing you think of."
Draco pursed his lips together in thought for a few moments, his eyes cast downward into his cup of tea, absently tracing the rim of it with his index finger. Harry sat next to him, feeling engulfed by the silence, waiting. He wouldn’t dare say anything that might make Draco choose not to talk to him. Harry would do anything to make sure Draco simply talks to him.
It was a long while before a single word was uttered. The tea had long been finished. The ravioli was served and eaten, plates washed and put to dry. They were back on the sofa, then, sitting close enough where their knees touched. Harry was mildly startled by it, a small breath that Draco let out. Immediately, all of his attention was on the blond man.
“I have scars.”
Harry’s first instinct was to reply I know, but he stopped himself. He thought it best to let Draco speak, even if it was about things he already knew.
“I had, before. And after, I got more. A lot more. They’re bigger, and uglier… I think, God did it on purpose, to remind me of all of the evil-” Draco paused, biting his lip and furrowing his brow. You don’t deserve this, and God isnt trying to brand you for your past and stop telling yourself you deserve this all came to the forefront of Harry’s mind. He didn’t say any of it. It wasn’t the moment. He all but begged for Draco to just talk, to stop swallowing down all the things that make him feel like he’s gone mad. He wasn’t going to muck it up by interrupting him.
Draco stayed silent for another moment before continuing.
"And so soon after turning to Him, for forgiveness." Draco donned a bitter sneer. "Who am I to think I can actually be better?"
Harry found himself frowning.
"Don't say that," Harry murmured, his voice sounding hoarse. He cleared his throat. "You are doing better. I know it. You know it."
"What's your definition of better? Obsessing over cleanliness and flat security?" Draco's tone was sour. He was making a face of disgust. "Nearly dying and watching everyone around me die only because they knew me?"
"That's not fair." Harry frowned, the words feeling foreign in his mouth.
"Not fair?" Draco tried. He glanced at Harry, before taking a steadying breath. "I guess we must agree to disagree. I'm lucky I avoided prison. This is what I get instead."
Harry decided against responding. As a result, the two men remained quiet for several long minutes. Harry wondered if it was bad that he thought of kissing Draco all over again. Maybe this time he would get more than just a brush of the lips. Harry would kiss him slow, first, then deeper, more intense, and Harry would show him just how much he doesn't deserve what's happened, just how unfair it is.
Harry was snapped from his thoughts when Draco let out a breath of laughter. His expression was troubled, creating a sense of unease for Harry.
“Astoria was beautiful," Draco stated, voice strangely amused. Okay, we’re talking about Astoria now… alright. Harry took in Draco's features carefully. His eyes were wide and glossy, and he had a strange, forced looking, half-smile. To Harry, he looked as though he was trying not to go mad. Harry felt his heart clench. Distantly, he felt guilty about the whole ordeal. "She had a wonderful smile."
Harry’s lips drew into a thin line, ignoring the heat climbing up his cheeks.
"You were happy with her?" Harry prompted gently, attempting to keep him talking.
Draco's expression softened, his eyes falling shut for a moment. "I was..." Draco took in a sharp breath. "She made me think I had a chance at being happy... at being good."
Harry remained silent and still, making sure he was a solid, sure presence for Draco. He needed this. He needed to understand that Harry was not going to leave, that Draco is good, now. He is.
Draco sighed, his head downturned and his expression troubled. Harry noticed he was worrying his hands.
“I’d never… before her. She was everything. She made me want to care about my future.”
“Do you miss her?”
Harry could see a slight twitch of Draco's nose.
"I... I've been trying to force myself not to think about it," Draco said. The room was tense. "But," he continued. "...I don't know, it's- It's hard." Draco sighed, worrying his hands some more. "Because then I see her in my sleep, and I dream of what it could have been like, had she... It's like a hole in my chest that never goes away."
Harry wanted to reach out, wanted to touch, and hold, and comfort. He stayed still, instead.
"And, then, I remember that she's gone." For a moment, Draco looked as though he was going to say more, but he didn't.
For a moment, Draco looked as though he was going to say more, but he didn't. His hands went limp and his head dipped down. He looked defeated.
Harry wasn't sure how long the two of them sat, together, in silence. He wondered if Draco was done sharing for now.
"Thank you for telling me." Harry began, voice soft. "Do you feel a little bit better, now?"
"Maybe," Draco answered. He was looking at his hands, and his expression was unreadable.
"Would you like to talk about something else, now? Or, perhaps, not talk at all, if you'd prefer."
"No, I'd... I think I'd like to talk, some more.
Harry felt himself smile.
"Okay," he said, changing his position on the couch to sit more comfortably, but still close. "Let's keep talking."