Problems
Draco was… quiet today.
Quiet and distant.
Harry wasn’t entirely sure what he was expecting, really. They had kissed, yes, for two days, yes. And they had snogged plenty, and he had even let Draco’s hands explore his torso, yes, and Harry couldn’t stop thinking about him, yes.
But everything was still so fresh and new, and there were still problems in the world. When Harry returned from St. Mungo’s and the fiasco with George as well as the Ministry Auror office to discuss the new information that came up, Draco’s response to him walking through the front door was a barely present “hello”.
Despite having so boldly asked what was on Draco’s mind multiple times, that was before… he found he wasn’t sure if he could now. How would he react? What if Harry was simply imagining Draco’s odd demeanour? Auror Dawlish gave him a grim smile and pulled him aside. Harry hoped that he might have some answers as to why Draco seemed so off. Dawlish spoke about a distant demeanour, an absent appetite, and feverish cleaning. Harry supposed the news about his father, and whether he could provide any clarity on what Harry learned, would need to be put off for now.
—-------
Draco was missing her.
The longing hadn’t hit him this hard in at least a couple of months, and he wasn’t sure why now, of all times, it came forth as a black sludge and swallowed up every avalible crevice within his chest. It had begun in the night, during one of his many failed attempts to sleep, when a living image of her dead and mangled body blamed him for her death. He spent the evening trying to right his room, rearrange the furniture, do something, anything to wipe these thoughts from his mind. He worked in an anxious frenzy until the effort to move his limbs was akin to trudging through mud, and even then, he found that any attempt to rest was only greeted by her.
Her and her smile, her and her laugh, her and her gentle touches, her and her soft lips, and her and her mangled, bloody, and broken body.
He gave up on distracting himself when he realised that thoughts of her were even permeating his mind while he cleaned, and read recipes, and rearranged and reorganised.
So, by the time Harry walked through the door, he was pulled aside by Dawlish, no doubt to tell him that he’d been ignoring the man all day in favour of mindless, meaningless tasks. Draco simply didn’t have it in him to really talk.
Now, he was sitting on the sofa, wearing clothing with heating charms on them (he suspects that if the heat stays broken long enough, someone will be able to force the owner to get it fixed. Hopefully.) and trying to think about the nativity, or the christmas tree, or some book he can read, or some sweet he can make, or the golden light of the day casting through his window, or something. Anything.
Harry was walking around the flat, occasionally turning towards Draco in what Draco swore Harry thought was a discreet manner. And, most importantly, he was thankfully not asking any questions.
Because, Draco knew, the minute Harry started asking questions, Draco would have to stop being quiet, and he wasn't sure if he had the energy to deal with that- thinking about why he was so tired, let alone talking about it, especially not with a man who he'd only recently discovered he would like to snog quite often.
Harry was looking at him, and Draco pretended he didn't notice.
Draco didn't know how to feel about him.
Well, no, that was a lie. He knew how to feel about Harry- he just didn't know how to feel about his feelings towards Harry.
It had been easier to ignore everything and blame it on his isolation or his God-forsaken protection detail before he'd gone and snogged the daylights out of Harry bleeding Potter.
And now, Draco didn't know how to deal with all these feelings- Harry, and anxiety, and death, and her- and he knew he couldn't ignore at least some of them any longer, especially not now that his mind was betraying him by entertaining the idea of taking comfort in Harry's presence. Take advantage that he's here, and that he likes you just as much as you like him. Ask him to sit beside you. Share a blanket to keep warm.
But he was so utterly drained that instead, all he did was sit, and stare, and try to think about anything but her, and now him.
—-----
Draco was asleep the next time Harry took a glance towards him.
He was draped over one side of the couch, a blanket covering him. His head lolled to the side and landed on the arm of the couch, his mouth open and soft.
He looked absolutely exhausted, and Harry wanted nothing more than to… Harry wsn’t sure. Several pleasing options flitted through his mind: curling up beside him and falling asleep, putting Draco into a more comfortable position on the couch, wake him up gently, pushing the hair from over his eyes and planting a kiss somewhere, taking him to bed, laying with him in bed…
Then Harry thought about the cleaning, the mindless, anxious, single-minded cleaning that he was all too familiar with, that Dawlish said he’d been doing all day. He thought about the news about Draco’s father. He doubted it would do little more than cause him more stress. (He had a nagging feeling Draco probably wouldn’t be able to provide the clarity Mordecai was asking for). And just like that, all of the warmth that had been building up and swirling around in his chest evaporated.
Harry should whip up some food for when Draco wakes up. Yes, that would be a good idea. Something simple, warm, and comforting. Something like a mash, perhaps, with some meat. Yes, that would do just fine.
—-----
The next time Draco woke, it was to the smell of food wafting over from the kitchen. He sat up slowly, groggy and stale from the unexpected nap. He scrubbed a hand over his face. How long had he been asleep?
He stood, walking toward the kitchen and pausing to peer around the corner.
Harry was at the stovetop, mixing what looked to be a mash. Off to the side, Draco could see a pan with meat sizzling in it.
Draco stepped forward, and the floor creaked. Harry looked up.
"Oh, you're awake." He smiled, then frowned. "You seemed a bit knackered, with how you fell asleep. How was everything while I was gone?"
Draco hesitated, not knowing quite how to answer, and still feeling quite disoriented. He glanced out the window to see a torrent of rain falling in sheets against the backdrop of a black sky.
"Alright," he finally said, though he didn't feel all too aware of it, and it came out closer to a mumble. He cleared his throat. "How's your godson?"
"Teddy is great," Harry replied, turning back to the stovetop. "He's a sweet boy. I'm glad that I'm getting to know him."
"Good."
"Yeah."
Draco walked forward and lifted himself up to sit on the kitchen counter. From his new angle, he saw that the meat cooking was sausage. The silence between him and Harry was frought. Draco was grateful that Harry wasn't speaking. He didn't have the energy to hold a conversation.
Draco watched as Harry turned off the burners, removed the food from the stove, and began to dish it up.
"I made bangers and mash... Dawlish says you haven't eaten today. Do you think you can have some?" Harry's face was drawn a bit odd when he said that. Draco could see that he was trying to hide it, with the way he kept his focus down on the plates and the food, not waiting to hear whether Draco even wanted to eat. Draco noticed the small drain of colour and the tension of his muscles. He had the urge to run his hands across them and remove the tension himself.
Without answering Harry, he hopped off the counter and moved towards the dining table several paces away. Harry followed him wordlessly, putting the plates down in front of each of them.
Harry followed him wordlessly, putting the plates down in front of each of them. Draco began to eat without a second thought, and he noticed Harry taking glances towards him as he took his first bite of food. Then, it happened.
It wasn't necessarily unusual at this point, really, but it hadn't happened in at least a few days, and it was just Draco's luck that it had to happen when he was already having a bad enough day- the feeling of gaping, unnatural openness across his stomach, or cold air on parts of his body that he couldn't identify somewhere deep within his abdomen. The feeling, coupled with eating food, made Draco feel sick.
His hand moved towards his stomach as if on instinct, though the soft brush of his clothing only made the feeling worse. He pressed down harshly. The more pressure, the less odd and deformed his skin felt.
Harry was still eating, and he was still casting glances towards Draco, though he swore that he was hiding his sudden queasiness quite well- his face impassive.
Time passed. Harry was eating slower with every bite, tense and jittery. Draco, meanwhile, had found it impossible to stomach anything past his initial bite, and his food had gone cold by now.
Draco was startled slightly by the sound of Harry's fork hitting his plate as he put it down. He looked at Draco fully, now.
"Aren't you going to eat? I can't imagine that you aren't hungry."
Draco supposed he was quite hungry, it was a distant feeling, some nudging instinct in the back of his mind. But he still felt sensations that he shouldn't, still had the idea of his stomach tearing itself open burning into his mind. He was utterly revulsed, and, he now realized, was trembling slightly more than usual.
"I-I'm not. I'm sorry. It's just that today's been a bit tiring."
"You need to eat, though."
Harry was watching him intently, now. The tingle of his scar splitting made him press harder.
"I'm not hungry," Draco continued to insist-
"Please eat," Harry pressed. it didn't go without notice that Harry suddenly looked distressed beyond reason. His breaths were coming in short. "Please! I just- I need you to eat."
Draco blinked, caught off guard by how suddenly Harry had unravelled. He looked desperate, like he was ready to beg.
"Are- are you okay?"
It was Harry's turn to appear disarmed, though the expression flickered away as quickly as it came, falling back into hastily pinched-together composure.
"I'm fine- I just want you to eat."
"I'll eat at another moment," Draco argued. "I just can't eat right now."
"Why not?!" Harry's voice was raising. "What's stopping you from eating?! What's-what's happening?"
"It's complicated."
Harry let out a sharp laugh, running his hands through his hair. He bit his lip. Draco could see his composure completely disintegrating, though he kept trying to wrangle it back in. He licked his lips, pressing them into a thin line. Then,
"Please just finish your food- eat half of it. Some. Please."
Draco was so completely taken aback by Harry's reaction that he did, picking up his fork with a bit of mash and sticking it in his mouth. His lack of appetite transformed the taste into that of ash. He felt like he might vomit. He didn't let it show.
Harry let out a haggard breath, his shoulders visibly dropping and his entire body seeming to go lax with relief. He put his elbows on the table and placed his head into his hands. Draco noticed Harry was trembling. After several tense moments, he spoke:
"Okay, good," Harry said, his voice quiet. "Thank you."
Though he still looked as though he'd been put through a wheat grinder. Draco quietly spoke.
"Harry, what's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine. Are you alright?"
"Harry-"
"Draco, it's nothing, honestly. Eat, please."
"It's obviously not nothing!" Draco raised his voice now, though the words still came out quiet.
"I just can't stand to know someone hasn't eaten," he admitted, out of breath.
He blinked rapidly, and Draco realized that he'd never seen such a display of emotion on Harry since school. He wasn't even sure he'd seen this kind of thing then.
"I... Why?"
Harry didn't speak for a moment.
"It's- it's not- it's not the only thing. There are other things."
"Like?"
Harry paused, his jaw working.
"It's just... there's been a lot. You can't possibly be alright, Draco."
Draco felt a pang in his chest. It wasn't fair, the way that Harry could look at him like that, the way that his green eyes held so much emotion, the way that he seemed to care, so genuinely, about whether Draco ate or not, the way that he seemed to be worried and wanting to help.
"But... but it's not like I'm starving... I don't understand."
Harry stood from the table in an instant, all rigidity and jerky movements. He walked towards the window, staring out at the rain.
Draco chanced getting up and walking towards Harry. He approached slowly, as though Harry may jump at any moment. Draco placed a tentative hand on his shoulder.
"I... something is wrong. With my brain," he began, feeling his heartrate quicken. "I can't really understand it all. But I've never had any significant problems with food... what's got you so worked up?"
Harry was silent, and the shoulder under Draco's hand was taut. Draco took a risk.
"Harry, tell me what's wrong."
"No, it's- it's stupid, I'm sorry, I just need a minute."
"Tell me what's wrong," Draco repeated, more firmly this time.
"I've just been so stressed about this case and-"
"That's not it," Draco cut him off. "Tell me what's wrong."
"Just leave it alone."
"Harry."
"Please, leave it be."
He bowed his head, leaning it against the glass, his eyes closed. He took a deep breath.
"I have problems with food," he quietly admitted. "So it would make me feel better if I saw you eat- if I know that you have the food you need."
"Harry..."
Harry opened his eyes and looked at him.
"I know. I know it's stupid. I'm sorry, I don't mean to pressure you-"
"Stop apologising, you git," Draco cut him off again. "It's... well, it's not fine. It's not good, obviously. But- it's not stupid."
"I've just been stressed," Harry went on, ignoring what Draco had just said. "Seeing you not eating after knowing you hadn't eaten all day sent me into a tailspin. I don't know why, it was stupid, and I shouldn't have reacted that way. And I'm sorry."
Draco pulled Harry around by the shoulders, and, with a hand on either shoulder, looked him straight in the eyes, then kissed him.
It was soft and slow, and Draco had no ulterior motive. It was only a kiss, meant to convey his feelings and his appreciation. Harry's arms wrapped around his waist and leaned into it. Harry's arms around Draco sent shivers up his spine. Draco pulled back and Harry leaned in, chasing his lips, but stopped himself.
Draco's lips twitched up into a smile.
"What was that for?" Harry asked.
"It was because I like you," Draco told him, his smile growing wider. "I'm going to eat a proper meal, now. And you can come to the kitchen with me, or sit at the table and watch me, if you'd like."
"Are you sure?" Harry looked apprehensive and shy. Draco couldn't help but smile a bit wider.
"I'm sure. I feel better now. I think I can eat.
With one final kiss, Draco led him back to the table and sat, pulling his plate towards him and beginning to eat. Harry finished his own abandoned plate as well.
Draco thought of Astoria only briefly, towards the end of his meal. It made him frown.
Once both their plates were cleared, Harry began to collect the dishes.
"Don't worry about it, I'll do them," Draco insisted.
Harry paused.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
Draco swept up the plates with a levitating charm, walking to the kitchen before Harry could protest further. Harry followed behind
"You've been cleaning a lot, Draco... It's not... What's happening?"
Draco sighed. He turned towards Harry.
"My head's all messed up."
"Because of what you've been through? Because of the trauma? It's-"
"No, I just... cleaning helps me get my mind off of things."
"And you've been cleaning all day because..."
"Because I'm stressed."
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"No.”
Draco turned away and started on the dishes. He scrubbed hard, letting his thoughts go unfocused.
Harry stayed behind him, not saying anything for a long while. Draco scrubbed hard. First, the plates and cutlery, then the pot, then the pan. It helped, marginally, until-
"I think the cleaning is a bit more than that," Harry tried.
"What are you on about?"
"You're cleaning a lot, and when you do you get into this... this obsessed single-mindedness. You get angry when people try to get you to stop, like you are doing to me right now. It's scary."
Draco shut off the water, towelling his hands dry. This was not what doing the dishes was supposed to lead to. He just wanted to get his mind off...
"And why does it matter? Cleanliness is an important part of life-"
"Not like this..." Harry sighed, looking away. "I've never met someone who does this the way you do."
"It's just a little compulsion that I get. To help me take my mind off of things. That's all."
"And how long has it been a 'little' compulsion?"
Draco was silent.
"I'm sorry," Harry apologised. "I'm being pushy, and intrusive, and I don't want you to think that I'm judging you, or that I'm upset. I'm just concerned."
Draco was still silent. Harry was right. He knew that he was right, and he was terrified to admit it.
"How long, Draco?"
Draco looked away, feeling his face burn, and his heart rate pick up, and his hands begin to shake.
"Draco?"
"I... don't know... I just- thinking about certain things sends me into awful ruts. So I clean to stop thinking about them when they come to me."
"What are these 'things'?"
"The war, and..." he began, and he could feel his hands beginning to tremble more. He balled them into fists.
"Draco, can you look at me, please?"
Draco turned his head. Harry had taken a step forward, and his expression was open and worried.
"I don't want you to have a panic, okay?"
"I'm not panicking... I want to stop talking about this- stop thinking about this."
"It's alright, I'm here."
Draco looked away, trying to keep himself from doing something irrational- He wasn't sure what.
Flashes of death, of failure, and of pain were assaulting his mind, now. He wasn't sure what to do about it. Everything blurred together. His eyes stung.
"Please let me go," Draco's voice was weak and warbled. Harry took a few steps back, his expression tormented, and Draco retreated to his bedroom.
He felt some awful combination of numb and overwhelmed. Everything was wrong. He wanted Astoria to be alive- he wanted to die.
He pushed himself into bed with trembling hands, not caring that evening had barely begun to fall, and he stayed there for the remainder of the evening.