Chapter 3
By the time Potter got home, Draco was almost done with his tour. He had finished examined Potter’s bright, stupid kitchen and moved on to the bedroom. It was just the same comforting blue as the sitting room, and even more photos were scattered everywhere. He had a dresser filled with clothes, once again smelling like citrus and something else Draco couldn’t quite place. He had a pair of scuffed boots and shiny dress shoes neatly placed in his closet. His bed was simply made with a red and gold quilt (Draco rolled his eyes at that). In his bedside table, Draco found another set of wire-rimmed glasses and a vial of PTSD medication from (Draco felt a leap of pride at this) Malfoy’s Potions and other Magical Remedies. He also had a copy of Venomous Tentacula and other Misunderstood Flora by Neville Longbottom. Lastly, he found a framed photo of Daniel Craig, which he found a bit odd.
After deciding Potter’s bedroom held nothing more for him, he moved on, lastly, to the office. And that was where he was when he heard the jingle of keys and then the scraping of boots on Potter’s mat.
“I’m home,” Potter called wearily. “I’m sorry I’ve been out so long, I had to deal with a particularly nasty—” he had just made it to the kitchen and Draco’s empty cage. “Shit. Salazar!” He started frantically pacing around the house, pulling out drawers and looking underneath ledges. He was hysterical by the time Draco left his office and slithered back into the sitting room.
“Salazar! There you are! Fucking hell. You are healing!” Potter gingerly picked Draco up and cradled him to his chest. “Look at you, your bandages are all falling off! You were hit with a really fucking dangerous spell a little over 24 hours ago! You have to be more careful, you stupid snake.” Draco hissed at him reproachfully.
I’m not stupid.
After Potter had stopped angrily fussing, he sank down at the kitchen table and rubbed his eyes. “Fucking hell,” he said again.
It was at this moment that Draco decided that he needed to convey a message. Though he had tried this past day to stay silent when asked anything, his self-restraint was growing thin. He hadn’t given anyone lip for a day and it was getting to him.
He crossed over to where that morning’s newspaper was still strewn across the table. Potter had been attempting the daily crossword puzzle. He moved his tail to five down and thumped it loudly. Potter looked up and then stared at the cream-coloured snake thumping his tail on the newspaper.
“Hang on–are you trying to tell me something?”
Draco tried not to roll his eyes. Of course I am, dumbass.
Potter’s eyes lit up. “I knew you could understand me! Okay. Five down, five down. ‘This 1983 hit song that some believe to be a celebration of gay love had fans wearing t-shirts based off it that even appeared in the American sitcom, Friends.’ Oh!” shouted Potter, “I know this one! It’s, well, by Frankie Goes to Hollywood and it’s called oh you prat.” Draco inwardly snickered as Potter swore. “It’s Relax, isn’t it. You fucking prat! You were telling me to relax!” Potter laughed bitterly and swore again. “If I had known you were going to be such a fucking sass I would never have agreed to take you in.”
Draco felt extremely pleased with himself as Potter got up to make dinner.