Chapter 10
Draco woke up to his white ceiling and the sound of cars and birds outside.
The tension in his chest eased.
He showered in his shower and dressed in his clothes and left his apartment for the bakery down the street, where the woman behind the counter passed him his bag full of breakfast and smiled at him and told him how happy she was to see him. He replied to her in french, and felt his shoulders relax.
He went back home and ate his tartine on his balcony with his hot chocolate and looking out over his view felt like a warm comforting blanket had been draped over him. He read his book until lunchtime, when he took a break to make pasta with tomato sauce, which he ate on his balcony in the blazing midday sun.
He went for a walk along the river until dinner time, which was a light affair of baguette and cheese. He could complete his after-dinner ritual properly this time. He ate and washed up, tidying everything away. Just the sight of his cupboards in their proper order was enough to bring a smile to his face.
Then he changed into his night clothes, and poured himself two fingers of whiskey, before settling into his armchair with his book, and he curled up and he read and he slowly sipped his whiskey in the soft lamplight as the world outside faded to black and every beat of his heart in the silence felt like the word home.
He finished his whiskey, and his book, and so he put it on the shelf and selected the next book from his ‘to-read’ pile, placing the new book on his bedside table, before placing his glass in the sink and getting into bed, turning the light off as he went. He slid between his sheets and closed his eyes.
For the first time in three weeks, he felt no discomfort, no incomprehensible panic, no sense of foreboding. He just felt tired, and slipped easily into sleep.
-
The next day was a sunday. His lie-in day. He did not go to his bakery on sundays, but rather he often did the long walk by the river. It took three or four odd hours, and he followed the river for about ten kilometres out of town, before crossing at a rickety wooden bridge, and following the other side back into Saint-Emilion.
He awoke late, head full of thoughts of Harry, and he lazed in bed, starting his new book and propping himself up on all his pillows so he could look out of the tall windows. At ten thirty, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower, where he allowed himself a luxurious twenty minutes under the scalding spray, in the fragrant steam of his rose body wash. It wasn’t necessarily a very masculin smell, but it made him feel soft and clean, and he liked it.
He dressed in thick cozy layers, aware that the april sun could be deceiving, and it was cold by the water, out in the fields. He packed his book and a flask of hot chocolate in his satchel so he could sit and read by the water at the furthest point of his walk, by the wooden bridge that was surrounded by rocks perfect for sitting in.
Draco set off, his heart both light and weighed by thoughts of Harry; of missing him; missing his smile. He was out of the town within half an hour, and soon he could not even hear the sounds of the road. There were cows in the field to his left and all Draco could think was how much Harry would like it here; how much he would enjoy the cows, and the river, and the peace of the French countryside in the glorious springtime.
It was two hours before he reached the bridge, where he sat and pulled out his book and flask, and settled in. only when the breeze crossed the line between bracing and cold did he close his book and twist the lid back on his now-empty flask, placing them back in his bag before he crossed the bridge and started his journey home.
Right where the river entered the town it formed a little pool where children often swam in the summertime, and where families and young lovers brought their picnics. Because of this, there were steps leading up the grassy bank to the road to make it more accessible.
Draco saw his shoes first. There, leaning on the bottom step were a pair of beaten up black docs. They were followed by mustard yellow corduroy trousers. Atop the trousers sat a green corduroy jacket with shearling lining. A brown neck emerged from the buttoned-up jacket. The face was pensive but calm. A lilac beanie sat on a head of riotous curls.