Hefeelshimwatchinginthedarkness,andpartofhimwantstoreachupandtouchhisface,toslidehishanduphisarmandtracetheveinsthatstandoutagainsttheskin.Topullhimdowntohim,tracealongtheedgesofthedarkmark,tellDracothatheloveshimandnothaveitberefutedonthesolebasisofwhattheyusedtobetoeachother.
“Ineversleep,”Dracosays,butthereisnolongeranyfranticbreathing,andintheend,hedoeslaybackdownbesidehim,evenifHarryissurethatneitherofthemgetmuchsleep.
Thenextnight,Dracomakeshimselfasleepingdraught.
Harrytriesnottothinkthatit’sanythingtodowithhim.
They’restillnotsleeping,eitherofthem.
Harrykeepsgoingaroundthehouse,eventhoughitwasahabitthathethoughthehadbeenabletostopagesago.Hepeeksbehindcurtains,moveschairsaroundtheroomtoseeifanythingishidingbehindthem.Hepullsondoorknobsandrummagesthroughcupboards,shovestheclothestoeithersideoftheclosetsohecanseeallthewaytotheback.HarrymanagestostopshortofpokinghiswaythroughDraco’sroom,contentinghimselfwithpressinghiseartotheheavyoakdoorandseeingifhecanhearanything.
(Hedoesn’taskKreachertocheckuponhim,nomatterwhatDracomighthavesuggestedthenextmorning.)
HeknowsDracoisn’tsleepingeither.Thingskeepshowingupcleanerthanever,andHarrystumblesdowntothekitcheninthemorningtofindafullbreakfastwaitingforhim,evenifthereisnoDracoinsight.Hishandsarealwaysrawandchapped,too,evenwhenHermionestartedleavingsomeofherlotionforhimtotry.
“Thisisn’tworking.”Harrytellshimonenight,whenthetwoofthemfindthemselvesinthekitchenatthesametime.Harryhadbeentriplecheckingthelocksonthefrontdoor,andDracowasscrubbingthefloorsbyhand.Hecouldn’ttellwhichoneofthemwasmoreembarrassedtobecaught.“Notforeitherofus.”
“That’swhatsleepingdraughtsarefor.”Dracowastalkingfromhisplaceontheground,thenrealizedhowitmusthavelooked,sohegotup,kneesgroaningandsoapsudsdrippingoffhishands.“That’sallIwaswaitingfor.”
Right,Harrythinks,lookingatthebucketandthecollectionofspongesonthecounter.Likeyouweren’tgoingtobottleituptousetomorrowandjustkeepgoing,fromthefloortothewindowstothekitchensink,andthentothebathroom,allofwhichispracticallyspotlessbecauseIknowforafactthatyoucleanedthewholedownstairsthenightbefore.
“Whatever.”Harry’sannoyed,suddenly,becauseifitwasn’tforDracoandhisstubbornideathathecoulddoeverythingonhisown,Harrywouldn’thavetodothis.Instead,hecouldjustwakeupandturnhisheadtothesideandreassurehimselfthatDracowasstillthere,stillalright,stillbreathing,howneitherofthemwereabouttobemurderedbydeatheaters.Hecouldjustchecktheroom,then,notthewholehouse,andwhenDracostartedwithhiscompulsivecleaning,Harrywouldbeabletobringhimbacktobed.Itwouldworkoutbetterforbothofthem.
“Harry.”Harrydoesn’tturnaround,andthenthereisahandonhisarm,solighthecouldignoreitbutsopleadingthathedoesn’t.“Wait.”
Harrydoeswait.Andheturnsaround,findinghimfacetofacewithasteaminggobletfullofDraco’spotion.
Partofhim,thenastypart,wantstosayno.ThatifDracodoesn’twanthishelp,Harrywon’tbetakinganythingfromhim.Buthecan’tquitebringhimselftodoit.
Hetakesthegoblet,forceshimselftotryandshowabitofgratitude.“Thanks.”
Dracoisn’tfooled,butthatdoesn’tstophimfromtappingtherimofhisowncupagainstHarry’s,quirkinganeyebrowtogether.“Cheers.”
Theydrinkittogether,butwhenHarrygoesbacktobed,Dracostays.
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