Just Not Cut Out for Torture (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 7: Ten Points to Gryffindor

Harry POV

Harry groaned as he opened his eyes, the shaft of sunlight that had somehow snuck past the heavy blinds momentarily blinding him. He put a hand up to block it, blinking slowly to clear the spots from his vision. It suddenly occurred to him that he was snuggled up to something warm. Someone warm. He shot out of bed, fumbling for his glasses and flushing as the night before came flooding back to him.

Draco scowled at him. "You don't have to act quite so horrified, Potter. You are the one who snuck into my bed in the middle of the night."

Harry scowled back. "My. Name. Is. Harry. And excuse me for trying to rescue you from what must have been a bloody awful nightmare."

Draco's face crumpled. "You heard me then," he said flatly.

"Yes, and a right scare you gave me, too, howling like that, after I'd just –" Harry clamped his lips together, cutting off the words. Merlin. He hadn't meant to say anything about his own dream.

"You were having a nightmare too!"

"Yes."

Draco frowned, but it was a thoughtful frown. "What do you have nightmares about, then?"

Harry stared at him. "Really. What do I have nightmares about? Have you forgotten the last week entirely?"

Guilt stole over Draco's expression. "My father."

Harry snorted. "Please. He's not that scary."

Draco's mouth quirked up at one corner, acknowledging the jibe, but let it go, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on Harry's face.

Harry sighed, relenting. "Werewolves," he said shortly.

Draco's head jerked, his eyes widening. "That's how – "

"That's how they captured me, yes. And no, before you panic, I wasn't bitten."

"I wasn't going to suggest it," Draco said, with injured dignity.

Harry couldn't help but smile. Draco looked so cute when he – Merlin! What's wrong with me? Draco Malfoy is many things, but cute is not one of them. The part of his brain that had acknowledged, last night, that he needed the comfort of Draco's presence too, just laughed

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco, who was staring at him warily. "Right. Well, I need a shower. I'll see you in the kitchen in fifteen for breakfast? I'm sure Kreacher's managed something mostly edible – especially since you're here."

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Fifteen minutes later, a slightly damp, but much more awake, Harry bounded down the stairs. He caught the edge of the doorframe as he skidded in. He grinned at Draco and bounced over to him. "'Morning." He grabbed a piece of toast, slathered it with butter and jam, and crunched into it happily.

Draco just stared at him, his own piece of toast frozen halfway to his mouth. Harry noted, with some amusement, that Draco had put at least twice as much jam and butter on his toast as Harry had. He shook his head. And the git still manages to eat it without getting a crumb or drip anywhere. Harry brushed self-consciously at the crumbs that now littered the front of his sweater, then shrugged. Who am I kidding? Its not like messy eating is going to make a difference in his opinion of me, one way or another. He carefully didn't think of what sort of opinion he wanted Draco to have of him.

Draco shook his head, then dropped his eyes to his toast and continued wordlessly – and very, very neatly – to eat his breakfast.

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