Just Not Cut Out for Torture (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 17: Thinking

Technically it's still Friday. I know, I'm flirting with missing my own deadlines. Oops. Here's a short chapter. Oh, and I'd like to lodge a formal complaint against migraines. I really could do without 'em.

Draco POV

Harry tossed his toothbrush at the holder, shrugging when it missed, and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He wordlessly scooted over to make room for Draco at the mirror, nodding his thanks when Draco handed him his comb. "You know, I haven't had a dream about Voldemort since that first night we were here. And, now that I think about it, that one wasn't even a proper one. It was just running and fear and being chased – no Voldemort, or Death Eaters, or torturing muggles..." Harry shrugged, carelessly dropping the comb to clatter on the counter. "Huh. I haven't slept this well in ages." He stretched, yawning widely. Draco winced as Harry's joints popped. He'd grown used to Harry's morning rituals, and, disturbing popping noises aside, found them soothing. And if that's not proof I've switched sides... Harry's words caught up to him then, and he paused, toothbrush halfway to his mouth. The whisper of a memory teased him. Something Voldemort said once about dreams...

"Hey, Draco?"

He started. "Yeah?"

Harry poked his head back around the door. "I'm headed down, yeah?" His words were muffled by the t-shirt he was pulling over his head.

"Yeah, OK. I'll be down in a bit."

Harry flashed him a quick grin and bounded off.

Draco couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his lips, even as he shook his head. Harry was such a slob. But then, I wouldn't have him any other way. He turned back to the mirror, sighing. He couldn't shake the feeling that Harry had just told him something vital. He turned it over in his mind, worrying at it, as he performed his own familiar morning rituals. He thought about it as he rinsed his toothbrush and placed it precisely into the holder. He thought about it as he combed his hair, twenty times exactly on each side. He thought about it as he carefully centered the comb in front of the mirror. Then he thought about it as he performed his newest ritual – he turned to leave, took a few steps, then sighed and turned back. He thought about it as he retrieved Harry's toothbrush, rinsed it, and placed it precisely into the holder next to his own.

By the time he'd gotten dressed, and was making his way downstairs, he'd come to a decision. It has to have something to do with the wards. They changed, after we'd been here a bit. I felt it – I just didn't know what it was that I felt. I guess I have some research to do...

"Hey Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I'd like to do a bit of digging in the library today – I want to know a bit more about the wards, and about why I can feel them and you can't." And that's the truth. Just not all of it.

Harry nodded. "Fine by me. McGonagall's supposed to floo today anyway, and I wanted to poke about in the attic a bit more."

Draco shuddered. There were far too many spiders in that attic. "Better you than me."

Harry grinned at him. "Yeah, well, I'll take spiders over books any day."

"Don't let Granger hear you say that."

Harry tossed a muffin at him, and Draco caught it easily. He took a large bite, exaggerating his moan of pleasure as the bits of chocolate melted on his tongue, and delighting in the spots of color that rose to Harry's cheeks, even as he rolled his eyes.

-----

Draco closed the book with a snap. He regretted it, a second later, as the resulting puff of dust hit his face. He waved his hand, coughing, and banished the dust.

He'd found what he was looking for, and, as he'd suspected, it wasn't good. It hadn't registered at the time, but when Harry had told him he'd seen Draco, seen how unhappy he was about what he was forced to do... well, he had seen it. Through Voldemort's eyes. Which was all well and good, except that, now that Draco had thought about it, it seemed awfully likely that Voldemort could see out of Harry's eyes as well. And he'd admitted to being hopeless at legilimency, which meant he couldn't even keep him out if he wanted. Likely, he hadn't thought he'd have to.

Draco frowned. Of course, Granger ought to have thought of this before. And then he realized. Of course. Harry didn't tell her. He probably hasn't told anyone, or they'd have insisted he learn legilimency. He'd have chalked it up to Harry's arrogance, once. But now he knew better. He probably didn't want to bother anyone with it. Draco refrained from smacking himself in the forehead, but only just. Well, at least I have some idea of why he's not been having those dreams. I'll just have to study the wards and hope I can cast similar ones once we leave here. Which means I'll almost certainly need Granger's help.

He smiled as Harry clattered down the stairs and skidded into the study. Seconds later, the floo flared to life. How'd he hear that all the way up in the attic, when I didn't hear it in the next room? Maybe he has more of a link to the House and wards than either of us realized...

Draco opted to let Harry handle McGonagall. She'd be less nervous, and more inclined to listen to Harry without Draco there to remind her of things she doubtless didn't want to think of. And he was comfortably settled in what he firmly believed to be the most comfortable chair in the house, and not inclined to move just for a floo call. Especially not one where he'd be expected to nod along and agree and never voice an objection. He yawned, sinking further into the plush velvet. His mind, pushed to its limits concentrating for several hours on the weighty, intricate, and sometimes tedious accounts of the House wards, written in a variety of hands (all of them crabbed and spiky and difficult to make out), and a variety of inks (all of them brown and faded), floated deliciously on the edge of sleep. Let Harry handle the talking, he thought vaguely. It's what he's good at. I'll handle the thinking. He yawned. Later. I'll handle the thinking later.