Saving Myself || A Drarry Story

XXIV: A List

The next morning, Harry opened his eyes groggily. With a groan, he looked at Draco's alarm clock, noticing that Draco wasn't with him. The clock read nearly eleven o'clock and Harry stretched, standing up and then sitting right back down on the bed.

Harry yawned and, without thinking, grabbed a sweatshirt and went into the next room over, where he kept his clothes. He sleepily pulled on dark jeans and made his way downstairs, almost tripping on the last step.

Absentmindedly, he walked into the kitchen, where he heard voices from. He opened the door and Draco told him, "Hey, Harry. Good morning."

" 'Lo, " Harry replied.

Sirius asked, "Sleep well?"

Harry nodded, leaning his head onto his hand. He felt his glasses cut into his temple, but he didn't take them off or move them. With a dull thunk, Draco set a cup of strong coffee in front of him. "Do you want sugar? Milk?"

Harry shook his head, drinking the dark and rich-tasting coffee hastily, burning his tongue in the process.

"Do you want anything to eat?" Draco asked. Harry shook his head. "Why not?"

"I don't eat in the morning, " Harry replied, his eyes shut almost completely.

"That's not o---"

Harry interjected, "I get sick."

Draco was silent for a moment before nodding to himself and Sirius said, "I'd like some toast."

Draco sniggered and Sirius added, "Remus is arriving in a few hours."

"Oh, joy, " Harry yawned. Draco mimicked him quietly and Harry stuck his tongue out and made a face, his face sullen when he stopped.

"Oh, come off it, " Draco said, but it was said sweetly. Harry mimicked him and Draco grumbled under his breath. From the table, he listened to Harry laugh.

He loved the sound; the rough and uncomfortable way Harry delivered it. Harry had mentioned that he didn't laugh or smile much at his home, but Draco had always assumed Harry just said that. But, judging by his laugh, he really and truly didn't do it much.

"I hope you know you're wearing my sweatshirt."

Harry looked down for a moment, frowning at the blue sweatshirt. "Yeah, well . . ."

"I don't mind, " Draco added quickly, "It looks good on you."

"It's too big, "

Draco scratched the back of his neck and a faint, pink blush crossed his cheeks. He glanced at Sirius, who sipped his coffee. Draco swallowed and turned around, not facing the two anymore.

Hearing the sound of a chair being moved back, and felt a hand on his shoulder. "I still think it looks good on you, " he said quietly.

"Everything looks good on me, Draco." Harry smiled. Draco rolled his eyes and Harry's smile faded. "Sorry, was that not nice?"

Draco put a hand on Harry's cheek, saying, "It was an affectionate eye-roll, hon."

Harry didn't respond, but he silently pushed away Draco's hand, not really believing the explanation. He left, pulling Draco's sweatshirt off and sat down on the couch, his expression indifferent and blank.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked, his voice laced with confusion and a bit of hurt.

Harry shrugged. "I dunno."

Draco sat down next to him, his hands in his lap. He wasn't sure how to talk to the smaller boy when he was like this: his eyes seemingly dead, his hands clenched into tight fists, his jaw set, and his shoulders slumped. To be frank, Draco was a bit afraid that Harry would punch him if he touched him, but he did so anyway, placing his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Was it to . . .forward?"

Harry shrugged, but said, "No, I just . . .I dunno how to explain it very well, " he finished with a sigh and his hands face up, their palms facing the ceiling.

"Try, " Draco encouraged him.

Harry bit his lip. "I might take a long time. I'm rubbish at talking."

"I can listen, "

Harry looked at him for a long time. Nobody ever told him that. They told him to either shut up or to go away. Nobody had ever told him to talk until he couldn't breathe. Nobody said that they would listen to him. Only his mother did, and even she had her limits.

So, Harry began: "I never really talk at the Manor and I don't ever want to. They don't ever want to, Draco. My father always told me to never be like this; with any bloke. It didn't matter who they were, he always said the same thing:

'Don't fuck around with blokes. You're a Potter, for Merlin's sake. You aren't entitled to your feeling or what you think they are. You're disgusting when you talk like that. Your voice will get deeper with time. Stop acting like a fairy. Stop, stop, stop.' But I . . .I couldn't. So I told my self that I wasn't. Are you following?"

Draco nodded, but his face was scrunched up. He had a hard time following the constant blabber of Harry, but he tried his best every time.

"You don't, "

"No, " Draco said, "I do. Sort of."

Harry looked away. "You're lying. I know you are. Just tell me to stop and I will because it isn't like I---"

"Harry, " Draco interjected softly. "Keep talking to me."

Harry looked back at him, his mouth in a small, puckered state. He continued, "I pushed it all down. Every little feeling. Crushes, feelings good or bad, and it felt good."

Harry had said the last word with a maniatic smirk and Draco shivered. If Harry could say that burying emotions felt good then what could feel bad to him? And that answer was arduous for Draco to find. And he didn't have an answer at the moment.

"That's why I'm always messing with my hair, I think, " Harry proceeded. "It's kinda a stress . . .reliever, I think. I have something called Dependent Personality Disorder and I'm Bipolar and I have an anxiety disorder that fucks with my head and makes me paranoid and all of it pairs well with my ADHD, which messes with me all at once, which I think is why I just kinda shut down. Or whatever."

Draco's head was spinning. Four mental disorders? Did that explain Harry's sudden shifts? The way he was fine one moment and completely torn apart the next? Why he always asked for reassurance and asking if he was doing the right thing constantly? Why he never seemed to stop moving or how he talked for ages on end?

Harry took a deep breath. "It's a lot, sometimes."

Draco nodded. "It is, "

"There's another one. One that causes me to be angry a lot. I don't like it. Dumbledore and the other professors all know about it, of course, so they can't really punish me with a lot. Detention, House points docked, whatever. I'm a freak."

"I don't think you're a freak, Harry, dear."

Harry crossed his arms. "I know. You're too nice to think of that."

Draco looked at Harry for a very, very long time, not knowing exactly what to say.

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