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Fine Lines	By : squirrelchaser Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8056 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 4
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- 6
�The
Weasley�s are going to be spending the night here for a few days while their
house is being fumigated,� Potter said at dinner, a few days later. �You can
have my room, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and I�ll camp down here with Ron, Fred,
George, and Ginny.�

�Thank
you, dear,� Mrs. Weasley said, spooning a third helping of buttered turnips
onto Potter�s plate.

�Will
we all fit?� Fred asked.

�If
not, Malfoy can sleep outside like the dog he is, and we�ll take his room,� Ron
said loudly, looking at me.

�Ron!�

�Is
this a recent problem?� I snorted into my bowl of stew, mostly to myself. �Or
did it just take you since you moved in to save up for a roach exterminator?
Maybe since your house was in such pathetic shape you got a discount-�

�It
was bundimun, for your information,� Ron Weasley said hotly. �If you weren�t
such a ��

�Stop,
Ron,� said Mrs. Weasley in a warning voice.

�Why
don�t you ever tell him to stop!� Ron
yelled, pointing at me with is fork.

Mrs.
Weasley glared and set down the bowl of turnips with an angry thump. �Because
you�re the one who starts it!�

�Well,
Malfoy�s been a prat all five years at Hogwarts and ��

�Ron!�

�Ask
anyone! Ginny, Harry?�

Ginny
nodded vigorously, looking around the table and Harry shrugged, glancing up at
me then staring at his turnips.

I
huffed to myself, upper lip twitching as I resisted the urge to reach across
the table and skewer Weasley with my fork. At least I had my bed room to myself
still, I thought as I turned down the covers that night.

From
downstairs there were the muffled sounds of laughter, where Potter and the
Weasley children were nesting on their conjured camp beds. The house had just
gone quiet, with sounds of the night just settling into a comfortable, sleep
inducing purr when there came a loud BANG, like an explosion, from downstairs
and the whole cottage shook.

Ron�s
voice yelled, �FRED! WHAT�RE YOU PLAYING AT?�

Next
door, from Mr. and Mrs. Weasley�s room came another yell: �Fred! George! If I
have to come down there you�ll have hell to pay!�

Barely
audible through the floor came snatches of an apology:

�Sorry
Harry, Mum, Dad�Test�new Poof Pillows�Thought�Ron�s worked just fine.�

A
few minutes later my bedroom door opened and Potter was standing in the door
way, bringing the strong odor of burnt feathers with him. There were bits of down
lodged in his black hair, and his glasses perched askew on his nose. He looked
very peeved.

�Do
you mind if I sleep on the floor in here? My pillow just exploded,� he said in
a clipped, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were used to George and Fred blowing
up his pillows at night.

I
shrugged. �It�s your house,� I said, scooting over to one side. �You can sleep
in the bed.�

Taking
out his wand, Potter charmed it so the bed seemed a lot bigger than it really
was. �Thanks,� he said, lay down, and went to sleep.

Once
I got used to the smell, I went to sleep too.

Ron
eyed us when we came down for breakfast the next morning. �Wasn�t sure if both
of you would come out of that room alive,� he commented, stuffing two more
pieces of bacon in his big mouth. �Pass me the butter, will you, Ginny?�

I
narrowed my eyes slightly as Mrs. Weasley flipped generous helpings of eggs and
toast onto my plate, an insult on the tip of my tongue. Then I decided I didn�t
care whatever he meant by that, and picked up my fork.

�Thought
we�d try something different, in tribute to Harry�s upbringing,� Mrs. Weasley
said cheerfully. �Breakfast the way Muggles make it!�

�Fresh
orange juice,� Fred or George announced proudly, thumping down a glass in front
of Potter and me. �The Muggle way, you know, hand squeezed and all. Dad would
be proud.�

Obnoxiously
enough there were seeds in the juice. Muggles are strange, I thought as I
flicked the largest one at Ron, who didn�t notice when it lodged in his hair.
Smirking with satisfaction I glanced at Potter to see if he noticed, but he was
explaining Muggle cooking to Mrs. Weasley and wasn�t paying attention.

�Sorry
about your pillow,� Fred or George said to Potter. �We�re working on an alarm
clock that�d poof your pillow out from under your head, instead of the rude
awakening we�re all used to.�

�Keep
working on it,� Potter said flatly.

I
guess I�d never been aware of how dark his hair was, with a slight, silvery
blue tinge when the light hit it. Very nice, actually. I chewed a little
slower, a little more thoughtfully, staring. His eyelashes were dark and glossy
too, such a contrast to his even, pale skin.

Suddenly
I was overcome by the need to talk to him, to have him look at me. �Potter, er,
Harry�so doesn�t it take Muggles ages and ages to cook a whole meal? I mean,
how can they manage three a day?� I asked lamely. What a stupid question.

Potter
and all the Weasleys stopped talking and eating.

Ginny
lowered her knife slowly, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. �Since when are
you curious about Muggles, Malfoy? Aren�t they, well, beneath you?�

�Are
you feeling okay, Draco?� Fred or George asked, reaching out one hand to feel
my forehead. �Nothing derisive to say?

�That�s
a pretty big word for even your fat mouth, Weasley,� I retorted, swatting at
his hand and turned back to Potter, trying frantically to think of something
interesting or at least intelligent sounding to say. Coming up with nothing I
gulped down the rest of my orange juice, but for some reason choked and spent
the next few moments coughing desperately and turning blue.

�Did
you like living with the Muggles?� I asked when I could breathe again. His eyes
were so round and green, with flecks of gold that I�d never noticed before.

Harry
scoffed. �Malfoy, I�d almost as soon spend my summer with Voldemort� � there
was a collective shudder � �than go back there.� He took a bite of egg.
�They�re horrid.�

�Worse
than me?� I said sarcastically, then berated myself for such a joke. All things
considered � like the past five years � it wasn�t even a joke.

�Compared
to Dudley, Malfoy, you�re a saint. Or at least recently,� Harry added, when Ron
rolled his eyes.

George
and Fred were exchanging glances, and they looked a little nervous. �So,
Malfoy,� one of them said hastily, �How is�er�who did you take to the Yule
Ball?�

�Pansy
Parkinson,� Ginny Weasley spat helpfully, spearing a sausage viciously with her
fork.

�Yeah,
your girlfriend. I see you togeth-�

�Pansy?�
I sneered, horrified at the thought than anyone would associate Parkinson with
the word girlfriend. �You�ve seen Pansy Parkinson�s face, haven�t you,
Weasley? She�s uglier than you are,�

One
looked at the other again. �If it�s any consolation mate,� Fred or George said
to George or Fred, �I think you�re pretty damn dashing.� They turned back to
me. �So let me get this straight: She�s not
your girlfriend?�

�Yeah.
Just don�t tell her that. Harry,� I couldn�t help myself as I reached across
the table and touched the back of one of his hands. His skin was so smooth I
nearly forgot what it was I was going to say as we sat there, my fingertips skimming
over the surface of his skin.

�Harry,�
I railed on. Mrs. Weasley had been talking, but whatever. �Did I, uh, ever
thank you for letting me stay with you?�

Potter
stared, sipping his orange juice, frozen save that little movement as he stared
at me. His chin was tilted down, one eyebrow raised.

What
bedroom eyes, I thought to myself, reaching out my other hand to touch his
cheek. �Potter, I think I love you-�

Ron
Weasley�s laughter exploded from him, loud and rude, like the popping of an
oversized hot air balloon.

�Blast,�
Fred or George stood up so suddenly his chair fell backwards, and he looked at
his twin. �We mixed them up!�

Mrs.
Weasley, who had been trying to wash dishes the Muggle way at the sink, turned
around and practically snarled at her sons.

�Sure
thing, Mum,� Fred or George dashed over to his bags and started rummaging
through them.

�I mean, I know it doesn�t mean much now,� I
said to Potter, wishing he would say he loved me back and wipe that funny look
off his face, or at least stop staring like I was some kind of babbling fool.
�But, I�m really, really sorry for the way I�ve treated you. And I hope we can
start fresh.�

I�d
never apologized sincerely to anyone in my entire life. But this time I meant
it, with all my heart.

Ron
Weasley was having convulsions on the floor. No wait, he was laughing. Git.

Over
in the corner, the Weasley twins were arguing. �It�s this one that works,�

�No,
it�s this one. That one�ll make him ill.�

�Even
so, we know that it works-�

�I
really want to help the Order,� I said, looking pleadingly into his face, still
stroking his hand.

�Malfoy!�
Fred or George shouted, tugging at my elbow. �Drink this!�

�Not
now; I�m talking to Harry.�

�Just
one sip, then you can-�

�Sod
off!�

�Malfoy,�
Potter said quietly. �I think you�d better drink it.�

That
stopped me. �Alright,� I said. �If you think so,� I smiled at him, took the
glass filled with something that looked like more orange juice from Fred or
George, and swallowed. �Now, Harry,� I began, but was immediately hit with such
a wave of nausea I had to bolt from the table.

I
spent the next hour so brutally ill I couldn�t remember anything except for the
inside of the toilet bowl.

Two
hours after that I woke up, cramped and uncomfortable from sleeping curled
around the toilet on the hard tile floor. I was mad. I was livid. And
humiliated, having remembered every sordid detail of that morning�s breakfast.
Potter�s green eyes�HA!

Stomping
out of the bathroom, I was ready to find Fred and George and beat them to a
lifeless, bloody pulp. I would find McGonagall, wrestle my wand back, and curse
them into oblivion, then curse their parents for giving birth to them. I wanted
to curl my fingers around their sodding Weasley necks and wring the life out of
them! Standing in the kitchen I stared at the empty table, clenching my fists
and snarling to myself.

Did
they do it on purpose?

Who
cared. Miserable Weasleys!

�ARRRRRRRRGH!�
I seethed at the blank ceiling. �I�m going to kill you!�

But
the house was empty � probably just as well.

I
grabbed my broomstick and went out to the back. There were some trees between
me and the rest of Godric�s Hollow�and maybe the spells cast on the cottage
made the inhabitants invisible too�

�Hell,
I was so mad I didn�t care.

Kicking
off the ground really hard I shot up into the air.

The
wind on my face was cool, the sun was warm, the whole outside smelled good, my
broomstick cost more and could out strip all the Weasley�s put together�I began
to feel a little better. Briefly I toyed with the idea of breaking out my
snitch and maybe a bludger for a little extra excitement...but that might be
pressing my luck with Muggles so close by.

I
ventured further from the cottage, keeping close and staying just below the tops
of the tree line. There was a vast field beyond the property, with blobs of
grazing cows and a lone house in the distance. Stopping and hovering to look about,
I surveyed the countryside with satisfaction. In the distance, Potter�s cottage
was about the size of my hand. The empty miles of greenery reminded me a little
of home with acres and acres of nothing but Malfoy land where I could fly and
do as I pleased. Without meaning to I sighed. I missed home.

Father
taught me all the positions of Quidditch in a field behind the manor, just like
this. Seeker was my favorite. We�d practice by throwing golf balls, one after
the other, then he�d gotten a real snitch and that�d been easy too. I never
liked the position of Beater. I�d had a lot of concussions and Mother had to
intervene before Father let me give up.

As
I remembered this something in my chest started to hurt and my eyes stung.

�Emma,
look!�

I
was wrenched out of my thoughts, heart stopping as I looked down. Directly
below were two Muggle children, mouths agape as they pointed up.

�Are
you a witch?� One of them shouted in a shrill, annoying voice.

Idiot.
Did I look like a girl?

�Sod
off!� I yelled down at them. I hate
children. Squirmy, stupid, slimy buggers.

�Ooooh,
you said a bad word!� The other kid seemed more intrigued by that than the fact
that I was flying.

�I
know some worse ones! Go bugger off!�

�I�m
telling! I�m telling!� she chanted, as she turned around and started to run.

�Me
too, me too!� the first one shrieked and, not to be out done, started to run
after her.

You
do that, morons, I thought to myself with a sneer. Once they were gone I ducked
low over the handle and zipped back to the cottage.

TBC
- 4
- 5
- 6
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