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The Distance In Your Eyes	By : Pfeifenkraut Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Fenrir Views: 30085 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: Nothing of the Harry-Potter-universe belongs to us. It's the property of J. K. Rowling and Bloomsbury. We do not make money out of this. See full disclaimer below.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter 9

Laying his still not finished homework onto the bedside table next to various vials of potions, Harry looked out of the window for a moment while sitting in bed.

The weather outside was nice, the sky light blue, only some clouds here and there, the grass was green and the birds were singing merrily.

He could vomit! Of course, it was beautiful, and during the first days of his stay here he had appreciated the view, but not any longer.

Grabbing one of the potions, he downed it and decided to finally get up and do something before he went mad out of boredom.

His body might still feel weak and at the same time heavy, but he couldn't stand rolling around in bed.

As soon as Harry opened the door of his room, loud voices could be heard coming from downstairs.

Scrunching up his forehead into a frown – it sounded like arguing? – he decided to limp down the hall and see what was going on.

Now that he was up and about, he realised that he still felt really weak, even more so than he had already guessed.

No matter, he wanted to know what was going on around him.

His body was sweating already although he hadn't covered any distance at all and his whole balance was off, too. It was hard not to fall down and hurt himself.

Besides that his foot and ankle hurt, which made walking even more difficult. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he had sprained his ankle on his run and had torn up the soles of his feet, but he didn't remember the details. He reckoned his fever had been too high for him to be able to.

Suddenly, pain shot through his injured ankle making him grimace. So deep in his thoughts he hadn't bothered to look where and how he stepped onto the floor. Now his sprained ankle was thanking him exceptionally...

He snorted to himself. Yeah, note the sarcasm...

Continuing his way towards the stairs, he forced himself to ignore his hurting limb.

When he finally reached them, he looked down and a moment later cursed profoundly.

Of course, Grimmauld Place had to have THE longest staircase in the world!

It would take him hours to reach the bottom in his current condition!

Well, nothing would happen if he didn't get a move on!

So he started to limb down the stairs, taking very slow and cautious steps. After all, he didn't want to strain his foot any more than he already had.

When he was down about halfway, he had to stop and take a small break.

He really was still very weak. And the blood that had begun to pump as soon as he had started to exert himself made his head spin and his vision blur.

In an effort not to fall down he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles started to become white.

His breathing had become laboured.

Hell, was he already this exhausted? How was he going to get down without hurting himself? In the state he was in it would be close to impossible!

Well, he wouldn't be a proper Gryffindor if he didn't face challenges head on.

Bracing himself, he continued his way downstairs taking one step at a time. To distract himself from any pain he might feel, he listened to the voices and observed that they were really coming from the kitchen and were steadily growing louder.

And then suddenly – he had to hold onto the banister again so he wouldn't fall, he was that surprised – he heard Mrs Weasley shouting, "Ronald Weasley!" Her voice rang through the whole house not far ahead of him. " How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your socks everywhere?"

Sniggering followed her outburst. Apparently, Fred and George were having a field day at Ron's expense.

Grinning, Harry slowly made his way further downstairs.

"Mum!" Ron called indignantly. "They are antique pink! There's absolutely no bloody way they can be mine!"

Harry's jaw dropped in amazement.

Antique pink? That was news to him! They had been rooming together for about 5 years and would start their 6th very soon and Harry had never seen even the tiniest hint of something like that!

"But Ronnikins! Don't you remember? They were custom-made for your dress robes for the Yule Ball in 4th year!"

The twins' sniggering intensified and they started to chant something like "Ronnikins turns transsexual!", repeating it like a mantra for their own amusement just to annoy Ron.

Harry could already picture them, dancing around their little brother to drive him mad while he was trying to hit them. A small smile crept onto Harry's face.

"Really, boys, how old ARE you?" He heard Ginny ask, irritated. Before he could react in any way, the door opened and she came out of the kitchen. Seeing him on the stairs she halted in mid-step. Staring at him, a surprised "Harry" left her lips as she was caught off-guard.

Harry himself was at a loss of words. Minutes seemed to tick by, Harry's loud breathing the only thing resounding through the air while they looked at each other.

Between the angst and paranoia he had felt during his summer vacation adventure, he had sometimes seen her face in his dreams, smiling, laughing, with those cute dimples in her cheeks, all mixed into a confusing blur of emotions. Amber eyes had always followed him, watching, not leaving him out of their sight.

When he had been awake, he had always wished for her safety, had hoped that the Death Eaters hadn't done anything to her. Had wished that she wasn't going through the same... But at the same time he had also desperately wished for someone – for her – to hold onto while sanity had slowly slipped away from him, replaced by fear and desperation.

Now with her standing at the end of the stairs, his mind felt caged and restless, everything was spiralling down on him, paralysing him so that he could do nothing.

"You're awake," Ginny said, her voice so soft and unbelieving he almost hadn't been able to catch what she had said, but effortlessly ripping him out of his thoughts.

"How are you feeling? You look t..." She paused. "...not good. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

"No!" He called a bit too loudly and all breath left him while his shoulders slumped. The next moment he felt silly for his outburst. Ginny frowned at him.

"Sorry, it's just... everyone keeps asking me how I feel and stuff..." He heard himself say, feeling utterly foolish.

"We're just worried", she said

"I know." He sighed. "How are you doing? Hermione told me that almost nothing could be saved from the Burrow "

"We manage... My family never had much... at night I sometimes hear mum and dad argue – pretty much everything was burned in the fire and they don't know where to live or how to buy food and our school things..." She said, her eyes clouding over. She was close to tears. "Charlie and Bill both tried sending us money but you know mum and dad. They won't take it. Don't want to be a burden. Especially with Bill and Fleur being engaged and a possible wedding in the future..."

"You know, you can stay here at Grimmauld Place..."

"Yeah, I think they just need time to adjust. Dad practically built the Burrow all by himself and they don't want to be a burden..."

Suddenly, he felt part of his strength leave him. He tightened his grip on the banister. Ginny must have seen something, even from that distance, because in the next moment, she frowned and said, "You look really..." After another look at him, she finished, "...pale."

"I'm fine, really. I would've gone insane if I had stayed in bed one more minute..."

"If you're sure...", she replied, unconvinced. But instead of saying anything more on the matter, she continued to study him seriously.

"You know, somehow, you look different...Your glasses! Where are your glasses?" She exclaimed, surprised.

His eyes widened a fraction.

Unbelieving, he touched his nose.

Where were his glasses...? He hadn't noticed that they were missing.

Strange... he could see just fine without them...

When could he have possibly lost them? He must have lost them somewhere on the way to Greyback's cave. He remembered waking up and groping for them but without success. That meant he hadn't been using them for a while now.

But that would mean that his eye-sight had been miraculously restored during the time he had been unconscious.

"Harry...?"

"Eh...I lost them..."

"Why didn't you tell anyone you lost them? They would've transfigured a pair for you."

Dumbstruck, he stared at her. Even if his eye-sight were as miserable as before he wouldn't have thought about that...

"... it's not as if I'm completely blind without them ..." He mumbled under his breath, hoping that she would let it go.

Everything was just so strange and confusing!

She would never believe him if he told her his eyes had been healed miraculously. And then she would probably declare him mad and tell everyone.

THAT was really something he wasn't ready to face yet. Hell, he couldn't even explain it himself!How was he to answer their questions?

"Of course you are! Everybody knows that!" Ginny retorted obliviously.

"But I can see you just fine!" Harry replied vividly. "Your shape, your red hair, your deep brown eyes, your lovely lips, even every last one of your cute freckles!"

She stared at him for a moment, her mouth open in surprise.

What was she looking at him like that for? Mentally going over what he had just said, he blushed when he noticed his words.

Had he really just said that?

How corny was that?

Looking sheepishly at her and even a bit shy, he sent a small smile her way.

A slight flush rose to colour her own cheeks.

Returning his smile she came up all the way to him. When she reached him, she stopped for a moment and pecked him fleetingly. Paralysed, he turned as red as a tomato.

"Oh." He said absent-mindedly while staring after her retreating back which was about to disappear on the upper floor.

Dreamily he walked down the rest of the stairs, blank minded while the situation of just now repeated itself again and again.

Just as he reached the end of the stairs, loud voices coming from the kitchen ripped him from his trance.

Shaking his head, he gathered himself and turned towards the ruckus.

He was about to open the door when he suddenly noticed a strange pull coming from his left.

Narrowing his eyes, he looked down the dimly-lit corridor. Nearly at the end, he could make out an inconspicuous door in the twilight. It caught his attention, enthralled him and lured him away from the kitchen...

Before he could stop himself, he had already reached the wooden door.

Reaching for the handle, he hesitated.

He had learned the hard way that strange, ensnaring things normally meant his doom – or at least some sort of catastrophe. Maybe going through that door wasn't a good idea after all.

Shaking his head, he tried to turn away but realised he couldn't. His curiosity wouldn't let him do that. His gaze snapped back to the door, which seemed to look even more inviting than before. And now curiosity got the better of him.

Pushing all thoughts of self-preservation from his mind, he turned the knob and slowly opened the door.

His body was tense with anticipation. Ready to face whatever it was that lurked behind the door – after all a lot of things could be contained in Wizarding Houses – disappointment and confusion settled in his mind as the light flickered on.

Rows of clothes in all colours and sizes were hanging on lines arranged all over the small room. It smelled of fresh washing powder and soap with a tiny amount of citron.

The laundry room? Why had his instincts told him to come here? What could possibly be of any interest in here?

Slowly walking through the room, he eyed every last piece of cloth he came across.

Still nothing interesting.

He came to a stop in front of a pile of folded laundry.

Immediately he recognised the shirt on top. It was the one he had been wearing in Greyback's cave.

The mud and blood had vanished and the holes had been patched.

Staring at it wide-eyed, Harry didn't realise what he was doing until his fingers almost touched it. When he finally did notice what he was doing he snatched his hand away as if burned.

Had that been it? Had the shirt been the reason he had felt compelled to enter the laundry room? But why? After all, it was just a lousy shirt! A lousy shirt that had belonged to Fenrir Greyback, no less!

Why should that attract his attention? It wasn't as if it was an especially comfortable shirt. It should be even less interesting than Merlin's nightgown.

But when he tried to move away again, something deep inside of him felt as if it were punched and crushed. As if a cruel hand were closing around his heart, making cold shivers run down his spine.

What the...?

Turning back to face the shirt, he made a split second decision and carefully took a hold of it.

Stroking his fingers over the material, he didn't notice anything special about it. It felt like a normal shirt, no special fabric, nothing.

So why did it fascinate him so?

He couldn't stop his fingers from closing around the cloth and cradling it to his chest. Unconsciously, he rubbed his cheek against it, feeling the light scratching of the coarse texture against his skin and closed his eyes in pure bliss.

And then, he could smell a calming scent emitting from it, reaching out to settle his agitated mind.

Instinctively, he buried his nose in the shirt. The scent filled his lungs, eased his injured body and for the moment he forgot the last days of terror.

All of a sudden, it didn't matter that strange things were happening, that his eyes were healed and that he felt a strange obsession with a shirt that belonged to a mass murderer.

Sleepiness overcame him. He felt tired and had the urge to go back to bed and lie down.

Yawning, he looked around.

The way to his bed seemed far too long in his sleep-fogged mind.

Spying a pile of blankets in a corner, his feet developed a mind of their own and made their way over to it.

It looked very appealing.

Laying down, he was asleep before his head even touched the material.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Stepping through a bush, Fenrir came to the border of a large opening in the middle of his territory when suddenly a shadow appeared next to him. Kneeling with one hand on the ground, the werewolf stated humbly, "My Alpha, you have returned."

Giving a sideways glance to the dominant currently in charge of protecting and scouting the area, Fenrir ordered, "Assemble the hunters. We have traitorous prey to slay."

And the dangerous glint in the Alpha's eyes told the dominant that he did not mean animal prey.

Returning his own wicked grin, he replied, "As you wish, my Alpha."
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The Distance In Your Eyes