Grey

They are walking on the street. The pavement is covered with the strange dots of discarded chewing gum, flat, black with the dirt of many shoes. The buildings are all the same on this row, furniture shops and kebab stands. Draco is walking a little bit ahead, his bright blonde hair like an unnatural sun at night, shining in the darkness. He turns around towards Harry.

Hurry up, he whines.

Harry groans, but hurries his pace. They have been walking for what seems like miles.

Draco keeps up his pace and absentmindedly reaches back a hand for Harry's grasp. Harry stares at it suspiciously, as if by taking it, Draco's hand might disappear. He swallows and reaches forward, entwining his fingers with Draco's. It feels foreign and familiar at the same time. They have never held hands like this. Especially not in public. He feels the gaze of a middle aged woman sitting with her parcels at the bus stop across the street. Her disapproving stare burns on the back of his neck like lye.

He lets go.

Draco looks back in a sort of absentminded worry, but keeps walking. You're so slow, he says, and starts to jog.

Harry sighs. I don't understand why we're running, he says. In any case, I could be faster than you if I wanted to be.

In your dreams.

Harry sprints, catches up to Draco. Why are we here? You never told me.

I know somebody.

Harry sniggers. How could you possibly know anybody here?

It's a friend.

Impossible. You have no friends, Harry says, but instantly regrets it.

Draco doesn't respond, only quickens his pace. His feet are light, as if they were winged. He's graceful, Harry notes. Feminine, almost. Harry likes that.

Abruptly Draco stops in front of a house that is partly separated from the rest of the block. There is a small alley way on the side. Draco climbs the fence. He reaches his hand down to Harry, who accepts. Draco's smiling mischievously, eagerly, and Harry can't help but smile back.

They float onto the earth, nimble as cats, landing on their feet. They are in the back of someone's yard. A child's tricycle, rusty, sits in the far corner of the yard, with an old broomstick propped up against it... one of the original Cleansweeps. It would be valuable if it had not been decaying for years. The grass is unkempt, long. Draco moves stealthily towards the back door, lifts the mat in front and draws a key out from under it. The key is old and grey, metal turned dull by years of idleness. The handle is in the form of a snake.

What is this place? What friend?

I came here with father when I was little. Don't worry about it. They aren't going to come back anytime soon. It's just a place to stay, Draco says and pushes the door open with his knee, steps inside. Harry follows gingerly. The place smells of rot and dust. There is a counter to the side of the door with what appears to have been a fern, withered, dead. Old phone books, unopened. An overstuffed armchair, green, with the seat worn out sits next to the radiator.

I bought some wine, Draco says, pulling a bottle out of his knapsack. He goes to the other side of the counter. He draws out two glasses. Would you like some?
Sure, Harry says. He steps over to the bookcase and looks at the contents of the shelves. The Complete History of Salazar Slytherin. Necromancy for Beginners. Twilight of the Sirens. Mysteries of the Ancient Dark Arts.

A grubby old journal is on the desk, its withered pages open. All Harry sees is a mention of his own name in the sprawling scrawl before he turns around to see Draco approaching with the wine.

Have you read any of these books? Harry asks after Draco returns with the drinks.

Some, he says. He doesn't elaborate.

Harry wonders who this house belongs to, what they would think if they knew. Not just that there's a boy, but who he is. He can tell by the books that this friend would be hostile to him on principle. A death eater.

Draco sits down next to him, his eagerness turning into a pensive glare. He's holding back now, lingering. His hand brushes Harry lightly on the top of his thigh.

Why are you looking at me like that?

I'm memorizing you.

Why? Harry asks. He doesn't like being examined like this. He hates being scrutinized.

To have you later, he says. When we go back and I can't have you.

Don't. Don't spoil it now.

Smile while the sun is shining, Draco says, glaring into his glass. Is that your motto?

More like waste not, want not, Harry says. Draco laughs.

They are now tangled in a maze of white linen in the bedroom upstairs. They had prepared the bed beforehand, using sheets Draco had brought from school. The house still smells like rotten dust and Harry is apprehensive because of the owners of the home, even though it is apparent they have not been back for years. Azkaban, probably.

Draco leans over -- kisses him softly on the cheek. You look sad, he says. Or scared. Or both.

Harry sighs. Can I have another drink? I'm thirsty.

I'm not sure if there is any left, Draco says. You can go see. The bottle is on the desk. Harry gets up, taking the sheet with him. No need to wrap up, Draco says. I enjoy the view.

Harry looks back at him over his shoulder. He says: It adds mystery. Toss over your glass.

I should stop buying this shit, Draco says with a smirk as he carefully lobs the glass over to Harry. I'm amazed that you actually like it. Nobody with any semblance of taste would want seconds.

I've got no taste. It's because I'm an orphan. The Dursleys ruined me. It's why I'm so gloomy and dismal.

I'm the gloomy and dismal one, remember? Anyway, don't even think of playing that nasty old orphan card on me. My heart does not bleed.

It does though, Harry says, returning to the bed. I count on it. Apart from your handsome face and your very fine ass, that's what I admire most about you -- the bloodiness of your heart. You're just a big softy underneath it all.

It's not my heart that's bloody, it's me. I'm a bloody twit. Or so I've been told. By you, mostly.

Harry laughs. Here's to your bloodiness then. Cheers. They clink glasses.

Draco drinks, makes a face.

Comes out the same as it goes in, Harry says cheerfully. Besides, you bought it.

I know, Draco says, and sits next to Harry on the bed. I know.

They kiss.

I like you gloomy and dismal, Draco says, and slides a hand behind Harry. I wouldn't have you any other way. Much better than Perfect Harry Potter -- Boy Wonder. He groans. God how I hated you those first couple of years. I would have never expected those beautiful eyes held such an angry soul.

I'm not sure if I'm angry. Just annoyed.

Well you were annoyed at me in any case, Draco says and kisses Harry's neck.

Yes, this is true. If you hadn't been such a...

Bloody twit?

Yes, Harry says. He rests a hand on Draco's thigh. ...If you hadn't been such a bloody twit I don't know if I would want to shag you as much as I want to right now. Harry's tone is light but he has never told Draco this before. There is a weight in the air heavier than the both of them.

And some people regret their youthful insolence.

Let's just hope that you never revert back to that.

You do realize that I wouldn't be this nice to you if I didn't love you. I haven't changed one bit on the inside. I'm just as nasty, disgusting, and bigoted as I was before. Or maybe you're changing me for the better and I just don't realize it.

Let's hope so, Harry says and smiles.