19 Years (HP - Drarry)

Chapter 22: When Pigs Fly

Friday, October 13, 2017

Draco sat at his desk, head in his hand, nursing his pounding headache and attempting to grade the day's essays. It had been a week - one week - since he'd fled the hospital wing. He hadn't seen Harry since.

Oh, he couldn't avoid him completely. He'd heard the students and other teachers talking - and, yes, he'd sometimes strained to hear the conversations, but... well. He was only human after all. He wasn't immune to temptation. He'd managed an entire week of not seeing Harry, and, even though it was tearing him up inside, and he'd had a persistent headache since that afternoon, and he'd had to resist the temptation to go and find him with every shred of his tattered self-control - he'd done it, dammit. He was going to count this one a victory, in hopes that it made other victories easier.

And, yes, maybe it was cowardly. But... Draco just couldn't drag them through that again. His heart had just barely survived the first time. Going through that heartbreak again - it would kill him. He knew it. The only thing that kept him getting up each day and going to his classes was that Harry. Didn't. Know. He had suspicions - that was obvious. That's what that drawing had been about. But suspecting wasn't the same as knowing. Harry didn't know. It was only Draco's heart on the line, this time. And, in a way, that made it easier.

He slashed his quill through a cobbled-together explanation of the effects of dragonsbane on love potions - utter nonsense, and poorly written to boot - and winced as the tip tore through the parchment. Well. Perhaps a break was in order. A nice relaxing cup of tea. Yes. He'd call that house elf - Beezy - now. A cup of tea, one of those scones they'd had at lunch, and -

And then Harry walked through the door.

Draco's thoughts stuttered to a halt and he gaped for a moment.

Harry looked - well, he'd looked better, certainly. He could use a shave, and his hair was an absolute disaster. Daco's heart thumped painfully in his chest. No. No, no, and no. He was not doing this again.

"You'll have to come back later," he said shortly, training his gaze on the torn parchment before him. "I'm quite busy, just now."

He refused to look up, hoping that Harry would do the sensible thing and just go away. But, no. Of course he wouldn't. Draco really should have expected that. When had Harry ever done the sensible thing?

"All right," he said quietly. "I'll, er, just wait here, then?"

"Hmm." Maybe if I ignore him, he'll get bored and leave. He snorted. And maybe today will be the day pigs fly.

Harry plopped down in the chair in front of Draco's desk, the one he kept there for students who sought him out for help. Surprisingly, there had been several, lately. Enough that he'd had to bring in the chair. Harry lounged in it, looking obscenely relaxed. He propped his hands behind his head and whistled softly, jiggling his foot. Well. Not that relaxed, then.

Draco finished grading the essay, and reached for the next without looking up. Harry's foot continued obstinately to jiggle.

Draco worked his way steadily through the stack of essays - at this rate, he'd finish the weekend's grading before the weekend even arrived - and soon found that he could almost forget Harry was there. Almost.

After several minutes of being ignored, Harry seemed to give up on pretending to be relaxed. He leaped out of his chair, stumbling slightly, and began prowling up and down the classroom. Draco grit his teeth and tried to ignore it as Harry touched everything, seemingly needing to leave his mark on every surface in the room. He trailed his fingers along the tops of the desks, peered into all the cupboards, picked up and then set down the carefully arranged potions ingredients and flasks of completed potions - far too roughly for Draco's peace of mind, and ruining his organization to boot - and generally made a nuisance of himself.