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“He’s amazing.”
“Uncanny, really.”
“I have no idea how he does it!”
“He’s a hack.” Harry stirred the bits of carrots around on the bottom of his salad bowl, feeling angry and frustrated at how the oil slick from the dressing wasn’t making the right design on top of the vinegar.
The table fell silent as three girls glared at their lunch partner.
“You know, if you don’t have anything nice to say about him,” Luna began.
“You should shut up and butt out of our conversation,” Ginny spat.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “You know, years ago, you and Ron accused me of pitching fits because I wasn’t very talented with divination. Now here you are, faced with a real talent, and...”
“He isn’t a real talent, he’s a spiteful git!” Harry shoved the bowl away from him and sulked in his chair, crossing his arms and slouching until his knees were pressed against the underside of the table.
They had just come from the divination shop where Draco Malfoy, of all people, had set himself up as something of a medium. According to everyone in town, he was the most accurate diviner and had the greatest gift anyone had ever known. His recommendations were taken as gospel - especially by the ladies in town - and he had an uncanny ability to know what people were coming to see him for before they even stepped into his shop.
Just the thought of it irritated Harry.
And then there was the fact that when Harry went with the girls to visit this “miracle medium,” Draco got it all wrong. With the girls, he was confident, serious, and accurate. But when Harry sat down in front of him, he laughed.
“Don’t take it so personally, Harry,” Hermione told him, reaching out for his arm. “You two have always been at odds.”
Ginny nodded. “And actually, his prediction might come true. You never know.”
“Give it some time,” Hermione added.
Luna took a deep breath. “Maybe there’s something wrong with him. You know that there are times when a person’s aura changes from blue to orange and back again without anyone realizing it. That might be what’s happening. It’s blue, blue, blue, and then suddenly, ‘ffwip!’ it’s orange.”
“And then suddenly the next person comes in and ‘ffwip!’ it’s blue again?” Harry asked, not quite sure if Luna was being serious or not.
“Precisely. It could be that you are his orange.”
Nobody quite knew what to say about that.
“Check, please,” Hermione called out.
Ginny leaned over to Harry. “If you’re his orange, just make sure he doesn’t peel you and eat you.”
--~oOo~--
Draco flopped back on his bed and stretched his arms out to his sides. His wrist hit the wall.
His new flat was small. It was worse than small, it was cramped, old, musty, and hardly an appropriate size for a man who was nearly two meters tall. Still, without a family fortune to back him, he had to make do with the space above the shop as his sleeping quarters. He just prayed that nobody would be around early in the mornings. After all, above the shop was merely the sleeping quarters, if he wanted to brush his teeth, he had to go downstairs, walk through the shop, and back into the kitchen to use the sink.
“This is bad,” he mused to himself. “Now that he knows I’m here, I should probably pack up and leave. Things cannot possibly go well with that idiot around. Sorry. Not idiot.” Draco rolled over to his side. “Not an idiot.”
Although it had been several months since they had met in person, Draco had been seeing Harry an awful lot. In fact, his venture into Divinations was primarily because of these strange visions he’d been having. When he was with other clients, he could focus on their questions, their futures, and give stunningly accurate predictions. It was as if all the muses in the world were telling him precisely what was going to happen. He could see clearly, in color, and relay just enough information not to get them into trouble.
But anytime he wasn’t helping other people, his mind would automatically switch over to watching Harry. He couldn’t predict anything about Harry’s future, though. That was the most frustrating part. All he could do was see everything that Harry was doing at the present.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just seeing what he was doing, but Draco could also share his feelings. That was the worst. He felt the pain when the Weasley girl broke up with him. He felt the relief when Harry realized that they were all still friends and it really didn’t affect anything.
And today, when he was in the shop, Draco could feel the shock, disgust, and then extreme dislike as Harry walked in and sat in front of him.
“I just can’t deal with it. Maybe he won’t come back. That’s about the best I can hope for now.” He reached over for his bottle of sleeping draught. It was just about the only thing that would drown out the voices of the muses and these constant images of Harry Potter and his emotions.
--~oOo~--
“I’m not an orange,” Harry muttered to himself as he threw his shirt on the floor. “What in Merlin’s name was she talking about, anyway? Draco switching from blue to orange? That doesn’t make any sense.”
None of it made sense the way the girls were talking. There really was only one explanation: Malfoy was doing it on purpose. That blond git had given him such a ridiculous prediction - something about moving to Albania and settling down on a chicken farm - that he had to be doing it on purpose.
What was worse was that Harry had thought they’d gotten over this sort of childish animosity. As far as he could tell from what everyone else was saying, Draco had even defended Harry to some of his friends. Out in public. With former Slytherins watching.
Still, no matter how he thought about this, Harry couldn’t come to any other conclusion. Draco was intentionally having fun with him.
There was only one thing to do. Harry decided he would go back in the morning and see if he could get a true reading from Malfoy. If it was even remotely reasonable, he’d forgive the git and be on his way, but if Malfoy was playing games with him again...
--~oOo~--
The shop had a line outside that stretched nearly all the way to the familiar shop on the corner. Harry made his way back along the queue. He felt a little foolish, actually, waiting in line and then going in to see a medium, knowing full well that there was only the slightest chance his efforts would NOT be fruitless.
Still, he was determined. And when he set his mind to something, he was stubborn enough to see it through.
It turned out, however, that he didn’t have to wait very long at all. The patrons were in and out of the shop surprisingly quickly, and always left with stunned and amazed looks on their faces. And in addition to that..
“Oh, Mr. Potter, please, go ahead of me. My little problem can certainly wait.”
“Is that Harry Potter? Oh, please go ahead.”
“It’s a small favor for you, but nothing compared to what you’ve done for me and my family."
Harry was gracious enough, but he still found these situations embarrassing. “Erm, thank you. I-- no, really, I’m okay, I can wait. Well, if you insist.”
The result of all this generosity, of course, was that Harry made it through the line very quickly, and soon found himself face-to-face with a very astonished-looking Malfoy
“Hullo,” Draco said, setting his cards aside. “I didn’t expect you... back. Didn’t expect you to be back. I mean..."
“Yeah, I know. The prediction you gave me was rubbish. Although, the girls all swear by you. So, I’m back to see if you can give me a real reading.”
Draco’s face flushed. He looked down at the floor and took a deep breath. “Fine. Sit.” He poured out two cups of tea and set them both in front of Harry. “Drink. Choose one, drink, and I’ll read the leaves.”
The tea was only lukewarm, so Harry downed it and thrust the cup under Draco’s nose. “So, what’s my future?”
Somehow the image of Harry Potter’s hand wrapped around the teacup was so much of a distraction for Draco, he couldn’t even think of a good response.
“The Grim,” he said softly. “No, not Grim, I mean...”
“Good, ‘cause the last time the Grim was predicted it was referring to Sirius. I don’t think he’s going to show up again.” Harry slammed the cup down on the table.
“Let me finish. It’s something like a Grim, but it’s... maybe...”
“Malfoy, you’re full of rubbish. If you’re going to make up stories, make them up ahead of time.” Harry moved to leave, but found the door slammed shut before he could even stand.
“Cannons vs. Harpies game next Friday. Harpies win by ten. Hogwarts scores: Hufflepuff 120, Slytherin 50 (those lazy sods), Ravenclaw 190, Gryffindor 80. Euro Magical Conference will end with Romania agreeing to join with Bulgaria, Germany, and Russia in a peace treaty, and England, Italy, Ireland, and France persuading Spain to agree to terms of Unforgivable uses.”
Harry stood and stared at Draco’s face. He was still looking down at the floor, but Harry could see the anger there.
“Do you want more? Oh, yeah, I can read. I can see all kinds of things.” Draco looked up at Harry. “Don’t make assumptions with things you know nothing about!”
--~oOo~--
“My advice to you is to leave well enough alone, Harry. You have no idea what kind of bee’s nest you’ll stir up if you go back there. Twenty for two.” Ron played the 10 of clubs.
“What do you mean, hornet’s nest?” Harry played the 6 of diamonds. They’d made a habit of getting together twice a week for Cribbage at the Muggle pub down the road from Grimmauld Place. Harry liked it because it was quiet and close to home. Ron liked it because it was quiet and far from home. They both liked it because it had very few wizarding patrons.
“I said bee’s nest. You’re not paying attention.” He played the 5 of clubs. “Fifteen for two. And I mean, going back to Malfoy and confronting him will do nothing for you. Best to walk away from this. It isn’t even a game, it’s just him being spiteful.”
“That’s what I can’t stand, though. Why would he be spiteful like this? What did I ever do to him?” Harry played the seven of diamonds. “No, don’t answer that. Honestly, I don’t know why it bothers me so much. I guess the main thing is that he really can make all of these other predictions. The things that he told Ginny, Luna, and ‘Mione? They were all true. And all of those Quidditch scores, and the political summit? That was all spot on!”
Ron put down the eight of clubs. “Fifteen for two. So, what really bothers you is that he’s got some real abilities, and he’s sharing them with everyone but you.”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
And there was the question that Harry was dreading. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about it. Why was he so bothered? What was it about this whole situation that made him hot under the collar and made him feel like punching something? “I don’t know.” Harry played his last card. “Twenty-three for two. It makes no sense to me, either. All I know is that when I started realizing all of his predictions were coming true, I was angry, jealous, and...”
“Hurt.” Ron looked up at his friend, laced his fingers together and rested his chin on them. “You were hurt.”
Harry nodded.
“Draco hurt your feelings.”
Harry nodded again.
Ron gathered up his cards and took a drink of his beer. “You’re acting like a child, Harry.”
--~oOo~--
The way he saw it, Draco had two options. He could either pack up the shop, try to find some other place, move, and see if putting significant distance between himself and Potter would fix things, or he could rearrange his life so that at all times he was either working or sleeping.
“I can eat while working. Nobody will think twice about having sandwiches sitting around with the tea and cakes,” Draco squeezed some toothpaste onto his brush. “Even if I move, there’s no guarantee that my mind won’t start following him around from far away.” His toothpaste seemed to be the most unusual color of emerald green. Just like a certain wizard’s eyes.
He threw the brush into the sink and reached for his sleeping draught. “Dammit! Get out of my mind.”
Draco marched upstairs and stretched out on his side on the bed. Before the potion could take effect, his mind raced with all of the things Potter was doing, thinking, and feeling. He felt the anger, the frustration, and this underlying strange feeling of disappointment.
Most times, when this happened to him, Draco would shrug it off, try not to pay close attention to the feelings, and focus on the trivial things so as not to drive himself crazy. But today, this was something weird. Harry was really upset by their encounters. He was taking this all too much to heart, and in addition to his anger, there was one other feeling buried underneath everything else.
Just as he was about to peel back the layers, the sleeping draught took effect and his mind quieted. Somewhere in that warm haze, the layers spread out over that emotion and it was buried again.
--~oOo~--
The following Tuesday was one of those blustery, rainy days with thunderstorms popping up off and on during the entire day. It was the perfect day for Draco to do his shopping. Thunderstorms often prevented the reach of his divination, and the wind and rain kept his focus shifting from one thing to another. It was unlikely he would become focused on Potter with weather like this.
Of course, this meant buying more tea, and enough ingredients to brew several months' worth of sleeping draught ingredients. He found that if he started taking the draught earlier, he could take a quarter dose while he was with his last customer, then another quarter dose before he brushed his teeth and changed for the night, and the final full dose just as he was falling asleep in bed.
In the back of his mind, Draco was worried about taking too much. He knew that one dose was plenty for a normal wizard, and that it was recommended that nobody take them for more than a week at a time. However, risking one kind of insanity to prevent another was something he was prepared to do.
After all, other than his regular customers, who would really miss him?
As he rushed out of the Apothecary shop into the street, he had to stop short to avoid literally bumping into someone. And a moment later, he found himself staring into those toothpaste eyes.
“I promise I didn’t really call you ‘toothpaste eyes,’ Potter.” The rain was pouring down on both of them, plastering their hair to their heads and causing rivers of rain to pour down their faces. “Please, just...”
“I’m sorry?” Potter tilted his head to one side.
“Nothing. I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry.” Draco tried to get by Harry, but Harry blocked his way.
“I came to talk to you.” Harry told him.
“Can we talk inside somewhere? I’m getting soaked.” Draco took a step back and tripped on the curb. As he fell to the ground, his satchel, full of ingredients, fell into the gutter.
Harry picked it, and the scattered ingredients, up. “What’s all this?”
“Nothing."
“It isn’t nothing. Did you take a second job as a potions master? Or perhaps you’re just brewing for half the town?” Furious, he reached out for Draco’s hand. “Get up.”
Draco took his hand and felt himself being Apparated away.
--~oOo~--
It didn’t matter how many times he’d been to this house, and who was the owner, Draco always loved it. There was something about Number 12 Grimmauld Place that spoke into the souls of those who visited.
Or maybe it was just Draco.
“Upstairs, second door on the left. Clean yourself up, put on some clean clothes and then meet me downstairs in the kitchen,” Harry threw Draco’s satchel into Kreacher’s arms. “Take this into the kitchen and dry it out.” He was still visibly angry as he marched up the stairs past Draco and slammed the door to his own room
Having been given no options other than sitting around in his wet clothing, Draco followed the orders, took a shower, dried himself off, and changed into a white shirt and dark dress trousers that were two sizes too large for him. Being unable to find a decent belt, and unwilling to cast a charm on anyone else’s clothes, Draco just tied up the back two belt loops with some floss and went downstairs.
Harry was sitting at the kitchen table, also freshly showered, wearing gray sweatpants, an undershirt and a towel over his head. He was examining the vials and jars that were set out on the table.
“Sleeping draught,” Draco offered as he entered the room.
“I know which ingredients these are, and what they make.” Harry pulled the towel off his head and let it rest around his shoulders. His hair was an unruly mess of black that seemed to curl and spike in every impossible way. “My question is why you need so much.”
“Because I don’t get out much.”
“Poppy juice must be used fresh."
“Because... because I need to brew enough for a month.” Draco sat at the kitchen table across from Harry. “Because I cannot sleep without them.”
“One week, Draco. Maybe two. That’s the longest amount of time anyone should be taking this. You have here enough for two months.” Harry levitated all the ingredients up and over into an empty cupboard. “I want to know what’s going on. I want to know why you seem to be able to help everyone else with their problems, but you treat me like a joke. I want to know why you’re risking overdose on sleeping draughts, and why... toothpaste eyes?”
Draco let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You don’t want to know, Potter. You really don’t. And even if I explained everything to you, I’m not sure you’d understand.”
“Oh, I’m quite the understanding bloke, you’ll find. I understand a lot of things. By the way, Hermione wants me to thank you. She found that book she needed, and Ginny found her lost broomstick. Luna... well, I have no idea what she was talking about, but she said to send her thanks, as well.” Harry picked up the satchel and tossed it back to Draco. “So, what about me?”
Draco shrugged. This close contact with Potter made it so he could only feel and see the emotions that were surging out of him. Bright colors ranging from orange to red and back to orange again. Anger, pain, hurt, frustration, sadness, and...
“You’re too orange for me to see right now, Potter. And the toothpaste thing was probably just a fluke.”
“Too orange? Are you having me on again?”
“No, really. It’s... I can’t explain it. It’s just that you--“
Harry pushed back his chair, stood up, and crossed his arms. “I’m done. Seriously, I don’t want any more of your lame excuses. If you still hold a grudge against me, that’s just fine, but come out and say it. Don’t play around. Especially when I come to you for help with--“
“Help with your love life? You want to know what kind of romance I see for you? What kind of future you have? Will you have children? Will you get married? Will you find someone who loves you?” Draco stood up, rounded the table, and stood eye-to-eye with Harry. “Why don’t you open your own eyes and find someone YOU love? Why don’t you ask yourself the questions you asked me and get the hell out of my mind? Maybe if you stop broadcasting yourself, I’ll be able to read something or do something like sleep or cook or piss without feeling what you’re feeling?!”
Draco slung the bag across his shoulder and marched out of the kitchen. It was still pouring rain outside, so he couldn’t fully feel what Harry was feeling, but there was some kind of spark in the middle of him that cut right through Draco like an arrow. In fact, the feeling was so strong, it brought Draco to his knees right there in the middle of the hallway.
All of those feelings were about him. The seed at the center of Harry’s inner turmoil was Draco, himself.
“Are you okay?
Not only that, but that seed was wrapped in concern, then wrapped in remorse, anguish, disappointment.
“Draco, can you stand?”
Not disappointment in Draco, but disappointment about Draco. He was disappointed because...
“Seriously, Draco, if you don’t stand now, I’m going to pick you up.”
Draco looked up at Harry. “Because you wanted it to be me?”
“No, because you’re on the floor.” Harry paused. “What?”
--~oOo~--
Draco did end up staying the night at the house. They did not, however, have much of a conversation about what happened. Draco couldn’t bring himself to admit that he’d been watching Harry for the past... well, for quite a long time, anyway. And Harry found himself too distracted and worried about Draco’s possible addiction to sleeping potions (and the strange side-effect that caused him to collapse in the hall), he didn’t have much of a chance to think about anything else.
It actually wasn’t until morning dawned that Harry began to put the pieces together. Before he had stormed off, Draco said something that seemed a little off at the time. Harry couldn’t quite remember what it was, but he was sure it had to do with being followed.
“That wanker!” Harry muttered angrily to himself. He threw off the covers, got out of bed, and stormed into the next room. Casting a Lumos, he marched up to the bed...
... and did nothing. Looking down at Draco sleeping, Harry remembered everything.
“Why don’t you open your own eyes and find someone YOU love? Why don’t you ask yourself the questions you asked me and get the hell out of my mind? Maybe if you stop broadcasting yourself, I’ll be able to read something or do something like sleep or cook or piss without feeling what you’re feeling?!”
Harry clasped his hand over his mouth.
Draco stirred. He stretched out one arm and rolled from his side to his back.
Harry clasped his other hand over his mouth and whispered “Finite Incantatem.” It was too late.
“It’s one thing waking me up by barging into my room, but quite another thing if you come in here only to lose your nerve, Potter.” Draco yawned and pushed himself up, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. His hair fell down over his face, so he tucked half of it behind one ear. “What is it?
Harry choked on his words. “I... I mean, I was going... But then you... what you said...”
“For the love of Merlin, Harry, just come out and say it. You’ve figured out what I meant yesterday.
Harry nodded.
“And now you want to know what I mean by broadcasting?”
Harry’s cheeks turned slightly red and he turned to look out the window. “I... yes.”
“Sit down. This might take a while for you to understand.” Draco pulled the covers aside and motioned to the end of the bed. “And keep looking out that window. I don’t want to see your face until you’ve soaked in everything I have to say.”
“Okay.”
“And no interrupting me, either. This might take some time to explain, and I don’t want you jumping in with questions until I’m done, right?”
Harry nodded again.
“Fine. The reason I can’t read your future is... well, I’m not quite sure what it is, but I think it has something to do with the fact that I see your present. And before you start talking about Christmas, I’m talking about everything you do here and now.”
Harry gritted his teeth. He wasn’t that dense.
“So, here’s the way my day goes without sleeping draughts. I get up, and I see you sleeping. I can hear your dreams and I see you struggle to wake. I can feel your emotions as you wake and... and I can tell you’re sad to be alone in this house still. Again.” Draco’s tone softened as he continued. “I watch you go out with your married friends. I watch you go to work and remain unhappy as everyone else makes plans for their evenings and weekends. And no, it isn’t invasion of privacy. I’m not asking for this, I just get it.”
Harry fidgeted with the edge of his shirt.
“And then I open up the shop and for twelve hours I have pure bliss as I help dozens of others with their trivial little problems. And do you know why that is? It’s because I’m not watching you.”
“Sorry--“
“NOT FINISHED!” Draco swung his legs over the side of the bed and rested his elbows on them. “I’m not relieved because I don’t want to be following you. And when I do see you, I’m not upset because of...” Draco cleared his throat. “When I first started having visions of you, I thought it would be a blessing. I’d be able to see you every day. Watch what you were doing, know what you were feeling, and even if I couldn’t be a part of your life, I could feel like a part of your life.
“But I didn’t want to see you sad. I didn’t want to feel your pain. Because you don’t deserve any of that. And then you come into my shop and ask me about your future - about where you might be able to find someone who loves you, and it was all I could do not to slap some sense into you right then and there.”
There was a long silence. At first Draco thought that neither of them had anything to say. “You can talk now.”
“Right. Good. Right.” Harry turned around on the bed to face Draco. “So, you couldn’t see my future because...?”
“I don’t know why, I just sort-of told you that,” Draco huffed.
“Well, I do, and if you’d think for a moment beyond these weird circumstances back to Divinations class, you might realize it, as well.” Harry scooted closer.
“I don’t...” Draco looked up. “Oh God.”
“Yeah, what’s the one person’s future a Medium cannot predict?”
“Their own.”
Harry smiled. “And what color is my aura?”
“Orange.”
“And everyone else’s?”
“Blue.”
“And then last question, what color is your aura?” Harry reached forward and tucked the other half of Draco’s hair behind his ear.
“Oh God!” Draco’s shoulders relaxed and he let out a long breath.
“Right. So, now what?” Harry asked, moving his hand from Draco’s hair to his neck.
“Now, we decide who gets to peel their orange first.”
--~oOo~--
“Indian takeaway,” Draco mumbled from under the covers.
“What was that?” Harry asked. He had already awakened and showered.
Draco pulled the covers off of his head and opened one eye. “What’s for dinner. Indian takeaway. You’ll meet someone at work and he’s got some friend who... oh, it doesn’t matter. Indian takeaway. I want matar paneer.” Draco rolled over onto his stomach and stuffed his face into the pillow.
Harry walked over to the bed and planted a soft kiss between Draco’s shoulder blades. “You can’t lie around naked all day, love. These little predictions of yours won’t help the witches and wizards lined up outside your shop.” Draco turned his head around. “Besides. The sooner we both get to work, the sooner we can come home, have dinner, and get back to bed, right?”
“Matar paneer,” Draco mumbled again. He turned over and pushed himself up on one arm. “And don’t you dare bring home vindaloo again, or you’re sleeping in your own room!”
“No vindaloo!” Harry paused. “By the way, how is it you can see my future now?”
“Your future? Nah, nothing to do with you, I had my own read the other day.” Draco smiled.
“What? You went to see someone? Why didn’t you tell me?” Harry pulled the covers off the bed and to be graced with that lovely backside staring up at him.
Draco, completely bereft of any sort of modesty, rolled over, stretched and shrugged. “I wanted to find out if you were being sincere. Wanted to see if this,” he motioned between them, “was actually a real thing, or you feeling sorry for me.”
Harry picked up his robe and tossed it at Draco. “And?”
“And she said it was genuine and when I woke up to tell you Indian takeaway and insist that you do not get the vindaloo.” Draco donned the robe and headed over to the bathroom.
“Wait! What do you mean? Who is she?”
Draco leaned down and gave Harry a long, soft kiss. “As a response, ask yourself this: Why do you think Luna Lovegood, of all people, came to consult me about her future? And how would she know about an orange aura?”