BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE:

Wow guys! The amount of Wanker related emails I got this week made me faint and woozy with the influx of awesome! My system couldn't cope! It went, no surely not, but it surely was and that was quite amazing! Please review and tell me how this story makes you feel inside!

This chapter has been brought to you by (and slightly delayed by) Eurovision. (My worthless Australian votes were for Albania & Estonia & Germany)

Hermione is pinching her nose; it's been a long day. She knows she makes the stress for herself, that she thinks and thinks and thinks until she has a headache; she can't stop wondering, worrying, and questioning, but she personally thinks that's the only reason she's so smart in the end, so she doesn't begrudge it. She just wishes sometimes that she would stop, that she would take pause and just accept a situation before she makes herself miserable and tense.

The taxi ride over to the airport had been nothing short of strained. Hermione had been waspish and irritable, and completely irrationally so, she knew that, but it was beyond frustrating packing to the soundtrack of Ron playing video games in the lounge room. Ron had kept trying to talk to her, and grew increasingly peevish when she tossed one worded answers and dark looks at him one after the other. Eventually he had lapsed into a confused and hurt silence. The only salve for the

Sitting in the airport with a headache, she hates herself a little. She doesn't understand why she does it, but every time Ron throws her expectations like that she wants to hit him around the head, and the entire day of trying to get organised didn't help. She hates it. This whole trip was a stupid idea. They're never going to get it all right. There wasn't enough time to organise it. This whole secret show business is going to backfire, she just knows it. What will the press say when they only play one city and then leave? It's just going to be weird… and disorganised. It will be messy. No one likes a messy show. Messy shows go on you-tube and people start talking about them. God. She can't deal with this. Not in the middle of writing. And with Harry and Draco in such tight quarters she's also going to be a glorified baby sitter, and none of this takes into account that damned meeting. Hermione shouldn't have insisted they go but she always does, and this whole inevitable mess is going to be her fault, just because she can't stand to not know everything.

They're still waiting for Harry and Malfoy to arrive in the taxi, and it's been long enough that Ron is starting to consider calling out a search party and is considering the odds that they finally went one way or the other about their relationship. He'd suggest a bet to Hermione that they've gone and murdered each other but she's being… well, Hermione-In-Exam mode. Which is to say, bitchy, and overbearing, but he can forgive her for that because he's a magnanimous kind of fellow, Ron is.

He glances over at her. He knows what she's doing to herself, he can pretty much read all of her 'what if's and 'oh no's between the lines on her forehead. He sighs, time to put his pride and self preservation instinct aside for the greater good.

Hermione's running through the things that could go wrong with the business meeting the band is attending when an arm drops over her shoulder and she is pulled into Ron's side, effectively jolting her out of her stressful loop.

"Come on, 'Mione. Let's go check out duty free," Ron smiles, "You can pay. My wallet's in my suitcase."

Of course it is, and Hermione is sure Harry's is too. All she can hope for is that Draco remembered to pack his in flight bag properly, so she can finally have someone responsible enough to look after himself around. Knowing her luck, and Draco's bitter reluctance to get ready, that is probably too much to hope for. She rolls her eyes, "What about Harry and Draco?"

"What about them? They can call us when they arrive."

"If Harry's not broken his phone in the process of attempting murder, that is."

Ron smiles; Hermione, admittedly, is still a little prickly, but she's shifting back to his 'Mione, that he knows so well.

Harry wants to scream a little. Draco is too close, and they've been in this taxi too long. He should have known that the driver wasn't taking a "short secret route" - he has that shifty look in his eye that meant he was about to take them for all they had - but Harry was too busy wondering why on earth he was left in a taxi with Draco Malfoy. It's uncomfortable being so helplessly close to him, and Malfoy himself seems to be planning his escape route.

He'd question why he suddenly cares, when before this he was eager to have sex with the guy not an hour ago, but Harry didn't get where he was today by questioning his instincts, or applying logic, and in truth he knew that he was uncomfortable because, really, this was the first time they'd spent much time together.

Grimmauld Place is a large house, and one with lots of private spaces, closed doors, and extra rooms, and on top of all that, Harry and Draco's schedules rarely coincide. Harry can count on two hands the times he's been in the same room as Draco, and he can count the times that Draco's been awake or alone with him on only one. So it's understandable that the atmosphere is so strained, and even more so with Draco barking at the taxi driver every ten minutes - they've really too much baggage to just ditch the taxi and call for another, not on the busy streets the driver is sticking to. Harry is tense and unreasonably panicked, and he can feel his shackles rising, his old habit of lashing out at Draco returning with a burning need and it scares him a bit. He hasn't felt like this in a while, he thought he was better. This is a feeling he associates with resistance meetings and guerrilla warfare, of a time when Malfoy was his enemy. He struggles against it, and he can feel the bile rising in his throat like a warning system. It's now, it's fight or flight.

Harry turns his head and rolls down the windows, breathing in the fresh air and trying to just go away.

It's uncomfortable. It has been for a while, the taxi is too slow, the route too long, and Harry too near. Draco's about two minutes away from giving up on the taxi driver, and is more then a little frustrated that Harry isn't helping him. There is absolutely nothing he can do to get out of this situation and he wants to tear his hair out. This is worse then being in the same house as Harry, this one single - though admittedly over-long - drive to the airport. He doesn't know if he wants to hit Harry or the driver but he knows he wants to hit something. He can't do that, obviously, but he has to do something.

His camera case sits at his feet, nudging at his ankle, and really, this is what he is here for, taking photos. So he picks it up, and rummages around, fumbling and almost dropping his camera. His hands are jittery with inexplicable nerves, and he feels he is about to do something very wrong, that he is about to snap the delicate tension in the car and break something, but he pushes on, because he...

He doesn't know why, beyond that he can't not, and the running background thought of 'what does it matter what happens' pushes him just the fraction he needs.

He looks at Harry, highly strung and staring out the window. It feels like a cliché, but he's looks genuinely wistful, instead of wearing the false face most celebrities do when trying to appear deep, and Draco feels like maybe this photo would mean something, would push beyond the cliché. It's difficult to line up the shot when the seat between them is piled with hat boxes and Draco is still trying not to look too closely at Harry.

He looks at Harry through his camera lens, and what he sees is beautiful, and depressingly, unattainably otherworldly. The world he stares at flashes by him in lines of light and shadow - Draco is happy for the accidental symbolism - and his face itself is equally draped in shadow. He takes in an awed breath as he pushes the button and waits for the shutter to click. The flash explodes, and he flinches away from the sudden light - he'd forgotten to turn it off, he wasn't expecting it, it blind sided him. There was an awful moment where he remembered the red yellow explosions of his youth and he tries not to shudder away. He'd been getting better with it, dissociating his camera flash with warfare because this was his job, his passion, and really, it was a ridiculous notion, to be scared of a camera flash. He almost never reacted, except in moments like this, where it caught him off guard.

Harry startles from the sudden bright white flash of white, and he hears cursing from in front of him and for a moment he is back in Downing Street staring his mortality in the face. His head whips wildly around and he sees Draco, and for a moment they're in the same world, and it's suddenly fine, because Draco, the inexplicable fool is holding a camera and he's in a taxi and the driver has just been startled out of his wits and is swearing a blue streak. They're fine, Harry is fine, and there's a broken smile on Draco's face, that Harry can feel on his own lips. This one moment is something he won't be able to ignore or forget.

They pull up at the taxi rank at the airport and once they've taken out all the luggage Harry hands over fifty dollars, the most it should ever have cost to get here from Grimmauld Place, with an arrogant smirk and proceeds to ignore the spluttering taxi driver while Draco texts the taxi number to Pansy. He's exhausted. That whole trip was just, fuck, too much. He blames the taxi driver mainly, but he can't help but feel guilty, he saw the fear in Harry's eyes, and it was his fault, he won't ever really forget that. He takes a step and stumbles, and is surprised to feel Harry's arm catch him at the elbow and the small gentle smile on Harry's face.

That smile catches in his heart and stays there. He thinks it might just be one more thing about this evening that will never go away.

When Harry and Draco finally make it through check in and meet up with Hermione and Ron it's final call, and close to two am. Everyone is tired, and Harry is rehashing their frustration with the taxi driver, appearing much more irritated about it in retrospect, and a lot less guarded then Draco has ever seen him. He watches closely as Harry mumbles that he has something else he wants to talk to her about, and then finishes his story about not paying the full fair with a triumphant grin and Draco seems to be the only one who notices that grin soften into a real, almost goofy smile with Hermione's exasperated "Oh, Harry."

They board the plane, and Draco once again finds himself seated next to Harry Potter, but the mood is gentler for all it's cautiousness, and if ten minutes into the flight he's asleep with Harry's head folded on top of his, and snuggled up into Harry's side, no one has to know but the stewardess, because Ron and Hermione in the row behind, are in a similarly comfortable arrangement.

Well, no one but the stewardess and every fan who visits her blog and sees the photograph she quietly takes as she walks past with the food tray.

So, pretty much everyone. But for the moment it's just the stewardess.

That's end of that chapter!

It was a bit full on, I guess, but I like that I'm finally getting more in touch with the reality and details of Harry's problems, and finally getting around to saying that Draco's not ok either. AND ALLUDING TO THE PAST? WHO ME?

I'd love to know what you guys think, especially if you disagree XD I am always eager for discussion of my two favourite boys and co.

Also, I said I'd update by Sunday :S Is this Sunday? No way Jose. My powers of observation indicate early Tuesday morning. I blame both Eurovision and for the delay. It was worth it though, I'm now the proud owner of a collapsible shot glass key ring, and have fallen in love with Albania, Germany and Estonia. You know you drink too much when you've had enough moments where you couldn't find a shot glass to justify the purchase of one of those. Seriously. I recently also took to carrying a bottle opener in my handbag. BECAUSE YOU NEVER HAVE ONE WHEN YOU NEED ONE.

XO BELLA

PS: I know there are many talented artists in this fandom, and I hope it's not too forward to ask, but I would really truly love for someone to draw some of Draco's photographs. I try myself and have come up trumps. They're in my head, but refuse to go on paper, and I'd love to finally see them!