FIC: You Set Fire To The Rain [Harry/Draco - R] - Part 6
: :Nineteen : :
4 months later...
When we first moved back to England, I knew that things would be hard. I knew that the press would be on my back, and I knew that my friends were not going to take to our relationship kindly. I just never imagined that we would fall apart.
It was as if the wonderful Draco Malfoy who I spent that summer with and loved with all of my heart and being vanished. Once we were back in England, we immediately started to have problems. At first I brushed them aside. I told myself that we were both just stressed and that was why we were fighting all the time. I convinced myself that it was normal for you to lash out at me in rages of irrational jealously. I reminded myself that I had been irrationally jealous of you for half the summer, and that if the tide was reversed and I was the one seeing pictures of you in the Daily Prophet with other blokes, I would snap as well.
But after a while, I couldn’t make excuses anymore. You were no longer the same person I fell in love with-your eyes were cold and distant-you no longer opened up to me.
It hurt like hell.
Everyone told me that I was insane. They didn’t understand why I was with you. They all said that no shag could be that good; that no matter how attractive you were, it wasn’t worth it. They saw you walking around, always angry, always on a warpath, and snapping at everyone who dared provoke you. It was as if you had reverted to the you of years ago; you were cruel and bitter; you were unstable and violent.
Our fights became explosive. In the last couple of months of our relationship, the fights started over almost anything-a wet towel left on the floor, my refusal to shave my facial hair everyday or get a haircut every week, or my ‘imaginary’ flirting that I selfishly participated in with every single pretty girl or bloke that we ran into. I had to remind you continuously that I was gay and that pretty girls didn’t have an effect on me, but you didn’t seem to care.
As for me, all I saw was your harsh words and unpredictable moods. You would start shouting at me about something and then I would shout back; the argument would get heated and before we knew it, we would be throwing hexes and eventually fists would become involved. And once we were messy enough, once we had tired ourselves out punching, kicking, and hurting each other, then we would make up. We would have the hottest, passionate, make up sex possible; hell, many times it made the fight worth it just to see you so angry, so emblazoned, so impassioned.
Foolishly, I thought that we were okay as long as we were having the steamy make up sex.
As usual, I was an idiot. And eventually, even the make up sex stopped too.
: : :
Our relationship barely survived four months back in England. The papers were having a field day with the ‘Gay Potter Scandal’, and it didn’t help that the ‘torrid love affair’ was with the infamous Death Eater, Draco Malfoy, who had recently been a suspect in framing his own mother’s death. The articles were awful and I should have been more sympathetic towards you, but I wasn’t. I’ve been in the limelight with the press since I was eleven. At one point, I even had the entire wizarding world against me thinking I was completely mad; I was used to negative attention-nothing ever fazed me no matter how horrible.
But you weren’t.
True, you had received more than your fair share of negative press, but it was never like this. Most days, you barely left the flat if I wasn’t with you; if not, you would get threatened or hexed. I should have been more understanding; I should have been more rational. I should have thought about how you might feel, having someone spout terrible lies about you, your mother, and your partner, especially since you weren’t able to retaliate and defend yourself for fear of breaking probation and winding up in Azkaban.
Still, I didn’t consider any of these feelings until after it was already too late...until after you were already gone.
: : :
I’ll never forget the day we broke up.
I had been having a horrible day, a dreadful day really, and the only thing I wanted was to come home, have a nice meal with my boyfriend, and relax with a couple of pints.
That didn’t happen.
You have never been domestic, and I was okay with that because I didn’t expect that of you. After all, we were two blokes living together, fucking each other; I wasn’t expecting a wife or for us to play house. Hell, I probably would have preferred if you didn’t live there at all and had your own place, but I knew you weren’t ready to go back to the Manor yet. That had been the deal, your only condition-I wouldn’t force you to go back to that empty manor alone- and you could stay with me for as long as you needed. At the time, I had thought it was a splendid idea. In reality, it turned out to be a living hell.
When I got home that evening, completely knackered and starving, I knew that it would be too much to expect that you would have dinner ready, so I picked up some takeout on the way home-greasy Chinese.
Of course, you had chosen that day to decide to cook me dinner. You were furious that I had brought home takeout. I didn’t want to fight with you, it was the last thing I wanted, so I agreed to save the Chinese for lunch tomorrow and eat your meal. As we sat down to eat, at the beautiful table that you had adorned complete with candles and a silk tablecloth, I told myself that I was lucky that I had such a caring boyfriend-things were right between us, and we had just been going through a rough patch that was all.
Rough patch was a bit of an understatement.
The romantic dinner you had planned turned into a disaster. You had prepared some type of fish that was grilled and garnished with a side of mango salsa and then paired it with some grilled vegetables and a crisp Sauvignon Blanc.
If only I had eaten the stupid fish and vegetables, perhaps we would still be together. The problem was that I’ve never much been into fish. The only time I ever ate fish was when it was beer battered, deep-fried and accompanied by greasy chips; it was the only type of fish I liked. Although the plate you cooked looked elegant and gourmet, it smelt like shit or at least like fish. I tried very politely to tell you that I didn’t care for fish and you lost it.
“Harry James Potter!” you yelled. “Are you really trying to tell me that you’re not going to eat this delicious meal that I spent hours preparing for you? That I...a fucking Malfoy laboured in a hot kitchen to make? “
I tried to remain calm, really I did, but all I wanted was my Chinese.
“Draco,” I said coolly, “I appreciate the gesture, I do. It’s so touching, but I don’t really like fish, baby.” I smiled at you slightly and tried to pout my bottom lip in that adorable way that you do so well.
“I know you love it, so why don’t you just save it and I’ll heat up the Chinese.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
“Do not baby me!” Your lips were snarling now and your eyes burning. “I am not your baby, and I am not your fucking house-elf. I am your partner and you will eat this meal! You do not need any more greasy Chinese food!”
“What are you saying, Malfoy? Huh?”
“You know exactly what I’m saying. It wouldn’t kill you to eat a vegetable now and then. I’m surprised you’re even surviving your Auror training at all.”
You were right, but there was no way I was going to admit it. I should have just eaten the sodding fish; hell, I probably would have even liked it, but the last thing I wanted to do was give in.
In the last couple of months, I had finally gone back to Auror training, but it wasn’t going as well as I had hoped. I was furiously out of shape, and not just physically, mentally I was off as well. My heart just wasn’t into being an Auror anymore and added with all the stress I was facing at home, I was depressed. And when I’m depressed, I eat. I wasn’t fat. I was definitely far from fat, since I was still exercising on a daily basis, but I had definitely put on a few pounds since the summer. It didn’t show, not really, I thought I hid it well. It was only really noticeable in the slight jiggle of my arse or in the slight inch of skin that had accumulated on my lower stomach. No, I was nowhere near fat; I just wasn’t that scrawny underfed waif I had been my whole life. And I was getting fucking tired of everyone trying to control my eating habits. If I wanted to eat greasy Chinese and sweets, my control freak of a boyfriend was certainly not going to stop me.
“Say it,” I spat. “Say it. I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m fat.”
“Potter,” you protested. “I do not think you are fat. Don’t be ridiculous. I just think your eating habits are unhealthy; you need more protein and vegetables in your diet, especially for an Auror.”
I was getting livid now because I knew you were bullshitting me.
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Malfoy. I know you think I’m fat.”
“Harry,” you said. “Please just stop. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“No, you’re embarrassing yourself standing here lying to me. You think I’m fucking fat!” My entire body was trembling now. “But you know what? I don’t fucking care. I’ll eat all the greasy Chinese, sweets, and carbs that I want to! What does it even matter?”
My magic was flickering now; it was on the verge of exploding, but I didn’t care.
“Harry-”
“No. I’m so sick of you trying to control my life, Malfoy. I’ll eat whatever the fuck I want to, and I’ll go wherever the fuck I want to with whoever I want. And I’ll get fat if I fucking want to because it won’t matter anyway. You haven’t even opened your fucking legs for me in more than three weeks!” I paused for a second and sneered at you. “I’m done with your bullshit.”
What I should have done in that moment is taken a deep breath and relaxed-perhaps then I would have realised that you were trembling and on the verge of tears. Perhaps I would have noticed that the shirt you were wearing was engulfing you when only a couple of months ago it fit snugly. I should have seen that while you were on my back about my eating habits, it was really you who was spiralling out of control. Yes, I was frustrated and having a hard time at work. I hated dealing with your whinging and nagging, but I should have seen through your act. I should have realised that you are Draco Malfoy-gorgeous blond, arrogant prat, and actor extraordinaire. I should have seen that it was a desperate cry for help on your side; the darkness was threatening to overtake you; it was leering you in, and instead of helping you fight, instead of bringing you back, I pushed you in headfirst.
“Potter,” you said. “I don’t have to listen to this. You’re being ridiculous”
“I’m being ridiculous?” I shouted back. “Malfoy, look in the mirror. You’re a nervous wreck, a total mess. I’m not the one that’s afraid to leave the flat. I’m not the one who is constantly accusing you of cheating on me.” I ran a heavy hand through my hair almost pulling it out in clumps. “And I’m not the one who behaves like a total prat all the time and then won’t even let you fuck me!”
“Potter-I”
“No, Malfoy. I’m done with all your excuses. Your insanity. What fucking excuse could you have for all of this? I don’t even know who you are anymore?” I was huffing now, my cheeks burning and my magic blaring off me in waves. “We just make each other miserable all the time. Do you get off on hurting me? Is that it?”
That was it-the final words that pushed you off the cliff and shoved you deep down into the darkness. That was the moment I lost you.
At first I was afraid you were going to punch me; you had that fierce look in your eyes, a desperate hunger that you only had when you wanted to fuck me or hit me. I knew that fucking was off the table during this encounter, so I figured it was the latter. Your eyes turned into deep slits, the usual cool grey that you regarded me was gone and it was replaced by a darkness; there was a distant fire blazing in the back of your eyes and I knew that I had pushed you too far.
“You know, you are absolutely right, Potter,” you said, your tone casual but dripping with venom. “We’re terrible for each other. All we do is fight and bring the worst out in each other. I don’t even know why I bother.”
Without thinking, I snapped back, “Then don’t, Malfoy. No one is forcing you to stay here. If you are so unhappy here...then leave. Get out!”
You glared at me one more time; your eyes still dark, but if I looked deeply enough, they were pained at the edges.
“If that’s what you want, Potter,” you said.
And then you were gone.
::Twenty::
I wanted to go after you, but I couldn’t make myself do it.
I’ve watched that memory over and over again, and each time I watch it, I realise how much of an idiot I was for not going after you. I know that you behaved like a prat, but I did too. But it wasn’t over for me, and I should have gone after you. I know now that you would have wanted me too.
As you left, I stormed out too. I needed some fresh air, and then I went to a pub and met up with Ron. My friends had never been supportive of our relationship. Hermione and Ginny tried at the beginning, but you were always such a prat to them, never making an effort, so they quickly gave up and sided with Ron, constantly needling me to break up with you.
“He’s no good for you, Harry,” they would say. “He makes you unhappy, Harry.” And the worst lie of all, “You could do better, Harry. You deserve better, not Death Eater scum like him.”
But they were wrong. I couldn’t do better than you. I haven’t done better than you. And it was I who did not deserve you.
After one too many pints at the pub with Ron, I went back to our flat. We’ve had plenty of fights before, most of them even worse than that one. I thought you were just angry and needed to blow off some steam. I didn’t really think that you would leave me.
But you did.
As soon as I walked in, our flat felt different, empty. In the few hours I had been gone, you had packed up all your things; it was as if you had never lived there at all.
I was devastated.
: : :
After our breakup, I didn’t see you again for two months. I kept track of everyday that I didn’t see you, every hour that I missed you, but still I was too stubborn to contact you. I rationalised to myself that I didn’t know where you were-that if you wanted to hear from me-you would contact me. After all, you were the one that left. Not me.
If only I would have swallowed my pride-if only I would have let you win just that once-then maybe things would be different. Maybe you would still be here. But you’re not. And it’s all my fault.
I was a mess those first two months after our breakup. Auror training was getting worst; I was falling farther behind, and worst of all I was a nervous wreck. Even though our relationship had been short lived, to me it felt like a lifetime. Back in France, we had been in our own little world, a private island of our own design, and no one else was allowed. Now that I was alone again, I was miserable. Constantly, I was reminded of you in everything that I did.
I fell back into my pattern of binge drinking and overindulging in fatty foods, which I had taken up that first time I thought I lost you in France. I knew it was unhealthy and that I should not have been going out every night to the pubs or gorging myself on sweets. None of that would fill my empty void, but it was the only option I had. At least for a few hours every day, I could forget my pain, forget how much I missed you, and best of all, it was the only way I could get to sleep. And when I slept, I dreamt of you, of us. It was the only time I was happy.
My life was slowly falling apart once again, but I refused to turn to you to put it back together.
: : :
One afternoon after a long night of binge drinking, I was late for work, really late. I had been late a lot lately and it had been a miracle that I hadn’t been fired. If anyone else had pulled the shit that I had been pulling, he would have been fired a long time ago. Sometimes, I think that’s exactly what I was trying to accomplish.
Anyway, I was walking to work because I was much too hung over to Apparate when I ran into Gregory Goyle. Although I didn’t particularly like Goyle, I didn’t have anything against him. We hadn’t gotten on well at Hogwarts, but that was mostly your fault; and after Ron saved his life in the Room of Requirement, Goyle’s attitude towards me changed. Unlike you, he had been incredibly grateful, especially when I hadn’t told the Order how Crabbe had tried to kill me. Because of that lie, Crabbe had been able to have a real burial and now holds a small plot in the remembrance garden at Hogwarts for those lost during the war. Goyle was overwhelmed by that gesture and claimed that he was forever in my debt. We weren’t mates, but whenever I saw the bloke, I would at least be friendly.
“Goyle,” I said, turning towards the larger bloke and nodding my head in greeting.
“Potter,” he said, returning my greeting and then I continued to walk away. I was already late and didn’t want to stop and chat.
“Potter,” he called again, as I was already rounding the corner. “Please, wait.”
I pretended not to hear him because I really was in a rush, but then he said, “It’s about Draco.” Instantly, I stopped and turned back towards him.
“What about him?” I asked, hoping to sound cool, but knowing that I probably only came off concerned.
“He’s not doing well. He’s really bad, Potter,” Goyle said, not meeting my eyes.
“What are you talking about?” I demanded. “What’s wrong with him?”
Goyle sighed loudly and started fiddling with his hands.
“He’ll kill me for this and Pansy will too, but he’s taking the breakup really bad, Potter. He won’t sleep; he won’t eat. I don’t know what to do.”
“I..I” My heart was breaking for you; the idea of you being just as miserable as I was if not more so was shattering, but I couldn’t let Goyle know that.
“I’m sorry, Greg,” I said slowly. “Malfoy’s not my concern any longer.”
I turned away from him and starting walking again, but Goyle grabbed me harshly by the arm.
“Please,” he said, his voice was desperate now. “Just talk to him. He’ll listen to you. I’m begging you.”
I sighed loudly and finally gave in; when it comes to you, I’m such a fucking pushover.
“Fine,” I said, “but only for a minute.”
: : :
Goyle’s flat was nothing like what I expected. I had expected it to be dark, creepy, and decorated in the Slytherin colour scheme. But it was the complete opposite. His flat was bright, airy, and decorated in a warm colour scheme of red, orange, and black. He had an open living room and a large sliding glass door that led to a balcony. It was the kind of flat that you would adore-the kind of flat that you had been begging me to buy ever since you set foot into my cramped third floor walk-up, which didn’t have an open living room or terrace.
My stomach twisted in knots as I walked through Goyle’s flat. At least you would be happier there than you ever had been at my flat.
When I finally saw you, I was in shock. At first I didn’t recognise you, lying there under a mountain of blankets on the couch.
You were asleep and looked so slight and frail. Your hair looked limp and dull; it was fairer than usual and had lost all of its golden undertones. It was pushed back from your face, and I could see just how deep your cheekbones had sunken in; the bags under your eyes were now dark bruises, and your lips were raw and chapped, as if you had been biting on them too hard. Even your usual flawless complexion appeared sallow and somewhat yellow. I hadn’t seen you look this bad since the war; it broke my heart.
“Malfoy,” I said shaking you gently. “Malfoy.”
“Hmm,” you said groggily. “Tired.”
“Draco,” I said again, softer this time. “It’s Harry.”
You instantly opened your eyes; they were weary and glassy.
“Harry,” you cried, throwing your frail arms around my neck. “You came back. You came back.”
You hugged me tightly and I stroked your hair gently. For once, it didn’t smell like lavender or citrus. I didn’t know what to say to you; nothing had changed between us. If I were to bring you home, we would still have the same problems, but I still didn’t want to let you go.
“It’s okay, love. I’m here,” I soothed, as you continued to dig your fingers into my back, your breaths shallow but rapid.
“I-Am I dreaming?” you asked.
“What?” I pulled your arms away from my neck, so I could meet your eyes. “You’re not dreaming. Greg told me you were ill, so I came to see you.”
As usual, that hadn’t been the right thing to say. Suddenly your demeanour changed; it was as if you realised that I was the bad guy, the enemy; you hated me again.
“Oh, did he now, Potter?” you accused, your voice trembling but your eyes dark. “You fucking traitor, Goyle! How could you do this to me? I trusted, you.”
“I’m sorry,” Goyle croaked, gazing down at the floor. “I was worried, okay. I-I didn’t think.”
You were livid now. You pushed yourself off the couch, and at the time, I didn’t realise that you were leaning on the couch, but not to appear cool or calm because you couldn’t hold yourself up.
“You never fucking think, Greg! Never! I’m surrounded by morons the lot of them.”
“Stop it!” I demanded. “Don’t take it out on him because you’re angry at me. What is your problem?”
You leaned further onto the couch, but pushed your arm towards me, prodding me in the gut. “You’re my problem, Potter. You and your ugly face. Why are you here? I don’t want to see you. You made it perfectly clear that you wanted nothing to do with me. Now get out!”
“NO!” I harshly pushed your hand aside and ignored your flinch. “You have no right to talk to me that way, Malfoy. I’m only here because your friend dragged me here claiming that you were ill, practically on your death bed.”
“Well, I’m not!”
“Oh no! You’re just peachy! What are you doing to yourself? How long have you been on that couch?”
“Sod off, Potter.”
“No. I will not. Look at yourself, Malfoy. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look like shit. This isn’t you. You’re always a vain git. I won’t leave until you tell me why you’re acting this way?”
“I told you to leave, Potter. This is my flat, not yours. No get out before I make you.”
“Make me?” I shrieked, “Malfoy, you couldn’t even threaten a rock in your state. Just whatever it is, get over it. Move on. It’s pathetic for you to ruin your life like this.”
“Draco, he’s right,” Goyle chimed in. “I’ve been so worried about you. It’s time.”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Greg?” you snapped. “You’re siding with this prick? I hate you, Greg. Both of you. I can’t believe I ever called you my best mate. It’s just a joke to you, right?”
“I-”
“No. I’m just a lousy replacement, a stand in for Crabbe. You know it’s true, you bastard. You still hate me, don’t you? Blame me for his death. But it wasn’t my fault.” You were hysterical now on the verge of tears. On the one hand, I wanted to comfort you, but on the other, I wanted to hurt you even worse-get you back for all the pain you had caused me.
“That’s not-not true,” Greg stammered. “I-I”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save him, Greg. But some help you were. You just stood there letting him try to kill, Potter. You should have stopped him. You could have done something...anything. Tackled him.”
“I-I” Goyle was crying now, tears falling down his massive face, and it just wasn’t right. Seeing this giant of a man cry just snapped something inside of me.
“You’ re just as much to blame as I am, Goyle, so stop being so fucking self-righteous!”
“No...I-I...No-” Goyle cried, falling to the ground now in a huge mountain; he hid his face in his hands and leaned up against the wall. He looked like an overgrown toddler whose favourite toy had been smashed. I hated you so fucking much in that moment, almost as much as I had years ago. That was no way to treat your friends.
“That so like you, Malfoy,” I cried. “You are so pathetic. Crabbe’s death wasn’t Goyle’s fault. It was yours! You never should have brought him there. Crabbe and Goyle were your friends. They looked up to you and what did you do? You led them right into the arms of a raving madman.” My chest was tightening again, my cheeks on fire. “If it wasn’t for me, you’d all be dead.”
“Potter-” you warned.
“No, I’m right and you know it. That’s why you’re so angry. Why you’re always so depressed. You talk a lot of bullshit, Malfoy, about enjoying life and seizing the day, but it’s all lies. Lies you tell yourself to make yourself feel better about the fact that not even your own fucking mother could stand you!”
“Leave Mother out of this!”
“No!” I knew that was taking a low blow, but you always insulted my mother, so it only seemed fair. “You’ve got me all wrong, Malfoy. I’m not insulting your mother. Hell, I liked Narcissa. She was a saint for putting up with you for so many years. If I had to put up with you my whole life, I would have slit my wrists a long time ago.”
Your eyes were black now, burning furiously; with your sunken in cheekbones and pointed chin, you resembled a skeleton. I knew that there would be no turning back, no reconciliation if I sprouted these next words. Some things are just unforgivable, but I said them anyway.
“You can’t really blame her, you know, for offing herself. I’m only surprised she didn’t do it sooner.”
And that was it. The final breaking point. The last conversation we would ever have.
“Potter, get out of this house right now or the Aurors will have to come pick you up in pieces! I never want to see you again!”
I knew that I had gone too far then; you were breathing furiously, your cheeks redder than Ron’s hair and your eyes still black. I should have apologised right then, told you that I had gone too far. Instead, I just thanked Goyle for his hospitality and left, never looking back. I didn’t realise that as soon as my back was turned, you passed out cold right on the couch.
: : :
That day, I was a monster-a bloodthirsty monster had taken over my body-it was the only possible explanation.
After our confrontation, you would think that I would have been horrified, but I wasn’t. I was exhilarated, relieved, and thrilled to be rid of you. It was as if I had finally ripped the Malfoy-shaped bandage off my open wound, and it was no longer bleeding. I was free to live my life as I saw fit. Blimey, I was an idiot.
I called in sick from work since I had already missed more than half the workday and decided to meet up with Ginny for a late lunch. We met up at our usual cafe, and she was ecstatic when she had heard the news. She congratulated me for winning the breakup and even offered to share my favourite after with me. Yes, I had made the right decision. I could meet up with Ginny any time I pleased, and I could eat anything I fucking wanted without having you make me feel bad about it. I was positive that I had made the right decision and was more than ready to move on with my life.
“Ginny,” I said, as the waiter was clearing our plates. “You know that this breakup with Malfoy has been hard on me. And I just want to thank you for being such a good friend to me. Your friendship means so much to me. You mean so much to me, Gin.”
Unfortunately, Ginny misinterpreted my final comment because she leaned in and kissed me passionately. I was shocked and just sat there for a minute, letting her kiss me but not responding. Finally, I pushed her away.
“Ginny,” I said. “I’m...uh...that’s not what I meant. I love you, but not like that. I like blokes. I thought you understood that.”
“I-I” Ginny turned almost as red as her hair and started playing with her hands. “I’m sorry, Harry,” she said softly, not meeting my eyes. “I just thought with Malfoy out of the picture that we could maybe reconnect.”
I sighed and put a hand under her chin, lifting it towards me, so I could meet her bright blue eyes.
“Gin,” I said kindly. “I love you. I really do. And god, I wish it could work between us. It would make my life so much easier. But it just can’t. Even without Malfoy, I’ll always like blokes.” I kissed her softly on the forehead. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
Ginny looked away and quickly wiped her eyes.
“I understand, Harry,” she said. “I hope we can still be friends.”
I smiled at her widely. “Always, love. Always.”
: : :
The following night, I was starting to get over my sense of elation over beating you. Suddenly, my vindictive words started to play repeatedly in my head.
You can’t really blame her for offing herself. I’m only surprised she didn’t do it sooner
God, how could I have said something so ruthless, so tactless to you? I had wanted to hurt you, wanted you to feel the pain, frustration, and emptiness that I felt since you left. Still, I hadn’t meant to destroy you. That comment was out of line. I had gone too far. If before I had pushed you into the darkness, then this time I had suffocated you making sure that you could never resurface. Andromeda would have my head if she ever heard my cruel words. I wanted to apologise to you, beg you to forgive me, but sometimes certain actions are beyond forgiveness. I certainly didn’t deserve your forgiveness.
Ron had invited me out to the pub again that night. A bunch of former Gryffindors were meeting up and he insisted I go. Obviously, he hadn’t heard about me breaking his sister’s heart again, so I figured I would buy him a couple of rounds before telling him. It was nice being out with my old friends again-it felt like the old times, ages ago, before me admitting to being queer and before you. How I wished that I could go back to those times-before I was even more of a freak-back when I was the Boy-Who-Lived rather than the Boy-Who-Likes-Cock. I tried to relax that night, throwing back a couple of pints and casually conversing with Ron and some of the other blokes. Hermione had shown up too and brought along Ginny and Luna. For a while, I was really enjoying myself; for a while, I even forgot about you.
But then your owl showed up. I would have known your owl, Mercury, anywhere; he was a beautiful Eagle owl with tawny colouring and yellow eyes. He was completely regal and a perfect personification of you.
Mercury landed on my shoulder and stuck out his leg, so I could remove the message. Apparently, even Mercury was mad at me because he didn’t let me ruffle his feathers or feed him a treat. Although you never wanted anyone to feed your owl treats, other than the special gourmet owl treats you bought him, I always used to sneak Mercury little bites. He always used to accept them, but even Mercury had given up on me.
I sighed loudly as I watched your owl fly away and carefully unrolled the parchment. I wasn’t sure what it would say, probably a lawsuit or an ancient curse of some sort that you were placing on me. I had never imagined it to say this:
*****************************************************
Harry,
I’m sorry.
-D
*********************************************************
I read the parchment three times over before I finally put it down on the table. At first I thought it was a trick, but it had been penned in your neat script and it bared the Malfoy seal. You had definitely written that note.
“I need to leave,” I said, pushing my chair back and getting up from the table.
“What?” Hermione said. “You just got here, Harry. You can’t leave.”
“Something came up, Hermione. I’m sorry.”
Hermione scowled and narrowed her dark eyes. “It’s him, isn’t it?” she said. “He sent you that owl and now you’re just going to go running back to him. Harry, you can’t.”
I sighed and sat back down in my chair. “Hermione, you don’t understand. You didn’t read the note. I’m the one that fucked up.”
Hermione took a deep breath and leaned over the table; she rested her soft hand on top of my arm.
“Love,” she said kindly. “Whatever it is, it can wait ‘til morning. He’s hurt you, Harry, and badly. You have to make him wait. You can’t just go running whenever he beckons, or he’ll never learn his lesson.”
“But-”
“She’s right, Harry,” Ginny chimed in. “Listen to us. We’re girls, we know these things. Wait until morning. You never want to show up at an ex’s place late at night, especially not when you’ve been drinking.”
I tried to protest, but it was obvious that I was outnumbered.
“I-”
“Harry!” Hermione warned, as she gave me that don’t you dare try to defy me, Harry Potter, look of hers.
“Okay,” I sighed. “I suppose it can wait ‘til morning.”
Hermione squeezed my hand tightly. “I’m proud of you, Harry.”
“Yeah. But if I’m going to stay, we’re going to need another round.”
::Twenty-one::
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
~Oscar Wilde
: : :
There’s a famous Muggle poem, by some famous Muggle queer, whose name escapes me right now that states: “For each man kills the thing he loves. Yet, each man does not die”. I always thought that poem was mad-that it was some type of twisted metaphor because if you really loved something, loved it with all your heart, then how could you kill it? A real man would never kill the thing he loved most in the world. Now I understand.
I should have known better than to listen to a couple of silly bints. I never should have trusted Hermione and Ginny’s advice. They claimed to have my best interests at heart and I believe that they honestly think they do, but for them, my best interests have never included you.
I barely slept that night after receiving your note. I thought about what it might mean all night. Why the hell were you apologising to me, when I had been the one that had been cruel? I needed to apologise to you. It made no sense.
Morning couldn’t come fast enough; I tossed and turned all night, peeking at my alarm clock ever few minutes, and then threatening to hex it when it felt like time was moving backwards. If I hadn’t been too pissed too Apparate, I would have shown up at your house in the middle of the night. I was afraid of splinching myself, but hell if I could do it over again, I would have gone to you right away. Even if I splinched myself, even if I splinched myself so badly that I had permanent scars or permanent nerve damage, it would have been worth it if I could have reached you in time.
If I could have been able to save you.
: : :
Hermione says I have a thing for lost causes that I love to champion the weak and share Hagrid’s compassion for dark creatures.
Maybe she was right.
You were my favourite lost cause. I had saved you from death three times, pulled you back from the darkness, but asking for a fourth time was one too many-particularly, when this time I was the murderer rather than the saviour.
I fire-called Greg early that morning; he was still in his pyjamas when he answered, but his eyes were blotchy and his face unshaven. Obviously, he hadn’t come out of our fight unscathed either.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Greg,” I said casually, as if we were old friends. “But I need to see him. It’s important.”
“Huh?”
“Malfoy,” I said. “I need to see him. Will you open your Floo for me?”
“He’s not here, Potter,” Greg replied tightly. “Try the Manor.”
And then he was gone. It appeared that Greg was still angry with me for the other day. I couldn’t say I blamed him.
When I entered Malfoy Manor, I instantly knew that something was wrong. I knocked on the front door, but when no one answered, I was surprised to find it unlocked. My stomach was all in muddle, and it felt eerily reminiscent of the afternoon that felt like years ago now, when I had found you bruised and beaten in the Manor. I quickly let myself in and summoned Binky.
“Binky,” I said, “I need to see your master immediately. It’s urgent.”
Binky just looked up at me through big tearful eyes and started wailing.
I was having a horrid sense of déjà vu and knew that I had to quiet the elf before she launched into hysterics.
“Binky,” I repeated, shaking the elf firmly. “Where is your master? Did something happen to him?”
“Ma-master hurt,” the elf croaked. “Ma-master hurt bad.”
“Where is he?” I demanded. “What happened?”
The elf just started wailing again and ignored me. I didn’t have the time or patience to soothe another barmy house-elf, so I ran down the long corridors of the Manor in search of your room.
When I opened the doors to your suites, I called out to you but was startled when it was empty. There were more than forty rooms in the manor; by the time I searched through all of them, it might be too late. I needed to find you as soon as possible, but where would you go?
I racked my brain thinking about where you might be, but then I remembered where I had found you last time, in an airy piano room that you had once told me belonged to your mother. Yes, you had to be there; I just knew it.
I ran to the piano room, fearing what I would find when I got there, but it was also empty. You had definitely been there though because Narcissa’s portrait was smashed and there was a trail of blood on the carpet. My breath hitched as I took in the blood. I had been praying that the house-elf was exaggerating and that you were fine; that perhaps you just passed out from exhaustion, but now with the undeniable trail of blood, so crimson and deep, there was no denying that something was wrong, really fucking wrong.
I took a deep breath and followed the trail of blood that was getting heavier as it winded down the corridor. It finally stopped in front of a large, peach door that I knew to be Narcissa’s suite. I took a deep breath before charging into the room, hoping to save you from whatever near death experience you had gotten yourself into again.
What I found was unimaginable, a nightmare I wish I could forget.
There inside Narcissa’s rooms, lying on her bed was you. You were wearing Muggle clothes, the same tee shirt and pyjamas bottoms I had seen you in the other day, but they were torn and bloody. Your pale hair was hanging in wild tendrils all over your face; it was streaked with lines of crimson. Your face, oh your beautiful face that I adored and had haunted my dreams for so many months, for so many years, was ghastly white, but completely unblemished. Somehow, you had managed to keep the blood off your face. There was so much blood though. Your slim body was covered in a pool of blood, and even though I had seen some squeamish things working as an Auror, nothing could have prepared me for the horror of seeing my lover drowning in a pool of his own blood.
I gasped loudly and cried out for you, but I knew that it was too late, that you were gone.
“Draco! Draco!” I scooped your broken body into my arms and couldn’t believe how light you were, much too light for the body of a grown man. How hadn’t I noticed this before? What kind of man didn’t realise that his lover was wasting away?
I sobbed into your hair, gently pushing it away from your still face. Even in death and covered in blood, you were still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I rocked you back in forth in my arms as if you were an infant and kissed you gently on the forehead-as if somehow this latent show of affection would you bring back. But it didn’t matter. I was too late, much much too late. You were already long gone. What kind of monster had done this to you?
After I held you for what felt like hours, I laid you back on the bed carefully and examined you. I had been so concerned with the blood and your obvious lack of a pulse that I had not even looked for your injury, your cause of death. As I looked you over on the bed, I broke into tears again. As I held up your left arm I realised that you had completely mutilated it; you had gashed out the entire area where your Dark Mark had been. I gasped, not understanding what had caused you to do this, and then noticed that you had cut all the way up your right arm as well, deep slices across your wrist.
My jaw dropped as I took in the reality of the situation. You had done this to yourself. I dropped your arms quickly and pushed back from you, farther away on the long bed. I felt a sharp pain in my leg and realised that I had rolled on top of something. If my heart hadn’t been completely shattered before, if every drop of happiness that I had ever witnessed hadn’t been sucked out of my soul from just finding your lifeless body, what I found lying there on the bed pushed me over the edge. I stumbled onto an old picture frame of us. It was cracked down the centre, but I could still make out the smiling and waving faces of you, Teddy, and me. I was enveloping Teddy in a bear hug, and then you had come up behind me and enveloped Teddy and me in a ‘super bear hug’. That was one of my favourite pictures and I almost lost it again. I picked up the picture and held it closely to my chest, wishing that it was you I was holding instead of just a picture.
When I put the picture down, I noticed one more parchment on the bed. Underneath the picture frame had been a copy of yesterday’s Daily Prophet. I hadn’t seen the paper yesterday. I had been busy and hated reading the Prophet. Still, right there on the front page was a picture of Ginny Weasley and me. We were sitting at a table, at that little cafe we both loved, and she was bent over kissing me. The headline read: ‘Potter Dumps Death Eater and Rekindles Old Flame’.
That was why you had done it.
You had killed yourself because of me. You thought that I had dumped you and gotten back together with Ginny. Fuck, you probably thought that the whole thing with you had been some sort of joke, some sort of experiment.
I was going to be sick.
:::::Epilogue::::
You never really stop loving someone. You just learn to live without them. ~HJP
Present day...
It’s been a little more than a year since your death now, love.
Not a day goes by, not an hour, not a minute, that I don’t think of you or miss you insatiably. At first, I blamed myself for your death, for your depression. I thought that if only I had tried harder, if only I hadn’t pushed you away, then this wouldn’t have happened. That day that I found your crumbled body was the worst day of my life. After seeing that article and realising that the reason you had killed yourself was because of me, I puked my guts out, multiple times.
I thought that I would never forgive myself, and that I deserved to die as well. Hell, a couple of times I was even close to joining you, but I couldn’t go through with it. Finding the one you love slain by his own hand was the most painful thing I’ve ever experienced, the most painful thing that anyone could ever experience, so there was no way that I could do that to my family, to our family.
After your death, I spent a couple of months in exile, torturing myself and lashing out at everyone else. First, I hated myself but quickly the blame spread. I blamed Ginny for kissing me at that cafe; I said terrible, unforgivable things to her, accusing her of arranging the entire thing and paying off the photographer. God, I still feel like such a twat for doing that, but Ginny being Ginny and much too kind hearted forgave me. Then I blamed your friends, Goyle and Pansy; I threatened them with being accomplices to your murder, accused them of knowing that you were unstable and going to kill yourself, but not doing anything to intervene. It was awful. In those days, I was such a monster, so fuelled by rage, by pain. The world had once again taken from me my most precious gift-the one thing that I had ever wanted-so there was going to be hell to pay.
For the first time in my life, I sympathised with Snape, with Sirius, with your father, even with Voldemort. Finally, I understood the pull of dark magic and the rage that fuelled behind it. I thought of doing unthinkable things, trying to bring you back, but luckily I let it go. I might have defeated the most evil wizard of all time, and I have been known to produce impressive displays of wild magic, but I never took my education seriously, not like you. Even if I were powerful enough to bring you back, I knew that somehow I would fuck it up and the price would be too great. No, instead I decided to inflict my pain on those that had caused it, those that had been responsible for not only your death, but the demise of our relationship as well: the press.
With Hermione’s reluctant help, I threatened to dismantle the Prophet and sue them for every sickle they were worth. I planned to bury them. Eventually, I saw reason and backed down, realising that even if I shut them down another gossip rag would take their place; it was an impossible battle. But I didn’t go down without spilling some blood.
Fuck, I’m embarrassed to be telling you this, ashamed that I ever let myself fall this far into the darkness, but I did. After the dismemberment with The Prophet fell through, I turned to the last person I held responsible and should have sought out from the beginning: the photographer and reporter of the article. I paid off some sources to give me his name, and then I beat him to a bloody pulp, almost to his death. God, if Ron hadn’t been there, if Ron hadn’t stopped me, I probably would have killed him. It turns out that you were wrong about Ron; he took your death hard as well, finally deciding that you weren’t the arrogant prat you had always been, and that he was sorry that he never got to know you. He was the only person that I let near me for those first couple of months, him and sometimes Fred. No one else understood my pain, my demons, but they did. They knew all too well what it was like to lose someone to the darkness and not have anyone to blame or punish.
I fell into a really dark place those couple of months; I hadn’t even contacted Andromeda or Teddy since your funeral. You would have hated the person that I had become. Yet, this time it was you who saved me, you and my darling nephew, who reminds me more of you every day.
The only thing I took from your bloody room that day, from the entire manor, was that broken picture of us. I was lying on my couch, sloshing through another bottle of scotch, when I found the picture in between the couch cushions. It was like losing you all over again, staring down at that perfect picture, back when things had been normal or at least real. I realised then that I was a selfish bastard. Yes, you were gone, but my family wasn’t-life still went on.
It had taken almost three months for me to accept that harsh truth, but that night while sobbing against Teddy’s picture, I finally did. The love of my life was gone, dead, but life still went on. As much as I wanted to continue locking myself away and being miserable, I couldn’t. It’s not what you would have wanted; you would have hated it. I vowed right then that I would pack up what was left of my sorry life and go back to France.
I may have lost you, but I still had Teddy. Teddy who was an innocent in all this, who at such a young age had already lost his parents, his aunts, most of his grandparents, and now his favourite cousin. Yes, that poor boy was probably hurting almost as much as I was, and instead of consoling him, I had been selfishly wallowing in my own pity.
Things had to change.
: : :
The next morning, I stood outside of Andie’s door trying to work up the courage to knock. I had been such an awful son to her; in fact, there was no way that she still regarded me as a son, not after what I had done, not after taking her only nephew from her. I was afraid that she would turn me away and say that I was no longer welcome in her house, in her family. Yet for Teddy’s sake, I had to try. It wouldn’t be fair for the little boy to suffer even further just because I had fucked up and then been too much of a coward to accept the consequences of my actions.
When I finally knocked on the door, Andie opened it and stood there looking at me in disbelief. She roughly pulled me in the door and threw her arms around me, just holding me.
“Harry’s back,” she called out to Teddy. “Harry’s back for good,” she said again, noticing the luggage in my hands.
After a tearful reunion with Teddy, the poor boy was exhausted. I put him to bed and then sat down for some tea with Andie. There was a huge gap between us, a painful silence, and it killed me.
“Andie,” I finally said, fiddling with my teacup rather than drinking it.
“I’m so sorry, so very sorry.” I hung my head down and couldn’t meet her pained eyes. “I-I know that this is my fault. And if you don’t want me here, I understand. I just thought at least Teddy might still want to see me.” My voice was breaking now. “I-I can go stay in a hotel.”
Andie got up from her end of the table, came up behind me, and wrapped her arms around me, slowly rocking me back and forth.
“Oh, child,” she said in that soothing voice of hers.”Oh, my silly child. How could you think that? Why would I want you to leave? You’re my son, love.”
“I-I”
“Shh,” she cooed, “just listen okay. I’ve missed you desperately these past few months. It’s been so hard without you, without him.” She kissed me on the top of the head. “Harry,” she said softly. “I’ve already lost my husband, my sisters, my daughter, and now my precious nephew.” Her voice was breaking now. “I-I can’t afford to lose my only son too.”
I was in tears now too, clutching the older woman, not understanding how she could be so kind to me when I was the cause of her pain.
“Oh, Andie,” I said, “I’m so so sorry. It’s all my fault he’s dead. All my fault.”
She stopped embracing me for a minute and raised my chin to her face.
“Listen to me, child,” she said. “Don’t blame yourself. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”
Everything changed in those next moments.
Andromeda explained to me about blood curses, and how many years ago there had been a blood curse placed on the Black Family. She told me that everyone thinks that blood curses aren’t real, just old pureblood legends, but that she had been foolish for doubting them. She had watched the Black madness spread and claim her family, one by one. First, her mother had succumbed to the madness, dying at a young age with shot nerves. Then Sirius had fallen victim to the madness, slowly losing his mind in Azkaban, and although he had somewhat recuperated after being released, he was never the same. After Sirius, Bellatrix had been swallowed by the darkness, putting her faith and her pain into a madman that would never love her back. Andie said that it was inevitable-once a member of the Black family started spiralling downward there was no turning back.
She broke down and cried in my arms as she went on to explain that she had seen the signs in Cissa; she had known that she was losing her, but she never thought she would kill herself-the madness had never pushed someone into suicide before. After Narcissa’s death, she thought that it was over-that the Black family would finally be free of the curse. She didn’t think that she possessed the madness because after everything she had gone through, if she was still sane, then she wasn’t going to lose her mind. Yet, she had never thought that you would succumb to it; she feared for Teddy’s future but never for you. You were always so strong, so tough, and you possessed so much Malfoy blood, so much fighting spirit, that she assumed you had been immune as well.
Obviously, she was wrong; we were both wrong, but as we sat there that day both comforting each other, I forced her to relinquish her blame, made her understand that it wasn’t her fault either. Neither of us could have predicted this tragic accident would occur even if there had been little signs.
Yes, that night wrapped tightly in Andromeda’s embrace, I finally let you go.
: : :
I have talked a lot about the past. I have talked a lot about you and the things I should have done, but the reality is that no matter how much I wish that I could change things, I can’t.
Today is your birthday. It has been more than a year since your death, and although I still miss you every day, I’m finally starting to move on, learning to live my life. Again.
The day after your death, we had a small intimate affair for your funeral; we knew that you wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, but we also knew that you never would have wanted to spend the rest of your days lying in an old mouldy mausoleum with Malfoy ancestors that you hated. Instead, we buried you here, in beautiful southern France, where you had felt so at home, so alive.
We buried you in a beautiful plot not too far from the river, but I had also made a small memorial for you on the bridge, a small plague with your name on it-so you would forever be entwined with your favourite bridge and the place we fell in love.
That’s where I am right now, standing on our bridge, taking in the sweet summer breeze and the faint aroma of lavender and citrus that I always seem to smell when I stand on our bridge. I never got the chance to tell you that I loved you or how you changed my life. You made me a better person and taught me how to really live my life. I realise now that before I met you, I was half-dead inside, just wandering through life without a purpose, without any passion.
But you were never like that. Everything you did in life, you did with a fierce, irrefutable passion, and I’m learning to live that way as well.
Before the madness, you took life by the balls and refused to let anyone stand in the way of your joy, your inner passion. You once told me that after the first time I saved your life, you decided never to allow yourself to be put in a box again, to be labelled and abused.
I didn’t really understand the deepness of your words then, but I do now. I spent my entire life worrying about what everyone thought, trying to please the world around me. I had saved the world twice, surely that had been enough. But it wasn’t. If I had stayed in England, in the dead-end Auror training programme that I hated, I would have wasted my entire life. I would have grown bitter and old facing a lifetime of regrets. Instead, I chose to say, “Fuck them.” I had already done my part for the world, and now it was my turn to live, to really enjoy life.
So that’s what I’m doing. I made the move to France permanent. I took over your vineyard and hired Neville to oversee the harvest and the winery. I still live with Andromeda and Teddy, and I make sure to spend as much time as possible with my godson and teach him everything I can. I’m learning so much now that you’re gone. Every day, I sit with Teddy in the library and we go over some of your old books and notes. Teddy’s taken up the piano too; he’s catching on quite fast, and I’m sure that one day he’ll be as good as you.
I’m travelling and learning French, albeit slowly, too. Sometimes, I still go to the Petite Éclair and have a scotch and soda at your favourite table. I like to think that wherever you are, you are smiling at that and perhaps you even join in with a toast. I bet that there’s an endless supply of scotch and fine wine where you are and that you couldn’t be happier. At least I like to tell myself that.
God, Draco...I miss you so much everyday; it still fucking hurts so badly.
When you died, it was as if a part of me died too, and I don’t think that it can ever be replaced. Still, even if I have to deal with this pain for the rest of my life, I don’t regret our time together. I can never regret that.
Without you, I never would have known true happiness. I never would have learnt to appreciate my life.
Of course, I still don’t have everything figured out. There’s so much left for me to learn, and I still haven’t found my purpose in life. But what I learnt from you and from this whole experience is that maybe that’s okay. You don’t always have to get things perfect; you don’t always have to know everything. Right now, I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be in my life even if it’s not a hundred percent right.
I stand here today, sucking in the summer breeze, and I don’t know if you can hear me, but I like to think you can. I like to think you are watching over me, guiding me, and yelling at me when I make stupid choices. “It’s alright,” you would say. “You don’t always have to be perfect, Potter.”
So that’s what I have accepted: my final truth. I spent my whole life trying to get it right, whatever that might be, but now I have decided that it doesn’t matter if I get it right because they’ll always be another it. Right now, I rather just stand here making my own happiness just like you taught me. Everyone has a forever, a happily ever after that they want to come true. Mine died in the manor with you that day, but that doesn’t mean that I can’t have the next best thing, a tribute to you my love, a life worth living.
Yes, as I stand here today, alone but at peace, I realise that this is my peace: this is my moment, my forever. I can never thank you enough. My life began that first moment I kissed you when you took my breath away, and then slowly gave it back. You left me astounded, light-headed, amazed, but most of all alive.
~Fin
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Author’s Note: Thank you so much to everyone who read this entire story. I know that it’s long, but it’s very dear to my heart and I hope you enjoyed it. The title of the song and the first quote is inspired and roughly quoted/paraphrased from the Adele song “Set Fire to the Rain”. The other quote about man killing the thing he loves is by Oscar Wilde, and Harry is referring to him and to his poem “Ballad of Reading Gaol”. Finally, the last couple of paragraphs and the idea about forever being an instant you want to last and last is very loosely based off the last chapter of Sarah Dessen’s book,The Truth about Forever, and a particular quote from it. I read that book a long time ago, but I loved the underlying theme in it and thought it worked well for this story. That’s it and thanks again for reading. = )