Amortentia fic: Like Spinning Plates
Title: Like Spinning Plates
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Authors: aurieal and justholdstill
Rating: PG (for language, mostly)
Notes: Follow-up to the much happier Birthday. *sigh* Writing the banter was fun. Writing the rest of it? ...not so fun. *hands out tissues*
Like Spinning Plates
"No," said Harry firmly, "absolutely not. I refuse to sleep on green satin sheets, and that's final!"
"But...gold embroidery!" Draco protested, gesturing at the display bed in front of them. "300 thread count!"
Harry snorted, and turned away only to be confronted by a wall full of decorative platters painted with wide-eyed gambolling kittens eerily remniscent of the ones that had once hung in Umbridge's office. He shuddered, and turned back to Draco, who was now caressing the pillowshams with a kind of longing. "Merlin, you really are gay, aren't you?"
One eyebrow arched, Draco replied, "says the man who had my cock up his arse only last night?" Harry grinned and stepped closer; Draco scrambled backward and almost fell onto the bed in his haste to put distance between himself and Harry."Alright! Okay! No Satin. But don't stand so close to me, will you? People might..." he dropped his voice to a whisper and looked warily around for eavesdropping salesgirls before finishing, "people might notice."
"What? Afraid I'm going to throw you down and shag you right here?" When Draco blushed, Harry grinned wider. "Unless you'd like me to...?"
“To bugger off? Oh, yes please,” Draco finished for him, scowling and forcing the blush out of his cheeks as he gave the sheets one final look of longing. “Can’t bloody believe you expect me to sleep on cotton sheets. Cotton, Potter. Couldn’t we at least get Egyptian cotton?” There was a lovely display just across the store, a gorgeous emerald set that would bring out Harry’s eyes nicely. Though he didn’t understand why Harry was protesting the satin sheets in the first place. They were lovely and soft and Draco had practically been raise on satin sheets. “Whatever we get, it has to be 300 count. I can’t sleep on anything less, it scratches.”
"One of these days I'm going to put a pea under your matress and see what happens," Harry muttered. He sighed. "I think I can live with Egyptian cotton. But does it have to be green? And I beg you not to tell me it would match my eyes."
“Put a pea under my mattress and you won’t be around to see what happens,” Draco warned. Harry could sleep on the sofa if he even tried it, and not just because it would completely ruin Draco’s sleep, but also because peas were disgusting and needed to stay as far away from him as possible. His triumphant smile at winning the Egyptian cotton was quickly squashed by the statements following.
“Fine, I won’t tell you,” he muttered, moving over to the display and running his fingers across the pillow. “We’ll have to get at least two sets, you know. I want one to be green.”
"Deal," said Harry. "Can the other set be red?"
"I don't look good in red," Draco fretted, "it makes my skin look blotchy."
"Whereas you simply glow in pink. I know," said Harry, peering closely at a set of novelty martini glasses with silver snakes twining up the stems. "What about blue? The bedding in your room at the house is blue, and I didn't notice you having any violent objections to it."
“Pink. Bloody riot, you are.” Draco hummed, tearing himself away from the sheets to wander back in Harry’s direction, peering at the glasses. …Fitting, really. A Slytherin and a Parselmouth. “Blue is acceptable. Should we get these as well? I’m sure we’ll entertain eventually, and Pansy and Daphne will more than likely insist upon alcohol being served in some form.”
"I don't think I've ever drunk anything fancy enough to be served in a glass like that. But they're nice, I guess. Might as well."
“We’ll have to just change that, then,” Draco decided, giving the glasses a final look over before moving on toward the corner of the shop to examine a disgustingly ornate…thing. A wall hanging of some sort, though he couldn’t really distinguish a purpose or any sort of beauty in it. “Look at this, it's hideous. Do you think we’ll have time for drinks and maybe something to eat before we’re expected back at the camp?”
"I'd think so," Harry decided, glancing at his watch. "We've got an hour and a half. Though, I was hoping to duck into Quality Quidditch Supplies to have a look at the new Nexus - it's got superb handling from what I hear."
"You and your broom handling," Draco mocked, "and talking about bedclothes makes me gay." Harry coloured and Draco smirked. "Fine. But I want plenty of time for a post-luch shag."
*
They sauntered down Diagon Alley in the warmth of a late afternoon sun. The streets were remarkably less crowded than Harry had ever seen them - it was probably too early in the month for the back-to-school rush, when all manner of young witches and wizards would swarm through the narrow shops. Now there were only a few people moving to and fro, and Harry almost thought he could get away with taking Draco's hand, if had been so inclined. He might have, but Draco was careful to walk at least two paces ahead from Harry at all times, as if being any closer would somehow broadcast their relationship to the world at large.
As they entered the cramped little shop, Harry's shoulder accidentally brushed Draco's, and Draco jumped as though he'd been shot. "Don't," he hissed, and stalked away to pretend to look at a rack of shin guards.
It wasn’t until Harry was across the shop, looking over the new Nexus, that Draco allowed himself to relax. This whole shopping thing was becoming more stressful than he’d imagined it, and that right there was completely mental. Shopping, one of his favorite things - and he could just hear Harry in his head chanting ‘gay gay gay’ - was stressful. It was so bloody difficult, not touching Harry. They touched all the bloody time. When they were alone in their cabin at the camp, the only time they weren’t touching was when one of them was taking a piss. But here… Well, they just couldn’t touch, could they? Because someone would see, and everyone would find out, and that couldn’t happen. It was bad enough Harry insisted on calling him by his given name.
Draco scowled at the display of shin guards, stealing a glance over his shoulder at Harry. Honestly, why did he have to be so…touchy? Especially out here. Didn’t he realise Draco was doing this for their own good?
*
Harry ran his fingers over the shining polish on the broomstick, ignoring the stare of the shopkeeper, who looked as though he might murder Harry then and there if he smudged the impeccable finish. The broom was a thing of beauty, with a dark teak handle, and a bundle of sleek golden twigs forming the base, but Harry found he couldn't appreciate it as much as he might have under other circumstances. He couldn't understand why Draco was being such a...well, such a girl about things. Harry hadn't even meant to touch him, and yet Draco was behaving as if he'd grabbed his arse in public. Harry wished he had. Serve him right, the poncey brat.
Harry could understand Draco's reluctance to let anyone know about his sexual orientation, and he knew that the press getting wind of their relationship would certainly make life a lot more difficult for the both of them, but he didn't see why Draco had to act as if any visible connection to Harry, any connection at all, was a fate worse than death. Next thing he knew, they'd be screaming "you're ashamed of me!" at each other, and then his life would be exactly like one of Aunt Petunia's serials.
Harry lingered by a shelf of books on flying techniques for a while until he thought Draco had calmed down enough that he wasn't going to hex Harry simply for breathing in the same room. He made his way across the store to where Draco was sulkily playing with a snitch. "Do you want to get that drink now?"
Another opportunity for disaster, Draco was sure, but he nodded anyway, placing the snitch carefully back in the case and turning for the door. As much as it hurt, maybe it would be better if they acted the way they used to around each other. Not as violent, of course, and not nearly as rude, but maybe…simply tolerant. That would help matters, wouldn’t it? …No, it probably wouldn’t. Harry would throw a fit if Draco even suggested it. And shit, now he was practically sulking and not speaking and Harry was probably getting fed up with this. He glanced backwards at Harry, slowing his pace the slightest bit. Not enough that they were close to touching or anything, but at least it looked like they might possibly be walking…near each other.
Pleased that Draco had at least agreed to come with him, if not speak to him, Harry followed him back up the street to the Leaky Cauldron, where they seated themselves comfortably at a corner table and ordered, a Butterbeer for Harry and a double gin and tonic for Draco.
"Forgive me for actually asking you about your feelings, Malfoy, but are you okay?"
Alright, so maybe hearing his surname from Harry wasn’t so wonderful after all. It was rather unpleasant, actually, and it made his stomach do a stupid little twist that had him poking at his gin and tonic with the little straw as he waited for it to calm back down. It didn’t help matters any that Harry seemed to be under the assumption that Draco wouldn’t talk about his feelings. They were… Well, they were rather dating, weren’t they? Why wouldn’t he talk about his feelings with his boyfriend? Though now he didn’t really feel like it.
“I’m fine,” Draco finally answered stiffly, taking a sip of his drink. “Never better. I can‘t believe you’re only having a Butterbeer. You do realise this may be your only chance to have something alcoholic until the next time they allow us a day off of training.”
"Funny, but I rather thought that that was me slamming back pint after pint at the last after-hours party we had. Of course, the fact that I nearly had to fish your head out of the toilet that night probably means you were too drunk to remember," Harry joked, but when he coaxed only a faint smile from Draco he quickly became serious again. "Look, I know you're being like this because I touched you in public - which was an accident, for the record -, but I don't understand why."
“You know why,” Draco argued, matching Harry’s serious expression. “You know we can’t advertise our…our relationship,” he ended in a hissed whisper after a quick glance around. “If someone sees us, the press would have a bloody field day and you know it. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this, you knew it was going to be like this before we left this morning.”
"I'm making a big deal of this?!" Harry spat, slamming down his bottle. He noticed that he was drawing stares, and quickly lowered his voice. "And who said we're advertising anything? I bumped into you when I didn't mean to. The way you're acting you'd think that I'd asked for a fuck in the middle of that damned Quidditch shop! People know we're in training together, Malfoy - walking together in public isn't quite the same as standing in the middle of the street screaming "WE'RE GAY TOGETHER" at the top of our lungs!"
“Would you shut up?” Draco snapped, horrified. “You don’t call this making a big deal of it? Throwing a fucking hissy in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron? We can’t touch, accident or not. I told you that when we left camp, and you agreed, you idiot. I wish I’d known you’d be such a fucking queen about the whole thing, then I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me!” That…probably didn’t help matters any.
Harry spluttered for a few moments, and it was only with a great deal of patience and self-control that he refrained from dumping the rest of his drink over Draco's blond head. "Hissy fit? Yeah? Who's the one who acted like I was diseased when I touched him and then sulked like a stupid child?" Draco's scowl deepened, but Harry pushed on. He was yelling now, really yelling, and was vaguely aware that several of the pub's patrons were craning their necks around to get a good look at an irate Harry Potter, but he was too incensed with Draco to care much, at the moment. "It's not my fault you're ashamed of being seen with me! And it is certainly not my fault that you're ashamed of what you are! If anyone has anything to be ashamed of, it's me, letting myself be seen with such a self-involved little prat!"
Draco nearly choked on his own tongue in disbelief. Self-involved? He was doing this for Harry. He knew what the headlines of those front page articles would be. “Boy-Who-Lived Seduced by Son of Death Eater.” “Savior of the Wizarding World Tainted.” Words weaving lies about their relationship, about how Draco had used a love potion or black mail or something to tarnish their beloved hero.
“Fuck you!” Draco finally bit out, his entire body shaking with anger and disbelief and disappointment. “I’m not ashamed of you, you stupid fucking arse, but I’m beginning to dislike you a great sodding deal. Maybe you should get off your fucking high horse and get a clue!”
"Oh, not ashamed of me?" Harry hated the sarcasm in his voice almost as much as he hated the minute wobbling in it that was threatening to destroy him, but he couldn't stop himself. Had it really only been last night that he'd lain under Draco with such trust, with such...love? "Care to explain why you won't walk near me, then? And don't you dare tell me that it's to stop the papers printing awful headlines about us, because I don't think they give two knuts if we go out and pick up supplies together. Face it, you've been antsy about having any kind of public link to me since this whole mess began, and - and you know what, Malfoy? I'm fucking tired of it. If anyone needs to get a clue, it's you, ferret boy."
Draco felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. No, worse than that. Worse than Crucio, even. This…this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was protecting them, protecting him, and he… Draco wanted to scream and possibly cry and punch Harry and kiss him all at the same time, but he couldn’t. His body wasn’t under his control any longer. He felt himself standing, digging a handful of coins out of his pocket to cover the drinks. He felt himself slam them down on the table and felt his eyes narrow. “Consider the clue received,” he heard himself say, and then he turned around and walked toward the door. It was almost as if he was underwater. The whispers of the other patrons were muffled and murky and he had the sudden desire to run, so he did. As soon as he stepped out the door leading to Muggle London, he ran.
*
The minute Draco had gone all the air seemed to leave Harry's body, and he collapsed bonelessly back into his seat (he hadn't even realised he'd been standing). He fought a sudden, very powerful urge to cry, which he quickly channelled into the urge to punch something - something which happened to be, fortunately for the other pub-goers and the Leaky Cauldron's furniture, and unfortunately for Harry's knuckles, the solid stone wall next to his table.
"FUCK!" Harry shouted, and then, because it had felt like an immense relief to say it, he shouted again: "FUCK!"
Tom, the hunchbacked old bartender, looked as though he was reaching for his wand, but instead of waiting to be thrown out, Harry tossed another handful of coins onto the pile Draco had left, and headed towards the door.
Harry walked. He hadn't a clue where he was headed, or where he might end up, but he walked anyway. Through streets lined with shops, and posh blocks of flats, down leafy suburban roads where small children played on green lawns, past unappealing industrial districts where the light of the sun was choked out by an unhealthy gray haze. Once or twice he found himself crying, but he didn't allow it to last long, and forced his feet harder against the pavement and walked on. He felt tired and numb and slightly unreal - he had never belonged in this world he was passing through, and he didn't belong in it now. He didn't belong anywhere, he thought. Or to anyone.
*
It was dark by the time Draco returned to camp, exhausted and sweaty and ready to beg on his hands and knees for forgiveness. He dragged himself to the cabin, hesitating before pushing the door open. He’d been prepared to start begging immediately, but the sight that greeted him made him close his mouth with a snap. Kelly was there. Putting clean sheets on Harry’s bed. Auror issue sheets, the sheets that were on the beds when he and Harry first moved in. Sheets that were replaced on his bed by the satin set he’d brought from home and replaced on Harry’s bed with white cotton sheets with golden snitches that had been given to him by Mrs. Weasley.
“Where’s Harry?” he whispered when Kelly looked up. She bit her bottom lip and smoothed the sheets compulsively.
“Leave,” she answered shortly. Draco closed his eyes briefly, wondering if there was anything in the world that could possibly hurt worse.
“How long?” he asked, voice wobbling.
“…He didn’t know.”
Draco stepped over to his bed, feeling numb. …He should have seen this coming. People he loved had a tendency to disappear, after all. His mother. Daniel. And now Harry. He should have known that even alluding to love was a bad idea. He never should have said anything that night. How could he have been so stupid? He sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes and dropping his head into his hands. A moment later the bed sunk beside him as Kelly sat down and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“I’ve completely ruined everything,” he whispered, not even putting up a fight as she stroked her fingers through his hair. “Everything. He hates me. He left and he hates me.” He ignored Kelly’s protests that Harry wouldn’t ever hate him, shaking his head and pulling away to stretch out on his bed. “Just go. I’m tired.” Tired of everything. Kelly sighed, but he felt her stand and heard her slip out the door a moment later. Just as well. He deserved to be alone. For the rest of his life, even, for hurting Harry like that.
Draco closed his eyes and pressed his face into his pillow, refusing to cry.
________________________
*title taken from the song of the same name by Radiohead.
While you make pretty speeches,
I'm being cut to shreds.
You feed me to the lions,
a delicate balance
When this just feels like spinning plates.
I'm living in cloud cuckoo land.
And this just feels like spinning plates
Our bodies floating down the muddy river.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Authors: aurieal and justholdstill
Rating: PG (for language, mostly)
Notes: Follow-up to the much happier Birthday. *sigh* Writing the banter was fun. Writing the rest of it? ...not so fun. *hands out tissues*
Like Spinning Plates
"No," said Harry firmly, "absolutely not. I refuse to sleep on green satin sheets, and that's final!"
"But...gold embroidery!" Draco protested, gesturing at the display bed in front of them. "300 thread count!"
Harry snorted, and turned away only to be confronted by a wall full of decorative platters painted with wide-eyed gambolling kittens eerily remniscent of the ones that had once hung in Umbridge's office. He shuddered, and turned back to Draco, who was now caressing the pillowshams with a kind of longing. "Merlin, you really are gay, aren't you?"
One eyebrow arched, Draco replied, "says the man who had my cock up his arse only last night?" Harry grinned and stepped closer; Draco scrambled backward and almost fell onto the bed in his haste to put distance between himself and Harry."Alright! Okay! No Satin. But don't stand so close to me, will you? People might..." he dropped his voice to a whisper and looked warily around for eavesdropping salesgirls before finishing, "people might notice."
"What? Afraid I'm going to throw you down and shag you right here?" When Draco blushed, Harry grinned wider. "Unless you'd like me to...?"
“To bugger off? Oh, yes please,” Draco finished for him, scowling and forcing the blush out of his cheeks as he gave the sheets one final look of longing. “Can’t bloody believe you expect me to sleep on cotton sheets. Cotton, Potter. Couldn’t we at least get Egyptian cotton?” There was a lovely display just across the store, a gorgeous emerald set that would bring out Harry’s eyes nicely. Though he didn’t understand why Harry was protesting the satin sheets in the first place. They were lovely and soft and Draco had practically been raise on satin sheets. “Whatever we get, it has to be 300 count. I can’t sleep on anything less, it scratches.”
"One of these days I'm going to put a pea under your matress and see what happens," Harry muttered. He sighed. "I think I can live with Egyptian cotton. But does it have to be green? And I beg you not to tell me it would match my eyes."
“Put a pea under my mattress and you won’t be around to see what happens,” Draco warned. Harry could sleep on the sofa if he even tried it, and not just because it would completely ruin Draco’s sleep, but also because peas were disgusting and needed to stay as far away from him as possible. His triumphant smile at winning the Egyptian cotton was quickly squashed by the statements following.
“Fine, I won’t tell you,” he muttered, moving over to the display and running his fingers across the pillow. “We’ll have to get at least two sets, you know. I want one to be green.”
"Deal," said Harry. "Can the other set be red?"
"I don't look good in red," Draco fretted, "it makes my skin look blotchy."
"Whereas you simply glow in pink. I know," said Harry, peering closely at a set of novelty martini glasses with silver snakes twining up the stems. "What about blue? The bedding in your room at the house is blue, and I didn't notice you having any violent objections to it."
“Pink. Bloody riot, you are.” Draco hummed, tearing himself away from the sheets to wander back in Harry’s direction, peering at the glasses. …Fitting, really. A Slytherin and a Parselmouth. “Blue is acceptable. Should we get these as well? I’m sure we’ll entertain eventually, and Pansy and Daphne will more than likely insist upon alcohol being served in some form.”
"I don't think I've ever drunk anything fancy enough to be served in a glass like that. But they're nice, I guess. Might as well."
“We’ll have to just change that, then,” Draco decided, giving the glasses a final look over before moving on toward the corner of the shop to examine a disgustingly ornate…thing. A wall hanging of some sort, though he couldn’t really distinguish a purpose or any sort of beauty in it. “Look at this, it's hideous. Do you think we’ll have time for drinks and maybe something to eat before we’re expected back at the camp?”
"I'd think so," Harry decided, glancing at his watch. "We've got an hour and a half. Though, I was hoping to duck into Quality Quidditch Supplies to have a look at the new Nexus - it's got superb handling from what I hear."
"You and your broom handling," Draco mocked, "and talking about bedclothes makes me gay." Harry coloured and Draco smirked. "Fine. But I want plenty of time for a post-luch shag."
*
They sauntered down Diagon Alley in the warmth of a late afternoon sun. The streets were remarkably less crowded than Harry had ever seen them - it was probably too early in the month for the back-to-school rush, when all manner of young witches and wizards would swarm through the narrow shops. Now there were only a few people moving to and fro, and Harry almost thought he could get away with taking Draco's hand, if had been so inclined. He might have, but Draco was careful to walk at least two paces ahead from Harry at all times, as if being any closer would somehow broadcast their relationship to the world at large.
As they entered the cramped little shop, Harry's shoulder accidentally brushed Draco's, and Draco jumped as though he'd been shot. "Don't," he hissed, and stalked away to pretend to look at a rack of shin guards.
It wasn’t until Harry was across the shop, looking over the new Nexus, that Draco allowed himself to relax. This whole shopping thing was becoming more stressful than he’d imagined it, and that right there was completely mental. Shopping, one of his favorite things - and he could just hear Harry in his head chanting ‘gay gay gay’ - was stressful. It was so bloody difficult, not touching Harry. They touched all the bloody time. When they were alone in their cabin at the camp, the only time they weren’t touching was when one of them was taking a piss. But here… Well, they just couldn’t touch, could they? Because someone would see, and everyone would find out, and that couldn’t happen. It was bad enough Harry insisted on calling him by his given name.
Draco scowled at the display of shin guards, stealing a glance over his shoulder at Harry. Honestly, why did he have to be so…touchy? Especially out here. Didn’t he realise Draco was doing this for their own good?
*
Harry ran his fingers over the shining polish on the broomstick, ignoring the stare of the shopkeeper, who looked as though he might murder Harry then and there if he smudged the impeccable finish. The broom was a thing of beauty, with a dark teak handle, and a bundle of sleek golden twigs forming the base, but Harry found he couldn't appreciate it as much as he might have under other circumstances. He couldn't understand why Draco was being such a...well, such a girl about things. Harry hadn't even meant to touch him, and yet Draco was behaving as if he'd grabbed his arse in public. Harry wished he had. Serve him right, the poncey brat.
Harry could understand Draco's reluctance to let anyone know about his sexual orientation, and he knew that the press getting wind of their relationship would certainly make life a lot more difficult for the both of them, but he didn't see why Draco had to act as if any visible connection to Harry, any connection at all, was a fate worse than death. Next thing he knew, they'd be screaming "you're ashamed of me!" at each other, and then his life would be exactly like one of Aunt Petunia's serials.
Harry lingered by a shelf of books on flying techniques for a while until he thought Draco had calmed down enough that he wasn't going to hex Harry simply for breathing in the same room. He made his way across the store to where Draco was sulkily playing with a snitch. "Do you want to get that drink now?"
Another opportunity for disaster, Draco was sure, but he nodded anyway, placing the snitch carefully back in the case and turning for the door. As much as it hurt, maybe it would be better if they acted the way they used to around each other. Not as violent, of course, and not nearly as rude, but maybe…simply tolerant. That would help matters, wouldn’t it? …No, it probably wouldn’t. Harry would throw a fit if Draco even suggested it. And shit, now he was practically sulking and not speaking and Harry was probably getting fed up with this. He glanced backwards at Harry, slowing his pace the slightest bit. Not enough that they were close to touching or anything, but at least it looked like they might possibly be walking…near each other.
Pleased that Draco had at least agreed to come with him, if not speak to him, Harry followed him back up the street to the Leaky Cauldron, where they seated themselves comfortably at a corner table and ordered, a Butterbeer for Harry and a double gin and tonic for Draco.
"Forgive me for actually asking you about your feelings, Malfoy, but are you okay?"
Alright, so maybe hearing his surname from Harry wasn’t so wonderful after all. It was rather unpleasant, actually, and it made his stomach do a stupid little twist that had him poking at his gin and tonic with the little straw as he waited for it to calm back down. It didn’t help matters any that Harry seemed to be under the assumption that Draco wouldn’t talk about his feelings. They were… Well, they were rather dating, weren’t they? Why wouldn’t he talk about his feelings with his boyfriend? Though now he didn’t really feel like it.
“I’m fine,” Draco finally answered stiffly, taking a sip of his drink. “Never better. I can‘t believe you’re only having a Butterbeer. You do realise this may be your only chance to have something alcoholic until the next time they allow us a day off of training.”
"Funny, but I rather thought that that was me slamming back pint after pint at the last after-hours party we had. Of course, the fact that I nearly had to fish your head out of the toilet that night probably means you were too drunk to remember," Harry joked, but when he coaxed only a faint smile from Draco he quickly became serious again. "Look, I know you're being like this because I touched you in public - which was an accident, for the record -, but I don't understand why."
“You know why,” Draco argued, matching Harry’s serious expression. “You know we can’t advertise our…our relationship,” he ended in a hissed whisper after a quick glance around. “If someone sees us, the press would have a bloody field day and you know it. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this, you knew it was going to be like this before we left this morning.”
"I'm making a big deal of this?!" Harry spat, slamming down his bottle. He noticed that he was drawing stares, and quickly lowered his voice. "And who said we're advertising anything? I bumped into you when I didn't mean to. The way you're acting you'd think that I'd asked for a fuck in the middle of that damned Quidditch shop! People know we're in training together, Malfoy - walking together in public isn't quite the same as standing in the middle of the street screaming "WE'RE GAY TOGETHER" at the top of our lungs!"
“Would you shut up?” Draco snapped, horrified. “You don’t call this making a big deal of it? Throwing a fucking hissy in the middle of the Leaky Cauldron? We can’t touch, accident or not. I told you that when we left camp, and you agreed, you idiot. I wish I’d known you’d be such a fucking queen about the whole thing, then I wouldn’t have asked you to come with me!” That…probably didn’t help matters any.
Harry spluttered for a few moments, and it was only with a great deal of patience and self-control that he refrained from dumping the rest of his drink over Draco's blond head. "Hissy fit? Yeah? Who's the one who acted like I was diseased when I touched him and then sulked like a stupid child?" Draco's scowl deepened, but Harry pushed on. He was yelling now, really yelling, and was vaguely aware that several of the pub's patrons were craning their necks around to get a good look at an irate Harry Potter, but he was too incensed with Draco to care much, at the moment. "It's not my fault you're ashamed of being seen with me! And it is certainly not my fault that you're ashamed of what you are! If anyone has anything to be ashamed of, it's me, letting myself be seen with such a self-involved little prat!"
Draco nearly choked on his own tongue in disbelief. Self-involved? He was doing this for Harry. He knew what the headlines of those front page articles would be. “Boy-Who-Lived Seduced by Son of Death Eater.” “Savior of the Wizarding World Tainted.” Words weaving lies about their relationship, about how Draco had used a love potion or black mail or something to tarnish their beloved hero.
“Fuck you!” Draco finally bit out, his entire body shaking with anger and disbelief and disappointment. “I’m not ashamed of you, you stupid fucking arse, but I’m beginning to dislike you a great sodding deal. Maybe you should get off your fucking high horse and get a clue!”
"Oh, not ashamed of me?" Harry hated the sarcasm in his voice almost as much as he hated the minute wobbling in it that was threatening to destroy him, but he couldn't stop himself. Had it really only been last night that he'd lain under Draco with such trust, with such...love? "Care to explain why you won't walk near me, then? And don't you dare tell me that it's to stop the papers printing awful headlines about us, because I don't think they give two knuts if we go out and pick up supplies together. Face it, you've been antsy about having any kind of public link to me since this whole mess began, and - and you know what, Malfoy? I'm fucking tired of it. If anyone needs to get a clue, it's you, ferret boy."
Draco felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach. No, worse than that. Worse than Crucio, even. This…this wasn’t supposed to happen. He was protecting them, protecting him, and he… Draco wanted to scream and possibly cry and punch Harry and kiss him all at the same time, but he couldn’t. His body wasn’t under his control any longer. He felt himself standing, digging a handful of coins out of his pocket to cover the drinks. He felt himself slam them down on the table and felt his eyes narrow. “Consider the clue received,” he heard himself say, and then he turned around and walked toward the door. It was almost as if he was underwater. The whispers of the other patrons were muffled and murky and he had the sudden desire to run, so he did. As soon as he stepped out the door leading to Muggle London, he ran.
*
The minute Draco had gone all the air seemed to leave Harry's body, and he collapsed bonelessly back into his seat (he hadn't even realised he'd been standing). He fought a sudden, very powerful urge to cry, which he quickly channelled into the urge to punch something - something which happened to be, fortunately for the other pub-goers and the Leaky Cauldron's furniture, and unfortunately for Harry's knuckles, the solid stone wall next to his table.
"FUCK!" Harry shouted, and then, because it had felt like an immense relief to say it, he shouted again: "FUCK!"
Tom, the hunchbacked old bartender, looked as though he was reaching for his wand, but instead of waiting to be thrown out, Harry tossed another handful of coins onto the pile Draco had left, and headed towards the door.
Harry walked. He hadn't a clue where he was headed, or where he might end up, but he walked anyway. Through streets lined with shops, and posh blocks of flats, down leafy suburban roads where small children played on green lawns, past unappealing industrial districts where the light of the sun was choked out by an unhealthy gray haze. Once or twice he found himself crying, but he didn't allow it to last long, and forced his feet harder against the pavement and walked on. He felt tired and numb and slightly unreal - he had never belonged in this world he was passing through, and he didn't belong in it now. He didn't belong anywhere, he thought. Or to anyone.
*
It was dark by the time Draco returned to camp, exhausted and sweaty and ready to beg on his hands and knees for forgiveness. He dragged himself to the cabin, hesitating before pushing the door open. He’d been prepared to start begging immediately, but the sight that greeted him made him close his mouth with a snap. Kelly was there. Putting clean sheets on Harry’s bed. Auror issue sheets, the sheets that were on the beds when he and Harry first moved in. Sheets that were replaced on his bed by the satin set he’d brought from home and replaced on Harry’s bed with white cotton sheets with golden snitches that had been given to him by Mrs. Weasley.
“Where’s Harry?” he whispered when Kelly looked up. She bit her bottom lip and smoothed the sheets compulsively.
“Leave,” she answered shortly. Draco closed his eyes briefly, wondering if there was anything in the world that could possibly hurt worse.
“How long?” he asked, voice wobbling.
“…He didn’t know.”
Draco stepped over to his bed, feeling numb. …He should have seen this coming. People he loved had a tendency to disappear, after all. His mother. Daniel. And now Harry. He should have known that even alluding to love was a bad idea. He never should have said anything that night. How could he have been so stupid? He sat on the edge of the bed, kicking off his shoes and dropping his head into his hands. A moment later the bed sunk beside him as Kelly sat down and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
“I’ve completely ruined everything,” he whispered, not even putting up a fight as she stroked her fingers through his hair. “Everything. He hates me. He left and he hates me.” He ignored Kelly’s protests that Harry wouldn’t ever hate him, shaking his head and pulling away to stretch out on his bed. “Just go. I’m tired.” Tired of everything. Kelly sighed, but he felt her stand and heard her slip out the door a moment later. Just as well. He deserved to be alone. For the rest of his life, even, for hurting Harry like that.
Draco closed his eyes and pressed his face into his pillow, refusing to cry.
________________________
*title taken from the song of the same name by Radiohead.
While you make pretty speeches,
I'm being cut to shreds.
You feed me to the lions,
a delicate balance
When this just feels like spinning plates.
I'm living in cloud cuckoo land.
And this just feels like spinning plates
Our bodies floating down the muddy river.