Bitterest of Partings

Bitterest

Of

Partings

By Maria Valenzuela

'Please, Draco. . . .' A trembling hand reached out for a pale wrist, to which was connected to a furiously balled fist. 'Don't do this ...' His eyes were pleading, desperate and partly angry, glowing with raw feeling, so bright, so dark, so gentle, and so fierce. His voice ached and throbbed with some sort of emotion, filled with anguish and bliss; drunk on something not so materialistic, so present; drowning in misery and euphoria.

'Draco. . . .' He cautiously touched the boy's turned shoulder, so lightly that it was almost impossible to feel. But he did, and Draco whirled around, angry with himself over the fact that, even now, he was still affected by Harry's touch, that it still sent thrilling waves of passion through him, still plaguing him, still making him love him, despite the helplessness that was almost overwhelming, he still wanted to run, far, far away, yet stay, and hold his beloved in his arms, whispering words of comfort, telling him everything was fine, that they were fine, that they would get through whatever had dared to come between their love.

His silver eyes had morphed instantly into dark pools as they locked with Harry's emerald ones, piercing into him, penetrating his frayed nerves, his shattered soul, his everything, his nothingness. And for a split moment, the world around them collapsed at their feet in tatters, leaving them to hungrily drink in each other, eyes for no one else besides the other; as if everything on the current had just been washed away, pretending it had never happened; as if nothing was wrong, and Draco was going to crush Harry against his chest like he always did when he was frightened, or worried.

Everything was all right. Everything was perfect. It had to be. It just had to be.

But it wasn't, and the glimmer of fury in Draco's dark eyes confirmed it.

Harry felt as though a cold hand had encrusted itself over his vulnerable heart, clamping together too tightly, so hard it was difficult to breathe, to see, to smell. He winced, and murmured his name once again, hoping against hope that he could right everything with lies; and he brought his hand hesitantly to touch Draco's arm, who flinched horribly, recoiling as if Harry had burned him, though with other means rather than the ways of elemental Fire.

'Please ...' Harry breathed, ignoring the quiet desperation welling in the pit of his stomach. 'Draco ...' His eyes frantically searched for the answer to his question in the furious silver orbs glaring at him, leaping over bounds that kept him from his accomplishments.

He found nothing.

Without hesitation, Draco brought back his fist, and slammed it against Harry's jaw, feelings of guilt, fury and betrayal supporting the blow. A sickening crack followed as Harry stumbled back, a hand cupped to his broken ligament, strangled swearing emitting from his lips. Draco was breathing heavily through his nose, hair suddenly tousled, eyes soft, lips pressed together in so thin a line his mouth was barely visible; his fist still tightly balled by his side and skin stark white. The dull aching his knuckles ringed with was a mere shadow compared to the looming darkness spreading through him, over him, in him, taking over. As he watched Harry's contorted face, a strong feeling of remorse bubbled in his chest, overriding all sense of thoughts revolving around his own mind, and before he could stop and reconsider, he fled to Harry's side, and crushed him against his chest, a feeling of how they were before almost making him too weak to hold back a choking sob.

'I'm so sorry,' he whispered fiercely into Harry's silken hair, gripping strands in his fist desperately, his other arm tangled around the other boy's back. His eyes were shut, either from the fact that he thought it would stop his sudden shaking, or he didn't want to see the feelings whirling in the other boy's eyes. 'So fucking sorry. I didn't mean it, Harry, I swear I -' what he was swearing for didn't matter though, because Harry withdrew his arms from his sides and placed them flatly on Draco's trembling chest. He felt the muscles there tense, and he smiled grimly. With a cry, he shoved Draco as hard as he could away form him. He sent him almost flying, landing a good distance away, sprawled on his back, groaning because his head had met with the ground so suddenly. Draco gingerly felt the back of his head, and brought his hand to his eyes. It was smudged with blood. He groaned. Harry didn't seem to care.

'Sorry for what?' Harry hissed, not moving from the spot his feet were apparently glued to. 'Sorry because you fucked me up and left? Or because--' He sneered, and it looked almost painful. '--you loved me?'

Draco moaned again, this time not due to the pain banging in his head. It felt like a hammer was breaking ice on his scalp, chiselling and chipping wherever it could reach. The words Harry had spat at him seemed to be having great impact on his emotions, since a sudden tear sprang from his eye, rolling swiftly down his temple, and burying itself into his hair. In the back of his mind, he though how ridiculous he must look, how degrading this must be for him. A Malfoy, crying?

It was unheard of.

But Love did that to you, amongst other things, and maybe, just maybe, Draco thought, that it was his time to bear the grudge and take on the responsibility of being someone else's rock, instead of always relying on other people to do so for him. It was his time to be brave, instead of turn a cold eye, to be strong, instead of turning away. He knew he had to face it, and for the first time in his life, he doubted his strength could hold him up.

'Harry,' he rasped, making effort even to prop himself on his elbows. He desisted as dark spots started to dance in front of his eyes. He groaned again as he fell back, though managing to keep his eyes on Harry. 'Please. . . .'

There was a pause.

'Well?' Harry snapped, acrid bitterness dripping from the tip of his tongue. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he folded his arms across his rather broad chest, seeking a sense of security from his surroundings. Though he found none, he fought resolutely to keep his face etched with cold anger, unaffected by the pained stare Draco was piercing him with. He caught himself in the nick of time as his feelings started to mould themselves to something close to resembling pity and guilt.

'I'm sorry ...' Draco whimpered feebly, finally having the strength to force himself to get on his hands and knees, albeit it took the last amount of his strength to take the first step. He slumped back tiredly and sat on the grass, slouched and looking defeated, ignoring the steady stream of blood trailing down his neck. A harsh wind blew at them from the north, sending their hair into a frenzy of dancing strands. The Hogwarts Lake behind them was almost peaceful, still even though the crack of the breeze skimmed its edges, ruffling it to cause sinister ripples.

A tense silence followed. A cluster of girls in the distance laughed merrily about something, but Draco and Harry didn't hear.

Harry seemed to be trying to burn holes in Draco's head, and the latter trying to accomplish so with the ground he was scowling at. Their hearts couldn't have been burning for the most different reasons right then, but they were, and burning with such intensity that it felt like an angry furnace. The objects of their thoughts displayed such contrast that it was almost the complete opposite. Harry's heart resembled that of a flowing stream at that moment, running with rushed emotion, bursting with life, yet it was forced to become tame, cascading with such force that every other feeling, like anger and confusion, had gotten so tangled within it that it seemed almost impossible to unravel, so difficult, so netted, and ever so perfect.

Long ago, he wanted to love Draco, and he wanted him to return the same affection with just as much passion, and it happened. But now that it did, and now that it revealed what it came with, he wasn't so sure about anything anymore. Yet, being with Draco had felt to be the most right thing in the world. Sure it had been the most difficult thing to do, but when he fell so deeply that it was impossible to clamber back out, it was the easiest thing he could do, and it came to him as naturally as did breathing.

Loving Draco Malfoy. Such an unseemly, unbecoming, yet beautiful thing.

At that instance, Draco glanced up, his hair jumping in front of his eyes, looking so much like a little boy, so vulnerable, that Harry tried suck in a sharp breath.

His eyes. . . . Harry felt his breath catch in his throat, and all feeling of bitterness seemed to fly away at the sight of such sincerity sparking from those silver orbs.

Draco had no words to describe his exact state right then, as he locked gazes with Harry, and, if he did, he didn't want to. The look the young men shared at that moment seemed to be so fragile, like glass, waiting for the opportune moment it was to shatter and shower in a magnificence of glinting shards, bursting like a fountain of glowing glass embers, ready to sting, strike, wound, and draw blood. His mind buzzed with thoughts of the past, the present, and numerous possibilities of the future he had grown frightened of. And, with each flash of the said future, something to do with Harry had accompanied it. Whether it be Harry's face, Harry's voice, Harry's eyes ... at least one thing associated with Harry plagued his mind every waking moment of the day and night, and that time was no different. He was always reminded somehow about how deeply he felt for Harry, how much he had changed since he walked into his life so casually. Long ago, he didn't want to love anyone, much less Harry, and didn't want anyone to love him. But now, it went all wrong, or did it right itself? Draco didn't know anymore. All he knew was that having Harry's love had been so foreign that it terrified him to no end, and a Malfoys were not afraid of anything.

Not even the vigorous festering love someone else gave them.

But he was, and he was angry with himself about it, and he refused to accept the fact that he felt helpless against it.

'Harry, I --' he tried, attempting to get up once more. He did, and swayed, but no black smudges obstructed his sight. He walked shakily towards Harry, who took several stumbling steps back. Something within Draco burst, and as soon as he could reach him, he grabbed Harry's wrist. His eyes were painfully emotional, so exposed. His voice displayed nothing different. 'Please. . . .'

Harry flinched, and snatched his wrist away. Turning his back, he started to walk away. Draco matched his steps easily. He grabbed him around the shoulders and swivelled Harry to face him squarely. He wasn't going to give this up so easily, wasn't going to go down so defeated. It was either he won this and got Harry back, despite everything conspired against him, or he died doing it. He knew he was being irrational, but he blamed the deep feeling within him making him do it. Draco cursed love to hell and back, yet blessing and thanking it.

'Harry. Harry. Listen to me.' He tilted the boy's face so his eyes were toward him and not to the ground. He grimaced as a high volume of anger and innumerable questions ignited in those emerald eyes, taunting him, lashing at him. 'You, of all people, should know that I do love you. Goddamnit, Potter, you're the only fucking person that actually means something to me other than a casual fuck. You're willing to let that go because of some flaming, stupid, decisions we made?' he searched the unvoiced answer in his eyes, but he found none, 'that we both made?'

Harry snarled at having that thrown in his face, and he socked Draco right where he had been. The other boy's face snapped to the side, but he showed no signs of feeling the pain that was creeping in his jaw, neck and lips. He slowly turned back to Harry, who was glowering, and breathing, deeply from his nose.

Draco once again tried to locate mercy within those eyes. Yet again, he found none. With a dejected sigh, he let his arms fall to his side, and looked away.

Harry panicked inside, but he refused to show it. He refused to be the one who begged for another reason, to be the one who was lower, weaker, and to show it twice was just a blunt reminder of how breakable he was when Draco was involved. It was just too much.

It was funny, even at times so critical and life changing, that pride seemed to rear its ugly head on you, and flip you around. Neither found the humour so enlightening.

The wind seemed to become harsher, swirling through the trees, nipping at exposed fingers and noses, biting at the hair, stinging the eyes. Both men welcomed it with graces, enjoying the searing cold it brought to their veins. The wind's howling stayed that way, and the lake finally began to shift and ripple more violently. The grass combed to the ground, flattening and rising rapidly.

Draco looked up once more, meeting Harry's gaze. It took that much to know that all was at loss.

Harry nodded once, and turned away, walking slowly back to Hogwarts, wrapping his cloak around himself tighter, but somehow, the cold didn't cause the sudden frigid emptiness welling up inside him.

Draco didn't call him back.