We All Need a Little Poison Sometimes

Chapter Two

Uncertainty to Silence

I am falling, I am fading, I am drowning,
Help me to breathe
I am hurting, I have lost it all
I am losing
Help me to breathe

~Duvet, Boa~

Harry's head hurt. It wasn't exactly a pain that he could pinpoint; it was more of a pain that spread through his entire head, making everything blurry and hazed together. It was the feeling he had always had the morning after he had been drinking. And here he was again, sprawled out on the apartment floor with a bottle still clutched in his hand.

Draco was out "on business". Draco had left him some money for breakfast and a morning paper. Draco was a fool if he didn't think he would drink the moment he was gone. Even though he couldn't kill himself with the bottle that poisoned him everyday, whether he drunk or not, he could certainly try to drown.

And now he was fading. He couldn't feel anything, couldn't fully understand the world around him. This horrible feeling couldn't be worth the release. Why did he do this? He wanted Draco back.

Draco was his glue, he had just begun to realize. His last support. Without him and his smart ass remarks and witty concern, Harry was lost.

The bottle that he held was still leaking all over, the brown liquid sticky against his skin and the floor. He just left it there as he got to his feet, the headache pounding deep inside him. All he could feel was the blinding pain and the emptiness in his heart that had returned last night.

That was the emptiness that had driven him to this. This low again. He had been sober for so long and now he had just thrown it away the moment his supervisor was gone. Pathetic. Draco had been right, Harry did need him.

"Where the hell is he?" Harry's words were slurred, and he stumbled, falling onto the couch. It was ripped and torn in places, but it served as soft enough of a fall. He lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling and wishing that he could be anywhere but there.

If he could face a Boggart now, he was quite sure that a dementor wouldn't be his fear. His greatest fear is himself. The person he had become.

He plucked at one of the holes in the fabric, rubbing a piece of the cheap material between his fingers. It was a soft blue with tiny white flowers. Draco hated it. They had fought over it, but winning because it was the least expensive. It made him sick now.

All around him the room was spinning, and he could only play with the fabric of furniture. He rolled over onto his side, away from everything so that he could only look at the back of the couch. His life was horrible. He was going to be sick.

Draco should have been home already. He burried his face against the couch. Its smell tickled his nose and only made his stomach churn more, but he ignored it. The sound of the traffic outside could be faintly heard. He wouldn't have cared, except that one of those cars might hold Draco in it.

Harry rolled away again, sucking in the air through his wide-open mouth. The bottle of rum still trickled itself onto the carpet, still tempted him with its call. He would have swept it up and took another drink had it not been so far away. True, he was drunk now, but he knew that that drink would be as sweet as he had always expected them to be. They never were, but he knew that the next would be. Oh, it would be.

His feet picked him up, though his head wanted to rest on the couch more. As he picked the bottle up, he shivered. If Draco came home to find that bottle... no. If Draco saw the bottle he wouldn't do anything, like he had never done anything before. This wasn't for Draco. This was for himself.

The kitchen was so far away now. The room was spinning and he had to walk for miles. His hands felt heavy with the alcohol in them, but he wouldn't be tempted. He wouldn't give in again. Draco would be home soon. Fuck it.

He took a long drink, savoring every drop but yet hating it all. It was his pain and his pleasure, his savior and his sins. Some of it dribbled down his chin, but he never noticed. He didn't notice a thing anymore.

Everything stood still. The spinning stopped, and he held his stomach with one hand, the bottle tightly clutched with the other. All he could do was stand there, rocking back and forth on his heels, hoping for Draco, yet wishing he would never come back. If he didn't, Harry could be free.

His rocking stopped as he looked down at the bottle. He felt dizzy again and wanted to run, but knew he couldn't. Couldn't run from what was haunting him now. All his life, he had run, but not now. This was here, and no one could help him. Especially this.

The shattering of the bottle as it hit the floor made him bite his tongue. More liquid sloshed onto the floor, and some onto his bare feet, but he didn't care. He didn't care at all. All he wanted was to be able to do something more than hide. Skirting around his problem wasn't helping. Draco was right. He couldn't breathe.

Slowly, he turned around and trudged back into the living room, his steps tipsy and leaving a trail of alcohol behind as it soaked into the carpet. He had left the bottle, its shards glaring up at him harshly, threatening him. They wanted him to drink more. Never. "I need you, Malfoy. You were right."

The clock in the kitchen loudly announced that it was three in the afternoon, but he didn't hear it. The heavy beat of his heart in his chest was all that he could focus on as his eyes slid back in his head. It was dark, and it overtook him.

*

"Potter?" The world was still black. "Potter!"

His eyes flicked open. Draco's face was right there, five inches from his. Harry let his gaze travel about the room. He was back in the living room. His head was in Draco's lap. Draco was here!

"Thought you were dead for a minute there. I was about to break out the champagne." Draco feebly laughed. Harry didn't. He could still feel the alcohol in his veins, running through him. Laughing at him. It had won. "You were drinking, I take it."

"You were right." Harry's mouth moved weakly, and Draco shook his head.

"Well yes, the only explanation for the bottle of rum on our floor could be that you had been drinking. Of course I'm right."

"No, about me. Me needing you. This was because you were gone." Draco's eyes fell and Harry couldn't help but sigh. That look made his heart shatter. Those gray eyes were not supposed to be so sad.

"You drink because I leave. And what would have happened if I hadn't come home right away? What if I hadn't decided to skip the trip to Ireland I'd been planning? You would most likely be dead." Harry could feel Draco's hand resting on his forehead. It felt heavy, as if it were more than just a hand. Like Draco's very soul. "You would be dead, just because I left."

"You were gone so long. I thought..." Harry paused. He didn't know what he thought anymore. All of the last few days were a blur, as if they had happened to someone else. "I'm sorry. I promised you I wouldn't."

"Don't make promises to me, Potter. Make them to yourself. I'm not the one killing himself from the inside out, you are." The sounds of rain on the roof sounded through the silent house, calling for him. Harry tried to sit up, but failed as his mind broke into flames again. So much pain over one bottle. One mistake. No, more mistakes than that. His whole life was a mistake.

"How long have I been out?" Draco looked down at his watch. He frowned, tapped at the glass, then shrugged.

"It seems to have stopped. I've only been home a few hours though, and you couldn't have been asleep much longer than that." Harry closed his eyes and tried again to sit himself up. He got as far as to hold himself up with his elbows before he let himself fall back down into Draco's lap. "Stop moving, it won't help your head, you know."

"Can't you just cast a charm on me to get rid of this hangover? I know there are some. I just don't know them." The smile on Draco's face made Harry cringe. That was so many things at once, while still meaning nothing at all. Of course Draco wanted him to suffer. "Please?"

"Oh no. You deserve this, Potter. I'm going to go and clean up your mess in the kitchen, since you're a lazy arse who loves to make me the housemaid. Are you going to be all right here by yourself? Do you feel sick?" Draco grabbed a pillow from the couch and, in one movement, slipped it under Harry's head in place of his lap as he stood up. "Don't move."

"I'm fine, mother." Harry rolled his eyes at the boy's retreating back. While he was glad that Draco was there now to take care of him, he couldn't help but wonder why he wanted him at all. Draco was a fusser, and a horrible maid. He obviously had never done a dish himself before he moved into the apartment, and it showed.

But no. Draco was more than all that. He was willing to forgive Harry again and again for his idiocy. Harry had gone and got drunk, and all he got was a scolding. Only Draco would do that for him now, no one else. One of these days he would look Hermione or Ron up and ask if they could do the same. He had no idea where they were or if they were even alive, but he had a feeling they were. They wouldn't have given up on life as easily as he had.

Harry squeezed his eyes again, another wave of pain hitting him. He hadn't given up easily, whatever he wanted to think. All his life he had been struggling and when he finally had snapped, he took it that he was weak. Oh, he wasn't that.

"I'm not in the mood for cooking anything. D'you just want to order some food in?" Draco's voice came from the kitchen and Harry opened his eyes again, a smile on his face. His housemate was a horrible cook, and they ended up eating out at least three times a week. "I'm getting kind of hungry after that trip and you must be famished. Or did the rum fill you up?"

Draco sounded sarcastic, but Harry knew that he cared. That was always the pale boy's voice, no matter what context it was used in. He could be consoling the dead and still sound exactly the same. Harry's thoughts flashed with a dead corpse, his own dead corpse, and he shivered.

"What's wrong? Cold?" Harry ignored Draco and sat up, feeling only the slightest amount of nausea. Most of it had gone away, and the tipsy feeling had vanished. All that was left was the pounding headache and the call of the rain on the tin roof. "Potter?"

"Not cold." And he moved to the door. Draco stood there, watching Harry stumble away, the phone forgotten against his cheek. The voice on the other end finally gave up asking for an answer and hung up as Harry slammed the door behind him.

His arms stretched out, brushing the hallway that led to the stairwell. If he would fall, he would catch himself. He had to. All his life, he had been falling and now he would try to catch himself. Failing was what he would end up doing, as he always had done, but he would try and stop.

Draco's voice behind him barely registered in his mind as he made his way along. The blond boy wouldn't stop him. He would only watch, could only pray that Harry didn't kill himself, because as little as he wanted to admit it, Draco needed him too.

The stairs were steep and he stumbled only twice. Another hall greeted him at the bottom, which he took as slowly as he had the last. Draco's footsteps followed him hollowly, haunting him. It echoed the rain, still faintly beckoning him from above.

Free. He was outside, the dinge of a London night greeting him with open arms. All around him were the tiny tears of the thick clouds above. They dotted his clothing. His hair. His skin. Anywhere he looked, they collected upon his glasses and made the world streaky and unclean.

"Now you're cold." Draco, as Harry turned now, was leaning against the wall under the cheap plastic canopy above the door. In his hand was a just-lit cigarette, the tip burning brilliant red.

"I lied to you before." Harry tilted his head up to the heavens, welcoming the drops that soaked his face. "I've always been cold." Draco laughed as Harry spun around.

"So have I." The cigarette went to his lips and they were both silent for a moment, each locked up in their worlds. Harry had known Draco had his personal poisons.

"When did you start that? I've never seen you with one before." Draco looked down at the white stick between his fingers at Harry's words, his lips thin and pale looking. "I was quite led to believe that you were immune to such temptations."

"I've always held these foul creatures with me. My father gave me my first dose of this serpent-tongued savior when I was five. A puff of his expensive Cuban cigar. Then he bought me a pack of Muggle ones when I was sixteen. Addiction is the same for all of us, Potter."

"But you're a Malfoy, I thought you wouldn't have such a common disease." Draco flicked the ashes in one swift motion, letting them float to the cement lazily, his foot crushed upon them when they landed. "And only mortals can be tempted."

"I'm no higher than you are, anymore. Are you quite through with your foolish behavior here Potter? The neighbors must think you're a loon, twirling about like that in the rain."

"It's more than rain! It's the gift of life! My rebirth, Malfoy. My salvation." Harry removed his glasses and wiped at them with his sleeve, which did no good as it, too, was soaked.

"You're past salvation." Draco took another drag and then threw his cigarette to the ground, letting its smoke curl up to meet the breeze. And in an instant, he was next to Harry, his arms in the air, greeting the sky. "We all are, as a civilization. The race of man will always have his petty addictions, none of which we can help now. You're lost, I'm loosing and the world will die. And we will be alone again."

"Why the hell is it like that? Why can't I just stay here, like this, without that which I crave so much?" His glasses back on, he could see Draco was smiling, his face tilted up and the rain streaking down. "With you forever?"

"We aren't forever, Potter. No one is. My mother wasn't, and neither are we." Harry's eyes caught Draco's and they both knew. They knew what had happened with the downfall of Voldemort's reign. Harry's helplessness, Draco pain. His mother was dead. His father had laughed when he had killed her. Their pasts were so alike while being so different.

"How is it that we came to be like this? We weren't to be like this. We were enemies once before."

"We always will be enemies, Potter."

Silence. The rain fell down around them and they didn't care anymore. A car or two passed by in a rush of red or blue, the drivers each watching the two grown men staring at the sky, but not caring. No one really cared about anything, except themselves. Especially themselves.

"I'm cold now. And hungry." Draco grinned at him, his eyes shining with a glint of silver sparks. "And wet."

"The rain generally does tend to wet one's soul and his hair." They both laughed and Harry felt Draco's hand on his shoulder, his damp shirt being clamped against his even damper skin. It was lighter though, lighter than it had been upon his forehead, no weight upon it. "Let's go out to eat tonight."

"Let's. And then we'll talk more about tomorrow." Harry didn't like that look in Draco's eyes.

"What's tomorrow, Malfoy?"

"Why, church, of course."

*