Undefined

Chapter 18

Broken Throne

Draco turned, smiling slightly as Harry approached, the firelight blurring his features and making him appear almost ephemeral.

"You talked to Ron?" Harry said, sitting.

Draco felt an abnormally large lump form in his throat, and unable to speak merely nodded.

"He said he caught you before breakfast," Harry said, looking closely at Draco, and he wished he hadn't; the shame and guilt felt so overpowering it was as though it was screaming out his crimes aloud throughout the room. "Look, I know we haven't exactly been on speaking terms..."

"Stop it," Draco said, his voice sounding quite hoarse.

"What?"

"Don't apologize."

"I just want this to end," Harry said, leaning closer to Draco. "I can't stand this."

Draco wanted to tell him he couldn't stand it either; that he'd been so miserable the past month that he could barely pull himself out of bed, and not being near Harry, not being able to touch him or talk to him, had been the cruelest form of punishment he'd ever endured. But then Pansy's lithe frame skirted into his thoughts, sending a wave of nausea to crash through him, because he knew there was no amount of lying or screaming that could erase the reality of what he'd done. There was no more hiding or lying. He had to tell Harry; he had to be completely honest. He had no choice; since he'd acknowledged everything to himself he was forced into a contract of complete honesty. But he couldn't say it; he couldn't bring himself to lose the only person that mattered; couldn't stand the thought of losing his greatest source of happiness and his sanity. Instead, he cleared his throat and put off the inevitable by saying, "Ron said you haven't been eating."

"Only when Hermione's not around," Harry said.

"Smart girl," Draco said, smiling slightly and unable to look at Harry.

"I'm sorry," Harry said suddenly, before Draco could protest.

Draco sat quite still, unable to apologize, knowing to do so would prove futile.

"I've missed you," Harry said.

"Don't..." Draco said, feeling his control rapidly dissipating. "Just... there's no...don't."

Harry leaned and placed his head on Draco's shoulder, not knowing the strong physical reaction it elicited. "Can't we just forget it? I know you didn't want me to know, but it happened; like you said before, you can't get upset over things that are beyond your control..."

"I shouldn't have lost my temper," Draco said gruffly. "I shouldn't have shouted, and I shouldn't have stormed out."

"No," Harry said moving closer, his head still on Draco's shoulder. "But it's over."

"It's not," Draco said.

"Yes it is," Harry said. "You don't have to apologize; I know you're not keen on that."

"It's not that," Draco said. "It's not that at all."

"What is it then?"

"I..." Draco could not let it out, wanting more than anything to hold onto Harry for as long as possible, even if it was for a matter of seconds.

"It's mutual," Harry said suddenly. "Don't think I was disgusted or anything, because I wasn't and I'm not."

Draco covered his face with his hands, feeling closer to tears than he ever had in his life. Under different circumstances, under normal circumstances, his reaction would have been quite different. He could have relished in the thought of something having finally gone right, that everything in his past was nothing but a dark nightmare, and that he wasn't that person his father had created--hearing Harry confirm that the feeling was mutual only made Draco wish nothing more than to obliterate every feeling within himself.

"What's wrong?"

Draco shook his head, his hands still covering his face, feeling so miserable he nearly fled from the room. Harry said nothing, shifting his chin onto Draco's shoulder and Draco knew he was looking straight at him.

"Say something," Harry said barely above a whisper.

Draco continued to shake his head.

"Anything!" Harry begged.

After a few more moments of silence, Harry stood and Draco removed his hands from his face. Harry moved towards the fireplace and Draco finally found his voice.

"I shagged Pansy," he said, the weight of it pressing against him with such force he felt he had no choice but to let it out.

Harry stopped mid-step, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders visibly falling. The fire crackled and stirred, footsteps echoed past the door, and still Harry said nothing for the longest time. "Why?" he finally asked.

"I don't know," Draco said leaning back. "It just happened."

"How convenient," Harry said in a horribly cold voice, not the voice Draco'd grown accustomed to over the past few months; it was aloof and, worse, pained and starkly empty.

"I'm sorry," Draco said lowly.

"Too bad," Harry said turning on him, and Draco found he could not look him in the eye. "Too fucking bad."

Draco did not call after him or stop him as he left, knowing he had no place and knowing he could say nothing to take back the damage he'd done. All he could do, after the door slammed violently shut, was sit in solitude ruminating on what he'd lost and what could have been.

Draco awoke the next morning thinking for a split second the night before had been nothing but a nightmare. But as he fully roused, he recalled everything with vivid detail, his head spinning as he showered and dressed, his eyes tired and his stomach full of knots. No use dwelling on it, he told himself as he collected his books, what's done is done. To squelch the pain, Draco threw himself headfirst into his studies and requested nightly lessons from Snape.

"I thought you felt you had sufficiently achieved Occlumency," Snape said with a raised eyebrow. "As well as every other subject I could ever hope to teach you."

"I was wrong, sir," Draco said. "I'd like to begin Potions at your earliest convenience."

"Very well," Snape said and to Draco's immense relief Snape agreed to begin lessons that very night.

Draco found Potions the perfect outlet for his mind as he spent hours measuring, slicing, stirring, and simmering ingredients in an exact, calculating manner. It helped to push Harry from his mind, even if it was only for the few hours spent behind vials, steaming cauldrons, and scales.

"Very good," Snape said examining Draco's Draught of Living Death. "Remember, to get the most juice out of the sopophorous beans, squeeze them with the flat end of your knife and add a..."

"Clockwise stir after every seventh counter-clockwise stir," Draco finished.

"I see you are paying much better attention. Very well, tomorrow you will brew the Elixir of Life."

"Yes, sir," Draco said gathering his belongings and walking straight to the common room before sentimentality could get the better of him.

The following months passed in a haze of class work and private lessons, Draco proving just as adept at Potions as Legilimency and Occlumency and, thanks largely to Harry's previous lessons, defensive magic. However, he found it difficult, bordering on impossible, to insult Harry, Ron, and Hermione, and found glancing at Harry almost too painful to endure. Harry never looked at him, and Ron and Hermione, true friends they were, stood by him.

It was as though the past months had never occurred and when Draco thought on it, he wondered if any of it had indeed happened. But small glances from Ron and knowing looks from Hermione told him that everything had happened, thank you very much, and there was nothing he could do to fix it. Draco realized that as long as he kept busy, he could tolerate the suffocating pain, but as soon as he was left alone it became too much to bear. At night, he dreamt only of Harry; sometimes he was hexing Draco, other times he kept asking why over and over until Draco awoke finding himself answering the question yet again, rephrasing his answer in every conceivable way but never answering right.

"Some girl's gotten under your skin, hasn't she?" Montague asked one morning as Draco pulled the curtains from his bed.

"What?" he said blearily.

"You talked in your sleep again last night."

"What did I say?" Draco asked, trying to sound casual.

"Just that you were sorry you did it and that you'll never do it again if whoever it is you're talking to will take you back," Montague said, carefully combing his hair and examining every angle of his head in the mirror.

"That's rubbish," Draco said, his face hot. He stripped down and headed for the showers.

"I tell you, I've never seen you so taken by a girl before. I say, whatever you did, make it right. It's not worth the misery."

"I told you," Draco said, grabbing his robe, "it's rubbish."

He was both thrilled and surprised when Hermione approached him in the library, scanning a section of books right beside him.

"How have you been?" she asked, squatting and pulling out various books from the shelf.

The question caught him so off guard he barely knew what to say; it was the first time anyone had taken the time to ask.

"He's miserable too, trust me," Hermione whispered. "It was a stupid thing to do, but honestly, I don't know when boys don't do stupid things."

Draco stared openly at her, not caring to hide that he was talking to her. He slid onto the floor next to her and picked at the soles of his shoes.

"Has he...." Draco began.

"Mentioned you? No."

Draco's insides felt as though they had been suddenly deflated.

"But I know he thinks about you," Hermione said, running her finger along the text of the book she rested on her knees. "I've tried to get him to talk, but he's so shut off. It's typical of Harry."

"Yeah," Draco said, smiling for what felt like the first time in months.

"He can be very aloof and into his own head. I myself find that a dangerous place to dwell for too long."

"How do you put up with those morons?" Draco asked.

She looked up at him and turned a bit pink. "What do you mean?"

"You catch onto things loads quicker than they do," Draco explained. "You must have unbelievable patience."

Hermione laughed. "I have girl friends; it just happens my best friends are boys, thick headed and daft boys at times, but still boys."

"And Ron?"

"What about Ron?"

"How long did that take to bloom?"

Hermione smiled and turned very red. "Long enough. Look, I don't know what to do about you and Harry. It's obvious you're both miserable but too stubborn to do anything. If you want my advice," she said slamming her book shut, "you'll both come 'round and work this out."

"You think it can be fixed?" Draco asked, looking up at her as she stood.

"Anything can be fixed if you work hard enough."