Blocked

If it makes you less sad, I will die by your hand. I hope you find out what you want. I already know what I am.

***

Draco stared at the shifting shadows of his bed drapes. He was exhausted, but unable to become comfortable because his stomach kept twisting itself into strange little shapes. Mild sensations of guilt and regret tugged here and there, but those were overshadowed by an overwhelming disgust for his actions that evening.

Self-disgust was an emotion Draco had successfully avoided in the past. He had done some despicable things, yes, but always with forethought, with some reason -

Draco wasn’t upset that he’d outed himself and Blaise to the entire seventh year. Most of Slytherin already knew, and as for the other houses, they could go sod themselves. So to speak. The look on Weasley’s face was especially priceless. He just might cherish that gape-mouthed stare for quite some time. Except for the sorrow in the pair of eyes next to it.

Granger knew something. Draco didn’t know whether Harry had actually told her of his feelings, but the bookworm had clearly guessed. And Granger had seen the spectacle Draco had made of himself in the club. Which meant that Harry would know about it in no time, flat. And oh, Draco knew Harry deserved better.

Harry.

Poor, deluded sod. How could Harry possibly think he loved Draco? Draco had been very clear with Harry about his feelings, he had discouraged him in every possible way. So why did Potter have to go and get sentimental? They had a good thing going with this friendship business, or so Draco had thought. If this was all just some ill-conceived schoolboy crush....

Draco rolled over and buried his face in his pillow. If he had ever indulged in crying, he might have started now. He’d thought he and Harry had something special. Something more stable than Potter’s raging teenage hormones.

***

And if it makes you less sad, we'll start talking again. And you can tell me how vile I already know that I am.

***

Draco shifted again under his covers. Naturally, he was alone. Blaise was fun for a quick tumble in the alley behind the club, but Draco preferred to sleep alone. Or not to sleep, as the case may be.

He wished he could explain all this to Harry, why he had scoffed at his love. Draco wished he could know, himself, what had made him humiliate Harry by stalking directly off to attach himself to Zabini’s face in front everyone. If this whole love business was just Potter’s delusion, then why did Draco feel a wide blade twisting in his gut? A blade that cut his link to reality, made him want to lash out, to cause Harry the same deep pain that was wrenching him to hear the words.

Draco almost couldn’t imagine what Harry’s reaction would be. Of course, Harry was still the revoltingly noble one. He would want to have a heart-felt discussion. And Draco would deserve every foul adjective that Harry could think up to describe him.

***

I'll grow old and start acting my age. I'll be a brand new day in a life that you hate.

***

Maybe it wasn’t too late, thought Draco. Maybe there were some salvageable shards of this friendship. If Draco could make the right next move, fix things, give Harry a reason to want to be the friends Draco had thought they were. And then Draco might even feel worthy of Harry’s--

Don’t be stupid. Just be his friend.

***

A crown of gold and a heart that's harder than stone. And it hurts a whole lot, but it's missed when it's gone.

***

But what did that mean? Draco had spent his entire life protecting himself against the people who would never give him what he needed. Even Snape, who had shown himself to care more deeply for Draco than the Malfoys themselves, still kept some distance. Whether this was out of propriety or was simply as close as Snape wished to get, Draco didn’t know. And anyway, Snape was still gone. Who knew whether he would ever return?

***

Call me a safe bet. But I'm betting I'm not.

***

Draco sat up in frustration, momentarily distracted from thoughts of Harry.

Snape. His favorite professor, once a friend of his father’s, before Snape had turned double-agent for the Order. How could Snape abandon him like this? Draco knew that what Snape was doing was important, could potentially help save the lives of many of his schoolmates and teachers. But still.

It was hard enough being seventeen, having lost his father, trying to figure out things like friendship and ... well, relationships in general. And now, he had sole responsibility for an entire quarter of the student population. All of whom, including himself, were now living each day in a constant state of dull terror.

But Draco was the strong one. He had to be. People were depending on him. And now this, with Harry. Draco felt himself starting to crumble. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep supporting everyone around him.

***

I'm glad that you can forgive, I'm only hoping as time goes that you can forget.

***

Harry would forgive him. In all his confusion, Draco was sure of that one fact. Harry had somehow, unimaginably, decided to be friends with Draco after all the years of animosity, pettiness and downright hatred. And somehow, all the awful things Draco had done had become part of some past life.

Harry would forgive him, but the friendship was still over. They couldn’t go on pretending to have some brotherly bond when one just wanted to get inside the other’s trousers. There are words for that kind of brotherhood. It was time to move on.

Draco tried to believe that Harry would get over it, someday.

***

If it makes you less sad, I'll move out of the state. You can keep to yourself, I'll keep out of your way.

***

Yes, maybe Draco had already said all that he needed. He hadn’t explained why he and Harry needed to go their separate ways. He had, instead, belittled Harry’s undoubtedly sincere (if deluded) confession and told him to stay away. But maybe that would make it easier for Harry to put up the boundaries he would need to forget Draco.

If only Draco could forget Harry.

Oh, sod it all, he couldn’t just leave things the way they are. He had to talk to Harry. Now.

***

And if it makes you less sad, I'll take your pictures all down. Every picture you paint, I will paint myself out.

***

Finally deciding that sleep would not come, Draco parted the curtains and brought his feet down to the freezing stone floors of his room. All of Slytherin house was quiet around him. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, not bothering with shoes, but pocketing his wand almost as an afterthought.

Draco padded quietly and quickly up to Gryffindor Tower. He woke the Fat Lady as gently as possible to avoid her alerting the whole house to his presence, and whispered the password to her. It continued to amaze him how trusting the Gryffindors were, as the portrait swung open for him once again. Hadn’t he warned Harry to change the password more often? The school wasn’t safe enough to disregard security like this. Convenient, though, tonight...

***

It's cold as a tomb, and it's dark in your room, when I sneak to your bed to pour salt in your wounds.

***

Taking utmost care to move silently, Draco finally reached the seventh-year Gryffindor boys’ bedchamber. He was only marginally surprised to see a spiky-haired silhouette blackening one of the windows.

Seeing Harry there, Draco’s heart stopped. His lungs seized in his chest. But no, nothing that violent, he simply ceased to be, for a moment, feeling only his feet rooted to the floor.

He had come here to tell Harry everything: what happened in the club with Blaise, what it really meant, what Harry really meant to him... and now he was unable to do it.

As he turned to leave, a voice, just barely above a whisper, cut through the darkness.

***

So call it quits, or get a grip. You say you wanted a solution, but you just wanted to be missed.

***

“Out.”

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin, and thanked his Slytherin reflexes that he had not screamed to wake the entire house.

The voice had come, not from the solitary figure by the window, but from inches away. Draco felt his shoulder grabbed roughly as someone much taller shoved him back out of the room and onto the staircase. The door closed behind them, cutting off the thin moonlight to leave total blackness. But not before Draco got a glimpse of the other boy.

“Oh, it’s just you.” Draco breathed a sigh of relief mixed with his usual derision for anything Weasley. Because naturally, that’s who Potter’s self-appointed bodyguard had been.

“Stay away from him, Malfoy. I saw you and Zabini at the club. Come to try your tricks with Harry?”

Draco couldn’t suppress a smirk. Weasley sounded absolutely disgusted. Leave it to that big oaf to be a homophobe. If only he knew about his best friend’s little adolescent urgings.

“Don’t worry, Weasley, I was just going to talk to him. But I decided not to, so I’m going back now.”

***

Call me a safe bet. But I'm betting I'm not.

***

Draco hadn’t taken more than a step away before Weasley’s voice cut through the black again, “Why not?” The startling lack of malice in Weasley’s voice made Draco turn and face him again. Of course, he still couldn’t see anything in the darkness.

“Why not what?” he asked slowly.

“Why not talk to him? If you really haven’t come here to have a go with him,” Weasley’s voice betrayed a measure of reluctant belief that Draco had actually told the truth, “why are you just leaving? You can see he’s awake, and...” He trailed off. The silence stretched out.

“And? Don’t try to be mysterious, Weasley, it’s not your thing.”

Draco heard the other boy inhale, as if bracing himself to make an unwilling admission, then blurt out a string of words: “And something’s obviously bothering him and he won’t tell me what and he sort of thinks you’re his friend these days for whatever reason so maybe he’ll tell you.”

***

I'm glad that you can forgive, I'm only hoping as time goes that you can forget...

***

Draco let the words hang between them. Wild hippogriffs couldn’t make him admit to Weasley that he himself was what was bothering Harry. But there was something he had to know. He grit his teeth at having to find it out in this particular way, but Weasley was the only source at Draco’s disposal.

“Did you tell him what you saw in the club? Between Zabini and me? Does he know?”

There was a silence. Draco couldn’t hear Weasley breathing, which given their proximity, probably meant he wasn’t. Like he was trying to phrase his response. Or deciding whether or not to tell the truth.

“I didn’t want to upset him.” Clearly true. Weasleys had no gift for deception, Draco would have known if he were lying. “And like I said, he wouldn’t talk to me. No, I didn’t tell him. I don't think he knows.”

“Good. Don’t. And don’t tell him I was here.”

Before Weasley could respond, Draco padded silently down the stairs.

***

You are calm and reposed. It lets your beauty unfold. Pale white like the skin stretched over your bones.

***

Draco came to a halt by one of the tall windows in the Gryffindor common room. Moonlight was streaming in, and he knew the reflection would block the view of anyone looking in.

He looked out, not down at the grounds, but up to one of the windows in the dormitory he had just left. This window was in shadow, so Draco could see the profile behind the glass, pale as the moon which illuminated it.

***

Spring keeps you ever close. You are second hand smoke. You are so fragile and thin. Standing trial for your sins. Holding onto yourself the best you can.

***

Harry was a study in contradictions, Draco mused. There was a grace in his ungainliness, a kind of beauty in his lack of poise. He smiled at the memory of burning all of Harry’s horrible clothes, and his stomach rolled over lightly to see Harry again in his mind’s eye, as he had first looked in his new jeans.

Yes, of course, Draco saw how attractive Harry was. And yes, he had been flirting shamelessly under the cloak in the boat. He liked to feel Harry’s warmth near him, and sometimes even ached to touch him. He’d thought it was safe to flirt, because Harry would never respond.

***

You are the smell before rain. You are the blood in my veins.

***

And then Harry had kissed him. The kiss had been joy, sunlight, fresh air, and everything Draco wanted. He had had to fight against everything inside himself not to kiss Harry back. Because if he had, something would have snapped.

Harry was pure, noble, innocent, sincere. He was all these and more, all the reasons Draco had despised him in his jealousy for six years, and now all the reasons he mourned their stillborn friendship.

Draco shivered, wishing he had brought his cloak. He slipped out of the portrait hole to return to the dungeons.

***

Call me a safe bet. But I'm betting I'm not. I'm glad that you can forgive, I'm only hoping as time goes that you can forget.