Moribund

- for

A door slammed.

A spectre threw itself through me, and left me breathlessly haunted.

He was sprawled, diagonally, across the messy and wordless sheets, crying brokenly.

I'd never heard such sorrow, springing up through a pit, a leak in his heart, coming from the very soles of his feat, spread eagled to the mourning and piteous lamentations that shook his narrow frame with its agony.

I sat on the bed next to him, silent contemplation to his piercing misery, waiting for stormy cries to pass.

His voice finally arose from the puddle of his sodden pillow. "It's over."

Just like that.

The cracks in their relationship had appeared slowly, like the way glass slowly cracks as it ages. It strained as if under a constant assault by a high note ringing loud enough for everyone to take notice.

Their fights, while before had been noisy and scorching, became restrained and resentful. Their screaming matches, their heated arguments diminished; leaving us all wondering and uncomfortable. When they were loud and unreserved, we knew what to do. We knew to give them space, we knew that sometimes they just needed to vent their frustration; but this was different.

This was a quiet melancholy that was threatening them, a shrivelled passion, and a weakened desire.

They were condescending; a mixture of black on white that equalled tired tragedies of impatience and a hollowed out plea for a wish for something better. No fault lines could be drawn, but we all tried to help in vain - for they were splitting apart at the seams.

Harry was restless; it had appeared in him a month or two after the summer holidays, his green eyes were filled with boredom and the desire for trouble. Draco followed him everywhere; getting into constant trouble and mischief - both delighting in their friendship and deeper relationship.

They had sex in the weirdest of places.

I once caught them in one of the old wardrobes; they blinked out into the light of my lit-up wand with owlish gaze. They told me later that they were originally hunting for Narnia, pressing their hands and later, Draco's bare back onto the rough wood, their feet tripping over disused cartons and papers.

Ron cringed to me over the cauldron in Potions that he had stumbled in on them in the bathroom at one in the morning and they hadn't even noticed his appearance, and just as quick, disappearance. They were so caught up in the taste of flesh and tongue and lobe that nothing could break through their walls of heavenly delight; nothing could tumble their barriers of each other and a healthy sexual appetite.

Nothing of course, except Voldemort.

As the threat grew on the school as Christmas Break grew near, many of the students were packing their cases for what seemed like the last time. Many didn't expect to return to the halls of this hallowed school; expecting to finish their magical educations in Switzerland or Germany; France or Greece. Some moved further afield, retreating to the magical communities of America or Canada; Brazil or Australia.

Draco taunted Harry about being 'Dumbledore's little pawn of good', that there was nothing that would stop him sacrificing Harry to Voldemort. Can't you see, Potter? Can't you see how they use you? [Can't you see that I need you more than they ever will?] Can't you see that you don't have to fight for them? Harry retaliated by saying that Draco didn't know what true honour and pride were, that he didn't understand why he had to keep fighting, for himself, more than anyone else.

With each day that brought us closer to Christmas; things between Harry and Draco became even more volatile. Draco was going home to Malfoy Manor, with many protestations from Harry because of his father; Harry would be back with Remus Lupin, his surrogate family while the still at-large Sirius Black lay low, feasting on the land. They couldn't go two hours without sniping at each other.

Harry would rage that he was sick of all Draco's blustering about his loyalty to his family, and his constant denial that Lucius was in over his head and nothing could stop his from handing Draco over to Voldemort. You can't go home for Christmas. He'll brainwash you into believing that Voldemort is the way to go. [And I'll loose you forever, Draco.] There's nothing there for you anymore! Draco would scorn at Harry's weaknesses and clinginess and told him, curtly, that he was perfectly proficient of looking after himself and he didn't need some Gryffindor telling him what he was capable of.

Draco would retreat back behind his sarcasm and books, Potions notes and homework; anything to shut out what was really wrong. Harry flew, all the time, swooping over the Quidditch Pitch and going to bed early; showering so no one could hear the thickness of his sobs as he kneeled on the bathroom floor and wept.

They stopped having sex near the start of November and Draco stopped eating. He said that the food felt all wrong going down his throat and there was something stuck in it anyway; so he didn't even bother trying.

McGonagall tried to get to the base of it, calling first one, and then the other in for a counselling session; but she was awkward, and made things worse.

Draco accused Harry loudly of wanting too much from him and Harry retorted that Draco took him for granted. [Why can't you see the real me? I'm standing right in front of you!] It was a rollercoaster slipping and sliding right to the bottom, ending in a huge well of grief and disappointment.

It was the most heartbreaking thing I think any of us had ever seen.

They tore each other to pieces on the outside, broke themselves into shards and memories on the inside.

They were the constant death of each other; like the sun resting behind a quiet horizon, they retreated behind velvet curtains and passionate mouths; born again in the sweet embrace of night. Their invasions were slipping though.

A day, three, five, a week, ten days, a fortnight - one faded into another with careless respite without any comings and goings and sleepy talks of seduction, sloppy kisses lost to the learning of passion flower and sweetness. Sometimes they would have forgotten the silencing charm and I would have had to open my ears to their love making, hear them wrestle in cool cotton sheets and try not to imagine who was taking whom in restless tongue.

Now the silence in the dormroom was oppressive. It stung at all of our hearts with the weight of its chains and now all I could do was hear his muffled sobs running below the sound of thick snoring from another bed and try not to let it tear me apart.

"He just said 'I think we should break up'," he sobbed darkly into the pillow. "Just like that."

I shook my head, my hand clenching the sheets with frustration. "I'm sorry."

He sat up suddenly, wiping angrily at his weeping eyes. "I'm not. I'm glad. I don't need him. I never needed him."

He sounded like he was trying so hard to convince himself. I leaned over and tucked a long strand of ash blonde hair away from the streaks of pity riveting down his pale skin. "Then why are you crying, Draco?"

His face crumpled and he leaned on my broad shoulder, digging strong, brittle fingers into my muscles. "I miss him already, Vin. I miss him already."

- finished -