Cup of Coffee

You tell me you don't love me over a cup of coffee
And I just have to look away
A million miles between us
Planets crashing to dust
I just let it fade away

I walk into the little café on a random London street. I've been living in a small flat on the south side of London since I graduated from Hogwarts. I really don't do anything that impressive - I write free lance for The Daily Prophet and I'm a bartender at some club. Not what they thought the great Harry Potter would be, is it? Well, we can't all be great I guess.

I see him sipping his usual double espresso in the back corner, silver blonde hair a beautiful contrast to the darkness. I walk over slowly and take a seat across from him. He doesn't look up.

"Hey Draco. Sorry I'm late." The waitress walks over and I order my usual - French Vanilla Latte. She leaves and I look over at Draco.

"What's wrong?" I reach across the table and take his hand. He continues looking into his espresso. The waitress brings my Latte over and I'm thankful for the distraction. Before I realize it, I drink the entire cup. It's amazing what nerves can do. And dammit - Draco won't look at me or speak.

"Miss? Can I have another?" She takes my cup and returns quickly with another. I take a sip - correction a gulp - and look over at him. I can't place what is so wrong. He's always been so honest before.

"Draco, please look at me. If it was about the whole - "

"I don't love you, Harry," he said into his espresso. It just didn't seem fair at that moment that his espresso was receiving my bad news.

"What?" My own coffee was forgotten.

"I don't love you, Harry. I'm sorry. I can't stay with you anymore. I just don't love you." He finally looks up and my pain- and shock-filled green eyes meet cool and unreadable grey. Why did he have to say it so many times? I heard it the first time. But I feel I need to hear it again, just to make sure I'm hearing it right. Draco doesn't love me? I see it in his eyes. He's serious.

I turn away and look out into the café. The bustle of everyday is really irritating. The couple by the door, sharing a pastry and cup of coffee. The two kid family at the counter ordering. It's not fair they are happy when my world just ended.

I faintly hear Draco in the background saying something. All I hear are fragments. "Still be friends", "the way things are", and a faint "sorry" in there. I don't hear any of it. The world is moving around me while I just stop. A frozen Harry Potter in a London café, while the entire world busily plays by like a movie screen.

Draco returns to sipping his espresso. I can see the movement out of the corner of my eye. His expression is perfect. Draco is always perfect. It's almost annoying. I hear him mutter something, I don't know what; it fades into the background roar of the world spinning wildly around me. I absently sip my Latte.

How long I sat in the café, I don't know. I don't know when he got up and left. When I glance over the where he was sitting, all I see is his empty espresso cup and some pound notes. What a gentleman, paying for my coffee. My Latte is now cold, but I don't care. I don't taste it anyway. I think he must have refilled it before he left, because I know I sat there drinking for hours. The sun was bright and shining when I sat down across from Draco. When I looked to find him gone, the sun was no longer overhead. Mechanically I stand up, trusting the money he left was enough, and walk out onto the chilly London street.

* * * *

I'm walking empty streets hoping we might meet
I see your car parked on the road
The light on at your window
I know for sure that you're home
But I just have to pass on by

It's been two weeks since Draco told me he didn't love me. I really don't know what I've done the past weeks. I wrote a few pieces for The Daily Prophet. That kept my mind occupied and off Draco - well partially. At least while I'm writing he's not the first thing I'm concentrating on. He's of course eating away at the back of my mind, but at least it's unconsciously. The nights at the bar are the easiest. At least at the bar it's loud and rowdy. I'm too busy mixing drinks and flirting with guys and girls to think of much of anything. But he's still all that ever consumes my thoughts.

I get off in five minutes. Cleaning the bar is always the worst. People are nasty when they're drunk. But I don't come in for a few days, so I don't really care that much. I grab my coat, decline the other bartender's offer to go out with him and friends to his house and smoke some pot, and instead leave the bar.

Most of the streets are empty. It's a week night and around two a.m. I pass the few night - owls here and there, but it is mainly just me. My feet are their own masters and take me wherever. They are just walking as I stare blankly ahead, not really seeing the buildings I pass. I just think about Draco. My thoughts aren't coherent. They're mainly a mixture of memories, regrets, fantasies, and random feelings.

These lonely late-night wanderings have become habit for me. I walk every night, whether I work or not, and think. My feet just roam freely. And I return home, face chapped and feet sore, never sure where I've been.

I suddenly realize I've stopped walking and look around. Everything is familiar. And then I spot it. Draco's car. I automatically turn and look up towards the window of his flat. The light is on. My heart leaps into my throat. It's the closest I've come to him since he left the café. I can't move. I'm attached to the spot and can't stop staring up at the lit window. I will him to come to the window, to come out the door. I have to see him. Almost to prove he existed.

It is comforting standing here, knowing he's inside. The wind is blowing leaves and trash around my feet, my coat sweeping around my calves. My face burns from the wind and the frames of my glasses are like ice, but it doesn't matter. My hands are sweating in my pockets where they've balled themselves into tight fists. The street light casts bronze shadows all around me, the leaves dancing in the light for an invisible audience.

But I stare at the window. The curtains and chair that I can see become permanently etched into my memory. The white curtains and forest green chair synonymous with Draco and my love.

I don't know how long I have been standing here. Draco's going to bed; he just turned off the light. The curtains and chair fade into darkness and in my mind I see Draco lying in his bed, blonde strands falling into his face as his breathing slows and he starts to snore faintly.

I'm sure he's asleep now, so I can leave. I turn away from the dark window and don't look back to see the dancing leaves continue their recital as the shadows follow me home.

* * * *

So no of course we can't be friends
Not while I'm still this obsessed
I guess I always knew the score
This is how our story ends

Ron and Hermione don't know about last night. They don't know I stood outside Draco's window for hours. My late - night walks are also a secret. They think I'm fine.

We're at some restaurant. Hermione chose tonight and she likes Indian food. I don't really care. Nothing seems appetizing anymore. Ron likes Indian food too. He'd do anything Hermione told him to. They are so in love. As much as they try not to be overly affectionate because of my recent break-up, I can still see it. It makes me sick.

"So they are all going to Egypt in a few weeks. Bill's been there for about a year without seeing anyone, so they want to go see him. You two should come, too. Especially you Harry," Ron says, moving chicken curry around on his plate.

"Yeah Harry. It would do you good. A vacation of sorts." Hermione smiles encouragingly.

I watch the flame dance atop the candle. It flickers with every breath and movement at the table. The light gives and orange-red glow to Hermione and Ron's faces. The flame flickers and I look up.

"I don't know." Fuck you both. I don't want to go to Egypt.

"Harry, some time away will do you good." Ron pleads with his eyes. I look away. I don't want to leave London. I don't want to be far away from him.

Then I see it. Across the orange-red glow of the restaurant. I see the shine of silver-blonde hair over everything. This time the world stops around me, and Draco and I are the only two moving. He doesn't see me, doesn't realize I'm staring at him from the side. Then the head turns and steel-grey eyes connect with emerald green. Nothing is in the world but Draco and I.

And then a hand grasps his shoulder. Draco tears his eyes from mine and rips my soul with it. I'm left bleeding into my curry.

The world returns as a demi-god walks with Draco to their table. I feel Ron and Hermione staring between Draco and I, but I don't care. I follow Draco with my eyes until I can't see him anymore. I push my curry away. I can't eat blood-stained food.

I flag the nearest waiter and order a French Vanilla Latte. Hermione and Ron keep talking to me and exchanging glances. I know they want to get me out of here. They feel the blood seeping onto my plate.

I order a second Latte to replace my now empty one, still not speaking to Ron or Hermione who are forcing casual conversation to cover up the dead in the air.

I put the Latte to my lips and gulp the hot brew. I lower the cup and look up into the steel-grey ocean. Draco is standing at the table. I grip the Latte for dear life.

"Hello Harry. How are you?" Draco smiles. Must be part of that "still be friends" thing he muttered in the café.

"Hi Draco. I'm fine." I'm dying. "How are you?" Obviously great since you've replaced me so fast.

"I'm fine. Just having dinner. I just wanted to come over and say hi and see how you were doing." That's so thoughtful Draco.

"I'm fine. Thanks for coming to say hi."

I smile at him, he smiles back, the ocean of steel-grey showing nothing.

"Well, I'll let you get back to your dinner." Draco turns and I watch his back slowly retreat.

"Thanks for the coffee."

He stops and turns around, confusion swimming in his eyes. I steady my gaze and look at him. Comprehension dawns only seconds after he turns around.

"You're welcome," he says, smiles again with a sad look in his eyes. Within an instance, it's gone and he turns around and retreats to his demi-god. I drink my Latte and order another.

* * * *

I smoke your brand of cigarettes
And pray that you might give me a call
I lie around in bed all day just staring at the walls
Hanging round bars at night wishing I had never been born
And give myself to anyone who wants to take me home

I look over at the clock. It's only three p.m. I haven't written for The Daily Prophet in a week. It's been over a week since I saw Draco in the restaurant. I have stayed home just waiting for him to call. Somewhere deep down I hope that seeing me will change his mind and he'll want me back.

I get out of bed and rub my hand over my face. The stubble on my chin is getting a little too long. I walk into the bathroom and look in the mirror. I'm growing a beard. It doesn't matter.

I walk back to the bed and grab the cigarettes off the night stand. Marlboro Lights, same as he smokes. And all I need right now is a fag.

I light it and walk to the kitchen. My brain is numb right now, so I absently fix a French Vanilla Latte, the radio a soft hum in the background. Looking out the kitchen window I spy the cars driving on the street below. People going about their everyday lives. While I'm shut up here in my own shell.

It doesn't matter. I take my cup and sit down in my armchair. I stare blankly at the phone. I expect it to ring. Deep down I expect it to ring and Draco to be on the other line telling me the demi-god's gone and he loves me again. But fate likes to fuck with you like that. You sit around and expect something, fate laughs and throws you the opposite. My coffee cup is empty.

I stand and walk over to the coffee pot. The clock says 7:23. I pour the remaining cold Latte into my cup and gulp it like it's the elixir of life. I put on another pot of coffee.

I'm going to a bar tonight. During the night I amble around London after I go to bars. I don't work much anymore. I lay around and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes. At night I walk absently and end up at some bar and meet some random stranger to fuck. It's been the routine for the past week. Every night. I am not picky. I'll fuck whomever, girl or guy. It's just a distraction.

I walk slowly to the club tonight. I'm in no hurry. My face is stinging in the cold. I gave in, shaved, and took a shower. Now I look like Harry again.

I enter the bar and the noise hits me like a car. It's all around me, suffocating almost. I walk straight to the bar and order a double shot of whiskey. The bartender hands it to me and winks. I ignore him and down the drink and order another. While I down the second shot, someone sits down beside me. I pull out a fag and light it. I offer the stranger one. He declines, he holds up a box of Winstons. He doesn't smoke Marlboro Lights.

He yells in my ear that he wants to dance. I point to the fag. I have to finish it first. He nods and sucks on his.

I finish mine and turn to stand up. He follows, flicking his fag behind him. We move to the dance floor, which is a large, rotating circle. He grabs my hips and starts dancing. I let him lead me. I don't care what I'm doing. He pulls me closer and puts his arms around me. I mirror the actions. It's like a follow the leader game.

He kisses my neck and cheek, and whispers something about going to the bathroom together. I nod in agreement and let him lead me off the rotating dance floor. We walk into the smoky bathroom. Most of the urinals are occupied, but we walk towards the last empty stall. I don't care about discretion. I don't care who sees me go into the stall.

He locks the door behind him and turns around to capture me in a kiss. He moves down to the button of my leather pants and soon they're around my ankles. He turns me around, and I lean over the toilet while he fucks me. It is so noisy from the music in the club that no one can hear me scream Draco's name as I come. He finishes too, pulls off the condom and throws it on the floor, and I hear him zip his pants.

When I turn around he is closing the stall door behind him. I pull my own pants up and walk out of the stall. I leave the bathroom and pull out another fag. I light it as I leave the bar, pulling my black trenchcoat close around my neck. I find the nearest open coffee shop and go in.

* * * *

You left behind some clothes
My belly summersaults when I pick them off the floor
My friends all say they're worried
I'm looking far too skinny
I've stopped returning all their calls

I return from lunch with Hermione. She said she hadn't seen me since the Indian food night and wanted to make sure I was ok. So I went to lunch to appease her mind. Why should she worry about me?

We went and ate at a little sandwich shop. I ate a few bites and drank three Lattes. She tried to convince me to come to Egypt again. I told her I'd think about it. I'm such a liar. I'm not going to Egypt. I'm not leaving this fucking city.

I throw my keys on the counter in the kitchen. I put on a pot of coffee. I need another Latte. All my coffee cups are dirty. Dammit. I need to do dishes. I run some soapy water and light a fag.

After I wash the coffee cups, I pour a Latte and walk into the bedroom. The floor is covered in clothes, magazines, empty cigarette packs, and dirty coffee cups. I pick up some coffee cups, still puffing on the fag, and go back to get the rest. I see a few underneath the bed and get down on my hands and knees to grab them. I need all my coffee cups clean.

As I reach to pull out the cups, I see some dirty clothes and pull them out as well. I drop the cup and it shatters, leaving white chips all over my wooden floor.

I'm holding a pair of green plaid boxers and an Armani silk robe. They're his. They're Draco's. I put them to my nose and sniff in the fabric. They still faintly smell of Draco. The musky, sweaty smell of passion mixed with the smell of his expensive cologne. I can still see and smell him.

The way he waltzes out of the bathroom, clad only in green plaid boxers and the black, silk robe after his shower. He is so mix matched I have to laugh. He looks frustrated that it was all he left over here. I watch him hungrily as he saunters over to the bed and drops the robe off his shoulders, the black silk gliding smoothly over white silk skin. The robe hits the floor and I look over at the spot Draco was standing and see only a window with the curtains and blinds shutting all light out.

I look back at the clothes, my mind still willing his form to materialize in my bedroom. I rub the soft silk against my cheek and bring the boxers to my nose. The scent of Draco hangs in the air in front of me. He's still so close to me, so real. It's like he left these last night and will be here to reclaim them tonight.

I stand up and sit on the bed, placing the robe and boxers on the bed beside me. I stare thoughtfully at them and get a craving for a Latte. I step off the bed and onto the broken cup pieces. I don't howl in pain. I merely look down and bring my foot up for inspection. I grab the pieces of glass out of it and walk to the kitchen, leaving a trail of blood behind.

The Latte is now almost cold, but I pour the liquid anyway. I stand there, gazing outside and realize it's going to storm. I look down at my foot and traces of blood can be seen around it.

The phone rings. I glance at it, almost expecting it to be Draco wanting his boxers and robe back. I hear my voice as the answering machine clicks on. After the beep, Ron's voice rings out.

"Harry? I know you're there. Pick up! Please?"

Pause.

"Well, Herm told me how bad you looked today. We're really worried. She said you're bone thin, your cheekbones are sticking out of your face. Please call me. We want to make sure you're alright and if there's anything we can do to help. And Harry - we love you."

Click.

I walk over to the answering machine and hit delete. I have no desire to talk to them. My mind dwells on the last statement.

"And Harry - we love you."

A rage seeps into my soul, and I grab the machine, rip it out of the wall, and throw it violently against the opposite wall. It shatters into a thousand pieces.

They love me? Who the fuck cares? It doesn't fucking matter if *they* love me. Draco fucking Malfoy doesn't love me! The whole world could love me and I wouldn't care. Without him I'm nothing.

And then I do it. I break.

I collapse on the floor and cry. For the first time since the café, I cry. I cry deep, gut wrenching sobs, the kind that makes you out of breath. I choke on my own emotion, the tears cascading down my face and leaving pools on the floor. I pull myself into a tight ball and will everything away, except the tears, Draco, and me.

* * * *

And no of course we can't be friends
Not while I'm still so obsessed
I want to ask where I went wrong
But don't say anything at all

I wake up and my cheeks are damp and puffy. It's dark in the flat and when I sit up, I see a raging storm outside.

I get up and pour the last in the coffeepot into my cup, drink the cold Latte, and put on another pot.

The blood on my foot is dried and crusted and I walk to the bathroom and get a wet washcloth. I sit on the toilet seat and wipe the dried blood from my foot.

I sit there, staring at the bottom of my foot, while silent tears glide down my cheeks and splash on my ankle. It is fascinating, watching the tears drop and burst on my ankle. I watch them fall, one by one, until my tears are flowing off my ankles.

I wipe my eyes hastily and stand up. I gaze into the mirror and see the dark circles, the protruding cheek bones, the bloodshot eyes. Look what I've done to myself. What did I do to him to deserve this? But I know I deserve it all.

I swipe that from my mind as I walk to the kitchen to pour a Latte. The storm is still raging outside, wind blowing the branches like they are competing against an invisible opponent. The lightning is beautiful as it lights up the sky. The lightning is silver, the same color of Draco's beautiful blonde hair.

What did I do to him to make him punish me?

I sip the Latte thoughtfully. I absently walk over to the beat up armchair by the window and watch the storm. The pelting rain keeps time with my silent tears and the thunder shakes my soul. I come up with every excuse as to what I did to Draco.

I go to refill my Latte and light a fag. I stand in front of the window and puff silently. I reach my left hand down and grab the phone. I grip it tightly as I gaze at it. I slowly dial the number that's branded into my being and listen to the rings. Then I hear it.

"Hello?"

I say nothing, just take a silent puff of the cigarette.

"Hello?"

I still say nothing.

"Is someone there?"

I hear the impatience in his voice. I love the sound of his voice. I want say it's me, what did I do? I want to scream into the phone that I love him and can't live without him. I want him to tell me what to do.

But I say nothing. I just puff on the cigarette, my knuckles white from gripping the phone.

He hung up minutes ago. I've stood listening to the dial tone for some time now. I've memorized the sounds of his voice. They echo off the hollows of my brain, reverberating in my deepest soul.

It thunders loudly and the power flickers. I hang up the phone and pick up my Latte.

* * * *

It took a cup of coffee
To prove that you don't love me

The next morning I roll over and peer at the clock. It's 11:15. Dammit, it's early. But I get up and go put on a cup of coffee. I light a cigarette and throw on some clothes. The weather is damp, still drizzling after last night's storm.

I fix my Latte, grab my black trenchcoat and walk out of the door. I walk around, going down the busy shopping streets, around a few parks, and of course make a few stops at coffee shops.

Nearing late afternoon, I walk into a café off a busy street and order a French Vanilla Latte. As I'm waiting, I glance lazily around the café and spot the silver hair. Draco, along with the demi-god, is sitting towards the back. I watch them, unable to turn my eyes from them. He is such a beautiful sight, drinking coffee and laughing. The smile bounces off of his face and lands on mine. I smile in spite of myself, like the smile is directed at me, not the demi-god. But he keeps laughing with the demi-god, not knowing anyone is watching him like a predator.

"Excuse me, sir?" I hear the girl at the counter yell. I look up and grab the latte. I move to a table where I am hidden from Draco's view but can still watch him. He is engaged so deeply he doesn't realize I am there.

I finish my Latte and go order another. I stand, waiting for the Latte, eyes on Draco. He turns suddenly and notices I'm there. He looks for a second, then turns back to the demi-god.

I gape at him and he doesn't look towards me again. The girl yells at me and I snatch the cup and storm out of the café. I clutch the cup in my hand, wandering blindly around.

The thoughts are whirling through my head. I can't quit seeing Draco looking straight into my eyes and turning away.

I find myself walking the stairs to my flat. I walk in, shivering from the cold, and slightly wet, and look down to the cold Latte in my hand. I walk to the kitchen, light a fag, and stare out the window. I watch the people walking briskly down the streets, hurrying to get out of the rain.

I take a long puff on the cigarette and look down at the cup of coffee. I put the fag in my mouth and grab the cup. I take off the lid and stare into the brew. I see so many images of Draco swimming there.

I bring the Latte to my mouth, take the fag into my hand and put the cup to my lips. I pause and then bring the cup back down in front of me. I stare at it for a long while. Then I take the cup and pour the Latte down the drain.