On Different Sides

On Different Sides

Chapter Four

"It's hard to explain how I am getting by on so little from you. It's hard to believe that I would let myself get so wrapped in you. There's got to be something that would be worthwhile for me to give to you. We need a connection but you seem to push me far away from you."

-Dashboard Confessional

The early dawn was misty and very, very cold. Draco followed his father obediently from the house proper and out onto the grounds. Neither spoke. They never did on their morning jaunts. The time to speak was when they stopped walking - when it was time for Draco to learn.

The walked that way, in stiff (always stiff, never comfortable - the lessons were never comfortable for Draco, even at the stalwart age of 5) silence until they reached their destination: a small hill bordered on one side by a large copse of trees.

Lucius Malfoy turned to his son, raising one manicured hand to a low-hanging branch and pointing at a small nest.

"Life, Draco," he said, voice even as always. When instructing his son, it was the words and not the tone that were important.

Draco nodded, not understanding where exactly this lesson was going and wishing that he could be back inside where at least he could find a fire for warmth. He did understand, however, that he would not be going inside until his father was finished with the lesson. He straightened his small frame, trying resignedly to see what it was his father was showing him.

Lucius smiled, a cold and mocking version of the smiles Draco sometimes offered the world, and bent down to lift Draco up so he could see: with the coming spring had arrived new life. Within the nest squirmed two very young birds. Draco wrinkled his nose; they weren't much to look at. Coloured a blue so dark it nearly appeared purple and a decided lack of plumage, they looked like very small animals out of a nightmare.

"Babies," Draco said needlessly.

"But where are the parents?" Lucius asked.

Draco turned his gaze to his father, bringing his eyes to frosty silver ones that were just like his own. He frowned in consternation, he didn't know the answer to that and somehow felt as though he should. He wasn't about to say he was unsure - he knew better - and so he remained silent. His father placed him back on the cold ground, eyes boring into his son so intently that Draco knew the lesson was truly beginning.

Lucius reached a hand once more to the nest and suddenly an adult bird (Draco could only assume it was the mother) flew at him. His father smiled coldly, and in a moment that would forever be imprinted in Draco's memory, tipped the nest, sending the fledglings tumbling toward the ground.

Draco looked at the pitiful creatures, writhing on the grass and calling pathetically for the safety of their nest, before turning his attention again to his father. The mother was now perched on a nearby branch, screaming her fury at Lucius.

"Remember this, Draco, and remember it well: your enemies will always do what they must to break you. No amount of rage shouted into the wind will stop them."

With those words, he lifted a polished heel and brought it down on one chick, and then the other.

Draco couldn't help it, he gasped as his father removed his boot from the bodies of the small birds, lying crumpled and broken before him. The mother's song of rage transformed to one of mourning that brought tears to Draco's eyes.

Lucius reached a hand to his son, gripping the small chin in his strong hand and forcing Draco's eyes up to his own. "We do not cry for the weak, Draco. We show no emotion for any act we deem necessary, be it for the purpose of learning or for survival. To do so makes us as weak as those we would crush."

Draco sniffled as quietly as he could, glad he could no longer see the macabre scene of death his father had created in order to teach him this lesson. His father's frown deepened and his grip on Draco's chin tightened. "Do you understand?"

Draco felt his eyes dry as he set his face resolutely into what he hoped was a look of indifference. "Yes, Father."

His father released him and smiled icily. "Good." He turned and headed back toward the Manor, and Draco followed slowly. He couldn't bring himself to look back, but he knew, even as young as he was, that the sound of that grievous song would forever haunt him, and that this was one lesson he would never forget.

~*~

Draco Malfoy was angry. No, he corrected, he was livid. Staring into a blazing fire in his father's study, he was so full of rage that he was half tempted to throw something into the flames. The only thing stopping him was his lack of ammunition. He could hardly hurl the lone wing-backed chair. Not only would it be ridiculous, but there was also a chance he would pull something. Merlin knew he had done more than enough damage to himself that afternoon. Anything he hadn't bloodied enough, Harry had finished off for him.

He growled deeply, the rage washing over him anew at the thought. So many things had gone wrong, and it was easy to blame Harry for each and every one of them. It felt good, too.

Striding to the mantle, he slammed his fists on it, and then let his head fall to rest on them. What had he been thinking? The answer, of course, was that he hadn't been. He had seen Harry standing in that shop and all brain activity had ceased. Well, almost. He had fully intended to go in and carry on with The Plan. Most likely would have, had Harry not said he was late. That, truthfully, was what had knocked Draco's plan off its axis and sent it rolling off down the Alley.

Draco let his eyes close. He'd expected anything from Harry, really. Anything, that was, but that. The way he'd said it, the things it had implied. It had taken Draco by surprise and had made it impossible to recover, though he'd tried. He'd attempted to be flippant and casual and stick with The Plan, only couldn't get past that quiet "you're late". He had proceeded to say the completely wrong (and unintentional) things, and to lose his temper. Not only that, but to stand there like an idiot while Harry listed his crimes and made it clear exactly what he thought of them. To stand there and do nothing while Harry walked out that door.

Draco sighed heavily, calming in the wake of such thoughts. Harry's final words and actions had made it abundantly clear that he wanted nothing to do with Draco. But that one whispered sentence belied all of that. Those words had nearly whisked him back in time, had made him feel 18 again, if only for a single moment. The things they did to him.... It was best not to think on it.

So much time had passed since they were alone together, so many things had transpired. They were men now, broken and hurt and bitter, but grown. What was it about seeing Harry that could immediately reduce Draco to the unsure teen he had been? Oh yes, Draco had been unsure. The face he'd shown to the world was a carefully constructed façade, intended to hide everything he truly felt inside - a face that he had only relinquished with Harry and Ginny Weasley.

Draco was unsure what he had been thinking, imagining that the mere presence of Harry wouldn't throw his world off centre. He should have known better. He should have been prepared. What annoyed him the most was that he'd thought he had been - he'd thought he'd known exactly what he was doing.

He raised his head, staring blindly at the wall. Was it possible he was as much a fool now as he had been all those years before? It was a bitter pill to swallow, and Draco was having none of it. He frowned in consternation.

There was nothing for it, he sighed to himself. He had two choices: he could bin The Plan or he could regroup and go forward. No doubt Harry was sitting somewhere - that bloody school of his in all probability - wondering what it was that Draco wanted with him. Wondering if Draco really wanted to be forgiven.

Did he?

He knew the answer to that, had admitted it to himself weeks earlier. But he also wanted Harry to hurt, which he had also decided. Why, then, was he the one hurting? Harry had been obviously shaken at first glimpse, but had recovered famously.

The question, though, was had he really? Had Harry become a better actor than he had been in school? Another growl of frustration escaped him and he shoved away from the wall. The problem was, really, that there were too many questions and not one fucking concrete answer. Yes, he had affected Harry in some way; yes, Harry had shown signs of sentimentality. But the cold, hard truth was that that meant nothing. It could have been nothing more than the moment happening around them. What was it about the world that kept shoving them together and then going all chaotic around them?

Draco ran both hands through his hair before bringing them tiredly to his face. It was too late and he was too exhausted to understand what was going on, to even begin to formulate his next step in their dance. What he wanted more than anything was to sleep and to forget. He laughed, the sudden sound bouncing off the walls. To sleep, perchance to dream, was that not how it went? He shook his head. The possibility of dreaming was one of the many things that kept him fully awake in his bed night after night. Exhaustion was the better bet.

He strode to the chair and sank down into it, staring again into the fire. The anger was diminishing now, but he knew it wouldn't go entirely. It would lurk about in the back of his mind, waiting for one thought, one image to bring in roaring back to life.

What was he doing? He slumped farther into his chair and sighed. The mere fact that he, a Malfoy, was slouching was enough to prove to anyone that he was not deserving of the name. Add to that where he was, what he was contemplating...the whole situation was laughable.

Draco didn't have it in him to even smile at the thought. He didn't feel as though he would have the energy to smile for a very long time. The situation was too precarious. He had fought too long and too hard just to return home. Just to get back to him. And now he was fucking it all up royally.

He had to wonder if he was going about the whole thing properly. Which, of course, meant that he had to be thinking about it all again. Honestly, he was tired of musing endlessly over the whole bloody mess. There was a part of him that wanted to leave the manor, storm The Home and prove to Harry once and for all that things weren't finished between them. That things would never be finished.

He was working himself to anger again, which simply would not do. He took a calming breath and resigned himself to another night of thought. He almost wished he could trade places with his mother, that he could just sit beside a window and be as blank mentally as the glass.

But Draco knew that he would never get that luxury. The one person who could condemn him to that life had long been gone. And truthfully, an ending such as that was just too simple. Draco knew without reservation that he had never been entitled to simple any more than Harry had.

Another sigh.

Harry.

Harry could never forgive him, he knew that now, had always known were he to be honest with himself. Hell, he'd never fully forgiven himself. How could he expect Harry to be the better man?

Because he was always the better man.

True, Draco mused. But what the world at large always seemed to forget where Harry Potter was concerned was that he was every bit as human as they were. Never afraid to bend or outright break a rule, always prone to large displays of emotion, even anger, when things were not going his way, always there to show them that he was every bit as normal as they were. The world just always seemed to overlook that.

That was, after all, what had drawn Harry to Draco in the first place. He'd admitted as much, so many years earlier, when in a moment of uncertainty Draco had asked him why. Harry had bitten his lip and stared at Draco for the longest time before stating the obvious.

"You see me."

Draco had. Draco had always seen him exactly for what he was. Amazing how few people truly did. Draco was fairly certain, were he to count them out, that they wouldn't use up the digits on one hand. Not even the overgrown boor Weasley had ever seen past the hero that Potter had never asked to be.

Could he still see Harry now, could he still read him as well as he always had? He had to think that he could. The problem was that he was letting his anger with the other man get in the way.

Right, then. Draco closed his eyes and replayed the entire scene at the shop again, making certain to keep himself calm, emotionless. He was still a Malfoy; he was more than capable of doing so.

Harry had shown two things to Draco in their interlude: he was still sentimental, and he was angry. The anger, of course, was to be expected. The sentimentality was something of a surprise. It was the shock of it that had ruined anything Draco had hoped to accomplish, that had allowed that anger to well up and lash itself out at him. He could admit that, now.

The obvious solution, then, would be to not let that catch him off guard again. Yes, there would be another meeting. Draco had no intention of crying off because of a small glitch in his plans. He could shelve the hurt and concentrate on moving on with the dance. In the next round, he vowed, he would not let Harry get the upper hand.

No, Draco would lead, and he would be damned sure that for once in his life, Harry would follow.

~*~

"Hello, Mother."

Narcissa Malfoy didn't look away from her window upon hearing (if she heard it all) her son's greeting. He had expected as much. His weekly visits were draining for many reasons, his mother's lack of response not the least of them.

As was his habit, he made his way to her bed and sat down upon it, after kissing her cheek lightly. He tiredly removed his scarf and gloves and placed them on the bed beside him.

"I'd ask you how you're feeling today, but that would be rather silly. So, I suppose, I'll tell you how I am so we can hurry this farce along."

His mother continued staring out of her window. Draco let his own eyes follow her gaze, but saw nothing other than the grounds and a few trees off in the distance. Not incredibly entertaining. But then, he wasn't the human equivalent of a vegetable.

"I've mucked things up yet again with Harry, Mum," he sighed. "Made a complete ass of myself and let him go off in a snit. So now I get to go about trying to fix that as well as all the other things that need correcting," he laughed harshly. "If I keep this up, I'll be spending the rest of my life cleaning up my messes instead of living it properly."

He rubbed his chin in thought. "Though, I suppose, my definition of 'properly' and yours would vary greatly. Wouldn't it be funny if everything does work out? I can almost see you at one of your soirees, telling a charming anecdote about your son and his wizard." He shook his head. "No, most likely not. And not only because the chances of St. Mungo's starting a socialite club are ridiculously slim." He chuckled at his wit, and then sobered. He really should not be using these visits to entertain himself.

He reclined back on the bed - an observer may say that he flopped, but Malfoys do not flop - and studied her intently, head resting in one palm. "I have to wonder if these little visits of ours do anything for you at all. I can say they've helped me somewhat. Telling you my dirty secrets and sinister plans for Harry provides much needed relief for me, you know. Of course, it's either this or unloading on the furniture at the Manor." He paused for a moment, pondering. "Then again, I suppose there's not much difference there, is there?"

He was doing it again. He sighed and sat up.

"I do apologize, Mother, I'm behaving terribly. Working myself up to seeing him again, I guess. You have to admit it's easier to banter with someone who's incapable of tearing your heart out than with the one person who can. I don't know if I'm strong enough to do that."

He ran a hand through his hair in a fit of nervousness, then, in a moment of what could only be sentimentality on his part, reached that same hand to her and stroked her hair. "I'm weak, Mum," he said quietly. "I'd rather be here with you than facing him. I'd rather face what's happened to you than what I've done to him. How do I change that? How do I undo everything that's been done to us?" He ran his hand over her hair again. "What's been done to all of us.

"I feel like if I can only set things right with Harry, then maybe everything hasn't been for nothing. That you're not rotting in this place for nothing. That we'll have finally beaten him."

He pulled his hand away and let it drop like so much dead weight into his lap. "I don't even know if that's what you wanted. For all I know, you wanted to belong to him forever. I can't imagine how that could have been what you wanted. You and I both were nothing more than his possessions. How could that possibly have made you happy?"

He tilted his head to one side and let his gaze fall to the window once more. Sometimes it was easier to just look away from her, from what had happened to her. "I don't understand a lot of things. I had hoped these visits would bring me some sort of clarity, but they don't. I walk out of this room feeling more deflated than when I walked in, and that's saying something."

He reached for his scarf and gloves and leaned in once more to kiss his mother's cheek. "I don't know that I'll be visiting for a while. I doubt you'll miss me, but I felt I should tell you. There's just too much to do. I'll return when I can." Silently he added, if I can bear it.

With that, he turned and walked from the room, though every fibre of his being was screaming for him to flee more quickly. He couldn't, of course, because Malfoys do not run.

~*~

The following evening, Draco found himself wandering the grounds of the Home once more. It was simply too easy to go there. He made a mental note to ask Harry exactly what it was he used for security. That was, if he could ever manage a civil conversation with the stubborn git.

Ten years. A long time to hold a grudge, Draco thought.

Is it now? It's not too long to carry a flame, but a grudge, now that's ludicrous.

Draco was growing tired of the ever-present voice of reason. He sometimes felt that no matter how it seemed, there was nothing about himself and Harry that made sense. He didn't think he needed to make sense when dealing with anything, and resented the fact that his conscience begged to differ. He would have to do something about that.

I hear there are some beds free in St. Mungo's.

Draco turned and headed toward the house, pointedly ignoring the voice that suddenly sounded like his father. He hadn't listened to the man when he was around to berate Draco in person; he had no intention of starting now that he was gone.

The house was dark as he approached, making Draco wonder what Harry and Ginny were up to. What did Harry do on the rare occasion he left his home? He would have to find out.

He walked up to the window he had peered in the last time he'd visited and looked in, seeing nothing. He had to chuckle to himself - if this wasn't moment that summed up most of his life, he didn't know what was: standing on the outside and looking in. He shook his head at the thought.

"Skulking about at night, Malfoy? The Manor not entertaining enough for you?"

Draco turned at the words, spoken dryly and coming from the vicinity of a tree that he had vowed never to look at again only a few weeks prior. He nodded regally. "Weasley."

She inclined her head just as rigidly. "Malfoy."

They stood in silence for a few minutes, sizing one another up.

"What exactly are you doing here?" she asked.

He shrugged, not bothering to answer such an unintelligent question. She glared at him.

"Harry's not here, you may as well go home."

He laughed sharply. "Harry's not here? Are you actually telling me the reclusive hero has stepped out?"

She shook her head. "He's up at the school, and will most likely be a while, not that it's any of your concern."

"Ouch, Weaslet. One would think you're angry with me, given your tone."

"Is it that obvious?" she retorted. "You didn't honestly think you could just walk back into our lives and everything would be kittens and roses, did you?" She leaned back against the tree as she spoke and crossed her arms over her chest.

Draco raised a brow at her. "Our lives?"

"Oh come off it, Malfoy. You know damned well that being in Harry's life in any way plants you firmly in mine as well."

"Was a time, Weaslet, that you didn't mind that at all."

"Stop calling me that," she shot back. "And yes, there was a time I didn't know you were a lying, manipulative bastard, either. Funny how perspectives can change, no?"

Draco snorted. "I think it's your turn to, what was it you said, come off it?" he smirked. "You always knew I was a bastard. You just decided my immense charm and graceful manner outweighed that."

"You think entirely too much of yourself."

"Funny how some perspectives don't change," he said, casually putting his hands in his pockets and smiling at her.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Throwing my words back at me," she explained.

Draco held his hands up in front of him. "I apologize, I meant no offence."

"Oh, will you just cut it out already and tell me what it is you're doing here so I can kick you out?" she half-shouted, obviously exasperated. Draco had to repress a smile at that. He'd missed pushing Ginny's buttons.

"Maybe I felt a need for fresh air," he said smoothly.

She snorted. "Yes, and I can see how all that acreage surrounding the Manor was too small for a little stroll."

"It's not nearly so picturesque."

"Malfoy," she bit out, the warning in her voice patently clear. Oh yes, he'd missed riling her.

"That's a stupid question and you know it, Weasley," he said, opting finally to be forthright.

"It may have been stupid a few minutes ago, but I've now told you that Harry's not here, and here you still are."

She had a point. Admitting that inwardly was one thing, admitting it to her, however, was something else entirely. "So I am."

She made a muffled noise of consternation and shoved away from the tree. "What do you want?"

He chuckled. "I seem to be fielding that question a lot lately."

She snorted. "From what I understand, you haven't answered it yet."

He laughed outright at that. "From what you understand, Weasley? What, exactly, do you think you understand about any of this?"

She deflated before him. "Nothing," she answered softly. She brought her eyes to his searchingly, a shadow of the girl he'd known in school reflected within them. "Why are you doing this, Draco?"

He stiffened. Harry hadn't called him by anything other than Malfoy, that she was using his given name nearly winded him. However, she was suddenly being civil, and he wasn't about to ignore the opportunity that presented him. "I have to," he said, just as quietly.

She shook her head. "You're right, I don't understand. Haven't you done enough?"

He bristled. "I've done nothing more than attempt to converse with him, Gin." In his anger, it was easy to fall back into habits he'd forgotten he'd ever had.

"Can't you just stay away?"

He smiled wryly at her. "You should know better than that."

"I should," she agreed, "and I do. Go home, Draco." She sounded almost as tired as he felt.

He ignored that. "You weren't always so sure that our attraction was a bad thing."

"Things change. People change. What makes you so certain that that attraction still stands?" Her cheeks were flushed now; he'd obviously hit a nerve. Good.

"I was in the shop, Gin, I'm sure Harry would have mentioned that."

"Oh, he told me all about it."

"You have your answer then. There's still something there." They circled one another as they spoke, until Draco was standing next to the tree. He leaned a shoulder against it casually.

She chose to switch topics slightly. "You said you have to. Have to what? Are you really trying to start things up with him again?"

He frowned. "That's between Harry and I."

"Draco, you know damned well that nothing you and Harry have ever done was yours and yours alone. I was there from the beginning, what makes you think it will be any different now?"

"You admit, then, that there's a possibility of 'now'?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

He pushed away from the tree, walking slowly toward her. "So you've convicted me as well?" he asked, though he knew the answer.

She held her ground. "I was there, Draco."

"You're a witch, Gin. You should know that things aren't always as they appear." He was standing less than a foot away from her now, but neither one of them seemed to care in the least.

"And sometimes, Draco, they're exactly how they look." Her shoulders slumped, eyes closing. "I can still see it, you know, as though it were yesterday and not years ago. I thought Harry was dead. I didn't know what to do first, take him from you and see if he was all right or ask you if you were." Her eyes opened, dark with renewed anger. "When I saw your father, when I saw what you'd nearly done, I wanted to kill you myself. There was no mistaking what happened, Draco, and you know it."

"Don't even try to presume what I know, Weasley. You can't begin to imagine what I went through. Azkaban. The trial." He looked at her through eyes narrowed to slits. "You don't have the faintest idea what I know."

"I was at the trial, too, Malfoy," she spat. "I have no idea what it did to you, you're right. But I know what it did to Harry. Have you even stopped to consider what it was like for him?"

"For him?" he seethed, "Yes, it must have been incredibly difficult for him to stand against me."

"Are you even hearing yourself?" she shouted, "How can you stand here and even say that? It killed him. If you could stop thinking about yourself for one bloody minute, you'd know that."

"He stood against me, Weasley, that fucking twisted sense of justice he had more important to him than-"

"Than you?" she bit out, teeth clenched and hands now in fists at her sides. Draco wondered fleetingly if she was about to take a swing at him, until she laughed. "Merlin, Draco, you are so blind." She shook her head. "He stood against you, and didn't say a word. If not for him, you'd be rotting in Azkaban even now. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

He remained silent.

"I thought that maybe the time away would have given you some perspective. My mistake," she sighed. "Go home, Draco."

"No." He knew very well he was acting like a child, but had ceased caring.

"No? Do you plan to just sit outside all night? You leave your pride wherever it was you ran away to?"

Draco was quickly losing patience with her. "I did not run away, I left," he ground out.

She chuckled dryly. "Don't debate semantics with me, Malfoy."

"Don't bring up the pointless, then, Weasley."

They stared at each other for a long minute. She cocked her head to one side and studied him so intently that he felt a sudden need to shuffle his feet and use words like "gosh".

"It comes to this, Draco. I don't know why you've come home, and I don't care. What I do care about is Harry. If you make him so much as sigh heavily I won't be held accountable for what I do to you," her tone was pure ice as she said the last, then her voice softened. "Look, whatever misguided notions you have about forgiveness are best left unexplored. Can't you be the bigger man and walk away?"

He glared at her. "As you so kindly pointed out, Gin, I did that once. It didn't do either of us any good."

"And anything that happens now will?"

He sighed. "I don't know. What I do know is that I need this. And if for one minute you'll think about Harry as much as you claim to, I'd be willing to wager that he does, too. It has to finish. Whatever that end is."

She nodded curtly. "As long as that end doesn't hurt him, Draco. I meant what I said."

He smiled sardonically. "I'll bear that in mind. And step up security at the Manor as a precaution."

He could see the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, knew in that instant that he'd won the round.

"See that you do." She sobered. "What are you going to do, Draco?"

"I have no bloody idea, Gin," he laughed harshly. "I have no idea what I'm doing here, let alone why I'm even talking to you about any of this."

"Old habits die hard," she smiled, and for a moment Draco could almost believe it was genuine.

"I suppose they do," he allowed. "Gin - "

"Yes?"

He shook his head. "Never mind."

"Oh no, Draco, we're actually being civil. It would be a shame to stop now."

Draco slumped to the ground, fingers running through the grass before plucking one strand and playing with it absentmindedly. He was almost surprised that she sat down beside him.

"I'm sorry," he said heavily.

She just stared at him. "Thank you."

"I don't know if it means much, if it even means anything, really."

"You didn't just leave him, you know," she said quietly.

He looked at her then. "I know."

"I don't know what's going to happen, Draco. I can't say I even understand what's happening now," she said, considering him intently. "He's missed you. I've missed you. But I don't know if that's enough. You hurt him. You hurt me."

"He hurt me, too," he pointed out.

"And here we all are, wallowing in all of that all over again. Is it really worth it, Draco?" He just looked at her, and something must have shown on his face, in his eyes, because she nodded. "I meant what I said. If you hurt him at all, I will make sure you suffer. But I'll step back, for now. Against everything I believe and feel, I'll let things play out. Don't hurt him."

"That may be inevitable."

"Find a way for it not to be," she demanded. "We understand one another?"

Draco nodded.

Ginny stood up. "Good. Go home." She held up a hand as he stood as well and started to protest. "It's been a rough night, and Harry doesn't need you right now, whatever you may think. And I'm too tired to deal with you any longer. Go home," she repeated. "You can pick up the game tomorrow."

With that, she turned and walked into the house, leaving Draco feeling caught somewhere between self-satisfaction and defeat. He wasn't sure what to make of it, and wasn't sure he wanted to think on it at all.

With a wry smile, he backed away from the house and headed off the grounds.

~*~

Draco Malfoy was at a loss. Was it really possible that exhaustion could keep one from sleep? The entire theory seemed absurd, yet he was so tired that the curtain he was staring at seemed to be dancing before him.

He rolled onto his back and rubbed at his eyes, willing them to close and grant him even an hour's worth of respite. Had it been this difficult to rest while he was away? He couldn't remember. He was so tired he couldn't think straight. He wanted nothing more than to be able to sink into oblivion, but was fairly certain there was no more chance of that happening than there was of Harry strolling into the room.

He sighed and sat up, walking slowly across the room to the window he found himself staring out of night after night. Maybe he was more like his mother than he thought. Closing his eyes, he rested his forehead against the cold glass, but was not content at the contact. Pressing his entire upper body to the pane, he let out a gasp at the chill of it on his bare skin. Feeling anything was refreshing.

He opened his eyes and stared out at the night sky above the trees that dotted the Manor's grounds. It was a moonless night, without so much as a star for light. It seemed somehow fitting.

His mood felt as black as the sky. Gone was the satisfaction he'd felt after his encounter with Ginny, leaving an emptiness within him that felt like it would swallow him whole. Even with her promise to give him some room, he suddenly felt as though nothing he could do would make any difference.

Harry hated him.

Oh, he may still be attracted to him, but he didn't doubt that the hatred was there as well. Draco knew as well as anyone that hatred was a powerful emotion, capable of obliterating any sentimentality that might stand in its way. No, rage would not be ignored, nor would it be set aside to wait its turn.

That terrified him more than anything, and was the basis of his conviction that the dance could only end badly.

In the years he was gone, Draco had envisioned his homecoming and how Harry would bitch and moan about what Draco had done, but would eventually be willing to reconcile. He'd imagined how finally they would be happy, how finally they would have their happy ending.

You, Malfoy, are an idiot.

Draco closed his eyes once more, trying to shut out the voice that seemed to be belittling him more and more as the days passed. A voice, he thought wryly, that sounded more like his father with every passing minute. He did not need the ghost of his father to tell him he was an idiot. He was doing just fine with that all on his own.

Draco was older now, and slightly wiser, and could admit he was many things. An idiot he was not. Not generally. Cowardly? It was possible. A bastard? You bet. Stupid, however, was not something he would ever claim to be.

Perhaps he had been overly maudlin in his travels. Perhaps in the boredom of solitude his mind had created fanciful scenarios.

He was home now, however, and the truth was sitting plainly before him. An idiot would not see it for what it was. He felt like sticking his tongue out at the voice, and nearly did, but had no desire to lick the window. Another sign of intelligence, that.

If only he could keep a clear head when dealing with his feelings for Harry. If there had been any doubt that he loved the other man, it had been removed after talking to Ginny Weasley. The anger, the hurt...everything he'd felt just talking to her was a blatant reminder that Draco still loved him.

He sighed, that emptiness swelling further within him. If he couldn't convince Harry that he still loved Draco, if he couldn't get him to admit it, he wasn't sure he would withstand another rejection at the hands of Harry Potter. Not again.

Harry had been so many things to him, but above all others and as trite as it was, he had been home. To have to go the rest of his life without having that again was unthinkable, unimaginable now that Draco had come back to claim it. Now that he'd remembered exactly what it was he'd once had.

He didn't think he could survive a life without Harry in it. The truth of it was both exhilarating and biting, and he didn't know if he was in any state to deal with it. Instead, he turned from the window and made his way back to his bed, all thoughts of love and what it had done to everyone in his world leaving him, save one:

Love sucks, he mused as he climbed back into his bed. Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it's just another way to bleed.