Give me love like her,
'cause lately I've been waking up alone,
Paint splattered teardrops on my shirt,
Told you I'd let them go,
And that I'll fight my corner,
Maybe tonight I'll call ya,
After my blood turns into alcohol,
No, I just wanna hold ya.
Harry looked across from where he lay on his bed at the empty space which was once occupied. He let out a shaky breath as tears, once again, rolled down his tinted cheeks. He clutched on to his phone with shaking hands as if it was the only thing left connecting him to his love. His only love. Draco Malfoy. He ached. His head hurt, half from alcohol, half from Hermione's soothing words. They meant nothing. Draco was gone. Nothing could change that. More importantly, his chest hurt. His heart. It felt as if half of it had been torn out. Harry knew it was true, only no one would listen. He didn't want to live without the rest of his heart.
Give a little time to me or burn this out,
We'll play hide and seek to turn this around,
All I want is the taste that your lips allow,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
He unlocked his phone, and wished he didn't instantly. The picture of himself and Draco hit him. Hard. He stared at his love; he could remember every single thing about him as if it was only yesterday when they were last together. Only it wasn't. It had been two years since his death. His eyes glazed over as he opened up his contacts list and scrolled down to Draco's number. He called it. Again, and again, and again, hoping for Draco to pick up, laugh delightfully and tell him it was all a joke. Just him messing about. Although Harry would probably never speak to the blond haired boy again, he'd still wish it would happen. He listened silently to the vibrating inside of the drawer furthest away from the bed.
Give me love like never before,
'cause lately I've been craving more,
And it's been a while but I still feel the same,
Maybe I should let you go,
You know I'll fight my corner,
And that tonight I'll call ya,
After my blood is drowning in alcohol,
No I just wanna hold ya.
Harry sat up carefully and clenched his eyes shut. Without opening them, he reached over to his bed side table and picked up the familiar bottle. Without hesitating, he gulped down the rest of the liquid and automatically felt better. Hermione's words from the night before were still ringing in his ears. Draco would want you to be happy. You're wasting your life, Harry. Draco would not want this. Deep inside, Harry knew she was right. He knew he was making everything worse, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it. Still he carried on drinking; carried on doing nothing but drinking and crying. Even sometimes, he'd cry and scream to himself until he could do nothing but sleep. He slowly stood and walked over to the bathroom, bottle still in hand.
Give a little time to me or burn this out,
We'll play hide and seek to turn this around,
All I want is the taste that your lips allow,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
Give a little time to me, or burn this out,
We'll play hide and seek to turn this around,
All I want is the taste that your lips allow,
My, my, my, my, oh give me love,
As he looked in to the mirror, he gasped slightly, but then asked himself: What did you expect? The bloodshot eyes and dark circles under his eyes nothing compared to the long hair and beard that had started to grow. The bottle fell to the floor and smashed in to smithereens, cutting his foot as he turns and walks away from his reflected self. He makes his way to the kitchen as he remembers his memories with Draco in there: cooking a Christmas meal for the very first time whilst living together, their first kiss. Unable to stop himself, he furiously kicks the chair pulled up at the table. Draco's chair.
Of all the money that e'er I had
I've spent it in good company
And all the harm that e'er I've done
Alas it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all
Harry sobbed as he walked over to the drawers near the sink. Inside one there was letters. Letters he'd written to Draco. Explaining how sorry he was. Sorry that he failed. Sorry that he couldn't save him. Sorry for all the years they spent fighting. Sorry for all the years he disgraced himself. He slowly slid down to the floor, his back against the bottom cupboards, as tears wouldn't stop from making his bare chest damp. He turned over his left arm and looked down at it. His only release. He traced the scars. In reality, they didn't really do anything, did they? Sure, they hurt for a while, but it was nothing compared to the pain he's been in for 2 whole years. It couldn't take his mind away from his Draco.
Of all the comrades that ever I had
They are sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that ever I had
They would wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call
Good night and joy be with you all
Come and live with me Harry. I'll make you happy again Ginny had said one year ago today. I shouted. She left forever. Did happiness exist any longer? It seemed not to Harry. He slid down further so he was laid on the floor, his right cheek pressed against the cold tiles. His eyes slid shut and instantly an image of Draco and himself was there. They were laughing, something Harry had not done in a long time, and holding hands in the park across the street. Then they stopped and kissed passionately. Eyes snapped open once again, and he dragged himself up off of the floor and slammed the letter drawer shut. He then opened a similar one a couple away from it and stared blankly at the objects before him.
A man may drink and not be drunk
A man may fight and not be slain
A man may court a pretty girl
And perhaps be welcomed back again
But since it has so ought to be
By a time to rise and a time to fall
Come fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all
Good night and joy be with you all
Why is he alive anymore? He doesn't do anything but drink, scream and sleep. He was worthless. Without Draco, nothing made sense. Hermione and Ron had tried, but it wasn't worth it, was it? Harry was alone. Without any real family. It seemed everyone he truly loved died. Died right before him. He could do nothing about it. So why hadn't he made this decision earlier? Draco could still be alive and selling his potions in Diagon Alley with a husband who wouldn't get him killed. He slowly lifted his right hand and wrapped his fingers around the silver knife he'd always saved. He knew this day would come. It was obvious, wasn't it? He was beyond help now. This was the only thing he could do to stop himself hurting. The only thing he could do to feel the exact pain Draco had. Without hesitation, he let his left hand grab on to the knife also to stop his shaking hands and plunged it straight in to his heart. It hurt. Tremendously. The only thing he could think about was Draco going through this pain. More tears fell as he collapsed to the floor and gasped for breath. He was lashing out, hoping for someone to come and save him, like Draco would have. No one came. His breathing slowed down as his body fell limp and he fell in to an everlasting sleep.