Disclaimer: I like fanfics just fine, so no spending large amounts to own it.
Title: Alterum
Genres: Angst, Hurt/Comfort
Rated: T
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ichigo Kurosaki, Tensa Zangetsu, and others from various fandoms
Summary: The End of a Beginning and Beginning of an End is not much of a thing to ponder over. But the stories held over the span of one and the bonds made and cemented into lives tells of truths not revealed and lies told. Here's to one and two of the broken souls in the world. One from a heart torn apart and another from the other part lost.
Draco's wedding.
The invitation laid innocently on the table, a layer of dust covering it.
He sat to a corner, empty bottles of alcohol surrounding his hunched over form, face overgrown with unshaven hair and clothes all rumpled from days of dress.
He couldn't let go.
He shouldn't hold on. The mantra was repeated in his head again. And again, and again. Over and over, the words relentlessly kept its hold on him.
He shouldn't hold on.
He shouldn't hold on.
He shouldn't hold on.
But he did, and still does.
And in his hand, a small picture, the wizarding kind that moved, depicted two males holding onto each other and laughing in pure childish joy, eyes shining with a happiness never obtained by anything less than love. One was blond, the other a brunet. They fit, but didn't, like two opposite poles attracted to each other. One was Draco Malfoy and the other was Harry Potter. One left the other, and the pair was broken apart.
Even so, with the paired circumstances, he was the only one left with the shredded pieces of him that which he gave to Draco. And so he wondered whether Draco's Jar of Hearts was filled with yet another conquest, torn and broken apart.
"You look sick, Harry. Are you sure you should be in today?"
Tired green eyes came up to meet worried brown. He smiled, a small tilt to one's lips that barely passed off as a smile but as more of a grimace from the way his eyes frowned. "I'm fine. Now, who are the other parents that are to come?" He directed the conversation elsewhere, trying to distract the meddlesome woman.
The plump woman just sighed in irritation but still went along with the topic change, knowing that on days as such she wouldn't be able to force him to go back and rest. "I'm going to look at the children," she said instead of answering him.
Grateful, he gave her a small nod. She ignored it, and left the room, the resounding slam of the door telling Harry enough about her mood, and that he shouldn't disturb her for a few hours yet.
But what he didn't know was the worried exasperation, though fond as she was of him, that plagued her day in and day out with the haggard appearance he wore nowadays. He would sometime arrive late, face streaked with tears, and she'd wonder what was wrong, but somehow his lips were as tight as they always were. That only left her more restless.
Lord, that brooding man will be the death of her one day.
He sighed and looked out the window. That look returned to his eyes, the one that he desperately kept in the deep, dark confines of his heart that's never to be allowed out; the overwhelming yearning that shreds him to pieces. But it came out, and the feelings surged up to the forefront of his mind. He cries.
Heart-wrenching sobs flowed from his blubbering lips as he crouched over himself, curling into the fetal position.
He still wasn't able to let go.
His feet felt heavy, and his shoulders were slouching down with the weight of the world atop of him. He didn't want to move, but time forced him to go and the needs of his body somehow grounded him into the reality of a Hell he didn't want to return to.
There was nobody waiting for him there either way.
It hurt, but it felt exhilarating, as if it was letting out all of his troubles at once and allowing him a moment of peace.
He stared at the rivulets of crimson running down his arms, and drew another mark over smooth skin.
He felt better.
Consuming alcohol had slowly lost its appeal. Drinks no longer clouded his mind or brought him to the dreams of heavens. All that he saw when darkness arrived to take his eyes were not the dancing silver eyes filled with amusement that teased him lightly or gentle caresses that soothed and protected him in their embrace. No, a tumbling pain from a hill up top would drop down on him and he would fall further and further more down into the darkness. He would then become blind, eyes not seeing anymore.
He hated hangovers.
He smiled wearily. It was hard to move his face nowadays. It felt much easuer to just to not move at all. He fiddled with the knife hidden in the deep recesses of his pocket, and he contemplated the idea. It had its merits.
It might not be that bad.
"Harry!" Someone shouted, but the fog smearing his vision wouldn't clear away. He couldn't see the person.
"Harry, I said, you damn bastard! Get up!" Ah, that coarse voice. A smile lit up his face, recognition yielding hope to the man calling for him for a moment. A sort of bitter, but genuine, happiness came from him as he uttered his last word of pleading, "Draco."