Their happiness lasts about three months. Three months before it starts again. The day before she's about to leave for NYU she walks in on him with a blonde bombshell with a boob-job. And although he swears that it's a one-off and that he'll never do it again, she hasn't been blind to the signs. Hickeys that she could have sworn weren't from her, a smudge of purple lipstick that she would never wear smeared across his collar. But in true Upper East Side fashion, she closed her eyes to the signs and told herself everything was okay.
She could pretend to believe him. She could imake/i herself believe him. But she's a Waldorf and there's only so much of this she can take, so she packs her bags (or rather, gets Dorota to do it for her) and puts on her shortest Herve Leger dress and highest Manolo Blahnik heels and walks out the door.
"Blair, don't do this," he says as she's boarding her private plane. Blair can see the sweat on his brow and she can tell that he'd probably ran to catch up with her and it makes her feel a little better, but she's heard too many false promises (ifrom Serena, from Nate, from her parents, and most of all from Chuck/i) so she resolutely keeps walking until she feels his hand tugging her back down. "Please."
She swallows down a lump in her throat and says, "Can you honestly promise me that this will never happen again?"
There's silence.
"I love you," he says. A year ago those words would have sent her flying into his arms. Three months ago it actually did. But those words aren't the ones she needs to hear.
"Can you promise me?" she says. "Chuck, if you really do love me, then you can do that for me." He's the only one she needs. Why can't she be that for him?
He doesn't answer. Blair waits for what seems like an age for him to answer, but it never comes.
It's a near-perfect parallel to the White Party from last year, she thinks, and she can appreciate the symmetry even as, once again, the sound of the silence breaks her heart.
Once again, he can't tell her what she needs to hear.
And once again, she's surprised that she's surprised.
She turns to climb the stairs to board the plane but, on a second thought she turns back and slaps him on the face hard enough to leave the pink outline of a hand on his cheek.
She feels more like herself than she has in months.
Like Paris is Rome's parallel, London is New York's. And since familiarity is comfort (and because she doesn't feel like putting up with endless questions from her father and Roman about why she decided to take indefinite time off before going to college), she chooses the city that's most like her own.
Predictably, her mother calls the next day, irritable because of how she had 'forgotten' to tell her that she had decided to skip NYU and move indefinitely to London. And predictably, she weighs Blair down with expectations and social obligations. There's a party to attend hosted by the Astors (who, again very predictably, Blair has never heard of but are apparently close friends of her family) and her mother expects her to make a good impression. In other words, don't mess up.
She could refuse, but old habits die hard and she's never been able to say no to her mother, because after all this time, there's something about that ephemeral Eleanor Waldorf stamp of approval that haunts her.
Being Blair Waldorf, she's always prepared. There's a demure dark green dress and there's pearls and tights and high heels.
As she's out the door, she feels for a tiny moment like she felt before it all happened, but the moment passes and she feels worse than ever.
Precisely four minutes later (since she only really had to take the elevator down to the ground floor of Claridge's to get there) , she's at the party and shaking hands with the hostess, a short, dumpy woman who somehow manages to seem regal and stately and warm and friendly at the same time. "Thank you so much for having me," Blair says politely.
"No trouble at all, darling," she replies. "You do look so beautiful."
"Thank you," Blair says demurely, casting her eyes down. She's playing by the same old script as she has done countless times, and she plays her role like no other. Except this time, instead of ending with betrayals that slice like scalpels, it's going to end differently. And most of all, ibetter./i Only the charade is wearing thin and she finds herself searching for an excuse to bow out. Unluckily for her there's a couple walking past that Mrs. Astor just feels compelled to introduce her to.
"Lucius, Narcissa, you imust/i meet this charming young girl here," she said.
"Blair Waldorf," she says with a sickeningly sweet smile.
The man (Lucius, she supposes) raises his eyebrows at Mrs. Astor and Blair can hear her whisper something that sounds like, "Muggle." Only that's not a word – and she's pretty sure she's memorized the whole dictionary after all that SAT prep – so she probably heard wrong.
"Lucius Malfoy." He shakes her hand like he expects her to break any moment, one of those I'm going to be very careful not to shatter your fragile feminine bones kind of handshakes. Feeling perverse, Blair's hand tightens around his like a vice as she continues to smile sweetly. Mr Malfoy looks surprised for a moment, but then his lips curl up into a smile. "And my wife, Narcissa."
This woman reminds her of her mother – stately, regal, and stand-offish. Except this woman is blonde-haired and blue-eyed while her mother has dark hair and eyes.
"Pleasure," she says as she shakes Mrs. Malfoy's hand.
"Blair is about Draco's age," Mrs. Astor tells the Malfoys. "They'd be nice company for each other, I think."
"Unfortunately Draco had another engagement," Mrs. Malfoy says coolly. "Maybe next time." The Malfoys have the air of people who are trying to see the good in people they don't usually associate with – the same air she has with Dan Humphrey, in fact. Blair gets the impression that she doesn't really want Draco to associate with her. It's a new thing and it leaves Blair feeling rather shocked, as she's always been every parent's dream, the ultimate good influence.
"In that case, Blair, we'd better find you someone else your own age! We wouldn't want you getting bored, now, do we?" Mrs. Astor says. "Excuse us, Lucius, Narcissa." Blair wonders if she has any idea that she already is bored, but she grins and plays her part well as the spotlight follows her along.
He can hear Ron's voice beside him. "Honestly, Harry, don't you think you're taking this Auror stuff a little too far?"
"It's our job to investigate people who seem...suspicious."
"Well, you're the one who wanted to save Malfoy's life in the first place."
"It's his dad I'm worried about, not him!"
"Hermione!" Ron turns to her to back him up.
"Not getting involved," she replies. "Boys," Harry hears her say under her breath and he grins in spite of himself.
All of a sudden, though, he feels himself being dragged away from Ron and Hermione and he nearly jumps and turns around quickly. But it's just Mrs. Astor, the hostess of the party and next to her is a girl he's never seen before. And he's pretty sure he'd remember if he had. She's the kind of beautiful that makes you want to look again and again – not the obvious, supermodel kind of beauty, but not the girl-next-door type either. She's got lovely, doll-like features and dark hair and pale skin and red lips and she looks nothing like Ginny. But she's beautiful.
He's glad when Mrs Astor breaks him out of his reverie. "Harry Potter, this is Blair Waldorf. Blair, this is Harry Potter." Harry sees a twinge of annoyance in Blair's eyes and thinks that he can relate and that maybe this girl can iunderstand./i Understand what it's like to feel like you're constantly on display. And even though that's all guesswork he feels a certain affinity to her nonetheless.
"Hi," he greets her.
She smiles and it's effulgent in its emptiness. "Pleasure."
"I'll leave you young people to your devices, then," Mrs. Astor says. "Enjoy the party."
"I'm sure we will," Blair Waldorf says brightly (but he notes that her eyes don't match her mouth). "Thank you so much for having us."
There's an uncomfortable silence when they're left alone (or, at least, awkward for him). "So, er, how old are you?" he asks awkwardly.
"Eighteen. You?" she says but he can tell that she's not really that interested in his answer.
"Twenty," he says and puts his hands in his pockets because he's not really sure what to do with them. "So, are you in London for business or pleasure?" he asks. He's not good at this – social graces were never his forte – and he feels even more awkward than usual for some reason. Maybe it's because this girl isn't asking him questions about his scar or Voldemort or anything else, and it's refreshing to have to make an effort. But still, it makes him nervous.
"Neither," she says with an almost imperceptible sigh. Her eyes look distant and kind of sad and he's always been the curious kind and that, combined with what Ron called his 'hero complex' and Dumbledore had called his 'moral fibre,' makes him wish he were a Legilimens so he could see why she looks that way. A girl who looks like that belongs in a castle with a white knight and not in a place where she obviously doesn't really want to be and with a guy who has a girlfriend. But he's never learned how to read minds and so he's left wondering, because she doesn't say anything more and doesn't seem like she wants to.
"Where were you before this?" he asks, hoping for some clues.
"New York."
There's something in her tone that forbids him from asking questions and she's extremely intimidating for some reason, but he tells himself that she can't possibly be more frightening than Voldemort and so he clears his throat and says, "Was it anything like this?"
This elicits a longer response from her (thank God). "It's always the same," she answers, seeming somehow dissatisfied, but then her demeanour changes altogether and she's looking at him as if challenging him to pity her and he can't help but feel that he'd almost rather cross Voldemort than cross her. "Same shit, different assholes."
While it's an improvement, he isn't really getting anything from her at all and it's driving him crazy. And he knows he shouldn't, but he can't help shooting a nonverbal babbling charm at her as she looks over her shoulder at nothing in particular.
"So, really, what brings you to London?" he asks now and his stomach does a flip-flop in anticipation of her answer and he doesn't why she's doing this to him. She's just a girl – a beautiful girl, but a girl nonetheless. Plus, he has a girlfriend and this girl with her cool demeanour and her intimidating attitude is everything he hated about Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins personified.
"I just want to escape," she blurts and she looks horrified with herself for saying it but a stream of words comes rushing out of her mouth anyway. "From my ex-boyfriends and my mother and my whole stupid life. Serena did. And she's the only reason I stayed after everyone found out that I slept with Chuck after breaking up with Nate. And Nate hasn't spoken to me since we broke up again. I almost wish I'd stayed with him, because at least Nate didn't cheat on me. Or, at least, this time he didn't. It just figures, because I'm never number one in anything. Nelly Yuki beats me in school and my father put his male model boyfriend before our family and my mother chose Serena over me and Nate slept with Serena while we were going out and Chuck chose his life of polygamy with his various whores over a life of monogamy with me." She takes a gulp of air just as a man comes over with a tray of drinks and she grabs a glass of white wine and drinks it down in a few gulps. He lifts the spell, feeling massively guilty, as if he'd just eavesdropped on a private conversation or something.
"I'm sorry," he says and it means not only, iI'm sorry that stuff happened to you,/i but also, iI'm sorry I made you say that stuff./i But it's not like she'll ever need to know that last part. It's not like he'll ever tell her.
"I don't need your pity," she retorts, self-disgust covered with a facade of coldness that spreads over her face like a mask.
"Sorry," he apologizes quickly (because she honestly rather scares him).
"Don't apologize."
"Sorry – oh, sorry...I..." He can see her mouth twitching and it encourages him for some reason. "Do you want to go somewhere private and...talk?" He has no idea why he's saying any of this, except that she's beautiful and broken and even though she's told him so much he still wants to know more.
"Talk," she repeats and he can't tell if it's a question or what but he nods.
"Yeah, er, I mean, if you stay in this hotel, then, er, we could maybe go to your room and..." He shrugs, wondering if he's coming across in the wrong way or if he just looks stupid or what.
"Talk?" she finishes and there's a hint of a smile there that encourages him.
"Exactly," he says and she seems to consider him for a few moments.
"Sure," she says and she walks toward the lobby without looking back and they take a silent elevator ride up to the penthouse suite.
When the elevator dings and the doors slide open, it's like time suddenly speeds up because before he has time to think her lips are pressed against his and then the door's open and then he's lying on the bed and she's on top of him. And he knows it's wrong but it's kind of hard to remember that he has a girlfriend (or anything else, for that matter) when Blair's nails are digging into his chest harder and harder and she's kissing him harder and harder and harder. When it comes to the point that it really does hurt (and quite a bit, actually) he finds himself regaining his sense of reality and he's about to push her away (but igently/i) but she stops kissing him as abruptly as she started. Harry blinks stupidly as he sees her wiping tears away from her face and almost falling off the bed before almost running to the bathroom, her breath coming in gasps and tears now streaming down her face.
He lies in bed and tries to shut out the sound of retching and gagging and sobbing from the bathroom and wonders how he got there.
And now he just feels stupid.
But he thinks he'd rather feel stupid than have the feeling of overwhelming guilt wash over him when Blair emerges from the bathroom, face impeccably made up once again, but her eyes were red and she was sniffling and it's his fault. Because if he'd just told her that he had a girlfriend then this wouldn't have happened. It's unfair, and not just to him or to Blair but also to Ginny and even Ron and Hermione.
"I think you should leave now," she says and he privately agrees as he walks out the door and she closes it behind him.
In the elevator, there's a mirror, and he sees his face there, tears on his face that aren't his own and his mouth smeared in red lipstick that looks like blood. He wipes them off but he can still feel it burn and sting where they used to be.
"How did it go?" Hermione asks when he gets back.
"It went okay," he lies. "Let's go, there's nothing to see here."
"I told you so," Ron says and Harry would hit him on the back of the head but he still feels too guilty to do it.
He waits a week before tracking her number down and calling her up for drinks.
He doesn't know why but he does. It's like she's a particularly exciting book that he hasn't finished reading, and he knows it's not right and it's not fair to anyone involved, but he can't stay away. Anyway, he won't let anything happen again. It'll be different this time.
"Thanks for meeting me," he says when they have their drinks.
She doesn't answer, merely pops an olive into her mouth and stares at her drink like it's the most interesting thing on earth.
"Look, Blair, I – " He starts to apologize but she cuts him off.
"I don't even know why you asked me to meet you here in the first place," she says. "I humiliated us both."
He doesn't really know what to say. "I don't know," he says. "I just...you know. I was hoping we could be...friends?"
"Friends," she repeats incredulously. "So, what, we're just supposed to ignore what happened? You offering to go to my hotel room to 'talk' and then me...?" She trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished.
"It was just an idea," he says, defensive now. "And, for the record, I really did want to just talk." Blair is actually kind of a ibitch/i but for some reason he likes that about her. It's a refreshing change and judging by all the stuff she told him it kind of seems like she has a ireason/i to be one.
She puts another olive into her mouth and in the long silence that follows he wonders if she's going to throw it up later. He hopes not. He thinks that she's thinking about it but she could just be waiting for him to say something.
She presses her lips together before she says, "I'd like that."
"Good," he says and as they exchange tentative smiles he thinks that maybe they have an understanding and that maybe, imaybe,/i this might just work.
Blair doesn't know why she said that she wants to be Harry's friend, but she can guess that it has something to do with her missing having someone to talk to and how he knew everything anyway after that embarrassing slip of the tongue, and because she's sorry that she tried to use him to forget about Chuck (but of course it didn't work and her plan backfired on her as usual. Typical. She curses herself for being so weak).
And just like that, her social calendar includes a drink or two (never more than two; she's learned her lesson about overindulging) with Harry every few nights or so. He talks a lot about his two friends called Ron and Hermione, who he says have stuck by him through everything (although he never specifies what he means by ieverything/i) but when she asks once if she can meet them, he blushes and changes the subject. Blair doesn't push it. He probably thinks that she'll act like a complete freak in front of them, like she did with him when they met.
Once he mentions someone named Ginny and he's never mentioned her before, so she says, "Who's Ginny?"
He blushes again. "My girlfriend."
She takes some time to digest this. So Harry has a girlfriend. She's actually not that surprised when she thinks about it (because when has any guy in the history of the world invited a girl up to her hotel room to 'talk' and not actually mean 'make out' by 'talk'?) but she's not sure if she should be mad or indifferent about it. In the end she settles for indifferent because she's gotten used to having company and anyway she kissed him (but she still wishes he'd told her before, because that would have made this so much less messy).
"Oh," she says. "Okay." But they're a little distant the rest of the night.
"Tell me about your friends," he says one day suddenly and she's so surprised that she does, tells him about beautiful, sunny Serena and adorable, clueless Nate and the guy who thinks might be the love of her life, Chuck. She tells him about how she's been in Serena's shadow her whole life. How her own mother sometimes chooses Serena over her (and how she has the nerve to parade Blair around at parties like a show pony, and how she places so many expectations on her that she can't possibly fulfil). But that Serena's the closest thing she has to a sister and can make her feel like it's all going to be okay when no one else can. She tells him about how Nate cheated on her with Serena. How they'd been going out together since kindergarten and how he'd been getting more and more distant since that wedding and how she'd clung on tighter the harder he tried to break free. She tells him about how she slept with Chuck in a limo after they broke up, and then how she got back together with Nate at Cotillion. She tells him about how everyone found out about her indiscretions and how she lost everything. She tells him of Chuck's own indiscretions and his lies and his cheating and betrayal and how he'd told her that he loved her and how that wasn't enough.
She tells him everything.
He's a remarkably good listener. He's attentive and he's sympathetic and he doesn't interrupt her once.
"It sounds like you really love him," he says when she finishes telling him about how Chuck, once again, couldn't tell her what she needed to hear.
Blair doesn't answer but she doesn't really need to (and she really doesn't want to). Just looks down at her half-finished martini and circles the rim of the glass with her finger.
"He's an idiot," she hears Harry say suddenly after a long silence and she looks back up with surprise. "Chuck, I mean," he adds. "He's completely blind and if I met him I'd want to punch him."
"Thanks," she says (and she means it).
That night she thinks about Chuck.
She thinks about how the ache in her chest that she's had since she left him in the airport and how it's almost gone now and wonders if maybe she's starting to finally get over him or if martinis and miles have made the wound go numb.
With shaking hands, she reaches for her phone and checks her inbox for the first time since arriving in London. It's full. There are two messages from her mother, two from her father, nineteen messages from Serena, seven from Nate, and a hundred and seventeen from Chuck.
She reads them all (she's always been a masochist).
All of Chuck's messages go along the same lines. iI miss you/i...iPlease come back/i...But none of them contains the promise that she wants to hear.
She puts down her phone.
Blair then thinks about Harry and how he's her first genuine guy friend (Nate and Chuck don't really count, since she's slept with both of them) that she doesn't want to kiss.
She thinks about how he looks at her with piercing green eyes that look like the emerald earrings her mother sometimes wears. Like he never wants to blink. She knows it's inappropriate and it's wrong, but it makes her feel a little better.
Blair picks her phone up again and sends everyone a message saying that she's alright and that she misses them all but that she isn't going to come back anytime soon and then deletes all of her messages.
It's time to move on.
Harry's not sure how it's come to this place.
He's not sure how he feels about Blair; just that he can't stay away from her. She's beautiful, but she's also broken and he just wants to fix her (he curses his tendency to have to play the hero all the time). Also, Blair's enigmatic and she makes him have to make an effort, which is a refreshing change.
But Ginny, Ginny iknows./i Blair understands (what it's like to have expectations you're not sure you can fulfil, what it's like to have everyone watching you), but she doesn't know anything about him. And she can't. Not only because he can't tell her but because she wasn't there. She hasn't become been a part of his world until after everything was all over. Ginny's always been there. And he loves her.
He never does anything that's technically wrong but he still can't help feeling guilty whenever he meets Blair or even thinks of her and that's why he never talks about her with Ron or Hermione or Ginny (especially not Ginny). Also because he kind of doesn't want to share her with anyone yet (because he's afraid that she'll find someone else more fun or interesting and stop needing him, and he won't admit this to anyone but he kind of likes being needed now that no one really needs him anymore).
All these feelings are messy and he wishes they didn't have to get in the way all the time. Because, aside from that Blair is beautiful and broken and enigmatic, he genuinely enjoys spending time with her. She's witty and intelligent and never boring and it's nice to talk to someone who has no idea who he really is or what he's done. She's far from perfect (she's bitchy and irrational sometimes and he doesn't know how to act around her sometimes) but he likes that too.
Sometimes he feels like he wants to kiss her, but he loves Ginny and it would kill her and he doesn't think Blair really wants him to, so he never does.
He likes to make her laugh.
It makes him feel like he's doing something to make her feel better. And so then ihe/i feels better.
Sometimes he makes her laugh unintentionally. It's a little embarrassing, but he doesn't really mind so much for some reason.
One day they're walking into the bar together and he's telling her about how Hermione found Ron's copy of iTwelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches/i the other day (only he said iwomen/i instead of iwitches/i, of course) and she's laughing when he feels someone step on the back of his shoe and he stumbles.
"Sorry," he hears the person behind him say and he turns around and it's the last person he would have expected to see walking into a Muggle bar.
"Draco," he says. And he's not sure when he started to think of him as iDraco/i and not iMalfoy/i, but he's never called him by his first name to his face before. He can see Draco's poorly disguised surprise and he's feeling awkward, but the moment passes.
"P – Harry," Draco says, but he's looking at Blair and Harry doesn't really have to look at her too to see that she's looking at Draco.
"This is Blair Waldorf," he introduces her to Draco before saying to her, "And this is Draco Malfoy."
The smile spreads slowly across her face and it's almost thoughtful. Like she's testing something out. "Pleasure," she says.
"Likewise," he replies and they shake hands (and this could be his imagination but Harry thinks that their eyes lock for a moment longer than necessary).
"Well, we should – " Harry says, trying to stave off an awkward moment.
"Join us for drinks," Blair interrupts him, eyes fixed on Draco and Harry prays that Draco's busy with something else because he can tell that his slightly irrational fear of Blair finding someone cooler than him and not needing him anymore might just be realized if Draco has drinks with them. Only it'll be worse because it's iDraco Malfoy/i, his former enemy (although he has no idea what Draco is now), which would not only make it awkward but embarrassing.
Harry looks at Draco, trying to convey that he's not really welcome with his eyes, but predictably Draco's eyes are on Blair and not him, so he doesn't get the message. "Alright," he says.
There's a glint in Blair's eye as she smiles at Draco that he's never seen before and it makes him nervous and causes him to stumble like an idiot on the way to the table.
He has a really bad feeling about this.