Disclaimer: "Listen close to everybody's heart / And hear that breaking sound / Hopes and dreams are shattering apart / And crashing to the ground" –Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog
Warnings: OOC, mention of OC, implied Slash, minor Language, general angst
A/N: Well, here it is, my traditional day-before-the-last-day-of-school-fanfic. Senior year has been everything I never hoped it would be and more, thus not much writing has been done. So it goes. Well, I graduate tomorrow, well technically today, and I hope to do a bit of writing over the summer, fingers crossed. In about three months I move to New York and we'll see what happens from there on out. So, without further ado, I give you…
I Can't Be Your Morphine
It is Monday, March 2nd. The setting: London. Though the street is illuminated slightly by neon signs advertising 24 hour bars and clubs, it has a rather dark feel to it. It is down this street that twenty-year-old Harry Potter strides confidently, though whether his demeanor is intended or rather a side effect to the blank, apathetic look in his eyes is anyone's guess. Harry has insomnia; he's had it for a while now. One would assume, living in a world of wizards, there would be some magical cure for the malady. There is, for mild cases, but some wounds just run too deep. Harry stops in front of a café that, until a moment ago, he believed to be closed. Now as he peers inside he notices a lonely waiter running a damp cloth across the tables. He takes a seat at a table in front of the building. The waiter will notice him eventually and, if not, well, at least it's a place to sit for a while. The clock chimes 11:30. It is Monday, March 2nd. But not for long.
Harry is not a vegetable. He has a fully-functioning mind, apart from the insomnia that is. People just like to believe he's troubled. It makes his story more tragic, more endearing, more attractive. The savior of humankind, alas, the war scared him deeply, touching story really, very admirable…from a distance. Harry doesn't bother to correct them, he doesn't mind the distance, in fact, he's found that he rather likes being alone. The waiter comes out and asks if he's like anything. Harry orders coffee, black, no sugar, thank you. 11:45.
Harry is half-way through his third cup of coffee. Decaf. Like he really needs another factor contributing to his consciousness. He hears a bang and his head automatically swivels in it' direction, his trained green eyes peering down the street. He sees a flash of platinum blonde hair and realizes he is smiling, ever so slightly. He quickly fixes that. It's not that he's pleased to see Draco, he really isn't, but he's not completely opposed to seeing him either. Draco spots Harry sitting in front of the café and heads over, taking a seat across from him. The clock chimes midnight.
"Hey." Harry doesn't bother to ask how Draco found him. During the war the members of the Order had all been subject to a certain unique tracking spell. It enabled any member to find and apparate to another member's location. Always. Without fail. In any situation. The catch: it was irreversible. Of course, this was no problem to most of the former members, as they were dead, but Harry still had the spell on him. So did Draco. He had been placed under it when he had switching sides after his parents were murdered by the Dark Lord himself. Surprisingly, or maybe not, Harry and Draco got on quite well together when they weren't fighting at every possible moment. A little too well some might say. Now Draco was the closest thing to a friend Harry had left. Funny how life works like that.
Draco doesn't respond, only looks straight ahead. His eyes wear a strange expression of exhaustion mingled with an alert energy.
"Hey, Draco." Harry tries again. "What brings you here at such a late hour?" Though Draco looks awful, Harry can't help but smile a bit, something, as you can imagine, he doesn't do that often. He really is fond of him.
Draco blinks, as if he's just noticed Harry and a groggy smile spreads across his face, "Oh, you know, nothing in particular."
Right off the bat Harry can tell he's lying. Harry can always tell when Draco's lying. He knows Draco better than anything alive, man or beast. Draco knows Harry can tell he's lying. Neither of them brings it up.
"Harry, can you hear the Thames?" Draco inquires after a moment.
Harry listens. In the stillness of the night he can, indeed, hear the sound of the river flowing nearby. He nods slowly, not sure where this is going. He has the beginning of a sinking feeling forming in his stomach, but he decides to ignore it. It really is nice seeing Draco.
"I really love that river, you know Harry. I mean, some people don't, some people think it's gross, all brown and mucky and messed up, weird, you know? But not me, I really like it. It's always there. I mean, you can wake up in the morning and you don't have to worry if the Thames is still flowing or not, 'cause it will be. Dependable. That's what that river is, Harry, dependable."
Harry nods again slowly. It's getting harder to ignore that feeling, it's rising up, like bile.
"Not like puddles. Puddles come and puddles go. It rains, they get all big and beautiful, but next thing you know, bam! They're gone, all dried up. The Thames never dries up."
He can't ignore it any longer, "Draco," he asks slowly, carefully, "are you drunk?" He already knows the answer.
"Drunk, Harry? Well…maybe, yes, maybe I am a little drunk…" At that moment he lurches forward on the table, his fist pounding on the wood as his body is raked with uncontrollable sobs. "Ryan broke up with me, Harry! He broke up with me! And things were going so well! Why, Harry, why did he break up with me, why, why, why?"
Harry's suspicions were confirmed. Ryan had been Draco's boyfriend for about a year now. Things started off okay, Harry had hurt a bit, but as long as Draco was happy, right? Then Draco fell in love. He was lost from then on out. About six months into the relationship Ryan broke up with him. Distraught, Draco found Harry who, being the good friend he was, had comforted him. The next week Ryan and Draco made up. Miraculous. Soon, though, the break ups became more frequent and Draco's reactions more intense. Every time Harry was there to comfort him. He suspected Ryan did it just to prove he could, to show he was the one in control. He wasn't sure if Draco's war-stricken psyche could take it much longer, but who was he to say anything. He sighs, and here he thought Draco had just wanted to see him. No such luck.
He reaches across the table and gives Draco a pat on the back, "Don't fret, chap, I'm sure he'll take you back. He always does."
"But what if he doesn't this time?" Draco moans, "What if he's gone for good?"
Then you're much better off, Harry thinks, but only says, "There, there, I'm sure he will." He starts to feel a little bit angry. Angry at Ryan for perpetually hurting Draco like this, angry at Draco for using Harry as a fall-back and angry at himself for consistently letting him. He should really talk some sense into him, tell him what he thinks. But he can't, he, what? Loves him too much? Harry snorts, He doesn't love anyone.
Draco calms down marginally, "Harry, I-I don't want to be alone tonight."
Harry grits his teeth. He's been through these same motions before, oh how he's been through them before! But he can't seem to stop himself, he can see himself falling, but there's no ledge to grab hold of. "Well, I'm right here and I'm not going anywhere." He says, knowing these aren't quite the words Draco wants to hear.
"Or-or you could, you know, come back to my place with me?" Draco suggests.
Harry closes his eyes, trying to combat the conflicting emotions. "Draco," he begins slowly, "I can't keep doing this, being your safety net for whenever Ryan dumps you."
Draco chokes back a sob and starts to protest.
"No. Stop. You know it's true. He dumps you. And you come crying to me. And I'm always here for you Draco, always!" Feelings he had been suppressing for months now came crashing to the surface, surprising Harry with their intensity. "And it's not fair to me, Draco, it really isn't! You know how I feel about you! You know that I…" he trails off, he can't bring himself to say it. "And it kills me, it really does, to see him hurt you like this over and over and over and know that I can't do anything to make it stop! It kills me to know the only reason you came here tonight was because of him! And it kills me to know that, even if I did come home with you tonight, it wouldn't mean anything to you! I would give the world for it to be real, and you know that, but it just wouldn't be, no matter how bad I wanted it! And that sucks, Draco, it really does! You know why? 'Cause I love you! There, I said it, happy? I love you and because of that I can't keep doing this! I can't be your morphine! I can't be the place you go when the world gets tough or scary or unpleasant because it's just not fair to me, okay? 'Cause tomorrow you'll wake up and you'll feel loads better and Ryan will take you back and your world will be filled with sunshine and rainbows and all things wonderful, and where will I be? I'll tell you! I'll wake up feeling like shit and all full of false hope and broken promises. You'll shove me into the gutter 'til your next big crisis, 'til the next time you need me to numb you from the big, scary world. And I just can't keep doing it! You understand, Draco, don't you?"
Draco just stared at him blankly.
"Draco?"
"Harry…" His eyes began to tear up.
Harry looks at his face and, despite everything, feels his heart begin to melt. He just looks so pitiful, so hurt, so vulnerable. And right now he needs Harry. And that, in turn, is what Harry needs. That is Harry's morphine. Just for a few hours. He had been condemned before he started and he knows it, he has known it all along. He would do this again and again and again and there was nothing he can do to stop himself. "Look, Draco, forget what I said. Forget it. Of course I'll come with you."
His face lights up just the tiniest bit, "You mean it?"
"Yeah…yeah, of course I mean it." Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe they wouldn't get back together. Maybe…he wasn't kidding anyone. Not even himself. He would wake up in the morning feeling worse than Draco looked. That was just the way it was. So be it. 1:00. It was Tuesday, March 3rd.