"ALONE. YES, THAT'S THE KEY WORD, THE MOST AWFUL WORD IN THE ENGLISH TONGUE. MURDER DOESN'T HOLD A CANDLE TO IT AND HELL IS ONLY A POOR SYNONYM."
– STEPHEN KING
Slender fingers riddled with callouses pinch the bridge of a pale, sloping nose. Vibrant emerald optics burn from exhaustion as a loud sigh fills the cramped cubicle. Inked words on parchment form a mess of black tangled vines through his hazy, unseeing vision. It all boils down to one thing: Harry Potter is tired.
Harry is tired of the stupid paperwork after running through marshes to capture a Dark wizard. Harry is tired of the unskilled Head Auror temporarily replacing Kingsley who drives him and Ron insane. Harry is tired of the soft whispers that trail after him in the Ministry hallways. But most of all, Harry is tired of being alone in his bloody flat.
The head of raven locks darts up when a wad of paper bounces off of it. Harry turns to see Ron with a knowing smile on his face as he hurls another at Harry's shoulder.
"C'mon mate, you're keeping us here longer than we need to be." Ron cajoles as an ink-stained finger taps the pile of parchment beside him.
It was double the size of Harry's pathetic stack. Nothing was a clearer sign of Harry's drifting attention than Ron completing his paperwork first. Heat floods his cheeks uncomfortably from being caught.
"Sorry Ron." He apologizes.
Ron easily brushes off the apology and Harry promptly drowns himself in a sea of parchment, ink pots and quills. Nimble hands cease scrawling over papers simultaneously with the time charm blaring in a hiss of scarlet sparks. It's time to go home. Harry stretches like a cat in his seat as Ron spells their completed paper work towards Eldritch's desk.
They gather their items and stride towards the Apparition point with sore muscles and ink smudged skin. Ron's shoulder bumps against Harry's to get his attention since his hands were occupied with his papers.
"Are you alright, mate? You seem a little off today." The redhead murmurs.
Ron kept his voice pitched low to avoid their conversation from being overheard. Harry can't resist a smile at the hint of discomfort in Ron's voice. The redhead clearly has a vague idea about Harry's odd countenance.
"Just missing Malfoy a smidge." Harry confesses.
He has to stifle a laugh at the look of revulsion that flashed across Ron's face. When Rita Skeeter flooded The Prophet with lascivious theories on Harry's relationship with Draco, his friends surprised him by forming a protective shield for the duo instead of scorning them to the pits of Hell.
Harry always knew his friends would stand by him but he didn't quite believe it until it actually happened. Hermione, as per usual, took the news in stride. Ginny and George teased him incessantly. Arthur and Molly had been overjoyed for Harry. Ron had the hardest time coping with the idea of his best friend dating Malfoy.
Said redhead coughs awkwardly before giving Harry a reassuring pat on his shoulder.
"At least Malfoy is returning tonight." Ron consoles even as he scowls at the thought.
Harry laughs carelessly as his murky feelings dissipate in the face of Ron's discomfort. He'd never admit it but Draco had a point: making Ron uncomfortable could have highly amusing results.
"Thanks Ron." Harry smiles widely before steering the conversation to a safer topic: Quidditch.
This gets Ron talking and waving his hands about animatedly as Harry silently thanks whatever luck or external force that blessed him with wonderful friends. They part with hasty reminders of dinner at The Burrow next weekend before each Apparate home with loud cracks no Muggle would ever hear.
When Harry solidifies back into flesh outside his flat, a sigh of misery is let loose. Draco isn't home yet. Harry knows the second he unlocked his warded flat door. There's no flickering light from the fireplace that Draco adored and always kept aflame. There's no ornately lavish cloak hanging beside Harry's spare that Draco hated.
There's no vague scent of Harry's favorite meal that Draco painstakingly learned to make the Muggle way. There's no whipcord arms and soft blonde hair to welcome him home with Draco's routine embraces. There's no Draco in a place that's immersed in his scent and little touches which leaves Harry inches away from screaming.
Alone. Harry is alone in a place meant for him and Draco together and he can't stand it. Clenching fingers into a fist tightly, Harry inhales a deep breath once, twice, thrice before the agony clawing at his throat fades.
"I can handle this." He chants under his breath like a desperate mantra.
Shaking his head stubbornly, Harry stiffly moves about his flat in his normal routine. Barely an hour later, Harry is parked on the stupid leather sofa Draco picked out with scrubbed clean skin and freshly made lasagna. He squirms uncomfortably, as he always does every time he sits on it with no Draco to cushion the ridiculous surface, and chews mechanically.
Harry eats, Harry drinks, Harry reads, Harry writes, Harry breathes but Merlin Harry can't grasp the notion of happiness after these past seven days. Even now Harry doesn't understand this warped sense of dependency on Draco. He was utterly functional on his own before. Harry didn't crumble when his relatives shunned or mistreated him. Harry didn't fall apart at the discovery of Dumbledore's manipulation.
Hell, Harry didn't even flinch when Ginny left him all those years ago for Seamus.
"Yet here I am." He sneers quietly.
Harry stabs the metal fork into his meal with complete malice as the shadows dancing along the walls creep out towards him. Fingers tighten on the utensil hard enough to turn pale knuckles a starkly white as The Boy Who Lived mentally lectures his dysfunctional mind to grow a sodding pair.
"Fuck this." Harry hisses in anger.
His syllables curve into drawled Parseltongue, which happens often when Harry is positively livid, before he rises to his feet while exchanging the emptied plate for his wand from the table in one fluid motion. Red seeps across his vision as Harry grips his wand harder and mentally hunts for a place to demolish with spells and useless screams. An image of an old warehouse that's safely warded and abandoned after the completion of an Auror case flashes through his mind.
Perfect. Harry muses.
He swivels on his heel with blazing eyes and storms towards the doorway with the sole intent of ripping his cloak off of the hanger and Apparating out like a whirlwind. However, instead of running through the chilled air of his empty flat, Harry roughly smacks into a pillar of warm and solid flesh with his face.
"Damn it, Harry, you alright?" A familiar voice curses softly.
A pale hand rights his askew glasses into place before brushing over the bruised skin of his smarting nose. Harry's disorientation fades at the first letter spoken in the silky, deep tones that lulled him back to sleep each time dark nightmares haunted his mind.
"Draco." Harry stammers in disbelief as said blonde fixes his disheveled hair with a scowl of distaste and a chagrined face.
"Harry." Draco echoes condescendingly, a delicate eyebrow arched in apprehension.
Bewildered emerald optics make a quick scan over Draco's lithe form and mentally notes every scuff or wrinkle that could conceal a wound which Draco typically loathes to admit. He always made it a point to avoid getting injured for the sole reason of maintaining his pride and avoiding a plea for assistance, even if it was from Harry who never patronized him.
A relieved sigh bubbles out when Draco is uninjured and merely a little bruised here and there. Harry finally settles his gaze on Draco and quietly stares into his eyes with Draco staring right back as a silence infused with unspoken words ripples forth before encompassing the duo in charged air.
Pale fingers ghost across Harry's jaw before finally curving around his flushed cheek in a meaningful gesture fueled with unsaid affection that spoke volumes to Harry. The pressure increases marginally when Draco closes the little space between them to encase Harry's lips with his for a tender, reassuring kiss that shattered Harry's heart before seamlessly assembling the pieces back together into a stronger and warmer version.
Rage and chilling loneliness that knotted his stomach mere moments ago dissipate in an all-consuming haze of love and affection as Harry clings to Draco tightly as though the blonde was his only tether to the world. They finally part after seconds that passed in slow eons with breathless grins and burning gazes before Draco breaks the comfortable silence cocooned around them.
"Is it lasagna tonight?" He quietly inquires, astute senses picking up on the delicious scent still dusting the air.
Harry nods in reply as Draco squeezes his waist and steals another lingering kiss before heading for the kitchen with his usual cat-like grace. Harry quietly watches the blonde bustle about the kitchen in his muddied robe as the entire space seems to be energetic and lively just by having Draco stand there with golden strands shining under the Muggle fluorescent lights.
Chiseled cheekbones are displayed when Draco lifts his head up and forms a lopsided smirk that always enhances his angular features and makes Harry mirror the contagious grin.
"There's room for one more, Potter." Draco calls out, voice haughty as he tries to provoke a reaction.
Draco is seated upon the narrow counter with his meal resting in his lap and a wide smile on his face. It's all the cue Harry needs as he walks over and lazily slings an arm around Draco's slender waist. Harry buries his face into Draco's neck whilst Draco demurely devours the home cooked dish. Grime and dust and a scent that is pure Draco fills Harry's being and lulls him into peace as Draco subtly reminds Harry he isn't alone.
And he'll never truly be alone.
Mini Rant:
Just a little Drarry cause I ship them pretty severely and found this on my phone anyway. :D