Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including, but not limited to, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., INC. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
A/N: Consider this a warning. This story is SLASH fiction. That means it contains homosexual relationships, mainly male/male. If you do not like slash, please leave. Sadness ensured in this chapter.
More notes at the end...
Faithful
Chapter One
Harry came home late on Wednesday and went straight into the bathroom. His expensive, white dress shirt came undone and went into the hamper specified for the whites. When Harry was showering, Draco went over and picked up the white shirt. He brought it up to his nose, and breathed in deeply. His world stopped; the scent was unfamiliar.
Eyes cold, the blond put the shirt back into the hamper, and went downstairs to the living room. He read his book until midnight.
Harry did not come down to say goodnight.
Harry came home early the next day, but only to gather his things for his usual Quidditch game with his friends. Draco had packed the clothes Harry needed the morning before he went to work. A pair of flexible pants, a loose white shirt, a towel, a water bottle, dragonhide gloves and shoes, and goggles were all tucked in neatly in the handsome gold and red sports bag. Draco had set it down on Harry's side of the bed before heading down to the potions shop. He had a long day ahead, but he knew it would be easier for him when Harry called. Harry always called before he headed out for the game, and he always said, "I love you, Dray. I gotta go before the boys get angry at me."
Then they'd laugh, and hang up on the magic-phone. Draco would be happy, and relieved, but more importantly, excited to come home to Harry.
Harry did not call him once, and when Draco got home, the house was empty.
He came home late again that night, clad in his normal clothes, hands clutching the red and gold sports bag. Harry closed the door behind him, and saw Draco waiting at the dining table, hands closed around a cup of tea. He walked over, and planted a light kiss on the blond's head, and left for a shower upstairs.
Draco smelled the unfamiliar scent again. Unfortunately, it was no longer unfamiliar.
He walked up to the laundry room again, and saw Harry's sports bag thrown against the hamper. It was zipped up, and clean. Funny, Draco thought, the bag was usually covered in dirt. He picked up the bag, unzipped it, and looked inside.
Nothing had been touched. Harry did not go play Quidditch today.
Draco's lips formed a tight line on his face, and he dropped his head.
'No, this can't be,' he thought. 'A few more days, a few more days.'
Harry came out of the shower then, and, in only his towel, he saw Draco holding the clean bag. He muttered something about having to go back to work and walked quickly into the bedroom.
Draco did not say anything when he saw the bite marks on the back of Harry's neck, and the scratches on his chest. Knuckles white with tension, he dropped the bag, and went downstairs. He poured himself a glass of strong vodka, and downed it in one go. The alcohol settled his nerves, but his heart still ached.
'A few more days.'
Draco woke up to bright sunshine and clear, blue skies. Today would be a good day, he decided, because today was Friday. And Harry and Draco always spent Fridays together at the waterfront, rain or shine, just to see the ocean crash against the tall, black rocks. Today would be a good day because they would have lunch together, the sea in between their bites, and kisses in between their conversation. Today would be a good day because today, Harry was going to be with Draco the entire day.
Draco looked over to find Harry already out of bed. 'Must be making breakfast,' he thought pleasantly. Getting out of bed, he put on a dark green shirt, and went downstairs. His foot clapped against the wood floor, the sound echoing in the empty house.
Draco knew it was empty because he smelled no bacon, heard no pans, and saw no Harry. Instead, he saw a note tapped to the mirror next to the front door.
Draco,
Got called into work today. Can't escape it.
Sorry,
Harry
Draco looked into the mirror and saw his own grey-blue eyes flash with hurt and disappointment. He hands crumpled the note, and he threw it at the door, the note pitifully bouncing back at him. It touched his bare foot, and Draco could feel it stinging against his skin.
It was night time, and the sun had already set. Instead of moping around without his lover, Draco decided to be productive. He cleaned the entire house, did all the laundry, fixed the garden outside, and even flew a couple laps around the house. He was feeling great, and he felt that nothing bad would happen. With dinner, he even made a special meal consisting of all of Harry's favorites. A bottle of old, vintage wine was brought out and iced next to the dinner table. All of the fine china was laid out evenly against the new tablecloth, and Draco himself was wearing a new, expensive polo, and dark washed jeans. He looked irresistible, and he hoped that Harry thought so, too.
As the candles on the table burned, Draco waited for Harry to come home. Sure, dinner had been ready hours ago, but that didn't matter. After all, he could always use his wand to heat dinner right back up, and there were always spare candles in the drawer.
Another hour went by, and the candles burned dangerously low. Draco was hungry; his stomach was already growling loudly for attention, but he ignored this. He looked at the clock mounted on the wall, and saw the time. Fifteen minutes past ten. Where the fuck was Harry?
'No worries,' he thought, 'must be a busy day at the office.'
He ignored the fact that Harry's work got out at seven.
Draco grew tired suddenly, both from the the bottle of wine he downed and the emotions he felt. He blew out the candles, and without cleaning up, he went upstairs, and got in bed. He willed himself to sleep, and in a few minutes, darkness came and took him away.
At six o'clock in the morning exactly, Draco sprang awake, and saw the empty spot next to him. He cursed to himself, and quickly walked downstairs to see if Harry came home. No, the kitchen was empty. No, the bathroom was dry. No, the living room was lifeless.
Harry did not come home last night.
It was Saturday, and Saturdays were even more special than Fridays. On Saturdays, Harry and Draco spent the day at home, lounging around doing nothing more than kissing, hugging, and making love. It was like Sundays for them, but then again, Sundays were even more special than Fridays and Saturdays combined. On Sundays, they would go to Ron and Hermione's for brunch, and they spent the day with the other couple talking about life, children, politics, and the past. On Sundays, Harry and Draco got to be couple they always were.
But today was Saturday, and Draco did not want to think about Sunday until it came.
'Harry must have been too tired to fly home, and probably slept in a local hotel or something.'
Draco quickly decided that he must be ready for Harry when he came home, and went upstairs for a hot shower to wash away the trails his tears left behind, and the bed-hair from sleeping so un-Malfoy-like last night.
The water felt good against his skin, but not good enough to stay in there longer than fifteen minutes. He dried himself with a towel, and dressed his toned body in loose-fitting jeans, and a black t-shirt. He didn't have to look nice; he wasn't going anywhere! After all, today was Saturday, and on Saturdays, he spent the entire day in his house with Harry.
Draco went downstairs and sat on the couch again. He waited. It was only seven in the morning, but that was okay. Draco wasn't tired, and he wasn't hungry. All he wanted to do was wait for Harry, and that was exactly what he did.
At exactly nine o'clock, the doorknob rattled, and Draco jerked up from his seat. He quickly relaxed, however, deciding that he must not seem too ready for Harry to come home. His heart pumped loudly in his chest.
The door opened, and Harry stepped inside. Draco suddenly felt like crying.
Harry's hair was tousled, more than usual, and his shirt was halfway unbuttoned. His lips were red and puffy, like they usually were when Draco and Harry kissed passionately, and there was a large discoloring on his neck. A hickey, Draco saw, a hickey that wasn't there on Thursday.
"Where were you?" Draco was surprised at the weakness in his voice.
Harry jumped slightly when he heard Draco's voice. He saw the dining room table filled with all of his favorite treats, and the candles that burned to the very bottom. His heart twitched, and he was suddenly filled with a sense of regret.
"Nowhere," he whispered.
Draco felt angry. His hands began to clench into a fist, and felt himself ready to hurl the Chinese lamp at his raven-haired lover. He got up.
"Where the fuck were you, Potter?" Draco was seething.
Harry didn't answer, and instead, headed toward the stairs. Draco was at his side in an instant, his hands fiercely grabbing Harry's arm. He pulled Harry against him, and planted a painful kiss on his lips. Harry struggled to get free, and only did so when Draco pushed him against the wall.
"Don't you dare tell me fucking nowhere, Potter. Who is it?"
Harry's eyes got big from behind his skewed glasses. "What are you talking about?"
"I said, who the fuck is it, Potter?! Who's the one leaving bite marks on your neck? Who's the one who gave you that blasted hickey? Who have you been fucking?"
Harry looked down at his feet. Draco was crying; the tears rolled down his face and onto his black shirt. His eyes had turned stone-grey. A dangerous flush had risen from his neck, and for the first time in his life, Harry was scared.
Harry didn't answer the questions.
Draco, body stiff, turned away from Harry. He looked out the window and saw the sun beginning to warm the grass on the front yard.
"Who's more important than me?"
Harry heard the hurt in Draco's voice. He didn't know what to say, or what to do. It was too late now.
"Draco, I ..."
"Who is it?"
Harry swallowed hard. "Someone."
Draco closed his eyes and felt his legs grow weak. So it was true. All of his denial was worth nothing. There was someone.
"Who is it?"
A long pause.
"Ginny."
Draco's body shook from disbelief, from hurt, from pain, from everything. "Why?"
Harry blinked as his heart broke in half. "Why what?"
"Why did you go back to her? Wasn't I enough?"
"Times change, Draco. It just happened. Stop blaming yourself."
Draco ignored him. "Did you give her the job at the office?"
Time stopped, and Harry knew it was definitely too late now.
"Yes."
Suddenly, a vase was hurled against the wall. It shattered into a million pieces, the red blending in with the white, the flowers crushed and cut from the sharp edges of the broken porcelain. Draco bent down and grabbed a handful of the mixture. His blood dripped.
Harry moved to help Draco, but stopped when he saw the cold in the ex-Slytherin's eyes.
"Get out."
Harry looked away. Draco's voice was filled with venom.
"Get out. Get out, and go to Weasley."
"Draco, I lo-"
"GET THE FUCK OUT, POTTER." Draco threw the shards towards Harry. He missed, and when he did, he sank to the floor, and held his knees against his body. He rocked himself back and forth.
"Please leave."
Harry nodded. He wanted this. He must tell himself that he wanted this. Ginny was the one for him. Ginny. Ginny. Ginny. That stupid bitch, Ginny. Yes, he loved Ginny. No, he did not love Draco. Ginny. Ginny. Ginny. Not Draco. Ginny.
He went upstairs to grab his things. Ginny. He pulled out a small box, and started to shrink all of his belongings into the box. Ginny. There goes his socks and his shirts. His red sweater that Draco helped him pick out one Spring ago. Ginny. His pants, and his shoes. His coat that Draco bought for him on Christmas three years ago. Ginny. His underwear and his pajamas. His dark blue scarf from France that Draco sent to him in the mail five years ago. Ginny.
As he emptied the closet of his things, Harry saw a photo of him and Draco at the bottom of his drawer. It was of them, age nineteen, young, and completely in love. They had been together for only a few months at the time of the picture, after having discovered their affection for each other at a mutual friend's party. Harry, in the picture, was holding a sleeping Draco in his arms. Wisps of blond falling on his sleeping face, Harry, in the picture, had bent down to plant a kiss on Draco's forehead. His hands pushed the hair behind Draco's ear, and the green eyes looked lovingly to the sleeping dragon.
Ginny.
Harry put the picture on top of his things, careful enough not to bend it, and put the small box in his backpack. He went downstairs to find Draco still on the floor, sitting against the wall, eyes closed, tears running down his cheeks.
Ginny.
"Get out," Draco whispered.
Harry put his hand on the doorknob, and turned it. He left without another sound, and clicked the door close behind him. Draco felt the spring breeze cold on his hot tears.
On the other side, Harry leaned his head on the front door. He was tired, and he was sad.
Ginny. Ginny. Ginny. Fuck Ginny. He had made a mistake.
But it was too late now.
"I'm sorry, my love."
Harry turned briskly, and walked down the path of his front lawn. His heart ached, and he felt as if his world had just come crashing down on him, and in a sense, it did. He took a look at the house one last time before Apparating to Ginny.
To be continued ...
A/N: This is my first attempt at a chapter story. Please bear with me as I try my best to get this story onto paper! Thanks for reading, and as always, please review!
