Never Enough

Chapter Two: Emerald Enigmas

Toss, turn.

Draco had never had trouble sleeping before; absolutely nothing could keep him from getting rest. Even with all the other dates—menor women—he'd bring home with him that weren't entirely terrific, he wouldn't waste a minute's time wondering when the agony was going to end while he could spend it sleeping.

But Harry was different. Draco, even though knowing Harry for only a few hours, felt more comfortable with him than his old friends, as if he'd known Harry since forever. But Harry rarely spoke of himself, causing Draco to spend all night pondering about who Harry really was.

He didn't know how he was attracted to Harry. Whether it was the possibility of him being a druggie that made Harry seem dangerous and intriguing, or it been that Harry was incredibly handsome, or maybe plainly the fact that Draco was no longer alone, Draco was content with his situation.

One thought that burned in his mind, however, was Harry and drugs. Harry acted odd that night, so there was a chance that Draco's suspicion could be true. He didn't understand why it mattered so much. Sure, drug use is a factor that Draco was to some extent aware of, but that didn't really make him change his mind. He himself occasionally did ecstasy at rave parties he attended—used to attend, that is.

He could be his rude self and ask Harry "Are you on drugs, or is it the eczema making you so itchy?", but he didn't want to offend his potential date. But this person, Harry, he couldn't decipher the mystery that lay beneath his skin. Especially his eyes, small emeralds hidden behind circular spectacles; Draco couldn't get them out of his mind.

As for Harry, he had a great night's sleep, apart from the occasional feelings of sickness. He had placed a red mop bucket beside his bed lest his stomach turn against him. The next morning, Harry felt required to wake early, so he took a quick shower. He dressed in faded denims and a black sweatshirt. He assumed that he would run to the store to get groceries, because his pantry was almost bare. After the shopping, he would be back in time to do...absolutely nothing. He was on holiday at his job as a book sales clerk and had all the time in the world, at least for four more days. Nearing noon, Harry decided he would go to the Rustman's Pub, like every other day, but hoping to find something additional in the gloomy setting.
Draco didn't plan on having a "real" job. Thanks to being his father's only son, he inherited the extravagant empire his father had built, so he could roam free to do whatever the bloody hell he wanted. Mr. Lucius Malfoy owned a top-of-the-line clothing store simply called 'Lucius Designs'. But when his father died of heart failure two months back, Draco's mother, Narcissa, was overcome with grief. She committed suicide a few days later. Draco moved from his family's home in Sheffield to a flat in London a week after their funerals.

Draco lay in bed for nearly ten hours. When he become conscious of the fact that he was thinking miserable thoughts, he roused himself from the tangled blankets and walked to the bathroom. He stood at his mirror in front of the sink, thinking whether or not he should brush his teeth first or eat, he decided to take a shower instead. After his shower, he dressed in a gray button-down shirt and dark blue denims. He lazily strolled downstairs to his kitchen. Draco glared at the cupboards, indecisive on a choice in food. With that look, he snatched his keys and drove to the Rustman's Pub.

As Harry opened the door to the Rustman's Pub, he was disappointed to see the usual drunks scattered throughout the dark establishment. He dragged his feet to his accustomed spot on the bar and slumped in the stool.

"What are you up for today, Mr. Potter?" Jack the publican questioned.

"The strongest thing you have," Harry groaned miserably.

As Harry obtained his drink, he wallowed in disappointment, sipping the minutes away.

Three hours later, a familiar face walked in. Harry's melancholic state quickly shifted to delight when he saw Draco enter the quiet bar.

Draco took the seat directly next to Harry. "Hello, stranger," Draco said. Jack asked him what he wanted to order, but Draco didn't want anything.

"And hello to you. What took ya so long, mate?" Harry hiccupped.

"Long start to a short day. Do you live here or something?" Draco found it odd that he was here again, so early, although he was happy to see him once again.

"Close. I live down the street from 'ere." Harry replied. It was a few moments before either of the two said a word. Harry was too drunk to think of anything reasonable to talk about. Draco stared at Harry, noticing something new. He looked like he was crying for some time, because his eyes were red and watery.

"Is everything alright?" Draco eased in to his suspicion slowly.

"Yeah, everything's fine. Why?"

The blond paused, not knowing how to ask the question. "Do you," Draco didn't feel right asking now, "never mind."

"Do I what?" Harry's stomach dropped. The brunette knew what the other was going to ask—pertaining to his drug use, that is—he just wanted to hear Draco say it.

"Do you want to meet me at the Cafe Charmant, tomorrow morning?" Draco changed his plan quickly, giving him time to think about what he really was going to ask.

"Okay," Harry was relieved, knowing his secret was safe. "How 'bout 9ish?"

"That's fine," Draco said, returning a smile. He checked his wristwatch and said, "I have to go. I'll see you tomorrow, then?"

"Yeah, I have something to do now anyway," Harry replied, tapping his fingers impatiently. He got up and left some change on the countertop. Draco followed suit.

As Draco swiftly walked to his car, his eyes curiously followed where Harry was trudging. He saw Harry with another person that looked like they've been living on the streets for some time. Draco got into his car and, glancing back at Harry, guiltily spied on him. The stranger looked in all directions, then at Harry. Harry had something in his hand, looked to his left and right, and passed something to the stranger, and put something in his sweatshirt pocket. Draco went pale. His notion was proven true.

At that moment, Draco wanted to scream to the heavens. He thought that he went psycho, falling for a drug addict. But Draco wasn't going to let go of him that easily, for in terms of poetry, Harry was his drug.

As soon as Harry said his goodbye to Draco, he planned to meet someone nearby. This someone's name was Nick. Harry met Nick at a welcoming party on his floor two years ago. Harry had been quite strained with work, paying the bills; it was all too much. But the party was a night that Harry would never forget, for Harry found a new way to become de-stressed.

Harry and Nick became good acquaintances, and even better when Nick told him about his line of work. But different schedules and such made them steer in opposite directions, although they kept close touch because Nick was the only dealer Harry trusted.

It started out as merely pot; becoming hazy every now and then turned out to be a part of Harry's everyday schedule, even to the point of getting high before leaving his flat every morning. A few months after that he didn't feel a thing, so Nick slowly led him into more serious drugs like cocaine and meth. However, the effects of those drugs did not suit Harry, so finally Nick suggested heroin, and Harry was in love with the remedy.

Whenever Harry needed to restock his supply—usually every week or so—Harry and Nick met around the corner of the pub.

"You got it, mate?" Harry asked, looking around nervously.

"Yeah, you got yours?" Nick asked, as though Harry needed reminding of the charge. Harry pulled out a few fresh notes—eleven pounds.

"That's not much, mate, but it'll do for a few days," Nick said, also looking about causally with his sunken-in eyes. Harry quickly passed the money into the dealer's hands. He turned to face the wall, and Nick passed him the heroin. Hastily shoving it into his pocket, Harry hurried home. Nick retreated back to the alley, where he now lived.