(A/N): Okaaaay! Although I didn't get as many reviews as I would have liked, I appreciate those I did get, and am going to post this anyways. Keep in mind, this story is barely even getting off the ground, for it is going to be a multi-chapter fic - fairly long. Don't be too upset about the apparent lack of Draco so far; I promise, he comes into it before too long, and stays. There is just a bit of background that needs to be told. So, bear with me everyone, I promise LOTS of Harry/Draco goodness in due time. Furthermore, a lot of the plot in this story is being drawn from personal experience, first-hand, actually. As such, writing this makes me face a spectrum of feelings that I don't particularly like to speak of, but I believe that, because of this, I can write a fairly good story and possibly face some of my demons all in one go.

Disclaimer:

I do not own Harry Potter, or any part of the Potterverse.

The aforementioned was all devised by the wondrous J.K. Rowling

Phew! Sorry about the ridiculously long Author's Note. You're probably shaking your fists at the computer screen about now and shouting, "GET ON WITH IT!" Lol. I oblige:

Enjoy! ^-^

Chapter One

If there was anything that Harry missed more than his now-absent companion, it was the clever intuit, witty banter, and warm smile of Hermione Granger. He may not have the energy or motivation to do much visiting anymore, but that didn't mean he didn't miss his best friend.

The years that followed their time at Hogwarts and the downfall of a particular Dark Lord had been nothing but kind to Hermione. Her hair was pulled back into a tight, fashionable pony tail, streaming down to her shoulders in a silken ribbon; she had taken to using straightening tonics on her hair ever since spying the ad in Witch Weekly. Harry noticed that she must have just left work, for she was dressed very professionally, though not blandly. She donned a charcoal-grey pencil skirt and a red, silk blouse with a flourish of fabric at the lapel; she looked very chic.

"May I come in, or shall we take our tea on the steps?" she huffed, raising an eyebrow for added effect. Harry chuckled and stepped aside to allow her into the apartment, closing the door behind her and leading her into the kitchen.

"Tea, I presume?" Harry asked, raising his eyebrow at his best friend that showed he already knew the answer. Hermione only nodded as she leaned back against the opposite counter, her arms folded across her chest as she watched Harry prepare their tea intently. As Harry cut into a fresh lemon, he could feel Hermione's eyes boring through the back of his head, scrutinizing him with her studious gaze. He felt like he should say something; it had been quite some time since they had last spoke. Immediately following the incident with Aarron, Hermione had taken to visiting every few days, on occasion bringing Ron along, in hopes of cheering Harry up and lifting him from this rut. Her actions had come to no avail, quite obviously. This, however, was the first time she had come around in about two months. He couldn't help himself to wonder what reason was behind it.

Hermione smiled gratefully to him as he finished preparing the tea and held out a mug filled with the piping-hot, sweet-smelling drink. She closed her eyes as she sipped it delicately, Harry following suit, yet accompanied by a loud slurp.

"How have you been, Harry?" she asked, concern now visible in her chocolate eyes, worry stitched evidently into her brows.

"Alright, I suppose, 'Mione," he said with a shrug.

Hermione let out a loud sigh and stared down into her mug, watching the lemon slice swirl whimsically amongst the amber liquid. "Lying is pointless at this point, Harry," she said in an almost-whisper.

Harry studied her for a moment, giving his mind a few spare seconds to formulate a suitable response. Hermione could always see straight through him – hell, anyone for that matter. On more than one occasion he had accused her of being a highly skilled Legilimens. No, he supposed he couldn't lie. "I feel like shit, Hermione," he finally got out, frowning down at his hands that were clasping the mug; his knuckles were white, the blistering-hot ceramic threatening to shatter in his hands.

Hermione lowered her head and shook it slowly from side to side, sighing heavily in exasperation. She walked over to the young man and hooked her arm around his elbow, leading them into the living room. "Let's sit," she said in an unnecessary whisper. He allowed himself to sink heavily into the couch, sitting his tea on the marble table in front of him with a small clatter. "Tell me," she coaxed, holding his unsure gaze with a thoughtful one.

Harry took in a shuddering breath and wrung his hands anxiously. Hermione reached over from her seat beside him and gave him a brief, reassuring pat on the arm, urging him to confide in her. "I don't know what's wrong anymore, 'Mione," his voice was shaking, yet he held his composure. "I just feel like I've had every last inkling of happiness, enthusiasm, and hope drained out of me; like a dementor has been riding on my back . . ." he trailed off as he felt the familiar sting behind his bloodshot eyes.

He drew a deep breath before continuing, "I hardly can find the will to even get out of bed in the mornings. I would much rather lay in bed and cry freely than have to get up and pretend my smile is natural." The previous stinging in his eyes had gave way as the impending tears were now falling helplessly onto his pallid face. He quickly lowered his head to hide his sobs from an all too analytic Hermione.

She looked over her best friends appearance, frowning in deep concern. She had never seen Harry this distraught or this disheveled, not even after the trauma that ensued with the war. She set her mug down beside Harry's and scooted closer to the brunette, holding her gaze as she fought to organize her thoughts into proper sentences. "Harry . . .," she took a breath, "this is still about Aarron, isn't it?" Harry's breath hitched suddenly before he fell into loud, heaving sobs that caused his lithe body to quake. Hermione wrapped an arm around Harry's far too skinny waist, giving him a tender, comforting hug. "Harry, listen to me, okay?" she shook him in the hug gently, trying to get his attention and qualm the man's crying.

Harry breathed heavily and unevenly as she fought to get his crying under control. After several long moments of silence, Harry lifted his head and returned Hermione's concerned stare. Hermione's heart sank as she saw Harry's tear-stained face, accompanied with red eyes and a quivering bottom lip.

"It's completely normal to be sad about what happened with Aarron. I know how much you cared about him , as well as how much you loved the git. You let yourself get too hopeful for him to come back; that's why it hurts so much. Harry, you do have people that care about you and will always be there for you. You don't have to go through it alone," she said, surveying her best friend as she spoke. She emphasized her point of reassurance with a soft kiss pressed to his temple.

Harry picked up his tea once more and drained the last bit of honey liquid with a gulp. Rather than responding immediately he took to studying the few bits of tea leaves that had settled on the bottom of his cup. He remembered back to third year when Professor Trelawney had predicted his early, painful demise, and returned the mug to the table, frowning intensely.

"I know I have people to go to, 'Mione," he spoke suddenly, causing Hermione to start. "I just feel like nothing can ever fill this gaping hole that he left in me. I'm terrified, Hermione." Tears threatening to spill once more, he continued with great effort, "I'm scared that hole will never close; he's the only one who could have ever filled it . . ." he trailed off, his face gleaming once more with freshly shed tears.

Hermione's heart absolutely broke at Harry's words; she never knew his feelings ran this deep for the long since gone man. Harry didn't just love Aarron, it seemed like his very survival depended on him, as though without him he would never 'breathe' again, only fight for air. She knew of course that Harry wouldn't actually die from the separation, but could certainly empathize on how it could feel as such.

"You'll get through this, Harry. I promise. I'll see to it myself," she smiled encouragingly. "It's going to be rough, there's no point in even trying to sugar-coat it, but it's not something you can't do. You're strong, Harry." She reached into his lap and took his hand into hers and squeezed it in an effort to exaggerate her point.

"I don't even know where to start," said Harry, the tiny words barely more than a whisper.

"Have you considered therapy? You know, seeing a psychiatrist?" Her words were low, but confident.

"I'm not a nutter, 'Mione," he said, wincing slightly at the thought.

"Going to a psychiatrist doesn't mean you're mad, Harry. They're simply a listening ear who understands everything about the mind and how people think and act. You're sick, Harry. You may not want to hear it, but you are." She studied him for a moment, taking in her best friend's appearance in detail for the first time. His hair was unruly – more so than usual – and lacked it's normal luster, tufts sticking up haphazardly in all directions. His eyes, which normally brimmed with a piercing ferocity were dull, green orbs, though no longer resembling the stunning emeralds everyone couldn't resist. His skin had lost it's naturally tan glow and resembled the color of a fading scroll of parchment. Though the bespeckled boy always fussed over his appearance, he presently wore only a rumpled pajama shirt and matching bottoms. The Harry she knew always dressed into proper clothing each morning, except maybe if he was sick. All-in-all, Hermione could hardly recognize him. He had also lost a fair amount of weight, she noticied, studying how abnormally loose his pajamas curtained around his lithe frame. This worried the girl the most.

Just promise me that you'll at least think about going to a therapist," she stated, not particularly asking. "And that you'll start eating properly, you look like you barely weigh 50 kilos!" she added, eying him disapprovingly.

Harry nodded meekly, not lifting his eyes from the spot they were fixed onto on the floor. Hermione looked down at the sterling silver watch clasped around her wrist, gasping softly at how long they had been talking.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go, Harry. I promised Molly I would help her with planning Ginny's wedding." She stood, Harry following her action, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. He raised his arms and put as much energy as he could muster into the hug, albeit wasn't much, but Hermione didn't seem to care or notice. "If you ever need me, Harry, all you have to do is drop me an owl, floo, or even ring my mobile, alright?"

"Alright, 'Mione," Harry said, with half-enthusiasm. "Be careful."

She smiled at him warmly before saying, "Take care of yourself, Potter." She giggled softly, trying her best to get a smile out of the brunette with the teasing of his surname, in a very Malfoy-like manner. Sighing in relief – for she succeeded – she gave Harry a little wave before turning and making her way to the sidewalk.

Harry shut the door with a small 'click' before returning to the couch, falling helplessly back into the soft cushions, squirming slightly as he positioned his head comfortably on the small throw pillow. He barely had time to let his mind wander too far before sleep hastily claimed him.

x X x X x

Harry stood in the midst of a stretching, snow-covered street, his brow furrowed in confusion, jade eyes squinting into the semi-darkness, relieved only by a single street lamp. Instead of an amber glow, however, the light that spilled onto the snow and surrounding street and was merely a cold grey; it did not welcome or comfort Harry, only gave him the feeling of crippling anxiety in his chest, which tightened and clenched uncomfortably.

"Harry . . ." a voice echoed behind him. Startled, Harry yelped and spun around quickly, his foot sliding dangerously on a patch of ice, almost toppling him to the ground. His face froze in shock as Aarron's soft but somber face stared evenly into his watery eyes. Harry searched those familiar cerulean orbs for comfort, for safety; for warmth. Unconsciously, he brought his hand up to the other man's face, wanting nothing more than to feel Aarron's skin beneath his fingers, to reassure himself that it truly was Aarron that stood before him.

Was he 'his' Aarron? Sure he stood mere inches from Harry, staring deeply into Harry's eyes, but he still had been the one to leave; leaving Harry alone to cry silently into his pillow every night. Harry's hand had been just millimeters away from his ex-lover's soft face, before, to Harry's terror, he began to recede into the darkness slowly; excruciatingly slowly. Harry whimpered, and tried to follow when he realized that his feet were frozen in place, his legs paralyzed by some unknown force.

As he watched the beautiful man slip into growing darkness, the hot tears that had been stinging his eyes began to fall from his reddened lids, trailing icy paths to his strong chin. He tried to call out to the other boy, but all that came out was an unearthly silence. Quiet tears became wrenching sobs as Aarron was engulfed in the distant night. Harry's knees buckled unexpectedly and he fell in a crumpled heap to the deep snow. Harry's head fell back as a silent wail escaped his chapped lips, his tears glittering against his flushed cheeks. The street lamp flickered menacingly before extinguishing, throwing Harry into the same freezing darkness that had claimed his love. If one could have seen Harry through the pressing night, they would have found him hugging himself, still crying soundless sobs into the chilly air.

x X x X x

Harry awoke to silence, feeling his drying tears still clinging to his hot, flushed cheeks. He was trembling slightly, which was usually the case when he would awaken from his recurring nightmare. The room was aglow from the light of a nearby street lamp shining through the window across the room.

He stood slowly, his legs adjusting to the weight that was burdened onto his tingling legs; they trembled precariously. He repositioned his stylish frames onto his nose, which had fallen askew during his restless nap on the couch, and made his way down the narrow hall, feeling his way through the silent darkness.

Reaching his room, he pushed the door open and made his way wearily to his large bed, falling in an exhausted heap on a tangle of soft sheets and his down duvet. He weakly managed to get himself partially tucked beneath the covers and sighed heavily into the silence.

He already knew where the rest of his night was going. It had, after all, become monotonous routine. After falling asleep for an hour or so and had 'the dream', he would awake, drag himself to his room – if he wasn't already there – and lay in silence, thinking, usually crying until it was time to get up and go to work.

The whole process was insatiable torment, but no matter what form of sleep aide Harry tried, it all proved to be mere exercises in futility. He had learned that there was nothing to be done, so he had just allowed himself a dignified surrender. He began to think; his mind predictably going where it always did at this time of night. Harry sighed, his breath shuddering as the familiar sting began to build behind his eyes, accompanied by a tightening within his chest. He rolled over to find a more comfortable position on his side, pulling a pillow into his arms and hugged it tightly.

As he lay there alone in the middle of the large bed, he wished with whatever enthusiasm he could gather that he didn't have to work in the morning. As much as he loved his job, his heart just wasn't in it as much as it had been when he first began the job. He worked for a local muggle magazine as a journalist, having became interested in writing not long after the war. His dream had been to eventually work for a fashion magazine, being avidly interested in style and design, but knew he had to slowly gain the experience and credentials needed to work for anything fashion-forward; the world of fashion was vicious, but he wanted it more than anything.

With everything that had been weighing on him it had been hard to throw himself into his work like he truly needed to. Every time he began to write an article his mind would divert his attention immediately to something Aarron related. It seemed that anything could remind him of his love, even something as simple as having a cup of tea with lemon; Aarron took his tea this was as well. No matter what he did to try and distract himself, he always ended up thinking about the man. He could never escape him, and thought he would never be able to escape him. He was everywhere. Being used to talking to him to such a degree, he always found himself looking at his mobile hopefully, thinking that today could be the day he contacted him, but each day went by without any word from him, and yet Harry continued to look for him. Harry refused to tell himself that he would never call, despite the fact that his mind screamed this to him every second of every day.

Harry rolled over to look at his alarm clock; half midnight. Just the thought of the silent hours ahead that would be spent fighting with his thoughts made him shiver, the gnawing feeling in his chest increasing in severity. He buried his face into his pillow and, for a split second, caught a whiff of Aarron's characteristic aroma. He knew the smell didn't exist on his bed clothes, not anymore at least, and mentally cursed his brain for playing such foul tricks on him. He closed his eyes and imagined the boy laying behind him, an arm wrapped comfortingly around his waste, his chest pressed firmly against his back, their legs tangled around the other's, feet rubbing softly together. That was one thing Harry missed the most; feeling Aarron beside him in his bed, hugging him protectively, and their feet brushing together softly. That had been something they would do out of habit. Harry could always tell when Aarron was falling asleep, because his feet would always find Harry's and would stroke them together slowly and smoothly until sleep captured both of them; it was their own, personal lullaby, it always put Harry to sleep.

Harry rubbed his feet together, trying desperately to mimic the action, sighing softly at how ineffective it was. He missed the boy so much. How was he ever to get on normally? Tears once again fell silently to the soft pillow, stained from many a night's crying. "Goodnight, baby," Harry whispered, trying with all of his might to comfort himself as he closed his eyes and hugged the pillow in his arms with crushing force. He wrapped the covers more securely around him and lay unmoving, waiting patiently for the sun to peak over the skyline and stream into his room, so he could begin yet another day, just so he could repeat the process all over again.

(A/N): This chapter was actually shorter when I first uploaded it, but at the last minute I added the now-current ending, which I think gives this chapter much more meaning behind Harry's dilemma. I'm happy with how this story is beginning to take flight. Even if I never got a single review, I would still be overly pleased; writing this forces me to climb over my own walls, which is proving to be a difficult feat. I hope those of you that have read and reviewed, though, stick with me. It's nice to know people are interested in a story that is based on things I myself have gone through.

Also, I'm looking for someone who would like to Beta this for me. I'm somewhat of a perfectionist, but still I have caught some mistakes in my posts after they've gone public. So, if anyone is interested, just let me know in a review. =]

As for updates, I plan on posting a new chapter each week. As for the day, I can't quite be exact. It usually takes about a week for me to write and perfect it, so as soon as it's finished, it will be posted.

I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Please, review! I LOVE hearing what people think. =]

Wow, I talk far too much! See you next update! ^-^

-D