A/N: In my opinion, this might be the best chapter in this whole story. Also, I am indebted to Aeschylus, a Greek playwright, for the poem found on the last part of the chapter. It from his work of tragedy Prometheus Bound, part of the Oresteia Trilogy.

11

Suppressed Feelings

Ignorance is not bliss – it is hell. They say that what one doesn't know won't kill them, well, they're lying. Rastaban would rather die knowing what killed him; at least he would have had closure.

Harry and Draco's affair went on for weeks and months and continued until Rastaban was back in London. Harry would always find an excuse – a field work, a late night meeting, strategy planning with other aurors, etc. And always, he would believe them. He wished he knew the truth – where he was, what he and Draco were doing. Would he go home tonight? Would he kiss him? Would he whisper that he loves him like before? Indeed, one of the worst feelings in this world is to doubt someone whom you thought was unquestionable.

The first betrayal is irreparable. It calls forth a chain reaction of further betrayals, each of which takes one farther and farther away from the point of the original betrayal. A caress turns into a touch, a touch to an embrace, an embrace to kiss, a kiss to copulation. Every action supersedes its precedent. That is both the beauty and tragedy of betrayals – for one it takes you to higher places, but there is no turning back. It is like an intoxication that propels one to do so much more. Betrayals are addictions that seep into one's very core.

The suddenly the intoxication gave way to anguish. The road had to end somewhere! Sooner or later Harry would have to put an end to his betrayals. Sooner or later he would have to stop himself before he turns into a schizophrenic.

I am having an affair. Harry thought to himself. He needs to end this for the sake of his sanity, and the feelings of both Draco and Rastaban. Right, he must do the right and honorable thing because that is who he should be.

Harry went home earlier than usual to make sure he is there before Rastaban. He waited patiently on the kitchen, clutching the latest edition of the Daily Prophet, reluctantly reading it. He reckons he enjoyed this silence. Silence, after all, has one advantage – it drowns out words. It placates the need for coherence, formulations and amendments. It is neither precise nor chaotic. It is vague and unbounded; a pleasant, overpowering sensation that nullifies the involvement of futile and vain words. He prayed to the cosmos to help him find the right words to say to Rastaban.

"You're home early." Rastaban said in a matter-of-factly tone. Harry was so enamored in his brooding that he didn't even notice Rastaban enter the kitchen.

I should deal with this fast and precise.

"I need to talk to you."

"No."

"What?"

"I know what you're trying to do. Not today. Not now."

Rastaban had the overwhelming desire to tell him, like the most banal of men, "don't let me go, hold me tight, make me your plaything." But they were words he could not say. The only things he said when he finally opened his mouth was "Why him?"

"Excuse me?" Harry asked again.

"I need to know, why him? Why not me? Fuck. I know you're leaving me. But I need to know why the hell him? He hurt you didn't he? He messed you up so bad, but why do you choose him over me? Is he better in bed than I am? Does he scream your name so loud when he comes? Does he ride you well? Ha? Tell me! If you're going to crush my heart you might as well be honest with me you cheating, two-faced, bastard!" Rastaban blurted out with so much bitterness and disdain.

Harry was taken aback and said, "We don't have to do this. Not this way."

"Just answer the damn question."

"There is nothing to answer."

"Fuck you!"

"Please."

Rastaban drew out his wand and blasted a portrait of Harry and Sirius hanging nearby. Harry, at this moment, lost his temper. That was the only thing he had of Sirius.

"What the hell! Yes! Yes! We do everything that people have sex do! There, happy?" He shouted.

"Do you enjoy sucking him off!"

"Hell yes!"

"Do you love his pretty mouth! Ha? I bet you get off just thinking about it, don't you?"

"I love it! I get off on it every single time!"

"Is he sweet to you!"

"So very much that I want him more than I can want you!"

"Thank you! Thank you for your honesty. Now get away from me and die you toxic slag!"

Rastaban marched from the kitchen and went to their bedroom, packing his possessions haphazardly. Harry just stood in the kitchen, confused and angry at what just happened. He never meant to hurt Rastaban. He never planned his confession to be like this. He loved the man and you don't hurt people you love. He didn't wish to lose his temper at this moment but he did.

This is madness. All of this. What just conspired not so long ago is certainly the hype of this twisted love affair. This, of course, is expected when people fall in love. There is always some madness in love, but there is always a reason in madness. And whatever that reason is, he wishes is worth it.

It started to rain. As if the heavens are crying for Rastaban. He peeked at the window and realized how much Harry is like the rain these past few weeks. How cold he was, how gloomy he made him feel. How much tears have he shed because of him? How much damage did Harry bring? He banged his head against the glass. How stupid could he be for still wanting the rain?

This is the end. He must understand that. Understanding is the first step to acceptance, only can acceptance can there be recovery. That has been Harry's mistake. He never accepted Draco leaving him then that is why never recovered. He never really loved me when you think of it. He never made the transition of having his heart broken and having it mend. He just had himself believe that it didn't happen; that is the sin of Harry's memory.

Gliding across the hardwood floors, he drifted and swayed to the sound of nothingness. The almond colored curtains made him feel laughable. And then he saw the statuette he made of Atlas. Atlas – the Titan who was condemned to shoulder the weight of earth. The door creaked and it revealed a calm Harry.

"We don't have to end it like this, Rastaban."

"It didn't have to. But it ended like this anyway." He said as he stepped closer to Harry.

Harry hugged him and said. "Thank you. For everything. For being there when I was at my lowest, for loving me. Thank you for sharing with me the marvelous sunset views at the rooftop of our house, for those late night massages and gallons and gallons of ice cream, even though you are lactose intolerant. Thank you for always fetching me back to the real world when I am falling apart into the world of delusions. Thank you for being there for me and for always making me feel secured and validated. Thank you for being the one person I can always trust my heart, hopes and dreams with. Thank you for everything that I did not thought you did to me, but did so, for the things I never thought you'd do for me and for the things which you always do so for me. Thank you for being patient with my shortcomings. I thank you, too, the kind words, the sweet melodies and the silence that you've shared with me. Thank you for letting me hold your heart into the palm my hands."

Rastaban struggled to hold back his tears and hugged Harry tighter. He let go and looked at the statuette of Atlas on the writing table. At last, he said "I'm Atlas." then went on his way.

This was Atlas' fate:

To bear on his back forever

The cruel strength of the crushing world

And the vault of the sky

Upon his shoulders the great pillar

That holds apart the earth and heaven,

A load not easy to be borne