Author's note: This chapter is waaay overdue, and I sincerely apologize. I recently started school, my first year studying at university level, and I'm sad to say that school takes up a lot more time than I expected it to. I will try to finish the next chapter sooner, but when it comes down to it, my studies are my main priorities at the moment.
Enough with the boring stuff - once again, I would like to thank all of you who have taken your time to read, and above all, review this story so far. Your support literally means everything to me, and without you, I would never have been able to finish this chapter at all. It is a little longer than the previous ones, I hope you'll enjoy :)
Chapter 11 – Your own disaster
He was moving swiftly, barely aware of his surroundings – his mind was all but consumed by the blistering rage that was building up inside his chest. The sounds from the streets he passed through were muffled by his own frantic pulse, which was turning into a deafening roar that was ringing through his ears. He thought a few people were looking at him funny when he passed them, but he couldn't be sure – he didn't pay them much attention.
It was freezing outside, but since his body was warm from moving, he hardly noticed anymore. The only reminder of the state of the weather was the sharp pain in his chest each time he drew a breath and the ice-cold air filled his lungs.
It didn't take him nearly as long to arrive to the neighbourhood where Rachel's shop was located as he remembered, although it was probably more due to the fact that he hadn't been running last time than anything else. He was a bit taken aback by the fact that he was already there – he hadn't had enough to time to figure out what he was going to say yet, and it wasn't in his nature to come unprepared. Normally this would have made him pause to think, but now, he was too furious to care.
Draco spotted Rachel through the window as he walked towards her shop with resolute steps. She was standing by one of the shelves next to a middle-aged man that seemed to be a customer. Rachel was holding one jar with coffee beans in one hand and gesticulating wildly with both, and the man kept throwing nervous glances at the hand holding the jar, as though he was afraid Rachel would accidentally throw it in his face.
Draco burst in through the door, leaving no room for hesitation, and Rachel turned around immediately at the sound. Her face split up in a surprised grin as she spotted Draco in the doorway.
"Draco!" she burst out happily. "I didn't expect to see you here so soon again!"
She put the jar back on one of the shelves and looked at him expectantly, completely oblivious to the hostile energy that was oozing out from every pore of Draco's body. Seeing Rachel just standing there with that stupid, cheerful smile on her face day made him feel, if possible, even angrier. She was the one who had pushed him to go through with that stupid apology. If it hadn't been for her, Draco would never had gone over to Potter's place and he wouldn't have made such an utter fool out of himself. An irrational part of Draco's brain even thought that Rachel was the one to blame for his whole I'm-gay-for-Harry-Potter-realization, even though the more sensible part of him knew that the very idea was ridiculous. Still, Rachel had helped Potter to rob what little dignity Draco had had left, and yet, she was standing there smiling, acting as if there wasn't a care in the world, as if Draco's visit just hade made her entire day.
Draco couldn't stand it. He was going to make sure that Rachel never smiled like that because of him again.
"Don't get used to it," he snapped, wincing a little upon hearing how shrill his voice sounded.
Not very threatening – he was off to a bad start.
Rachel frowned and took a few steps towards him, eyeing him hesitantly. The customer, who had picked up on Draco's unfriendly vibe much sooner than Rachel, seemed to take this as his cue to leave. He mumbled something apologetic to Rachel before hastily brushing past Draco on his way out.
"Are you upset?" Rachel asked slowly, her smile completely gone now when she was closer and had gotten a good look on Draco's face.
Draco laughed tonelessly.
"Stating the obvious, are we?" he said coolly, his voice still not sounding quite like his own.
Rachel ignored the remark, taking a few cautious steps closer.
"What happened?"
Her hand reached out for his arm as though she wanted to reassure him, but Draco took a quick step backwards.
"Don't touch me!" he spat, and Rachel let her hand drop slowly to her side. She was watching him attentively, but there was no fear or hurt in her eyes. She didn't look pitiful or worried either,
which was a relief – she seemed merely curious.
"You went to see your friend, didn't you?" she said softly. "Hang on, I'll get you some coffee."
"I don't want your stupid coffee" Draco said acidly, but Rachel had already disappeared behind one of the shelves again. Feeling stupid just standing there, he reluctantly sat down in the familiar armchair while waiting for Rachel to return.
He dwelled on the fact that this hadn't gone at all as expected. Draco had wanted to really lash out on Rachel – he wanted to swear and kick and scream at her, he wanted to insult her and make her every bit as miserable as he felt himself. Most of all, he realized, he wanted her to react. He wanted to fight her, and he wanted her to fight back.
Only it wasn't really her he wanted to fight.
He didn't speak to Rachel as she started mixturing with the coffee machine again. His initial fury was starting to subside, and even though he still blamed her for giving him that stupid advice, he didn't feel like shouting anymore.
"Here you go" Rachel finally said as she put down a chipped, flowery cup in front of him. "It's a different blend this time, I think you'll like it."
Draco didn't say thank you. Maybe he wasn't as angry anymore, but he still didn't want to be polite.
They sat in silence for a while, sipping on their respective cups. Draco watched as Rachel mindlessly twirled the cup between her slender hands in between every taste. He kept expecting her to slip up and drop it, but she never even spilled a drop.
"He was never my friend" he finally said, when the words had been building up inside him long enough for them just to burst out almost on their own accord. "He just used me so that his other friends would take him back. Can you believe I was stupid enough to fall for it?"
Rachel didn't answer – she didn't need to, because Draco didn't stop talking.
"I have no idea why I didn't understand… it never made sense, you know, for him to… never mind. The point was that I actually trusted him, even though I had all the reason not to. I can't believe that I actually apologized to him - mind you, that thing was entirely your fault. Serves me right, I guess, taking advice from a muggle… I mean, from a complete stranger."
Rachel showed no indication of even noticing that something was off with Draco's vocabulary, so he kept talking. He told Rachel about the time he had spent living with Potter, about the morning crosswords and Moby Dick and about Potter's unexplainable disappearances. He felt a little pathetic as he told her about always making dinner for when Potter came back home, but then again, who was she going to tell about it? He didn't trust Rachel, but talking to her about all of those things felt almost like writing in a journal that no one would ever know about. Besides, Rachel was an excellent listener. She didn't feel sorry for him, which was an enormous relief – she mostly just sat there, looking thoughtful as she kept slowly spinning the cup in her hands, sometimes interrupting him with small inquiries to make better sense of the story.
"You never did tell me why you where fighting in the first place though" she said, when Draco finally started to run out of things to say. "What did he do?"
Draco hesitated for a short second before making up his mind. He had practically told her everything already. What difference would it make?
"He kissed me," he said promptly, trying to ignore the sting at the memory. Rachel let out a small, surprised gasp.
"He did what?"
"Only to get rid of me," Draco added sullenly. "I guess he thought it would scare me away. It should have."
"That sounds stupid" Rachel interjected. "If he wanted to get rid of you, there must have been plenty of other methods he could have used?"
"This way, he wouldn't have had to feel guilty. Technically, I was the one who rejected him, not the other way around."
Rachel didn't look convinced.
"It still sounds dense to me."
"Well" Draco muttered, "that's Potter in a nutshell. Dense."
"I'll take your word for it" Rachel answered easily. "More coffee?"
Draco shot a glance at the old cuckoo clock hanging on the wall, his mouth curving slightly in distaste. He had never grown to like to the boring, ugly excuses muggles used for real watches,
but he had learned how to read them, and from the looks of this one, it was time for him to go home.
"I'm fine," he answered, rising up from his chair. "I'm sure you need to return to work anyway."
"This place isn't exactly overflowing with customers today" Rachel pointed out, gesturing out towards the empty shop. "I wouldn't mind if you stayed."
Draco hesitated. The prospect of returning to his empty apartment, to spend the remainder of the afternoon alone with just his own thoughts as company, didn't' seem very appealing.
"Unless you have other plans" Rachel added, somewhat smugly.
She had him there.
"Maybe just one more cup."
The clock was way past nine when Draco finally stepped over the threshold to his apartment, and he was out of breath from his brisk walk home. He knew he had probably overstayed his visit at the shop, and Rachel probably would have closed up a long time ago if not for his late departure, but on the other hand, she didn't appear to have minded. Something told Draco that she probably didn't have anything waiting for her at home either.
Or anyone.
Draco had never had a problem with being alone before. He was raised to be independent - his father had always taught him that relying on other people to secure his well-being was a flaw. He had preferred to play alone as a child, and even though he had surrounded himself with Slytherin allies during school, he had always been careful to maintain his privacy. He always liked to make sure that other people were dependent on him, and not the other way around.
It was peculiar how all of that had changed so swiftly. He had just spent an entire evening in the company of a strange girl that he didn't particularly like, only because he did not want to be by himself. It was uncharacteristic.
Immediately, Potter came to mind - it was he who had changed that about Draco. Draco hated the hostility his empty apartment now presented to him and he hated how the rooms that before had seemed so small and cramped even with the lack of furniture now were uncomfortably spacious. And most of all, he hated Potter for making him feel that way.
He hated Potter for making him feel a lot of things.
He was still so full from all the coffee that Rachel had given him that he didn't bother to make dinner, but went straight for his bed. Trying to sleep was pointless due to the high amount caffeine rushing through his blood, which left him lying on his back in the bed, staring at the ceiling like so many times before.
He didn't want to admit it, but a small part of him had hoped that Potter would be there waiting for him with an explanation when he came home, but there was no sign of anyone being in the apartment while Draco had been gone. Everything was exactly the way he had left it. There had been no letter of explanation, not even a single little note or sign to prove Draco wrong in his previous assumption that Potter had royally screwed him over.
It would have been easy if Draco could have stayed angry forever, he could deal with that. Anger was simple. It would have been easy if he had been able to ignore the mulling ache in his chest. It would have been easy if he could just get the image of Potter's bloody bare chest out of his head.
But the initial anger had since long subsided into something more reminiscent of a memory. He couldn't ignore the fact that he felt more hurt than furious, and as it happened, he could not un-notice that Potter had a damn fine torso.
He had never had a problem with being alone before. Now, he could barely stand it.
The following days Draco kept going through the same repetitive pattern. He would wake up and make himself an uninspiring breakfast consisting of tea and cereal before leaving for Rachel's shop. He spent the better part of his day there, drinking free coffee and chatting with Rachel whenever she wasn't busy with her customers. He appreciated the fact that Rachel never questioned why he didn't find anything better to do with his time, and in spite of her general quirkiness, he realized that he started to like her. She never complained when Draco got caught up in one of his rants about how annoying Potter had been when they went to school together, and even though it was hard to constantly watch his words to not alert her to the fact that magic actually existed, he enjoyed talking to her. He even thought he might even learn to like her some day.
Every now and then, Rachel would give him some advice on how he should deal with the Potter-situation, which he promptly ignored. Partly because most of them seemed based on the assumption that Potter's no-show merely had been a consequence of some unfortunate misunderstanding, but also because the memory of what had happened the last time he had let Rachel influence his decisions. And then there was the fact that all of Rachel's ideas involved him actually speaking to Potter again.
"What makes you think I even want anything to do with him?" Draco snapped irritably one of those times when Rachel had come with one of her unhelpful suggestions. "After what he did, I couldn't care less."
"Oh come on, Draco" Rachel interrupted. "You think about him all the time, it's so obvious. I just think that if you actually went to see him, he might…"
"I do not think about him all the time" Draco snapped, and then, for good measure, he added: "And only my friends call me Draco."
Rachel just shrugged and moved on to another subject, but Draco knew she saw right through him. Figuring that his constant nagging about Potter probably was a dead giveaway, he decided not to ever mention him to Rachel again. As he did so, he hit a new low when he realized that he didn't have anything else to talk about.
"I think it's time for me to leave," he said dully. Rachel didn't object – in fact, she was already holding his coat, stretching it out for him to grab.
"Yeah, I figured" she said. "See you tomorrow, then."
It wasn't really a question, but Draco addressed it as such anyway.
"We'll see."
He did return the next day, of course, and the day after that. He didn't want Rachel to know how much he needed her company, but the option of staying at home alone was worse. In mid-December, he went back to the pub, and a reluctant but wary Mr. Barnes allowed him to get back to work a few nights a week. Mostly, he spent his days at Rachel's, and went straight for the pub in the afternoon.
He had cancelled his subscription of The Prophet – the dread he felt every morning when the paper arrived over seeing another headline about him and Potter was every bit as depressing as thinking about Potter. In many ways, he felt like in doing so, he had lost the only remaining connection to his old world, but it was more a relief than anything. The wizarding world had turned his back on him many years ago, and it had been stupid of him to hold on for so long.
The nights were the worst. He had asked Rachel to lend him some books, which kept his mind occupied during the evenings when he wasn't working, but eventually, he had to go to sleep. And when he did, he had no hope of controlling his dreams.
Potter made frequent, usually lightly dressed, appearances of course – more often than not, Draco would wake up sweaty with the sheets twisted around his legs and his body screaming for attention. The most painful thing about it wasn't the dreams, though– it was waking up and realizing it had never happened, and never would. Draco's new morning routine was usually an unpleasant cold shower before his usual bowl of cereal and tea. The alternative, to pleasure himself while still thinking about Potter, was never really an option – it would be the ultimate humiliation, to come undone to the image of Potter twisting and turning underneath him in his dreams. A part of him told him that dignity and pride could go to hell, that no one would ever have to know, but Draco ignored it. He couldn't control what he did in his dreams, but he could control his actions while he was awake.
The days went by in a slow and uneventful pace. Draco wouldn't say that he was particularly enjoying his life, but it was manageable. Until one day during his second week back at work, just a few days before Christmas, when everything turned upside down. Again.
It all started with an unexpected visitor at the pub, much like when Potter had showed up so many weeks ago. It was a little past four, and Draco's shift had recently begun. He was wiping the tables clean in a leisurely pace when he heard the door open, which was rather unusual – the earliest customers normally didn't turn up until around six.
"Can I help you?" he asked as he turned around, almost freezing mid-spin when he saw the person standing in the doorway.
"Malfoy" the visitor said coolly, curling his lip as he swept a strand of blonde hair away from his eyes. "I'd say I was surprised to see you after all this time, but then again, I did know you'd be here."
Draco had recognized him right away, even though they had merely been distantly aquatinted during their years at Hogwarts. Draco had never cared much for Hufflepuffs – especially not when they tried to copy his hairstyle.
"Smith" he replied, straightening his back to mimic the other man's haughty composure. His mind was spinning, trying to think of possible reasons why Smith could be there, but he was careful not to let the bewilderment show on his face. "To what do I owe this… pleasure?"
Smith took a step inside the pub, letting the door close behind him. His blue eyes gleamed as they met Draco's.
"Oh, I assure you the pleasure is all mine. Take a seat."
At first, Draco thought it a little insulting to be commanded to "take a seat" by a customer at the place where he worked, but he decided to ignore it. In spite of himself, he was curious about what Smith wanted, and when you wanted information, there was no use in behaving childish.
They both sat down at the nearest table opposite each other. Smith made a big deal out of smoothing out a few non-existent creases on the front of his tailored pants before speaking.
"I admit I was surprised when I realized you were going back to work" he said idly, and Draco found himself immediately annoyed by the way Smith seemed to draw out every syllable as he spoke. "Grew tired of leeching of Potter, did you?"
Draco felt as though someone had stabbed him with an ice-cold knife straight in the chest at the mention of Potter's name. Still, he kept his composure, refusing to drop Smith's gaze.
"How did you know where to find me?" he asked icily, ignoring the remark about Potter. "And why are you here?"
"Oh please" Smith sneered. "Like your location is some sort of secret? Although, I admit finding you would have taken much longer without Potter's Ministry connections."
Draco clenched his jaw. So Potter had used the Ministry to find Draco's location, and then told Smith about it? Why would he had done that?
"Did Potter tell you I was here?" he asked sharply. "And why would you care, anyway?"
Smith waved his hand dismissively.
"There are other ways to find out things than asking," he said. "But then again, you're a Slytherin, so you would know all about that, wouldn't you?"
When Draco didn't answer, Smith rolled his eyes impatiently.
"I followed him. Potter's too gullible, you know. He didn't' even have enough sense to apparate here. He took the subway, like a common muggle."
Draco barely heard the scathing comments – he had stopped listening after the first words.
"Wait" he said slowly. "You followed him? The first time he was here?"
"The first" Smith agreed, and then, with a malicious grin, he added: "And the second."
It took a while for the realization to sink in. Smith had been there that same night when Potter had been so drunk that Draco practically had had to drag him home. The same night when…
"It was you. You took the photo of us and sent it to The Prophet."
Smith's grin widened.
"Well, if you want to draw that assumption, I'm not going to stop you" he said nonchalantly. "But you do make a… sweet couple. A shame that it's not going to last."
Draco's mind was running wild, erratically trying to fit the new pieces of the puzzle together. So Smith had been the one who had sold them out to the papers, but why had he done it? What issues did he have with Draco, or with Potter for that matter? Draco couldn't recall ever seeing the two of them interact much at Hogwarts, other than during their fifth year when Potter had been the leader of that secret army that wanted to overthrow the Ministry.
"Since you took that photo, you know that there never was anything going on between me and Potter" he said, frowning "So why are you here? Do you want some more information, so that you can milk this thing for even more money, or what?"
"Spare me" Smith snapped. "I'm not an idiot, I know what's going on between the two of you."
Draco glared at him.
"Nothing is going on. And even if there was, what's it to you? It's not as though you have anything to do with anything concerned me or Potter."
Smith flashed him a superior smile.
"He never told you," he said. It wasn't a question – it was a statement, one that seemed to please Smith immensely. "How interesting."
"Told me what?" Draco said irritably. There were many things Potter hadn't told him; this would just be a tiny addition to the already long list.
Smith smiled even wider and leaned forward, gesturing for Draco to come closer. He reluctantly did.
"Well, about me, of course" Smith said, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't say I'm surprised, though. Potter always had a way of leaving out the more unpleasant side of things."
Draco drew away. He still didn't understand what Smith meant. Was he the friend Potter had been visiting during all of those times he had been absent? It couldn't be – Potter and Smith had never been close.
"What the hell are you talking about?" he finally said.
Smith didn't answer immediately – he kept smiling, as if he had just won the lottery. Draco wanted to punch him until every single one of those blindingly white teeth feel out.
"Ask him" Smith answered eventually, and as he did so, he stood up. "Who knows, maybe he'll decide to tell you the truth before he grows tired of you. Which he eventually will, mind you. And
then he'll throw you out like yesterday's trash. Just wait."
Draco stood up so violently that his chair almost tipped over. Smith drew a sharp breath, as if he realized that something dangerous was about to happen.
He'll grow tired of you. He'll throw you away like yesterday's trash.
Draco realized his hands where shaking, and before he knew it, he had lunged over the table and grabbed Smith by the shoulders. The power of the impact sent them both to the floor, Smith yelping helplessly and Draco with something resembling a snarl coming from the depth of his throat. He felt his fist connect with the side of Smith's mouth, and all of the anger, the hurt and the shame that had been building up inside of him the past weeks felt like they were unleashed all at once. He could feel Smith's fingers clawing at his neck as he the other man tried to free himself, but Draco punched him again, this time in the stomach. He could feel Smith fighting for his breath underneath him, and he raised his fist one more time to strike, but someone intercepted it from behind. He barely had time to register what happened before someone grabbed him by the arms and hauled him back, away from Smith.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Draco's heart sank as he heard the familiar voice from the doorway. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw Mr. Barnes, his face red with shock and anger. Peters was the one that was holding Draco – the both of them had probably heard the noises from the cellar, and Peters must have lunged at them as soon as he had seen Draco attacking Smith.
"Get a grip of yourself, Malfoy!" he hissed in Draco's ear as his grip slackened. "What do you think you're playing at?"
Smith had gotten to his feet, his hair ruffled and with blood oozing out from a cut on his lip. He touched the gush warily, and glared scathingly not at Draco, but at Mr. Barnes.
"Do you generally let your employees attack your customers completely unprovoked like this?" he snarled accusingly. "I just came in for a soda, for crying out loud!"
"No, of course not!" Mr Barnes said, sounding appalled at the insinuation. "Forgive him, he is a bit unstable at the moment, there are some family issues… but there will be severe consequences for this, I assure you." He shot Draco a murderous glare that said oh you are so going to pay for this, but Draco barely registered. His ears were still ringing so loud he thought his head was going to explode.
A voice that wasn't quite his own spoke through his lips.
"Thank you Mr. Barnes, but that won't be necessary. I quit."
Then, he turned and fled. Don't forget to let me know what you think :)
