Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, apparently Ginny and their badly named children do.
A/n: Well, I'm updating, and I can pretty much assume everyone has read the last book by now. Sadly enough, I enjoyed everything up until the epilogue, that made the entire thing sound like a lifetime movie...or some kind of rehabilitation pamphlet. The final battle? Awesome. J.K.'s disregard for how fantastic Draco's character could be? Not cool. Anyway, hopefully you guys are still with me...only a few chapters left! Review?
A Few Responses: CrimsonDahlia: Sorry about that, but I'm going to leave you with another pretty soon. Glad you liked the chapter though. Waj: Waj, I think you say that every time you review. Lol. As for Harry asking for trouble, he's being a bit reckless now that he doesn't have much to lose, but soon...well, you'll see what happens. Thanks! B: Lol! Yes, The Loft lives! And hereon will it be finished with out long waits or fear of abandonment! I would never...Katie65: Sorry about that Katie, I'm sure El Salvador is very nice. It's sort of a given though, that we call it South America, not a lot of us use Central, I don't know why. Strange. I can change it if you like, I mostly just wanted to stay true to the vernacular. But if it bothers you that much... Anyway, thanks you guys, and remember to drop in and say hi. And no, Betania, I will never abandon this story. It's almost at an end, anyways.
The Loft
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Boom Boom
"At least I'm attempting to get you back on your feet."
Draco gave Hermione a look. "You're forcing me to drink something I don't want to, and you say that it's helping me?" He tilted the glass of fruity flavored alcohol at her and raised an eyebrow. "You'll say the same thing when I'm recovering from being an alcoholic."
"Don't be so contrary, Draco," she said to him sternly, but her words were loud over the pulse of the music. Beside her, adjusting his seat on the booth they were sitting at, Blaise looked up and grinned.
"She's condoning drinking habits. I suggest you take advantage of it, man."
He hadn't wanted to go to the stupid club, but without any real reason besides his wish to remain immobile for the rest of eternity, they had quickly overpowered him and made him go on their little outing. Much to Draco's chagrin, Hermione and Blaise had decided to team up and try to destroy his lingering devastation by getting him up and about, when all he really wanted to do was sit and watch bad television, or gaze off into space and vehemently not think about Harry Potter.
For the past few days, Draco had consented to his own depressing desires and sunk into a funk that would not, for lack of better words, fuck off. He'd gotten a call, previously that day, from Pansy, who had no qualms about reminding Draco that he had chosen Harry over her, and it had turned to shit faster than he could say Armani. The conversation went much like this:
"Pansy, you know that I really don't need this right now," he'd said into the phone, breathing harshly.
"Your mother is extremely upset. She doesn't show it, but Draco, everyone is disappointed in you. Your father hasn't said a word."
Knowing full well what Lucius' dangerous silences meant, he frowned into the receiver and closed his eyes. No doubt his father was livid that he'd had to hear it from the papers, being that he wouldn't show a hair of discontent upon hearing that the relationship had failed.
"I bet he's real happy it's over, so don't fuck with me."
There was a smug hum coming to him form over the phone, and he very nearly hung up on her. "Naturally he's vexed at having it in the papers. You seem to attract bad media."
"That's rich, coming from you. You practically live off of what those tabloids say."
She made a small muffled sound in the back of her throat. "Don't be like that Draco, I'm only warning you of what you will eventually have to face when you come back to work."
"I already know, you telling me isn't helping, and neither is calling this number."
"I figured you would be there," he couldpicture her examining her nails, all ego and porcelain-faced as if she hadn't a care in the world. "You're infinitely predictable, though...the artist was one mistake I didn't see coming."
Sarcasm, Draco decided, was a move that Pansy knew entirely too well.
"And besides," Pansy continued. "You're going to need my help once we announce our engagement to your family. Getting back into their good graces will be hard, I admit, but..."
"Wait. What?" Draco had jolted in his seat and ignored the worried look Hermione had given him. "We are not getting back together."
There was silence, and then he heard her take a breath. "But of course we are. Draco, I forgive you. You don't need to apologize. I can only hope you fully realize your mishap, and will think more practically from now on."
He was speechless, completely thrown at her words, and not to mention enraged. "You and I breaking up had nothing to do with Harry," a lie, he would admit, but there was partial truth somewhere in that statement. "It had everything to do with me not wanting to be miserable for the rest of my life!"
She huffed into the phone, indignantly. "You were fine with our getting married before he showed up."
"No, I wasn't fine. I would have ended it even if Harry had never moved in with me!" he took a deep, shattering breath. "I would have never been fine with it!"
"Well, this is news to me," Pansy said imperiously. "I had thought you were rather willing before..."
Draco was so tired of her whiny, unintelligent conversation that he was a hair's breath away from saying 'fuck you' and hanging up. His emotions, at the time, were going haywire, and he especially didn't need Pansy sticking her ugly nose into his break up with Harry. What was going through her head, anyway? He wanted to shout at her to leave him alone, but naturally that would leave him vulnerable to persecution over the mistake he had made. They were using it against him, he knew, like a preemptive strike to stop him from rebelling once more.
Infernally tired--and not at all equipped with enough patients to handle her--Draco had ended the talk with Pansy as soon as possible. She hadn't let go of the delusion they were engaged once more, because her voice had been smug and she had said with no room for protest:
"I will take care of the announcements, Draco, no need to worry. Once you rest up a bit and realize how lenient I am being with you...I'm sure you'll agree that the sooner we are married, the better."
She had hung up the phone, no if's and's or but's welcome in the nonexistent silence before he heard the dial tone. Now, sitting with Blaise and his girlfriend, staring out at the dancing couples and people getting completely intoxicated, Draco was in no mood to deal with anyone or anything.
The club they had dragged him to was in the heart of Manhattan, and the fact they had gotten in was a mystery to him. Blaise had said something about the bouncer feeling sorry for Draco's rather famous breakup, but it had disappeared in the haze that a few Cosmopolitans had brought. They'd gotten a booth right away, surveying the floor and the stage where the DJ was stationed and not at all to Draco's liking.
"Why did we have to come here?" he asked again, knowing full well he'd said it too many times for it to be amusing.
Hermione blinked at him slowly. "This is the first time you've been out in a week. Can't you just enjoy it?"
Draco screwed up his face and leaned back in the booth, his arms falling to his sides and his body sliding down his seat. "No," he groaned pathetically. "I can imagine myself enjoying some sleep."
"You've slept enough," she shook her frizzy head at him. "Now stop whining."
Blaise seemed to have remembered he was with company, and he turned to them with a mischievous grin on his face. "Guess who's back from Kenya?"
"Oh no, please! If I have to face Severus I'll die a horribly gruesome death, I know it."
Hermione scowled at the still pathetically whiny voice he was using.
"How was his trip?" she asked her boyfriend conversationally, ignoring Draco's dramatic hand-over-the-eyes and small whimpers.
"Oh fine, fine. He called wanting to talk to Draco, actually. Apparently he's been to see Remus."
"So he knows about the break up then," she commented mildly.
Draco scoffed. "Of course he does. That bastard knew what was happening the entire time, and didn't even bother to tell me," he said, sitting up and gaining a bit more fire. "I can just bet Harry told Remus all about what happened. Damn it."
"Well I don't understand why you're upset," Hermione said, batting Blaise's hand away from her drink. "You didn't do anything wrong, and I'm sure you're welcome back to the loft any time."
"I'm not going back there," he said quickly, back straight and eyes hard.
"Obviously," was her sour reply.
"And anyways," Blaise suddenly piped up, voice scratchy from taking a sip of his drink. "Severus is beyond mad at Harry and Lucius right now..."
"He's mad at my father?" he huffed. "Join the club."
"He says Lucius should have told you from the beginning, and that Harry is a 'two-faced little shit'," Blaise raised one dark eyebrow and grinned.
Draco felt a wave of pleasure at not being the only one angry at the pair of them. There was nothing, he thought as he looked at the undulating crowd and shifting lights, quite like being right.
"Aren't you going to tell him what Remus said?" Hermione jabbed Blaise with her finger, harshly.
Blaise suddenly looked nervous, and Draco's smug mood instantly vanished. "Well, you see Draco..." but his silence lasted too long.
"There was a fire at the Fleur-de-lis a few nights ago," Hermione interrupted, giving Blaise an exasperated glance. "Apparently the front part of the building was destroyed...Remus said to Severus that it wasn't bad, but that same day there was another incident with Harry..."
"Do we have to distress him this early into the night?" his best friend interjected, and shifted uncomfortably. "Let's get him good and drunk first."
"Blaise, shut up." He turned back to her, interested. "Now, what happened?"
She frowned, looking at the DJ who had just turned up the bass that halted her speech. Draco wondered at their intelligence if they thought a club was a good place to talk, and a notoriously raunchy one at that, he observed, looking at the bare backs of the scantily dressed dancers.
"Someone tried to kill Harry, I guess a few hours before someone tried to burn down the shop."
Blaise had a hand over his eyes, and lifted a finger up to give Draco a pained look. Draco ignored him, however, and swallowed the bile that was stuck in the back of his throat. He blinked slowly, and licked his lips.
"What happened?" he repeated, using a very low and very serious tone of voice. She noticed and sat back in her seat with a speculative gaze.
"I thought you didn't care what happened to Harry. I thought you wanted to see how he would 'do' without you blocking him from Riddle's attacks. What makes you so interested now?"
He seemed to wilt before her, and sharp shame built up in the pit of his stomach and churned. Draco chose to crease his eyebrows at her and try not to growl.
"I've always been interested, okay? I didn't mean what I said. I'm just..."
"Worried," she said, satisfied. "You're worried about someone you lo-"
Draco held up his hands, fast, and waved them around as Blaise sniggered at him. "In my personal space...in my space!"
She rolled her eyes and tossed back her brown locks before continuing. "Alright, you're worried about someone you care about. It's good you admit it. Anyway," she took a sip of her Sangria. "I guess they shot at him as he was crossing to 73rd."
"In broad daylight?" Draco asked disbelievingly. Beside him, Blaise nodded and cracked his knuckles.
"Hermione and I think Riddle's either lost his mind, thinks no one will stop him, or is just a fucking asshole."
Hermione raised and eyebrow, a glittery blue eyelid making itself known from underneath her bushy brows. "B and C cut it I think. He's all cocky now that Draco's out of it. Plus, Tom Riddle is sitting on a lot of money and a lot of contacts." She sighed, heavily. "He's pretty much invincible. I wish we could somehow get enough evidence..."
"Oh no," Blaise snapped suddenly. "No fucking way are we getting involved with this."
Frowning deeply, and very seriously annoyed, Hermione tilted her head. "Why not?"
"Because Riddle's going around shooting at people, that's fucking why!"
"You see!" She shouted, pointing at Blaise as if he were an escaped and dangerous criminal. Draco watched their tiff with a raised brow and unsure posture. "That is exactly why Riddle gets away with what he does! Fear! His power is from fear!"
"And the AK-47 he has shooting holes into my head!" Blaise cried as he gave Hermione an intense, wide-eyed glare. He fished around for his cigarettes at the same time.
"Oh please! I would think the reward of seeing a man like Riddle behind bars would reap the fear right out of you! Besides..." and she exhaled deeply. "It's the right thing to do."
"Yeah, sure." Blaise put a cigarette into his mouth. "Harry thought he was doing the right thing and ended up fucking Draco over and pissing me off."
Hermione raised her nose a bit and pursed her lips to the side. "Well I can sympathize with him."
Draco finally decided to speak up, and it was with fury and little tolerance for what either of them were saying. "He lied to me. He lied about everything, and...I can't sympathize with that."
"Understood," she said sincerely, if not a little blankly. "But the fact of the matter is there's more people involved than Riddle realizes, and when he does he'll either run, or take care of the one's that know about the money."
"So we're pretty much fucked either way," Draco laughed cynically, and took a very long drag of his drink. "Fantastic."
He was forcing down a new emotion, one of hysteria and overpowering worry. He also felt the anger start to rise, but cool once he'd inhaled a little. How dare he go after Harry...
"If only," Hermione decided to repeat morbidly. "Harry could convince the police..."
"He's already fucking tried that," Blaise said, shaking his head. "Unless that was a lie as well."
Tilting her head in contemplation, Hermione bit her lip as she scooted her stool in to let a couple pass. Once she had her bearings back, she shrugged. "You heard what Severus said, the police did show up...and one of the detectives seems to partially believe him."
It didn't assure Draco or Blaise at all, and truly, it looked like they were permanently stuck in between the ongoing feud. Draco was a given, since it was his father that was being accused as an accomplice. The other two had simply become wanted by association as well, and they could find no alternative but to let things smooth out on their own. After nine years, though, it looked as if Riddle would not give up...and neither would the ever stubborn Harry Potter.
The club bounced with energy and spirit, an ironic reflection of the three talking so seriously in the corner. All feeling rather hopeless, they settled for meeting whatever it was that was sure to happen, and dealing with it when it came.
Draco himself could not get the face of his roommate out of his head. He was unwilling to admit that he was worried beyond his usual ability, that different scenarios of Harry lying dead in a ditch somewhere kept flashing through his mind. He was unwilling to admit that he missed waking up to beryl eyes, teasing the vegan mercilessly, walking down the street with purpose--just to see Harry --as he walked through the door of the loft he had come to love. Mostly, Draco missed living.
Tom Riddle did not decided to strike until two days after the incident at Remus' shop. Harry had noticed the cronies following him adamantly the moment he'd stepped out of the door to get groceries. He'd informed Remus with a tiny shrug, that his enemy had decided to release his minions on him, and dog every step Harry took.
He was used to being watched, but the new feeling of just being on the edge of disaster made his stomach turn. Not that he cared much for his own well-being, but if Riddle was desperate enough to assault the innocent bystanders of their little war...well, Harry thought that was rather reckless.
Riddle had always been cautious, and cunning. Perhaps he sensed his own prosecution so close at hand and decided to act? Perhaps he had decided to take out Harry and move to Majorca. Whatever the reason, it made Harry a bit more paranoid, and wary than usual. Along with his conflicting fear and increasing anxiety, Harry had one emotion forefront in his mind those few weeks without Draco Malfoy constantly at his side. Loneliness.
The long empty room that had served as their home the past few months had suddenly fallen silent and blank. With its atmospheric down-turn, Harry had withdrawn himself from most everything except work and his art. Painting after painting lay strewn across the floor boards, each strangely dark and unfeeling. His pieces took on a new style that set to disturb, and being that Harry was known for his more euphoric sense of artistry, it was sure to shock most of his devoted fans.
An absence as great as Draco Malfoy had taken its toll on him without any forewarning. Remus had commented numerous times on his pale complexion and all-around nervousness. Dennis had given up on getting Harry to talk after he'd snapped at the teenager rather rudely one morning. Mrs. Sprout didn't no whether to hug Harry senseless, or smack him upside the head with a shovel.
What was there to do, though, but realize the mistake he'd made? What was there to do but sit in a quiet and lonesome stupor, occasionally painting turmoil and closing his eyes to the sound of the rain drops outside? Nothing lived inside of him, and it scared the anger and fear right out of his conflicted heart. When he really thought about it, he didn't actually have to think, and there...there deep inside of him was a discontent so familiar yet so new to him, that it belated his breathing and kicked him in the gut. There was no one to see him so open, except for dark walls and stormy skies.
At least he could believe, that for one moment in his adult life, he had loved someone just as much as they had loved him. In a strange, unknown way...he had cared beyond the relationship obligations of compassion, self-sacrifice, and understanding. Bold and beautiful, yes it had been...and Harry wanted it back. He wanted a second chance.
"Harry!" startled from his wool-gathering, Harry sat up on the couch and looked toward the door. "Harry I know you're in there! Unlock the door!"
He sighed, knowing that Remus would not settle for a yelled 'go away!', and neither was he immature enough to ignore him. Harry padded over to the door slowly, wearing his paint-stained jeans and a baseball shirt; the sleeves rolled up to his elbow. He swung the door open silently, and leaned against it.
"Remus?"
The botanist pushed past him irritably, an angry spark running through his expression before he took in the state of Harry and the loft. "Don't you ever clean this place up?"
Harry, bewildered, started to look around with a frown on his face. "It's clean! What do you mean?"
Remus almost tripped over one of his canvases, and had to kick the tarp underneath the coffee table in order to get to the couch. Harry shut the door and walked over to join him.
"Your art..." and to prove that it was indeed everywhere, he took out a canvas from underneath the cushions and examined it. "Harry...it's breathtaking."
"Look at the other ones," Harry said, waving a hand around the room. "They're all the same. It feels like I'm painting one large and never ending piece, rather than separate ones." He plopped down next to his boss and ran a hand through his hair. "Each one...I can't seem to find the...you know...in it."
"No," Remus frowned, wrinkle lines in between his eyebrows showing. "I don't know."
Harry stared at him curiously, and tilted his head forwards, gesticulating with his hands as if it explained everything. "The, you know. The thing that makes each piece different. Makes it worth looking at."
Comprehension seemed to dawn on Remus' features, and he smiled. "Oh, like the 'ah ha' at the twist of a movie."
Harry, likewise, leaned back and grinned. "Exactly."
"Now that I've gotten somewhere with that," Remus suddenly said, putting the canvas down. "I'm shooting for something else. How are you doing?"
The question wasn't awkward in the slightest, and it sounded sincere coming from Remus, but it made Harry feel uncomfortable. Remus seemed to notice by the constant shifting and fidgeting Harry had suddenly taken on.
"Alright. I just saw you this morning..."
"We were busy this morning," he said, brushing it off. "I hardly had time to speak with you. All those summer weddings coming up...I dread Mrs. Sprout when the stress settles in."
"I remember the September weddings had her panties in a knot. I can only guess..."
Remus hadn't wanted to change the subject, and he dove back into his little interrogation rather bluntly. "Anyway," he said, rudely. "You're not doing okay, so don't try to lie to me. Have you at least tried finding him?"
"He's at Blaise's apartment, you already told me, and no, I won't try to contact him."
Shifting a little on the couch, Remus stared, "Why not?"
"Too much of a hassle. I've got stuff to finish," he waved a hand at the paintings absently.
Remus grimaced. "I'm sure. Listen, why don't you just give him a call? You miss..."
"I don't miss him!" Harry objected quickly and loudly.
"...each other, no doubt." Remus sighed a bit dramatically. "You could try, Harry, really. You two were rarely without the other when you were...together. Harry...you did love him though. Just admit it."
"And you think that will help me? That it will help either of us?"
Harry turned away from him then, tired of 'Draco' talk and unwilling to examine his loneliness any further. Way back when, he would have been happy to drown in his misery. Though living with the ever present threat of Riddle and being occasionally on the streets with junkies and perverts had distracted him enough not to think about it. When he did, however, he'd let the self-pity soak into him naturally. Now, he just wanted to forget.
"I think you'd feel better, and he would. Maybe he's wanting you to call. Maybe he's waiting for you to do something."
He wasn't used to that. Harry had always been the pursued, never the pursuer...but with Draco that had changed a bit. It had been Harry that had leaned across his seat in the car those months ago, initiating a kiss that had continued on to something more. Something passionate and unique and dangerous for the both of them. Always, there was someone after him, and he had never willingly sought out the company of others.
"I'm not like that," he confessed, tiredly. "I don't go to people. They have to come to me."
Remus seemed to realize he was voicing his thoughts honestly, and raised both of his eyebrows. "Well that has to stop. Sometimes you need to suck it up and do something. What happens if the person you're wanting to come to you is waiting for you to come to them?"
"Then it doesn't work out."
His friend made a discontented sound in the back of his throat, and shook his head. "You're giving up a lot that way."
Remus wouldn't settle, apparently, until he said exactly what he wanted to say. He leaned sideways to get something out from his pocket, and dropped a folded piece of paper onto the cushion next to him. "There's Blaise's number...if you decide..."
Granting it a glance for only half a second, Harry decided to ignore the paper with a passion, getting up and starting towards the kitchen. He offered Remus a drink, but the botanist declined. Taking a water bottle from the refrigerator, he unscrewed the top and looked at the empty confines of the fridge sadly. He hadn't been eating much.
"Anyway," Remus said again, and there was an unsatisfied look on his face. "When's your next show?"
"Two weeks from now. It's on Coney."
"Island? You don't like boats."
Harry shrugged. "I'll deal with it."
Remus watched him as he trotted back and sat down on the coffee table, stretching his long legs out on the couch...quite a contrary pose. "I saw your name in the paper," he decided to comment.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Apparently you've gotten extremely popular in the art world."
Harry grinned then; a very open look. He was rather proud of his work, even though he thought it was crap most of the time, he was generally pleased with the reception he was getting for it. People at the show a week ago had said to him that his paintings hung above their dinner table, that they were a novelty...that he was a Warhol incarnate. He had blushed embarrassingly at their praise, and hated to think about it lest the red in his face come back with a vengeance.
"It's a hassle joining their social elite. They sort of claimed me...without my consent, mind you." Harry shook his shaggy black hair. "Oliver thinks it's hilarious. He introduced me to a guy named Krum the other day. All posh and pompous like he's worth something."
"Well isn't he?" Remus asked, laughing.
"Of course not. We're all pretty small in the scheme of things, but this guy...he's a real self-important asshole. He's supposed to be our link to Europe where I'm supposedly having a show next year. Him and his french girlfriend..."
"French?"
Harry leaned back onto the table, knocking a few things over before spreading out on top of it. "You got me. Pretty...but too artsy."
Pretending to put his feet on top of Harry's chest before the artist pushed them off laughingly, Remus grinned and raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to ignore that you were checking out a girl, and ask what you mean by too artsy."
He gave Harry a once over to prove him point.
"First of all, I wasn't checking her out, I can say that she was pretty just because I'm gay," he frowned then. "Kind of like when a straight person says, 'I'd be gay for them', but they aren't really gay."
Remus shook his head, and smiled. "Whatever you say."
"Anyway, what I mean by too artsy...it's too noticeable that she's trying to be artsy. She's fake. I don't like fake people."
They'd ventured in dangerous territory there, and both knew it. Harry knew Remus wanted to say something about him being fake and not admitting that he wanted Draco back...needed Draco back.. Everything came back down to it, Harry noticed wryly, anyone and everything reminded him. It was tiring.
"The paper said you were 'New York's finest artist' and then something about climbing the art hierarchy at a record-breaking time."
"I told you, they adopted me like some kind of pet. It's ridiculous."
"Don't act like you're not flattered," Remus teased.
"It's a good thing Riddle knows I'm here, at least," said Harry offhandedly, and he shifted back into sitting position. "I wouldn't have let them do that article on me otherwise."
He was sure the media would have done it regardless, and Harry wondered at the price of fame.
"Well I'm proud of you," Remus suddenly said, clapping in on the shoulder and getting up. "For what it's worth."
There was no mocking, as Harry expected, rather, his friend was his usual sincere self as he gave Harry a nod and that usual smile of his.
"I better go check on Dennis and Mrs. Sprout. You're lucky your shift is over, it's a mad house down there."
"Need some help?" Harry offered, but Remus shook his head.
"You work too much. Try and get some sleep for once."
There was no point in saying he couldn't sleep, so he sat silently and watched Remus show himself out. At the last moment, his friend turned around with the door in his hand, "Oh, can you do a favor for me?"
Harry nodded without thinking about it. "Go down to the store and get some groceries. You look half-starved."
The door shut as Remus laughed at Harry's expression and the artist was tempted to throw a pillow childishly. Harry leaned back on the coffee table, turning his face to look at the couch and then around the studio. The loft really was a mess, and though there wasn't any of the standard pizza boxes and potato chip wrappers that was expected from someone like, say, Blaise...it was enough for Harry to be angry at himself for the clutter.
He decided, belatedly, that it was time to shape up, and though he didn't move from his sprawled out position on the table, he settled for going out and getting some food. He spared the folded piece of paper an angry glance, before turning his head away from it, and sighing.
"Zabini-Granger residence, how may I help you?"
Blaise got a glare from Hermione for answering the phone that way, every single time, and he grinned back at where she was applying her make-up.
"Blaise?"
Now that voice was enough to shock him into blinking rapidly, and nearly dropping the phone. He hadn't expected the call, and he gestured to Hermione wildly as she looked on, interested, her eyeliner half way towards her eyeball.
"Harry."
He knew his tone was more rude than formal, and he resolved to sound as impassive as possible. Harry seemed to hesitate slightly, and Blaise mouthed 'Harry' in regards to his girlfriend's curious look. She looked shocked, her mouth falling open comically, before she vaulted up from her seat and stood beside him.
"Listen...is Draco there?"
"He's asking for Draco," he whispered to Hermione, his hand over the mouth piece. She looked distressed, and shrugged.
"He's not here," he said into the phone, truthfully. "He's gone out for some lunch with Pansy..."
Immediately, he realized his mistake, and beside him Hermione moved her arms frantically to get him to stop. "I mean..." he faltered, and replaced his hand so that Harry wouldn't hear. "Fuck!"
"Oh," and there was a desolation in Harry's voice that suddenly made Blaise feel guilty. Hermione reached out to take the phone from him, and he shifted away and tried to elbow her.
"I can leave a message, if you like," Blaise said, a bit remorsefully.
"Oh no," Harry haltingly responded. "That's alright. I guess...I'll just call back later."
They both knew Harry wouldn't call back ever. "That's fine," but Hermione finally managed to wrestle the phone away from him.
"Harry, it's Hermione. Blaise's girlfriend."
There was silence. "Oh, yeah, hi."
Hermione didn't have a close relationship with Harry, verily, but decided to go on anyway. "Draco just went out to discuss his father with her, he should be back soon...if you want I can give him a number to call."
"No, that's okay," said Harry, and Hermione listened to his baritone voice waver. "I'll just call again," this time he was more sure of himself. "You don't need to tell him I called."
She was not going to let Harry think that Draco wouldn't get wind of this, if anything it would perk the blond up a bit, if not make him cocky as hell.
"No, I will. He'll be glad you called. How have you been, anyway?"
It was odd asking that to a guy she hardly knew, but the simple fact that she liked him seemed to make up for it. She glanced at Blaise, who rolled his eyes and put his head in his hand.
"Um...all right I guess," he said, unsure.
"When's your next opening?"
"Two weeks. Coney Island...you guys should...go."
Obviously, Harry was sure that she would say no and claim that Harry was no friend of theirs. It was all in the way he spoke, and she desperately wanted to reassure him. "Of course. We wouldn't miss it."
Blaise was gesturing 'no' at her, and she slapped him on the arm to keep him quiet. "I'm sure Draco would like to go as well."
The silence on the other end was awkward this time, and she bit her lip. "Yeah...I guess. Listen, I have to go. I'll just call back."
"I'll tell him you called," she said cheerfully, and heard Harry sigh.
"Yeah, okay. Thanks."
"Bye."
When she hung up, Blaise pounced at her. "I can't believe you did that! 'How are you?' 'I'm sure Draco would like to go!' 'I'll tell him you called!' What the shit?"
She pushed down the hem of her shirt and looked at him through lidded eyes. "Well I thought it was quite tactful."
"Tactful? Hermione, you can't just go fixing this for them!"
Looking offended, she swallowed and raised her chin. "Why not? It needs fixing. Draco's incredibly unhappy, and judging by Harry's completely forlorn attitude, I'd say he's unhappy as well."
"Still," and Blaise shook his head. "You should leave it up to them."
"Sometimes," she said to Blaise with surety. "You need to give people a little shove in the right direction."
Blaise thought she had done more than shove, more like pushed...into oncoming traffic, but wouldn't say so for fear of that infamous slap she used to keep him in line. Draco had gotten another call from Pansy, and had accepted the invitation reluctantly. She was his only connection to the goings-on of his father and Madison and David, so he'd decided to take advantage of it and learn from her when it was all clear to make an appearance. Blaise was no help, since everyone at work ignored him anyway.
Harry had sounded rather upset though, that dulcet voice making it hard to be too mad at him. Blaise sighed, opting to stay out of Hermione's way while she got ready to go, and went outside to smoke a cigarette. The sun was starting to go down, and he couldn't wait for daylight savings when he would get to enjoy the afternoon a bit more. Draco had been gone for quite a while, but it was no surprise.
Thoughtfully, he went over the conversation and cursed his loose tongue once again. Why had he mentioned Pansy? He wasn't that stupid...usually, and he ran a hand through his air, agitated. He only hoped that Hermione was right, and that Draco really would be happy that Harry had called. He would have to beg her not to mention his little mistake.
He'd been walking, quite calmly, minding his own business, and he would hold to that, to a fault. After his conversation with Blaise, Harry had needed to get out no matter the cost, and his long strides down the street had been fast with desperation. Busses passed him, groaning as they admitted a dirty cloud of smoke. He crossed each street and walked each block in a daze, forbidding himself to think.
Not that his brain was all that much inclined to follow directions, and soon he was torturously reliving the traumatic conversation once more. Pansy? Draco had gone back to...Pansy? He refused to believe it, even though all evidence pointed toward Draco running back to his old fiancé. Harry knew it meant he'd screwed up big time.
The ache in his chest would not leave him alone. It pulsed beneath his shirt and moved along with the steps he took toward where ever the hell he chose to go. The grocery store had been his destination, but now...now he just wanted to run, and run far away. Denial shredded through his consciousness, and he decided that Draco really was just seeing Pansy because of his father, for no other reason but that. He had to believe it, or really, there would be nothing keeping him there.
He would confess that he liked being back in New York. He liked the people he grew to know and befriend, and didn't want to leave. The urge to run was very different than willingly going away. When he'd disappeared before...it had been without thought. He hadn't even really realized it until he'd returned and angry faces and questioningly suspicious friends had demanded to know where he was. He had figured it was none of their business, and his defensive demeanor had not won over their misgivings.
Recently, ever since Draco had decided guilt suited Harry well, he'd been mad at himself for the stunts he'd pulled. Running away without a word...leaving Cedric; whom he'd thought quite a lot about recently. What made him think he could break hearts just as easily as Draco did? Was he that arrogant to think that he was untouchable? Unable to return feeling because his beautiful face was sculpted like a statue...and just as cold?
Perhaps he could leave and plead that he needed to do some soul-searching. That thought he'd tossed out right away, since he was more than happy to stay where he was and search to his heart's desire. Draco made finding himself not all that hard, and god, god he wanted him back. No use now, his traitorous heart said, you've lost him.
But Harry would not believe it. He would not give up until they were content as something other than what they were now. The silence between them was suffocating, and Harry hated it.
He had been walking, calmly but slightly frantically, still minding his own business when he'd turned down an alley way and had a rather abrupt and startling surprise. The trash can next to him, for he was in an alley much like the one he'd been in when he was chased into a corner, was hit with something that boomed against his ears like a loud speaker. It was knocked over and dented, and Harry dove behind the nearest dumpster.
His backpack slammed against his side as he hit the wall and crouched down. Another shot grazed the spot above his head, and he heard it hit a window pain and shatter the wood. In quick succession, three booms blasted into the metal of the dumpster and putting holes its exterior. Harry ducked again, a little scared, until he heard a tenor voice suddenly call out.
"Stop."
The silence in the alley way was deafening, but Harry didn't dare look up.
"You can come out Harry, I would only like to speak with you."
Harry scoffed in disbelief, knowing Riddle could hear him. "And that's why you're shooting at me. I guessed as much," and then below his breath, "asshole."
"Unload."
He heard the clips drop to the sidewalk, two, three, and frowned. "Does that suit you? Come out and face me, I would only like to speak with you," Riddle repeated.
Harry was not going to wait there like a coward, and decided if Riddle was going to kill him then he would stand up and get it over with. Not without a fight, his pride protested, and he silently agreed.
Riddle was standing with three goons behind him, and Harry recognized them as Mulciber, Goyle, and Crabbe...his little guard dogs that had made an attempt on Harry's life numerous times. They hated him, naturally, just as Detective Kingsley nursed his sore ego after Harry had outrun him.
"Well?" he asked bluntly, and Riddle grimaced.
"Always so reckless. I apologize for the dramatics of my men, they decided to get your attention with a little target practice."
Harry smirked. "They're going to need some more, I don't think they even came close to hitting me."
Riddle made like he was inspecting the dents and holes the gunshots had caused, and then grimaced. "You're quite right," and he gave Mulciber (for he was closest) a reproachful glare. "But enough of this. I would like to discuss a possible truce."
He's scared, Harry thought fleetingly, or tired of the war before the battle. Coward. He switched his weight and gave the man a patient stare, before grinning. "And why would I do that?"
"Because I know enough about you to hit where it hurts," Riddle sighed dramatically. "It's rather trite, but true. You can destroy my possessions all that you want, but I can truly, what was the phrase? Oh yes, fight dirty."
"You've always fought dirty, and I don't know why you don't ever have an alarm system on your car."
Riddle looked impatient and unimpressed. "I do. You deactivated it."
Harry mockingly thought for a moment, and then grinned wolfishly. "Oh yeah, I guess I did."
Inside, he was wondering frantically what Riddle was trying to pull. No way would he be asking for a peace treaty with so much at stake. He knew well of Harry's hatred for him, and the offer had been offered only once, and the adamant refusal (and punch to the jaw) was enough to convince Riddle that an armistice wouldn't be possible.
The threat...that alarmed him. "I could have completely demolished that quaint flower shop, but I didn't Harry..." Riddle said, somehow sensing his understanding. "I could have taken care of the little Malfoy heir when I realized he knew, but I didn't. I can be merciful."
Despite his panic, Harry laughed with hilarity. "What is this? Can you be any more egotistical?"
The guards behind him twitched, and Harry's amusement rose. "Possibly, but what I say has struck a chord, hasn't it?"
It had, admittedly, and Harry felt the grin slide off of his face. "You want...the book."
"And the letters, and most importantly...I want the money."
Harry knew full well that his business income wasn't doing well ever since Tonks had convinced the bureau to look into Madison and David, but decided to take a jab anyway. "Don't you have enough?"
"It had better be all there, as well. It would be a pain to have to hold that druggie friend of yours responsible."
Harry's heart went cold, and he forgot to breathe. How had he...?
"Yes, I know about your accomplice. I must admit you hid him well, I'm sure he doesn't even know how well. Only visiting him when it was possible, not telling anyone that it was him you disappeared to see. Very clever, but not clever enough."
"Stay away from him," Harry said forcefully, shaking.
"You see more concerned with that screw up rather than your little boyfriend," the man commented curiously.
"Draco can take care of himself. His absence would alarm people...you get rid of him, you buy your own ticket to jail. Same with Remus, people would notice."
"But it scares you that I could take away what you care deeply for," and there was a very self-satisfied grin on Riddle's face. "Really, your best friend is a liability, a junkie...I'd be doing him a favor."
"Stay the fuck away from him or I swear Riddle..."
He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to Seamus. It would be his fault, and his heart jarred at the thought. Suddenly, a truce didn't sound all that bad.
"Now, now, Harry, we mustn't result to violence," and he smirked at his guards, who laughed mockingly. "All you have to do is open that backpack of yours and give me what I want. All this can end, and your friends will be safe from big bad Tom Riddle."
He tossed his head, his dark hair moving away from his eyes and revealing his handsome face. People didn't generally think Tom a bad person, not until they were as familiar with his ways as Harry was, and Harry resented every tiny movement and expression about Riddle in that moment. He hated, with a passion, and wanted so badly not to give in.
"Can I think about it?"
The words had come out before he could stop them, and there was a shocked silence from the four, before they laughed. Riddle wiped a fake tear from his eye and grinned. "Well of course you can, I owe you that much."
Harry thought that Riddle owed him his soul, and maybe a house in Malibu, but held his tongue. "But don't wait too long," the man said, and made a half turn toward the street. "I am not inclined to having to buy any more extremely expensive cars."
It would be an extremely bad time to accuse Riddle of polluting enough already, and then telling him to car pool, so Harry bit his lip and waited until they would leave.
"Oh," and in a dark reflection of Remus' turn around that morning, he smiled back at Harry. "I trust you've heard of Draco and Pansy Parkinson's engagement. Rather fast after such a...harsh...break up, don't you think?"
He left then, and Harry's chest nearly burst out of his body. Watching them go, the pain began to climb from his heart to his throat, tingling his fingertips until his hands clenched into fists. He gave the trash can next to him a furious kick, and then strode off...groceries forgotten.
When he got back to the loft, Remus was closing, and he made to brush past the man without a word. It worked, but only barely, and with a mutter about the store not being open, Harry practically ran upstairs. He wasn't able to properly bang his head against the door until it was closed, and then he sprinted to the phone and dialed Seamus' number. Harry had to make sure he was all right, and when Seamus' voice answered a little drunkenly, Harry felt a relief more strong then he had ever felt.
"Seamus I need you to do something for me," Harry breathed into the receiver. "I need you to disappear for awhile. Just...go back to Rhode Island and see your aunt."
Seamus was drunk, or high, or both, because none of what Harry was saying could process through Seamus' mind. He asked why repeatedly, and Harry said again, "Please, just do it, for me. Riddle knows you're involved. Seam, please."
There were voices and music in the background that were distracting him, and Harry tried without hope to get his friend's attention. "Don't worry about the money, I've got the account number and I'll take care of it. Take a little in the morning and then leave..." but it was useless, and after the line had gone silent for long enough that Harry could assume Seamus was gone, he hung up.
Panic seized him, and he blinked furiously against frustrated tears. He didn't know what to do. Giving up to Riddle would mean that all he'd gone through was a joke, that he'd fought for his parents and lost. He silently cursed those that hadn't believed him, for the people that couldn't see behind that innocently successful mask Riddle wore. Mostly, he cursed his parents for leaving him so devastatingly alone.
And Draco. Jesus, Harry thought, and he sat down on the couch heavily. So it was true, and though he knew Riddle would only say those words to hurt...he had suspected. Maybe if Blaise hadn't of said they were together that afternoon, Harry wouldn't have been worried, and brushed it off as a comment meant to hurt. God, did it hurt, and it was no one's fault but his. He reminded himself again of what he'd done...he hated himself and Riddle and the situation. Harry leaned back against the couch and put a shaking hand over his eyes.
He didn't know how long he sat there and thought, but dawn had come and he remembered drifting off and waking up with his muscles taut and his head aching. Harry had come to one conclusion while laying like a vegetable the entire night, and he didn't like it one bit. He would have to go to Lucius Malfoy.
