Notes, etc: Leaving for the Yucatán tomorrow- this is my little parting gift. Pretty short. Oh well.

This chapter contains: some cursing, Harry in Draco's bed, slash, and a train.

Chapter 22: Every Shade of Pain

        He wakes up to air so cold it raises the hairs on his forearm and momentarily paralyzes his vocal chords. He wakes up to rumpled sheets and quilts at the foot of the bed and frosted window panes and an empty bed that is too big for his small frame.

        It takes him a moment to remember where he is, because it's early and he's slept for maybe three hours and his eyelids keep sliding shut. But he knows that this is not his warm quilted Gryffindor bed and only Draco would kick the blankets to the foot of the bed and then not replace them.

        Draco.

        It comes as a shock to him when he realizes rather than acknowledges that he is alone. And today is a March day- a spring day- a leaving day.

        He closes his eyes and nearly loses himself to sleep, as urgent as the moment is- then jolts awake and is tumbling out of the bed, onto the freezing floors, into his clothes before he forgets what he is doing, who he is saving.

        He can't go back to his room because Ron will be there, Ron with gasoline eyes and dark fire for hair, Ron who once saw Harry and Draco kissing on the Quidditch pitch.

        He can't go to Hermione because she's probably already in the library, already buried in the quiet history of someone else's life so as to escape her own.

        He can't go to Lee or the twins because they have all been so incredibly weird lately that no one really wants to be around them, the twins radiating happiness that Harry didn't think was possible, Lee a mumbling chaotic mess.

        So he simply runs through the hallways, looking for someone or anyone who might tell him where Draco was, looking for a head of silver and cloud-colored eyes. Looking for translucent skin and pale thin lips and birdlike forearms lacerated with every shade of pain.

        Draco stands waiting for the train that will take him home. People swirl around him, saying goodbyes, whispering promises, getting in one last good joke. He has no one to say goodbye to and so he stands alone in a crowd, his eyes fixed on the horizon, watching the red dot that will become the train.

        He sees Draco as he comes down the road, sees the slender figure that is his lover standing in the center of it all; not there at all. He sees the dot as well, growing larger, and so he runs even though he is exhausted and his legs ache from running around the castle, searching.

        When he sees him, Draco moans. "Oh, Jesus, you woke up." He says, and in his eyes is the same exhaustion pumping through Harry's blood.

        Because no one is paying attention to them, to busy too care, Harry feels safe saying, "You left the comforters at the foot of the bed. I nearly froze to death." And he smiles, or tries.

         "You shouldn't be here." His voice without inflections. His eyes focused somewhere over Harry's shoulder.

        Trying to be acknowledged: "But I am. Here." Reaching up and guiding Draco's chin, the gentlest of touches. They're the same height after all. But Draco will not look at him.

        The train rattles: nearly there.

        "I'm leaving." Draco announces with quiet horror.

        But he still doesn't think it's true. No matter what Draco does or says Harry can't bring himself to accept the fact that Draco is voluntarily stepping back into his so-called home. He doesn't understand the way Lucius' shadow is slowly eating at Draco's.

        "You can't." Harry says, because it is simple to him.

        Exploding: "God fucking damnit. How many times have I told you—how many times—I can't fucking believe—I can't. Stay here." Rubbing at his temples. "I don't care that you don't understand. I don't care that it goes against everything you believe in. I don't fucking care what you believe in."

        "Draco."
        "I am leaving."

        "Jesus, Draco—"

        "I am going home."

        Harry takes his arm, his fingers folding over the scars. "I am asking you to stay. Here with me. I am begging you to stay away from him."

        But the train is at the station, the doors are opening, and Draco is pulling away. And Harry won't let go and Harry's voice is cracking and he still will not believe that Draco is leaving.

        "You can't leave me. You won't go back to him. You know you can't go back to him." Holding on harder, digging his fingers into Draco's skin. "You can't bloody leave me. You know you don't want to. Christ, you can't fucking do this."

        And Draco's fist is slamming against Harry's cheek, and Harry is spitting blood, and the world is spinning.

        And when everything clears the train is gone, and with it Draco, and Harry is left alone on the platform, his blood spattered on his shoes.