A/N: Hello everyone! And it's chapter five. Here. Now. Thank you reviewers! Especially the reviewers that review frequently; lot of effort to review, you know? I admit that I'll sometimes read a really good story (or a really bad one), and instead of encouraging the author and saying how great the fic is (or flaming the author and telling them to work on the story before they kill it), I just kind of think, "I'll do it later." You know? This chapter isn't as long as chapter four, but it's also not as short as chaw slightly more than half empty, and Draco was, in his opinion, not only thinking more clearly than he had ever thought before in his life, but he was also completely over that damned bastard. Draco muttered incoherently and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. Sniffling, he took another sip of whiskey. "Why is he doing this?" he asked, whirling around precariously to face one of the three Blaise Zabinis sitting by the fireplace. "Why?"
"Who?" Blaise asked, curious. He knew Draco had been shagging someone since theE2��s doing?" he asked no one in particular, pausing to take a gulp from the bottle of whiskey he was holding. The bottle was now slightly more than half empty, and Draco was, in his opinion, not only thinking more clearly than he had ever thought before in his life, but he was also completely over that damned bastard. Draco muttered incoherently and wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. Sniffling, he took another sip of whiskey. "Why is he doing this?" he asked, whirling around precariously to face one of the three Blaise Zabinis sitting by the fireplace. "Why?"
"Who?" Blaise asked, curious. He knew Draco had been shagging someone since the winter formal, at least, but he hadn't been able to find out who. Well, it wasn't a she, that was for sure.
Draco squinted at him for a few seconds, then he snorted noisily. "Exactly," he mumbled, taking another long swig from the bottle.
"You going to let me have some of that?" Blaise asked. "I mean, I did buy it and all..."
"No." Draco tipped his head back and chugged the remainder of the whiskey.
"All right, then," Blaise said quietly, his lips twisted upward in a half-smile. Draco had never been this messed up before. Actually, he'd never been messed up at all. Draco Malfoy was always the one who was in control of relationships. And now it lookedlike the other guy had gotten the upper hand this time.
"I hate that... that... agh!" Draco pulled out his wand as quickly as he could manage and pointed it at one of the pillows on the sofa, blasting it to bits.
"I liked that pillow," Blaise protested mildly.
"Shut up, you," Draco growled, pointing his wand at one of the three Blaises. He repeated the same spell that had destroyed the pillow. Fortunately, he hit the wrong Blaise.
"This is the last time I get you any alcohol stronger than... okay, okay, I'm sorry." Blaise held up his hands and rose out of the leather armchair he'd been sitting in.
"Do you have any more?" Draco asked, noticing the lack of whiskey in the bottle he was holding.
"No... okay, wait!" Blaise dodged another harmful spell. "I have vodka! But that's it!"
"You've got exactly thirty seconds to get it and bring it down here," Draco stated, crossing his arms and turning away. "And don't think I won't be counting. Or that I won't come for you."
Blaise was already gone.
How could Potter leave him like that? First Potter had denied him sex, then he'd walked out on him in the room by the rusty old suit of armor. Then he'd asked fucking Lavender Brown, the stupidest bitch, period, out on a date, and they were definitely going to be having sex by tomorrow at the latest. What the hell was Potter playing at? Was this some kind of statement? What... was Potter trying to show Draco that he didn't need him? Well, Draco didn't need Potter, either. Son of a fucking bitch. "Where the hell's that vodka?" Draco roared.
"I haven't even been gone ten seconds yet!" Blaise shouted in reply.
Draco crossed his arms and sat down on an ottoman... and missed. He fell on his back, sprawling out on the expensive rug that covered the stone floor. He closed his eyes, letting the light from the fireplace play against the darkness of his eyelids. And saw Potter's face. Draco moaned and opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. What the hell was wrong with him? It had to be the alcohol. Fine then, Blaise could keep his damn vodka.
Rubbing at his eyes, Draco rolled over so he could gaze into the fire. There was something hypnotizing about a fire. It was bright, alive, dancing. It drew you to it, making you feel open and vulnerable. And then Draco didn't want to look at the fire anymore; a Malfoy was never supposed to be vulnerable. Vulnerability meant weakness. And Draco was not weak. He couldn't be. If he ever allowed himself to be weak, he'd be crushed. He'd learned that early on in life.
Draco sat up and rose to his feet slowly, feeling dizzy. He rubbed at his temples, frowning. He needed to find some perspective again. But he couldn't do that in the dungeons; too closed, too cold. Not cold in the sense that it made you shiver, but cold in the sense that it seemed to drain you of life. The dungeons made you feel cold emotionally, not physically. "Blaise, forget about the vodka!" Draco shouted. "I'm leaving for a bit. Cover for me if somebody asks where I am."
Draco's favorite place to be alone was on the roof of the Astronomy Tower. It was the highest point of the school, towering over all of the Hogwarts grounds and beyond. It made Draco feel like the king of the world while making him feel as insignificant as a house elf; alone, but connected to everything and everyone. Getting up to the roof was a bit of a problem on this particular night, however, since Draco had to cling to the wall in order to prevent himself from falling down the stairs. But it was all worth the long, dizzying climb when he reached his destination. He made his way to the edge, making sure he didn't come too close; he was drunk, so he didn't trust his senses or his balance just then.
The night was beautiful. The moon wasn't full, but it was large enough to touch everything with its silvery-white light, and small enough to allow the stars to shine brightly. And there were so many stars, looking like twinkling diamonds against deep purplish-blue velvet. Draco looked up high into the sky, then fell backward onto the hard stone of the roof. "Ow!" he muttered, pushing himself up to sit upright.
After the world stopped spinning, Draco was able to focus on the stars again, their numbers increased due to the ridiculous amount of alcohol he had consumed. A soft breeze rushed past him, blowinghis hair away from his face. He shivered, but not so much from cold as from enjoyment. He'd miss this place when school was over. The view was magical. It was nature's magic. And the only other person that knew he came to this place was Potter.
Draco grimaced, remembering his encounter with Potter on the roof of the Astronomy Tower. It had been late, very late. The moon had already disappeared, and the stars were just beginning to fade away. Draco had been sitting at the edge of the roof, his legs dangling out in the air, when he'd noticed a sillouhette fly across the sky, high above the Quidditch pitch. He'd watched the figure for awhile, which seemed as hypnotizing as a fire, when, suddenly, it began to fly toward him. Draco had panicked; the roof was his spot, after all. And then he'd realized it was Potter. They hadn't fought on the roof as much as they would have in the days before the deal, and the situation had ended in angry sex. And then Potter had promised he'd never come to the Astronomy Tower again unless Draco asked him to. Before Draco had even threatened him. Potter had said he understood the need to be alone; that was the reason he'd been out flying so late. It turned out both Draco and Potter enjoyed the night life. Not the crazy, hectic lifestyle that people enjoyed out in the city. They liked the real night; the beautiful world of silence.
Potter. He was thinking about Potter again. Draco groaned and buried his head into his knees, pulling at his hair. What had possessed him todrink an entire bottle of whiskey in such a short amount of time? It only made him insane. Then again, he'd already been acting more or less insane lately. Asking Potter about his problems. Draco had set the terms of the deal, one of them being no personal questions, and he had gone and asked Potter what the hell was wrong. Like he didn't already know.
But Potter had touched insanity as well. He'd come pretty damn close to asking questions, too. And each time, Draco had had to forget about it, forcing himself to shove it out of his mind so he could believe that nothing was wrong. Things were still the same between them, damnit. And he knew that was a lie, because he suddenly felt like crying. Something that a Malfoy just didn't do. A Malfoy had to smile and bear the pain, even if it was killing him. He knew that Potter didn't care about not crying; he'd watched Potter cry plenty of times in his sleep. Never when he was awake, though. Maybe Potter did have a problem with crying. Nobody other than Draco seemed to know that the Golden Boy was not doing just fine. Sure, his friends would look concerned sometimes and ask the occasional question, but, ultimately, they'd just back off. Couldn't accept the truth. But Draco hadn't been able to, either. He'd retreated from the subject as well. And then Potter had left him. Then he'd asked that slut to... a sound that was halfway between a wail and a growl escaped Draco's lips, coming from somewhere deep inside him in places he kept away from even himself.
What, did Potter want something easier? Did he want the typical family, with the typical wife, and the typical kids in the typical home? Fat chance he had of getting that. Potter's life just wasn't typical in any way, shape, or form. And if it was, then it was a lie. Draco would never have what "experts" labeled "the perfect life" either. And it sucked. Sucked the life right out of him. Did Potter feel the same way? It was getting both harder and easier to tell at the same time. Potter was the only person in the entire world, in Draco's entire life, that could enlighten and confuse him so much at the same time. There was nothing more annoying than feeling like you've gained and lost something simultaneously. Actually, there was; not knowing what you'd gained or lost. That was Potter, in a nutshell. "Stop fucking thinking about him!" he growled to himself.But Draco knew that was impossible. Did he stick with Potter's thoughts like this? Did Potter go insane at night, trying to drive thoughts of him out of his head? Did Potter succeed? He doubted it. And then he doubted his doubt; why was Potter going out with Brown?
Because he was fucked up in the head. Potter was crazy. What the hell did he see in such an idiotic... what did Potter see in Draco? Someone to fuck? Did he see the same thing in the girl? Draco closed his eyes tightly, as if he were in pain. Surely Potter saw him as a little, just a little, more than someone to fuck in secret; he wouldn't have tried to ask questions if he didn't, right? Draco couldn't count on it; the pain he felt now would be nothing compared to what he'd feel if he believed, then found out he was wrong. The thought that someone could actually care for him... no, he couldn't hope for it. Besides, Potter had left him, anyway. Good thing he hadn't hoped. Then Draco realized he hadn't been breathing for the past couple of minutes. And when he forced himself to breathe again, he felt like someone had dropped an anvil on his chest.
Draco shivered, wrapping his arms around himself. Damnit. Potter had run out on him. He'd fucked up the plan. Fucked up the deal. The deal was simple, and Potter had ruined it. Ruined it and left Draco feeling like he was dying. Why did he feel like he was dying? It was probably just the damned alcohol. Then Draco wondered why Potter had left in the first place. Sure, Draco had lost his sanity temporarily and asked questions. Personal questions. Which was a definiteno-no when it came to noncommittal sex. But Potter had more or less asked him things, too. He hadn't exactly come out and asked him what he was feeling, but he had worked his way around it... he'd done what the Muggles called beating around the bush. He'd been indirectly asking him why he needed something like the deal in the first place. So, to tell him off once and for all, Draco had turned around and whacked that bush down to the roots. Smooth. Maybe Draco had been left behind because he wasn't able to answer the questions he asked. Well, he would if he could. But he didn't even know what was wrong himself.
A mosquito landed on his thigh and he brushed away, the situation temporarily diverting his train of thought. But not making him forget. Nothing could take his mind off of his problems. Except for Potter. But now Potter was his problem. Damnit, everything was so fucked up, and it was all Potter's fault. And his own. But he'd never admit it. Not to himself, not to anybody. He'd keep living what people called "the life" until he was washed away. He wouldn't run away from any deals he made. Unlike some people. But he wouldn't wait around either. So there.
And then something inside him told him to look up. He lifted his head slowly from his knees, looking up into the sky. And saw a dark figure fly across the moon. He watched the shadow swirl and twirl around in the sky, dipping down to the ground and pulling back up again just before it hit the dew-covered grass of the Quidditch pitch. Potter. Potter was flying. Potter had said he flew for the same reasons Draco came to sit on the roof of the Astronomy Tower. So something was bothering Potter. What? Maybe he was feeling guilty about leaving him. Good. Son of a bitch. Was Potter messing around with him intentionally? Or was it an escape? Had Draco become more of a reminder than a way to forget? Potter had sure as hell become something real. A real pain in the ass.
Draco snorted, still watching Potter dart around the pitch. He never should have asked Potter to help him forget, offered to help Potter forget. But Potter had ended up being the best thing for him. And he'd also become the worst. And Draco couldn't tell Potter any of this because he didn't know how. But it didn't matter now, because apparently Potter was already gone. And Draco didn't know how to get him back, so he wouldn't try. Maybe Potter knew how, but if he didn't, then the deal was over.
Yes, Potter did seem to fuck up everything; before Potter, Draco had always left the Astronomy Tower feeling more in touch with himself, and now he felt more lost than he had ever felt before in his entire life.
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A/N: That's the end of chapter five. For those of you who believe it's too soon for Harry and Draco to realize their feelings for each other, don't worry; I think so, too. Like the end of this chapter says: Draco's never been more confused in his entire life. And, I mean, Harry's going out with Lavender. Of all people. They're still completely clueless, okay? And when one of them does find out (which one will it be? I don't know either. I'm actually in suspense, too), they'll most likely be in some major denial. And then you have to wait for the other guy to come around... tiring, isn't it? So, no worries. There's plenty more angst to go. And more sex. The sex won't stop. I'll give you a heads up when there'll be sex (between Draco and Harry, that is) again. Next chapter includes: a mortified, partially suicidal Harry, a controlling, shallow Lavender, a jealous, controlling Hermione, a supportive, mortified, partially suicidal Ron (turns out Lavender makes guys feel mortified and partially suicidal), and awkward attempts at sex between Harry and Lavender.And from the Slytherin side ofHogwarts: ajealous, raving Draco, a curious,analytical Blaise,and a slutty, bitchy Pansy.Reviewers, have at it!
