A/N: Last chapter. wink Hope you enjoyed. It's gone well on LiveJournal, it's getting on fine here. Next stop? Astronomy Tower! mwah Love you all.
Dedication: My LJ h0rs. There ain't no stoppin' us now, loffs.
Disclaimer: I don't own–oh...you know it by now.

The Draco Malfoy Angst Chronicles

Prelude...

Draco hated sappy romance plays but he hated it even more when his own manuscript started sounding like one. Potter, he responded to Harry's fevered look. Read this.

He leaned forward. There were new lines.

HARRY: Angst is for lovers, right? And we're not.
DRACO: Angst is for everybody. Potter. You've just had too much of it and I want some of it.
HARRY: Then you're saying--
DRACO: I'm saying everything.

x x

ACT ONE,

SCENE FOUR:

Draco Malfoy Says Everything

SETTING: Everywhere you don't want to be

CHARACTERS: DRACOHARRY

Avoidance was not a Malfoy trait.

Confrontation was a Malfoy trait. Getting in someone else's face was a Malfoy trait. Bickering, upbraiding, yelling, scolding–all of those were part of the Malfoy code of conduct. What wasn't, though, was the precarious and delicate art of avoiding somebody.

Draco had to work on it.

He didn't like hiding behind pillars, or shifting his Potions book so that he couldn't look a certain way. Talking around a subject was not his thing, and walking faster than his leisurely pace just to get out of someone's way made him twitch. The really stupid thing, though, was who Draco was avoiding.

We're not even going to say who.

It was stupid of him, really. He shouldn't be avoiding Potter (of course it was him) just because of some stupid misfit. They'd practically had one every day, every hour, every waking minute–even when he was kissing him (and there came the furious blush) or trying to shut him up so he didn't make a lot of noise (accompanied by the furious mumbling).

But he was, because he thought he was angry at Potter for being the wee little angst boy.

"Stupid Potter," Draco scowled, trying to study in the current emptiness of his dormitory, "stupid Potter and his stupid tricks. Trying to get everyone to love him because he's so angsty." The words in front of him blurred, and, irritated, he shut his eyes. "Because he's led such a horrifying, sad life, oh, boo-hoo–let's all just kiss baby Potty on the nose and watch him sniffle, because that's the right thing to do. Let's not do anything about it but suffer for him. Hah!" He slammed his quill onto the parchment so hard the tip snapped, but he paid no attention. "What does he think he is, a god? Hell...if anyone's going to be anyone's god in this school, it's going to be me, and it's going to be–"

And there was the catch. He hadn't realized what he was saying: being too furious to think before he spoke, he ended up ranting without paying mind to the words coming out of his mouth. In essence, he had just said he was going to be somebody's god–somebody's saviour, somebody's lifeline. Someone's omnipotent angel...someone's...someone's...

"No," he started again, calmly this time, trying to erase what he'd said before, "I won't be anyone's god. I'll–" to his surprise his voice cracked, and he winced: he hardly ever did that, and it embarrassed him. "–I'll be my own god, have my own rules, live my own life, and..."

The manuscript in his mind rustled. This was not the way his tragedy was supposed to be going. In order to be his own god, he'd have to give everything–everyone–else up. He'd have to live a life of solitude and hope for the goddamned best, because fending for himself in the Malfoy way meant fending for himself without anybody around to pamper him. And pampering meant...someone to...care...and someone to...l–

"Bloody hell," he hissed, getting up abruptly from the chair and spilling the ink from his bottle, but he left it to soak into Blaise's books, not bothering at all. "Why is this happening to me? Stupid Mum and her stupid romance plays, stupid Romeo and Juliet." His eyes darted to the upturned floorboard, and he angrily set it back into place. "Stupid tragedy, stupid life–" he kicked his trunk and tried not to yowl in pain, but it came out differently: "Stupid Potter!"

And what, his conscience tested him, does Potter have to do with all this?

"And stupid CONSCIENCE!" Draco screamed, a bit ballistic now, not really caring if anyone heard him. He had obviously inherited some of the nasty screaming habits Harry had gotten when he turned fifteen–how Draco had vowed himself never to be like that, and now look at him. "Who are you to ask what Potter has to do with this? Saint Potter! Beautiful Potter! Perfect Potter! Savior Potter! Oh yeah, it's all about Harry...everything has to do with Harry nowadays, doesn't it!"

Oh yes it did, indeed.

Draco loosened his tie, suddenly finding it way too tight, and leaned against the wall, out of breath and hazy from screaming so much. Everything is about Harry nowadays. It used to be all about angst, all about Draco's play. All about his life tragedy, all about him, Draco Malfoy, Slytherin, self-proclaimed King of Hogwarts. But now...ever since...someday...it was turning out to be all Harry Potter, all the time.

"Damn that man," Draco clenched between his teeth, "damn him for what he did to me." He looked at the spilled ink, the chipped quill, the kicked trunk. "Damn him for what he does to me."

Oh no, his mind twittered innocently, for the mind knew all, damn him for what he'll do to you, and damn yourself for what you do back, Draco Malfoy.

He stalked out the door angrily, shooting dirty looks (and words) at the people in the common room who stared at him. Fuck avoidance. After what he'd just come to terms with, avoiding Harry Potter was the last thing he wanted to do.

/an empty corridor. DRACO is walking with lengthy strides, apparently not going anywhere, just walking. HARRY walks towards him, looking at the ceiling, not knowing he is walking straight into DRACO./

HARRY: /walking/

DRACO: /mumbling furiously/

/the two boys (men?) near each other dangerously, until it is clear none of them are focused enough to move. Sure enough, they collide with a fierce crash./

DRACO: Ow––!

HARRY: /on the ground, glasses askew/ Who the–?

/both of them, still on the ground, look up. Harry adjusts his glasses./

DRACO: /sarcastically/ Oh, just my luck. It's Saint Potter, the Boy who Loves to Fuck with my Mind.

HARRY: /quizzically, blinking/ Malfoy? Is that you?

DRACO: /still sarcastically/ No, you twit, it's the heir of Slytherin, come back to try and make you snuff it once again.

HARRY: Oh, okay. Malfoy, then. /getting up/ What do you want?

DRACO: /who seems to have forgotten his previous anger/ I was just walking. I can take a walk, can't I?

HARRY: /grinning/ I dunno, Malfoy, I just thought you'd be in your dorm, scratching out a little more of that so-called angsty tragedy of yours–whatsup, did your muse piss you off–?

/and suddenly Draco remembers, as he takes a fistful of Harry's shirt and slams him into the wall, much like he has done dozens of times before, only this time he has different intentions./

HARRY: /shocked/ Malfoy, what the hell is your prob–

DRACO: I didn't know you were a Seer, Potter.

HARRY: I...I'm not–

DRACO: Then you're obviously very intuitive. Thinking that my muse pissed me off. Because in fact, my stupid muse did in fact piss me off. He pissed me off a lot.

HARRY: He?

DRACO: No, Potter. She. You know, like a caryatid.

HARRY: /completely baffled/

DRACO: Oh, you–Merlin, this is getting stupid. Yes, Potter. You pissed me off so much I thought I'd gone through hell and back and stopped over for a visit in You-Know-Who's robes.

HARRY: /who has noticed by now that when Draco gets mad, he starts talking very weirdly/ You're not making sense. I'm your mu–?

DRACO: No, you're just the stupid one! Don't you get it? You. Are. My. Problem.

HARRY: And why is that?

DRACO: Because! /fully ranting now/ Because you're everywhere! And you're everything to everybody! And everybody loves you–

HARRY: Hey–

DRACO: I can't just tease you about it anymore, make you feel like shit like I did before. No, no. Because for some absurd and completely asinine reason, I can't do it anymore. I can't remember what it feels like to make you feel like I just threw you on the ground because you're just everyfuckingwhere! EVERYWHERE! Everywhere I turn, there's a mention of you, a glance of you, or even just you–and that made me numb to the joy I got in killing yours! I used to hate you, Potter! Used to hate you, hate you, hate you! And now it's–I want to hate you, but you make it hard!

HARRY: /a little scared, but trying to be calm/ And why's that?

DRACO: Because of last time. And the times before that. And the times I pushed you up against the wall–like this–and took off your tie–and unbuttoned your shirt–and I did that because I hated you then, too. I wanted you to suffer. At least–I thought I did. But then you told me all that crap about you living your whole life carrying a bucket of angst. A bucket, Harry. That's a lot.

HARRY: /pause/ Er, are you okay–

DRACO: No, I'm not okay. Shut up and listen. So I thought about it. And you said, oh Malfoy, let's not be angsty because we're not lovers and you're a spoiled rich boy, okay? Let's just, you know, have raw sex but forget about everything else. Including the angst. I tried! I tried, Harry! I. Tried. But it didn't work. Then I thought, enough of this. I'm going to avoid you. But that was just more stupid. And angstier. That made it more difficult.

HARRY: /starting to get it/ ...ah...

DRACO: So now I think I know. What angst is. I proved you wrong, savior Potter, when you said I couldn't know what angst was. Yes! You said that to me! You told me that I could never know, because I was too fragile and lost in my own fantasies, but now I know. I know–I know because–

/and there is an awkward silence./

HARRY: /softly/ Because?

DRACO: /faltering/ Because...

HARRY: /gently taking DRACO'S hands off his shirt/ Look, Draco. I didn't think we were lovers. So I didn't want any angst. Honestly, I didn't want any more than I already had. And you made me angry when you talked like you knew everything. Not different from any other day, but this seemed to be different. I–I dunno. The way you intercepted it just made it different. So I thought...no angst. I don't care if you want it, I don't need it. But I wanted you to–

DRACO: /cutting him off/ Angst is for everybody, Potter. You–you've just had too much of it, and I want some of it.

HARRY: You do? /shocked, then shaking his head/ Then–no. You're not saying–you can't be saying–

DRACO: /hissing/ I'm. Saying. Everything.

It was vague enough for the passerby not to know what the statement meant, but it was clear enough for Harry to understand, and it was clear enough for Draco to understand, and it was so clear that it made them both cringe for a moment, as if to take in the realization that if angst was for lovers, then they surely were.

Lovers, we mean.

And then Draco was pulling away, trying to run away before anything else happened, because it was new and raw and pink, like a scab, and he didn't want to pick on it but something in the way Harry grabbed his wrist made him come back. Then they looked at each other, still trying to get used to it, as if the transition between hate and love had happened too quickly–since it had. Up until that moment, their belief was hate, their creed was to forever loathe each other. But after that one moment–everything suddenly blurred, and things ceased to make sense, and it all led off from there.

Harry had his hand on Draco's wrist and he tugged and Draco stumbled forward and stiffened, because the contact was all wrong, incongruent, and something didn't belong, but they didn't know what it was. Draco had said everything, but Harry wanted to finalize it, because maybe he didn't want any more angst, but by God the man would have to accept it if he wanted to live. Angst comes with the package, and Harry learned that, oh yes he did, as he clumsily brought a strange yet familiar face towards his and pressed his lips against skin–and skin slid around to find lips; wet, shaking, and brutal.

It was all over; or maybe it was just beginning.

They pulled apart but not much: their noses were brushing, and Harry half-realized their hands were clasped together, as if they both wanted to hold onto something for fear of falling. Draco exhaled, and Harry realized he had been holding it long after the kiss broke.

"So...did you get any?"

Draco blinked. "Any what?"

"Any angst. From me–you said you wanted some."

He licked his lips.

"I don't know," Draco answered, "Do you think, Potter, that you'll let me try and get some more?"

Oh. Harry ran a hand through his so-called lover's hair, just to feel it, and to reenact the movement that he had seen Draco do fifty million times. "By all means..." There was a satisfied smirk against his lips, and he almost refused to believe it was there–almost, until he realized he actually hated it less than he liked it.

"...be my guest, you angst whore."

Interlude...

And so ends the great tragedy of Draco Malfoy. Nowadays he likes to think of it as more of a declaration of his insanity, as falling in love with Harry Potter is by all means not a very sane thing, but it's still his play and from time to time he likes to read it. From time to time, he likes to reenact it, but he knows he'll never add anything to it. His muse was still his muse, and there's still wall-slamming, and tie-choking, and then tie-untying and tie-throwing aside.

According to Draco Malfoy, angst has another meaning. He's still experimenting, but he thinks he knows what it is. But all he has to do is just read his play again–and he'll remember.

THE DRACO MALFOY ANGST CHRONICLES: -FIN-

Omake!

Draco: Aaaand I'd like to thank my Mum, and Dad–Harry: By the way, Draco, where is your dad? The wizarding world hasn't seen much of him round these parts lately...
Draco: You'd better shut it, Potter. Anyway–Mum, Dad, Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle. Millicent, Blaise. Theodore...Snape–
Harry: Why the hell're you thanking Snape?
Draco: Didn't I tell you to shut it? Yes, Snape–and...oh, pity. I think my list is done. Well, that's it. Hope you enjoyed my play, plebes. And the angst and UST and the, you know, really nongraphic sex, but I bet it was really graphic in your minds. Now, Harry. Let's go.
Harry: Hey, don't I get a thanks speech?
Draco: Are you kidding? I was the main character, hence my emotional breakdown and also because MY NAME HAPPENS TO BE IN THE TITLE. Oh...look at that!
Harry: You are so...
Draco: Sexy? Gorgeous? Beautiful? Dazzling? Lovely? Intelligent?
Harry: ...in for a punishment.
Draco: Oooh. That sounds lovely.
Harry/glower/
Draco: I mean... /in a horribly false voice/ 'Oh, Harry. I am so scared. Please. Help me. Aaah. I fear I will be hurt very much very soon. Oh, goodness–'
Harry: You can stop now...
Draco: Right, then. /waving to audience/ Well, we must be off–I've got a punishment to be had.
Harry: Must you tell everyone?
Draco: Come on, they want to know. Maybe someone will fic it.
Harry/blushing/ Uh-uh. No way. NOW LET'S GO.
Draco: Once again, Harry Potter...the Boy who Loves to Fuck with my Mind–
Harry: –and that's not all!
Draco: And you tell me to be decent? Come on, Potter. You're as dirty as the bottom of Weasley's sink.
Ron: HEY!
Harry: Er...we really should be going now.
Draco: Awww...
Hermione/pops in/ I most certainly do not bear any resemblance at all to a bush.
Pansy: Putasockinnit, Bushy.
Hermione: Don't. Even. Go. There.


The Honest to God End. Really!