Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
The story title is taken from the title of a song by AFI
Warnings: Suicide, angst, a lil o' men lovin' other men (okay a lot), a bit of language. Don't read if you don't want to be depressed.
PART TWO: DRACO'S POV
The cold wind feathers through my hair, turning my pale complexion pink from the frost. The tears don't help any. It's been a week, seven days, one hundred and seventy-six hours, ten thousand five hundred and eighty-four minutes since I found Harry slumped against the wall in the Prefect's bathroom. My face has been tear-stained since.
It's only been a week since he died and they're having a funeral. It's too soon, far too soon. I'd much rather be in my room, huddled in the corner, face buried in my knees as I sob to an empty room, silencing charm firmly in place, than be here where there are other people. I hate being this vulnerable.
My breath is loud and harsh and gasping and it's all I can do to prevent myself from falling to the ground and sobbing myself hoarse. There are others here, of course, but all I can think about is him. Harry. He's all I've thought about for months; ever since I let my guard down and fucked him up against a wall. It's what I wanted, gods, it's what I wanted. But I couldn't let him know that. Like I said, I hate being that vulnerable.
So, when he kissed me, I had my mask firmly in place and pulled away from his lips, feeling my heart shattering and protesting such idiocy as I did so. I didn't want people to know how much I love him, and how we could very well have had a relationship, but they know now. My actions for the past week are enough to clue people in on how deep my feelings run for the man. But, it's too late. It doesn't matter anymore. He's dead.
He left letters. Each addressed to a different person; Weasley, Granger, Lupin, Severus- surprising, I know- all the other people left of the Weasley clan, Dean Thomas, Hagrid, and, yes, me. The words he wrote are imprinted in my mind and I know I'll never forget them.
Draco,
I know you don't care for me, but you must know by now how much I love you. I've thought of you constantly for the past months and I simply can't do it anymore. I can't keep loving you with your cold indifference staring me in the face. My life is catching up with me. Too many people's lives have been lost because of me, including mine. I have lost my chance to be with you and that's all I really want anymore. I hope with all my heart that you find that one person who makes you feel just as I feel when I see you. Don't ever think that I don't love you, even if you wish it weren't so. I hope you have a happy life, I really do.
-Harry
A choked sob comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. I didn't know he loved me, for Merlin's sake. I thought it was just a silly infatuation, because how could Harry, the most amazing person ever to exist, love someone like me? And knowing that by suppressing my own feelings for him was a part in his suicide; it tears me apart from inside out.
As they lower his casket into the ground, I can't take it anymore. The pain is just too much, far too much. My knees give out and my mask crumbles completely as I fall to the ground below me. I grasp for something, tearing up clumps of grass as I sob and sob and sob. I can't imagine pain worse than this.
I choke out words, stilted and raspy between my unrelenting sobs. They're words of remorse, love, pain, fucking unbelievable guilt, all for Harry. I'm confessing everything to a person who's been dead for a week and I can't stop myself. The only thing in my mind is the fact that Harry is gone, and I'm to blame. A small voice reminds me that it's not completely my fault he's dead, but I don't care. I took a part in Harry's decision to down the bottle of pills and end his life. Nothing is more painful than knowing that simple fact.
I feel strong arms pulling me up and I vaguely register the voice of Severus trying to soothe me with calming words and a small part of me is thankful for the support, but most of me is clawing at the pair of arms holding me up, screaming out sobs and apologies to Harry. I know that Severus is trying to help me, but I don't deserve the help. I helped kill the man I love, I don't deserve anything short of grueling torture before a slow, painful death.
The arms around my waist slacken and I tumble to the ground again. I don't know how long I'm there, but by the time my voice is hoarse and I physically can't cry anymore, it is dark. I sit up, my muscles protesting due to being stuck in the same position for hours, but I don't care, I deserve it. I stand up and turn around. Severus and Lupin are standing there. Their faces are slightly puffy and I can see the tracks down their faces from crying.
The two of them are standing close together, though they're not touching at any point on their bodies. Fresh tears slide down my face, surprising me, as I thought I'd cried myself out. Severus holds his arms out, and I rush into them, not caring in the slightest at this out-of-character affection between my godfather and me. I break down again, my throat protesting as I start to sob again, the sound even worse now that my voice is sore and scratchy.
Severus just holds me until I'm able to compose myself enough to force down the sobs. He releases me and I wipe the tears from my face, noticing the wet stain I've left on his robes from my tears. He throws his arm around my shoulders and leads me back to the castle, for which I'm grateful. I don't think I would've made it to the castle on my own. Filch probably would've found me passed out in a bush or sprawled out on the grass or something of the sort in the morning. I allow a small smile at that thought as another tear trickles down my face.
Another thirty-six tears later and we're standing outside the portrait leading to the Slytherin dormitories. I whisper the password, so quiet I doubt the portrait even heard me, but I figure it took pity on me and opened up anyway. I turn around and notice that Lupin is still with us; I hadn't realized. I give Severus another hug, one more sob forcing its way from my throat. I pull away before I lose even more control and spare a glance and polite nod at Lupin, which he returns, a tear trailing past his cheek.
I turn, wiping the tears from my face, sticking my head up high and make my way into the common room. I don't look at anyone as I stroll through, my mask is weak enough as it is; looking at anyone could cause me to crumble yet again. I walk, as casually as I'm able to, up to the seventh year dorm room, glancing around quickly to see if anyone is in the room. I sigh gratefully when I realize I'm alone.
I peel of my clothes, silent tears leaking out once more. I take a shuddering breath before walking into the bathroom. As I look at myself in the mirror I gasp at how…horrid I look. My eyes are deep and sunken in, huge, dark bags beneath them. My hair is mussed and there is dirt in it. There is also dirt smudged on my face, tracks from the tears the only part that is completely dirt free. My clothes are in disarray, wrinkled with grass and dirt all over them. I just now realize how thin I've gotten after only a week. God, I can just imagine what people thought as I walked through the common room moments ago. I realize I've lost all traces of Malfoy pride. I also notice I reek and how greasy my hair is.
I must shower. I strip off the rest of my clothes- just boxers, really- and turn the water on full-blast before stepping into the shower. I run on autopilot, completely shutting down my mind. Because I know if I allow any thoughts to enter my head, I'll break down. I wash my hair and body three times over, hating how grimy I let myself get. I don't even think I've showered in the past three days. I didn't know how much I've deteriorated since Harry's death.
Oh, there we go, I started thinking again. Luckily, I don't know how much I'm crying since the water mingles with my tears. For some reason that makes me think I've salvaged an ounce of my former dignity and pride. I quickly shut off the water, toweling myself down at a furious pace before slipping on some new boxers. I manage to slip into bed and erect a silencing charm before the first sob breaks loose.
They're unstoppable after that. I curl up into the fetal position, burying my face in my pillow, feeling the dampness from my tears slowly soaking through the fabric. Merlin, I never knew one could cry so much. After who knows how long I've been crying (or cares, really. I don't give a flying fuck how long I've been crying this last bout), I hear my curtains pulled back and register that someone is witnessing me in such a pitiful state. I can't find the heart to care. I simply turn over and cry a bit harder.
I feel a warm hand on my shoulder and I lift my head up minutely to glance behind me. It's Blaise. I open my mouth to try and explain why I've been crying uncontrollably. He just shushes me as a few more tears slip down my face and my breath gets drastically raspier. "I know how much you love him," he says quietly, before enveloping me in a caring hug. He knew! How the fuck did he know! I figure the last week might've been a dead giveaway, but he seems like he's known for much longer, long enough to accept it completely. I don't feel like analyzing it though, as thoughts of Harry continuously run through my mind.
More sobs escape, goddamnit, but Blaise doesn't seem to mind in the slightest, enveloping me in a caring hug. He keeps holding me as I cry myself into an uncomfortable sleep. When I wake up some hours later, Blaise is gone, but there's a cup of tea with a Warming Charm on it. I smile slightly at the kindness my best friend is showing. Smiling already feels so foreign. Of course, I've never been much a smiling person, so I can't really blame it on the past seven- wait, eight, now- days.
Slowly, all the pain comes crashing down again and the tears continue their trek down my face. Nope, the pain hasn't lessened at all today. I wonder if it'll ever ease up or if I'm bound to live out the rest of my days feeling this completely broken. I think I deserve the latter. Harry: the boy who destroyed the world. My world. And I deserve every single moment of torture I go through because of what he's done.
A/N: Whose POV would you like to read about next? Review 'n' let me know!