Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the amazing JK Rowling, and sadly, not me.
Thank you to my beta, HPalto87, and hearts to my reviewers!
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19
Draco didn't want to go home, but he didn't want to stay in the crowded street either. He could go to Blaise, or Pansy, or… actually, that was it. Blaise and Pansy were his only two real friends. It somehow didn't seem fair. Harry-Bloody-Potter had more people to support him than he could count; all of the Weasley's, Lupin and Tonks, old friends from Hogwarts, new friends from Puddlemere. Any of them would gladly take him in, comfort him, help him through all of this. Draco wondered why he didn't have people to go to like that.
Because you wouldn't let any of them get close enough to you. The little Hermione-like voice was back.
It was true. No matter how hard Harry tried, Draco had always refused to get along with those people.
Except for Hermione. Despite their rocky start, she was, and always would be, the exception. When they were in Hogwarts together, Draco never would have believed that he would become friends with her, or any muggle-born for that matter. But as much as he hated to admit it, she had helped him get through the hard times with Harry more than anyone, even Blaise. In fact, when Harry had been in St. Mungo's, Blaise and Pansy had both all but abandoned him. They had said that filthy half-bloods weren't worth their pity, and that Draco was a fool to fall so hard for him.
He had to go talk to her.
But Harry was probably with her. Damn it! He didn't want to see Harry! At least, he thought he didn't. Actually, the more he dwelled on it, the more he did want to see his boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend.
Damn it.
But what would he do? What could he say to Harry? The arse had cheated on him, and Draco had run away. It couldn't be undone now. They were through, and it wasn't worth trying to change that.
Well, he could go to Hermione, and if his ex-boyfriend got in the way, at least it would give him the chance to hex Harry. Get some frustration out.
Draco tried to apparate directly into the Weasley's house, but of course the wards were up. He landed in their front lawn instead, and stepped onto the porch, already irritated. The house was small, poor, and just what he would expect from muggle-lovers. They didn't even have a password system set up, or a portrait to announce visitors. They had this thing called a door-bell instead, which Draco understood was supposed to make a ringing-noise when he pressed it. Since he didn't hear anything, however, he pressed it repeatedly.
Hermione answered the door with an annoyed expression. "Stop that! I just put Penelope down for a nap."
"Stop what?" Draco asked innocently.
"You do realize that just because you can't hear the bell outside doesn't mean it hasn't rung inside?" Hermione asked.
"Er…"
Hermione rolled her eyes and stepped back to allow Draco into the house. She was smiling, though, and Draco knew she wasn't upset.
"I'm glad you're here, actually," Hermione said. "You haven't seen Harry, have you?"
"No. Isn't he here?"
She shook her head. "He ran off a few hours ago…. I hope he's alright."
Draco chose not to answer, and more importantly, not to express any concern for Harry.
"Did you want to talk to him?" she asked hopefully.
"No," Draco replied coldly. "If anything, I want to hex him until he hurts as much as I do."
"Then why are you here?" she demanded.
"Because of you!" Draco said more angrily than he intended. "I mean… er… you're always so good at, you know, figuring stuff out."
Hermione supposed that this was intended as a complement, and smiled in what she hoped was a comforting manner. It wasn't often that Draco stumbled over his words like that.
Draco followed Hermione to the couch, and slumped down with his head in his hands. He mumbled something incoherent, and waited for a reply.
"I'm sorry, Draco, I didn't catch that," Hermione said.
Draco lifted his head and repeated, "I don't know if I did the right thing anymore."
Draco never had moral hang-ups. He always did what he wanted, and rarely felt bad about it later. He was quick with decisions, and stuck adamantly to his opinions. The only person he ever said things like "I'm sorry," and "maybe I was wrong," to was Harry; and then only on rare occasions. He talked to Hermione, but never admitted anything important.
So Hermione was quite surprised, and didn't immediately respond. Draco looked at her, amused.
"I do have a heart," he said.
"Forgive me if I forget that sometimes," she replied.
Draco smirked, and looked like himself again. Hermione relaxed and wrapped an arm around him. Draco stiffened at the touch, even though he knew he should be used to such signs of affection by now.
"I'm so worried about you two," Hermione said.
"Don't. We can figure this out," Draco assured her, even though he didn't think that was true.
"Do you love him?" she asked.
"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Draco said, frustrated.
"Because it is the one thing that will make all the difference in how this whole situation turns out," Hermione said.
Draco didn't respond, because he didn't like his answer.
---
Flashback
Draco woke up and rolled over without opening his eyes, searching for the warm body of his lover. He was met with an empty bed, however, and panicked for a moment before realizing why Harry wasn't there.
Quidditch.
Harry was traveling with Puddlemere United, and hadn't slept with Draco for nearly a month now.
Merlin, I am never going to get used to this!
Draco dragged himself out of bed and down to the kitchen, where, he realized, Harry would not be making breakfast for him. He scowled, which was pointless, as there was no one there to scowl at.
Well, he'd just have to wait until the help staff came... except they wouldn't, because today was Saturday, and they only came on Wednesdays. Harry refused to have maids and cooks around all the time, despite what Draco was used to. Bugger it all.
Wait, it was Saturday. That meant Harry probably had a Quidditch match.
Draco fished out the season tickets from the fruit bowl. He hadn't touched them since Harry left, and had gotten buried beneath old bills and notes and shopping lists. Funny how such things could accumulate so quickly.
Draco skimmed through the tickets, looking for the proper date. On that day Puddlemere United would be playing against the Caerphilly Catapults at Bodmin Moor. That wasn't too far away. Well, actually, is was, and most wizards wouldn't be able to apparate that far, but Draco was powerful, even if he didn't use that power very often anymore. The savior of the wizarding world wouldn't choose a weak wizard for a boyfriend, after all, Draco reflected.
The game would begin at six that evening, so in the meantime, Draco still had to worry about food.
Draco didn't cook. He had cooked once, and it had been an inedible disaster. Still, he was older and wiser now, and scrambled eggs sounded easy enough. Harry had done it plenty of times. How hard could it be?
Three burnt eggs and a soggy piece of toast later, Draco gave up. He attempted to scrape the charred mess from the pan, gave up, and angrily tossed the pan into the sink. Maybe cooking hadn't been a good idea. He decided to go out to Harry's favorite Muggle cafe for food.
Draco discarded his wizard robes in favor of Muggle jeans and a sweater, and apparated to the park Harry loved, where the dense wooded areas made it unlikely that people would notice that he just popped out of thin air. Draco walked the two blocks to the cafe, and ordered a bagel and an espresso, wondering why Harry liked them so much, anyway.
---
The Quidditch stadium was crowded that night. Draco found his seat in the stands among the uncultured sports-lovers and tried to enjoy the game.
He had forgotten how exciting the game could be. Even though he ran Quality Quidditch Supplies, and followed the sport, it wasn't the same as actually being there and experiencing a game. Like most spectators, his eyes tracked the Quaffle for a while, but he was soon distracted by his boyfriend.
Draco had forgotten how sexy Harry looked when he played. Harry looked so excited flying around the pitch. He cheered with the crowd when his team scored, and occasionally flew in loops and barrel-rolls for no apparent reason, other than the pure thrill that came with being in the game. All the time, however, his eyes were darting around the pitch, looking for the elusive snitch.
Draco hadn't seen his boyfriend so happy in a long time. Was he really that miserable with Draco? Draco had done everything he thought Harry wanted. He tried to give him the peaceful life he thought he deserved after all the hell he had been through.
Draco supposed that Harry needed some sort of adventure in his life, even if he'd thought he didn't want that anymore at some point in time. After the war, Harry had needed to relax, but now that he was healthy again, he wasn't happy with the nice quiet life they had built together. Some people were just drawn to danger and excitement, and he supposed Harry was one of them. Draco felt horrible. This is what their relationship was missing. He wondered if there was still time to fix it.
Once Harry spotted the snitch, his demeanor changed completely. He became serious, determined. He focused his concentration on the little flash of gold, and dived.
Draco was reminded of their Quidditch matches at Hogwarts. He had always been entranced by the way Harry flew, and had lost the games more than once because of it. That determined look in his normally content green eyes, the way his body pressed against the broom. At first Draco, thought he just had an obsession with seekers, but Harry Potter was by far the sexiest seeker Draco had ever seen. No one could distract him that way, without even trying.
Harry's hand closed around the snitch, and the game ended. Draco headed down to the pitch to congratulate Harry, but stopped half-way. Oliver Wood had an arm draped across Harry's shoulders, and Harry was leaning into him. It was a simple, affectionate gesture, but it spoke volumes to Draco about the relationship that was supposed to be nothing more than friendly.
Draco left before Harry even saw him.
---
Ron came home a few hours later, and Hermione invited Draco to stay for dinner. The thought of eating alone at home was highly unappealing, so he agreed.
It was nothing fancy, and Hermione wasn't a great cook- she had nothing on Harry- but Draco tried to eat it anyway. Despite his efforts, he spent most of the meal pushing the food around his plate. The guilty feelings, combined with the sub-standard meal, made Draco lose his appetite.
"Are you going to eat any of that, Ferret?" Ron asked.
"No, Weasel, I'm not," Draco said spitefully.
"Hermione spent time cooking for you, at least you can-" Ron started.
"It's fine, Ron," Hermione interrupted. "He's stressed. Leave him alone."
"I'm sitting right here, you know. Don't talk about me like I'm not in the room," Draco sneered.
"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized.
Draco nodded and went back to poking at his food.
