Draco had found a nice spot beneath a shaded tree at the edge of the lake farthest from the castle. This would provide plenty of privacy for them if need be, and Draco was pleased with himself for finding it. It wasn't long before he waved at Harry, who had appeared some meters ahead.
Harry shot a solemn smile in his direction as he continued forward, ringing an instinctive lurch in Draco's abdomen. He'd seen that look before during the TriWizard Tournament and in the direction of several professors last year who refused to believe his accusations of Umbridge. It appeared any time that Harry was extremely frustrated with the inevitable but knew that there was nothing he could do to change it. Yes, something was very wrong.
Harry spoke no words as he approached a concerned Draco Malfoy. Attempting to keep his composure, he patted the ground next to his body. Harry sat willingly, but the air between them was thick. Had Draco done something wrong?
Green eyes were locked forward silently. Draco inhaled, preparing himself.
"What is it, Harry? You seem awfully... distant."
He turned to face Draco, brooding but bearing an internal yearning at the closeness between them.
"Snape. He knows. About us."
Draco's jaw dropped and hung silently for a moment before he closed it again. Wordlessly, he took Harry's hand into his, lacing their fingers as he waited for him to finish.
"He pulled me aside after class. I don't know how he knows, but he does. And he doesn't approve, of course." Harry's gaze was hard and unwavering as he shifted it back to the lake.
Draco rolled his eyes, relaxing at what a minor problem they'd stumbled upon. So what if he God Father knew? It wasn't like he was going to turn them over to He Who Must Not Be Named. The concept was a bit embarrassing, being scolded about who he should lov-like, but in the bigger picture... nothing. Snape's opinion was nothing.
"Honestly, Harry, fuck what he thinks. He doesn't know what's best for you or me. His concerns are a mute point." He was calm, but defensive. Harry loved him like this, and that thought hurt.
"I know, believe me, I've been thinking about it." Harry turned his gaze to Draco's for a split moment before returning it to the vastness of the lake. "It's not so much what he thinks about it- he can sod off for all I care. It's something else he mentioned."
Draco unlaced their fingers and decided to take a risk, ready to convince Harry that they could really make it through anything if they tried hard enough. He placed his hands on either side of Harry's face, rotating his cheeks gently to face him. "What did he say? What did he say that made you feel this way?"
Harry let out a large exhale, easily losing his train of thought with Draco so close. How selfish it was, for him to feel this way. Every second spent with him was putting him in danger. It really was smarter not to have him at all.
"He said that us being together is putting you at risk with your father." Harry found himself melting in Draco's hands, attempting to hold his composure but breaking down at the thought of what he knew had to be done.
Draco recognized the defeat upon his partner's face and knew that Snape had made it farther than under his skin. He'd rooted him to the core.
"Listen to me, Harry. Fuck my father. He's going to be after me anyway once he's completely convinced of my disloyalty. I've come to terms with that. The Dark Lord himself will most likely want me dead regardless of whether we're together or not. YOU have nothing to do with that."
Draco could sense the surrender emanating from Harry, as if he had no choice. He could feel his own voice rising as he tried with all of his being to convince him otherwise. He needed to. He'd just gotten Harry, really, and to lose him... Draco pushed the thought from his mind. That wasn't happening.
"But, Draco," whispered Harry, voice cracking with tears that were forming in the back of his throat. "Think of how much faster that process will be if he finds out about us. You can convince him you're loyal until you're fully protected from him. But with me in the picture, that all goes to the wayside." He closed his eyes, reveling in the softness of Draco's hands.
In how much he would miss those hands. In how attached he had become to those hands, even in such a short period of time.
"Harry, no." Draco began, gritting his teeth in determination to bring Harry back from whatever emotional hole he'd fallen into. "You can't think like that. Please, don't think like that. All Snape cares about is winning this war. And all I care about is you." Harry put forth every piece of effort he had left, every little thing he had, not to give in to the sound of that voice. It was the only way he could truly protect him. He needed Draco to live, even if it was without him. Even if it had to be without him.
"I know, Draco. I know. I just... I just can't." The tears he had been holding back began to flow freely down his cheeks, and Draco instinctively wiped them away with his thumbs. There was an empty feeling stirring about within Harry that was spreading throughout his body as he mustered the courage to stand.
Draco, shocked at the vacancy of his hands, sat with them still elevated for a moment. His eyes then met Harry's, whose emerald irises were full of pain in a way that he'd never seen before. That's when he knew what was happening.
"Harry, no- no, don't do this." Draco was pleading now, all pride aside. Every last shred of the Malfoy family arrogance was gone now. Here presently was just a boy, raw and open, begging for him to stay. Tears staining both cheeks, it was all Harry could manage to whisper his goodbye: "I'm so sorry."
And then he was gone. Draco didn't dare run after him; Potter's determination was infamous. In fact, He didn't move at all for quite some time. When the sun began to set, he knew dinner was probably ending and curfew would be soon. Draco attempted to stand, but found that his toes were numb, along with his face and hands. Somehow, he knew it was because Harry had left and taken a piece of himself with him. An empty hole gaped within his gut, tearing him open to the point that he placed his hand on his stomach to hold himself in. To keep himself from falling apart. Eventually, Draco ascended and made his way back to the castle.
Harry was walking. No, he was running, determinedly to the castle. He was sprinting away from the one thing he wanted, the one person that he needed but knew he couldn't have for himself. If you love something you should let it go; that's what they used to say in the muggle stories he would steal from Dudley's room. But they never told exactly how hard it would be to walk away, to leave when everything in your soul told you to stay. He couldn't look back, couldn't bear to see what Draco's face wore. To see if his heart was broken, a perfect match to Harry's own. To be truthful, the past week and some days had completely re-built everything in his own, small world. Places that had once been darkness, Draco had brought to light. Harry had felt things he'd never experienced before, emotions that mirrored Draco's own feelings for Harry. They were so perfect, so right. And that was exactly why it had to end.
Someone so amazing, so absolutely faultless deserved a life without being tainted by the presence of Harry Potter. It seemed that death had been following him lately, robbing from him everyone he loved. First Cedric, and now Sirius, and he couldn't take any more casualties. He couldn't handle Draco Malfoy being infected by himself.
And so, without a glance backward, and now profusely sobbing, Harry entered the castle and tried to stay hidden from sight. Skipping supper, he headed to the Gryffindor dormitory and plundered face first into white sheets. He didn't want to see his friends. He didn't want to see anyone. He just... needed some time.
Time is what passed him, flowing gently in increments of the hour. He eventually succumbed to sleep, sinking into the darkness willingly. Slumber had to be better than reality, as long as the darkness was not invaded by images of what he was running from. Luckily, Harry Potter did not dream that night. Instead, he divulged into a blissful reality in which the emptiness was free to consume him.
Consciousness did not surface until the sun shone bright through his window, rays burning into his face as he realized that tardiness was an imminent part of the near future. Without even bothering to think, he dressed, retrieved his wand from the nightstand, and rushed to his first lesson of the day.
Draco Malfoy did not sleep. He begged for it, prayed even within his psyche, but he was not rewarded simply. He tossed and turned, pounding his head with his pillow, forcing the thoughts of today from his mind violently. It wasn't like Malfoy's to give in to suffering, emotion at all for that matter, but it wasn't as if he'd been the best Malfoy heir recently. So, with that conclusion followed by a silencing charm, he allowed himself to sob. To weep recklessly into his pillow, to curse that Harry Potter with every part of his being for being such a sodding hero. For loving him, though neither of them had admitted to it thus far. For loving him enough to leave him. Fucking Gryffindor.
And there was nothing Draco could do but sit idly and hope that he would change his mind, though that was the last thing he wanted to do. In all honestly, he should grow a pair and move on before the absence chewed him to bits. After all, that's what Malfoy's were good at: leaving. Building walls; protecting themselves. It was one of the only things he was bloody well skilled at. Sniffling, he rose from his pillow and began to wipe his face clean. It seemed that would be his option from here on out. With a deep breath, he composed himself and formed the stoic Malfoy expression he'd perfected over the years. This was his facade; his barrier. With only a few hours left until lesson, Malfoy forced himself to rest until sunrise.
He was one of the first to class the next morning, studiously catching up on some reading as the other students poured in to the room. Anything to distract his thoughts and feed the mask that consumed him. Even with Pansy glued to his side in the one class they shared, he remained silent. And, though maybe not very well, it appeared to be working.
Harry was quite obviously opposite of the former Malfoy heir. The boy was a wreck, deep purple circles beneath each eye despite the slumber he endured. Loneliness enveloped him with each thought, even with the presence of his closest friends. Focusing was out of the question; he hadn't cracked his textbook in the slightest. Ron and Hermione immediately recognized this Harry; this was the Harry that had emerged from the Department of Mysteries after Sirius's death. It was as if he had reverted wholly and without reason. Hermione suspected something deeper, but didn't dare admit her suspicions when Harry already seemed to be suffering so.
The day dragged on aimlessly, passing slowly until the class Harry was dreading the most approached them.
He entered Slughorn's room with a stare at his feet, unwilling to look up. Afraid to. Something inside of him, curiosity perhaps, was gnawing annoyingly at his conscience, dragging his glance to the right, hoping for just one hint of Draco's face behind him. Eventually, after becoming settled at the table, he decided to give in, to indulge the sick masochistic curiosity that threatened to overtake him. Holding his breath, Harry craned his neck in the direction of Draco Malfoy.
Harry's stomach twisted into a deeper, more complex knot at the sight of the most beautiful person in the room. His eyes were forward, complete attention on the professor who had just begun to teach. His book was opened; he followed along pristinely. His hair was perfectly combed as usual, but his expression was something all too familiar to Harry. It was the face of Malfoy, frozen and reserved, pocketing a smirk that was ready to be displayed at any moment. It was Draco before he had revealed himself to Harry; in fact, as if it had never happened at all. Had it all, in fact, been a dream?
This was too much for Harry, and he half-expected some part of Draco to remember what they shared, to turn and meet eyes and leave for the washroom like before. But, he gulped, he had done this. He had wanted this, for Draco's sake. And he'd have to deal with Draco being Malfoy again. And with the fact that he wasn't going to meet his gaze. It was all... over.
Harry faced forward, grasping back the tears that had blurred his vision once more. He didn't move a muscle for the rest of class.
He didn't notice at all, not even in the slightest, that Malfoy's eyes were upon him for the greater part of the lesson.
Seeing Harry in this state burned like nothing had before. Self control at its finest, Draco refused to interrupt the lecture by stamping over to the boy and kissing him in front of Slughorn and everyone. Keeping secrets seemed silly now, not when he wanted Potter so badly. He longed to hold his hand while walking through the halls, to sit by the damned Weasel at the Gryffindor table, to sneak him into the Slytherin common room but have no one give a damn. The picture he painted, it was of the two of them as a public couple, despite the tabloids and the rumors. And he found himself wanting nothing more than to make it a reality. The desire itched at him, pushing to the forefront as for a split second, his expression softened. The ache returned immediately as he remembered the reality of what was happening, placing his mask back formally and continuing to give Slughorn his utmost attention.
Harry skipped lunch, realizing that it'd been almost 24 hours since he'd last eaten but lacking an appetite regardless. He took a stroll outside, appreciating the solitude and freedom that came from not having to keep himself together. He knew his friends were probably worried, and he'd have to listen to their badgering at some point. He couldn't blame them really, he hadn't even had the consideration to tell them where he'd been disappearing to the past week. And now, why that had ended. But how would they understand, even if he could tell?
How would Ron possibly conclude that his feelings for Hermione were similar to what Harry felt for Draco? How would Hermione, in all of her logic, understand that emotion had overridden everything in this circumstance? He sighed, walking forward. He'd just have to be alone on this one.
Lessons ended after a small eternity, and there was a an air of liberation among the students of Hogwarts as the weekend began. Draco washed up and headed to supper with Pansy and Blaise, planning later's events. Harry was absent again, and a pang of worry shot through Draco electrically. He could barely eat himself, but standing by his routine was helping to keep the broken pieces in tact. It was easier to pretend they had never happened if he went along as life had before Potter.
So he conversed with the other Slytherins, joking casually, jabbing satirically as he always had. Keeping the raven haired boy as far from his mind as possible. It was a temporary fix, but for now, it was all that he could manage.
Harry had headed straight to bed after lessons, hoping that maybe sleep would liberate him from the suffering that was today. He wasn't so lucky this time, and sleep evaded him in place of memories that he tried to forget. Flashes of skin, so smooth and ripe against his own. The taste of Draco against his tongue. The absolute insanity of racing hearts and butterflies and that spark that seemed to ignite his world each time emerald met silver. Anger approached him, and he punched his pillow at the inability to somehow obliviate himself. Sitting up, he decided to head to the common room. If he couldn't sleep, he might as well enjoy the warmth of the fire.
After enough of feeling sorry for himself, Harry attempted to make peace with the fact that he was better off alone, not infecting anybody. That this was the heroic choice, the right choice. Dinner had just ended; students slowly began entering through the portrait hole while Harry sat solemnly on the couch. It was one thing to make peace with his loneliness, it was another to actually enjoy it.
And then came Seamus Finnigan through the hole, accompanied by Dean, Neville, Ron, and Hermione. The gang approached Harry, who acknowledged their presence with a nod but showed no other excitement.
"Harry," Ron started, and they all stood before him, staring at him as if anticipating something.
Harry glanced around confusedly. "Yes?"
"You've been out of it all day mate," he continued, "and you don't have to tell us what's wrong, but we have a surprise that'll make you feel better." He smiled, intentions pure and honest.
Harry half-smiled at the friendly gesture, thankful that his friends weren't going to force him to talk about his melancholy.
"It's in the room," Seamus whispered, holding one hand up to block his lips. "We'll have to wait until, you know..." he gestured to the younger Gryffindor students seated at a table by the window. Harry nodded, understanding.
"You in?" Asked Neville, an exuberant grin spreading his cheeks. How could he say no?
"Yeah, I'm in." He agreed. Whatever his friends had planned, it had to be better than what was going on in his head.
