Chapter Seven
An Unexpected Encounter

"In the back of my mind I know
It only hurts when your eyes are open,
Lies get tossed and truth is spoken.
It only hurts when that door gets opened,
Dreams are lost and hearts are broken…"
--It Only Hurts (Default)

Draco hadn't received a letter from Harry lately, and for some reason, it put him on edge more than he would have liked to be. It had been nearly four months since the last letter he had received, and millions of speculations ran through his mind about exactly why the letters had stopped coming - all of which he pushed aside and refused to think about, although oftentimes he found them snaking into his thoughts when his guard was down.

He couldn't help himself - no matter how hard he tried to push Harry to the back of his mind, all he could ever seem to think about was how badly he wished he could be with him. Even though Draco had assumed that the pain would slowly diminish over time, it hadn't - if anything, it just seemed to grow deeper every day.

Of course, reminding himself of Harry daily through his writing was definitely not something that was very constructive. But he just had to get his feelings off his chest, and obviously, writing to Harry was out of the question. If he could just get his feelings out, in any way, shape, or form, maybe they would stay away for good. Of course, Draco knew that this logic was flawed - in fact, he had known from the get-go - but he refused to think too deeply about this miniscule detail.

Draco had never known that writing would be the release that it was - but even as it released him from the constraints of everyday life, it forced him to think about things that he would rather keep hidden in the dark recesses of his mind.

Writing about Harry gave Draco a way to be with him again. He was with him in all of the happy moments, the painful fights, and some of the most poignant times of his (and Harry's) life - but these were only memories that spilt onto the paper as fast as Draco's fingers could bring them to life once again.

What had started out as a short journal entry had now worked its way into a full-blown novel - one that Draco hoped Harry would never read, but knew that chances were, he would. He hadn't meant to get the memoirs published - he wasn't even sure exactly how it had happened! But there was no way that he could take it back now.

Because of its simple beginnings, the book still was a journal of sorts - he had written down his deepest, darkest feelings, written replies to Harry's letters that he had only ever written in his head, even recorded some of his best memories, all in an attempt to remember Harry, and remind himself why he did not deserve the benevolent man.

He knew that he hadn't been purposefully hurtful in his reminiscent writings; if anything, it had probably pained him more than it would pain anybody else. He had shed many tears during the writing of the book, and many long hours had been spent sulking and moping in his own deep, dark depression.

He didn't know if he was ready for the repercussions of publishing the book, though. He was now vulnerable to any old coot that wanted to find him, and he wasn't sure if he liked that feeling. Of course, going into hiding was always an option, but Draco wasn't fond of the idea - it reminded him too much of what his father had done in those last few months of the war, and he was not his father.

He could not say that the book was something that he was proud about - it boasted feelings to which no Malfoy had ever openly admitted, and for that alone, he would have been disowned if his parents had still been alive.

He just hoped that Harry would get the point that he was trying to get across. Obviously, his silence had been getting him nowhere, and even though he felt ashamed about publishing the bloody thing, perhaps it would come as an advantage - perhaps, it would help Harry forget (although Draco got the sneaking suspicion that Harry had already moved on, the cease of one-sided correspondences serving as the only evidence he needed).

Draco sighed as he rose from his slumped position in the rolling chair in front of his computer. The screen was blank, and he stared at it for a few moments before tearing his gaze away and stalking out of the room. He had spent enough time contemplating these things, dammit!

He thought about just getting rid of the buggering computer, but that wouldn't solve any of his problems, not really. Though the rough drafts of the book were on there, getting rid of it would solve nothing. The book had already been published, and it was now making its way onto shelves in some of the most renowned bookstores nationwide. Getting rid of the computer would not get rid of the book itself, so Draco grudgingly vetoed the idea.

He was too dignified to stomp around his flat as he completed his morning ritual of showering, dressing, and having a meagre breakfast of lukewarm tea and burnt toast, but he wanted to.

Today was one of those days where he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs, longed to wreak havoc on the clinically clean kitchen that was mocking him with its glistening spigots and shining floors, yearned to throw himself to the ground and kick and shriek until the world just went away. Today was one of those days where he wanted to stay in bed and never leave, the type of day where he just wanted to hang his head in his hands and close his eyes, and when he opened them again, everything would just disappear.

He wanted to, but he didn't. He couldn't; he wouldn't allow himself that luxury. He had a life to live, and even though it was a grim and dire one, he was at least going to try to make the best of it.

Draco flung a cloak over his shoulders and left his flat, his bad mood following him as if it were a dark cloud. He was not going to be a recluse! Even if half of Wizarding Britain knew about the book, Muggles didn't, and Draco was happy for small mercies.

He was going to start his day with grocery shopping, the Wizarding world be damned!

Draco knew that grocery shopping was really no way to prove his point, but it was a step in the right direction. Besides, he was tired of having burnt toast for breakfast every morning. And he was rubbish at cooking - perhaps while he was at it, he could stop in at a small café for lunch. Draco smiled at his plans for the day, and quickly made his way down the street, holding his hands above his head to fend off the rain that was falling in half-hearted drops.

---XXX---

Draco's shopping had been uneventful and boring, as it always was. He'd only purchased the bare necessities, really, but it was still reassuring to know that at least he could have the small comfort of the things he needed.

After stepping into a deserted alleyway to shrink his packages and groceries, Draco stepped into a small, dimly lit café a few streets away from his flat. The small restaurant was familiar to him now, after he had visited it nearly once a week for the past two years. One might even go so far as to say that he was a regular. He always ordered the same thing and sat at the same table in a corner of the small establishment - he could easily see the patrons as they came and went from the window that was next to him, but they could not as easily see him.

After setting his order with the friendly blonde waitress that was familiar enough with him by now to call him by name, he turned to take his customary seat, only to find that it was occupied - by one of the last people in the world that he wanted to see: Ron Weasley.

Draco's eyes widened, and he made a hasty retreat to the farthest corner away from Weasley as he could get - although past experience at this particular establishment told him that the man had most likely already seen him. Draco knew he should have trusted the feeling in his gut that had told him to stay away from the small café, but he had been unable to resist. He silently cursed his growling stomach, not only for drawing the attention of half of the patrons in the place (although there were few to speak of as it was), but also for leading him to his almost inevitable death.

Draco sat by himself, his back to Weasley, hoping and praying with all his might that the oaf would not recognise him in some way. His stomach bubbled with anxiety as he waited impatiently for the girl to bring him his order, praying to whatever deities might exist that perhaps the Weasel would somehow overlook him.

After ten minutes had passed and the grinning blond waitress came out from the kitchen carrying his steaming meal in one hand and his scotch in the other, Draco released a breath of air. The Weasel had yet to notice him.

Draco's mouth began to water as the girl set his food in front of him, and he nodded his thanks, afraid that using his voice might alert Weasley to his presence. The girl giggled as she left him to his meal, throwing a flirtatious smile over her shoulder as she again disappeared into the kitchen.

Draco slumped exhaustedly down in his seat, drawing the attention of an elderly woman who was seated in a booth across from him. "Young man," she cried shrilly, causing Draco to wince and glance cautiously over his shoulder to see if her voice had caught the attention of the Weasel. "It is rude to slouch! And get your elbows off the table! You should be ashamed of yourself, showing no pride or dignity in such a fine establishment! Have you no manners? Young man! Are you listening to me? Young man!"

Draco blinked, the woman's attitude reminding him a bit of his mother, and he fought the urge to hang his head at her berating. He quickly sat up straight once again and drew his elbows off the table, resisting the urge to stick his tongue out at the nosy lady. With a sigh and a quick roll of his eyes, he murmured softly, "Sorry, ma'am," before he quickly began his meal.

The woman seemed at least somewhat satisfied, and she turned away from him with a 'harrumph' to sip regally at her tea, nose held high as she ignored him completely.

Draco could feel his cheeks flaming as he attempted to make himself smaller in his seat without hunching over his plate and once again garnering the attention of the elderly woman.

When Draco finally built up the courage to twist in his seat to catch a glimpse of Weasley, he realised that the ginger-haired man was no longer sitting at Draco's table. With a small smile, Draco turned back to his meal, relieved that he had not been discovered.

"Malfoy," The voice was familiar, cold, piercing, and entirely too close to Draco. "I didn't want to believe it was you."

Draco lifted his head slowly, eyes wide, to find that Ronald Weasley was sitting in the chair across from him. With a bit of a shriek, Draco immediately proceeded to fall over backwards, bringing his seat and the table along with him.

Ron stared down at him, eyes just as cold and unforgiving as his voice, and Draco couldn't stop himself from grimacing at the look of utter disgust displayed openly on the man's face. "I didn't want to believe it was you," he repeated, standing and towering over Draco like a giant about to crush a small animal beneath his foot.

"Why are you here?" Draco managed to choke out, fear filling his eyes although he desperately tried to mask it by picking distractedly at the food that was now covering him.

"I could ask you the same thing." Ron was still standing over him, not offering to help him up, and Draco could hear the old woman who had scolded him earlier muttering about him having no manners as he tried to lift himself up off of the ground. Just has he was almost to his feet, however, his foot caught a slippery part of the floor, and he went sliding down to land in a disgraceful heap. He could feel the eyes of not only the Weasel, but also everyone else in the restaurant following his every move, and he didn't really want to try getting up again.

Draco heard Ron let out a huff of breath, and could imagine him rolling his eyes. He was surprised when strong hands grasped him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. "We need to talk, Malfoy," the Weasel sneered, and Draco had to admit that he was getting much better at it - it was nearly intimidating!

Draco's eyes narrowed and he stepped away from the imposing man with a glare. "As you can see," Draco gestured to the mess on the floor, "I was in the middle of something."

Weasley snorted, causing Draco to cringe. "This is more important," Ron stated, eyes glinting with barely restrained malice.

Just then, the small blonde waitress came back from the kitchen, and she gasped when she saw the mess covering both the floor and Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, are you all right?" she asked, rushing over to begin cleaning the mess from the floor and completely ignoring Ron.

Draco nodded stiffly, jaw clenched tightly, and said, "Stacy, I'm sorry about the mess." He shot a glare at Weasley. "It was an accident. I assure you, I would never do something so callous on purpose. Allow me to compensate you for your efforts." Draco withdrew his wallet from his pocket and began taking crisp new bills out.

"Oh no, Draco, it's nothing, happens all the time!" Stacy said happily, scrubbing a little harder than necessary at the tiles of the floor.

Draco shook his head. "Nevertheless, I feel that I owe you. Just think of this as…a large tip, if you will." Draco held out his hand, the Muggle money warm in his palm.

Stacy looked up and her mouth immediately fell open. "I can't take that," she breathed. "Mr. Malfoy, that is entirely too much money! Please -"

Draco cut her off by taking her hand and stuffing the bills into it, shaking his head and smiling slightly. "Take it," he urged.

With a nod at the flushed woman, Draco gathered his cloak and made his way out of the café, vindictive redhead following closely behind him.

When he was out of eyeshot of the restaurant and farther away from his flat, Draco turned to glare at the Weasel.

"What do you want, Weasley?" Draco spat.

"Many things," Ron said, voice calm yet frigid. "I want to know why you left. I want to know why you've never even sent a bloody letter to Harry, after all the times he's tried to contact you. I want to know where you've been for the past two years, Malfoy. But most of all, I want to know why you wanted to hurt Harry so badly, and I want the answers now!"

Draco flinched at Ron's tone, and immediately took a step away in order to further distance between them.

"Answer me, you buggering ponce!"

"I don't expect that you of all people would understand the circumstances, Weasel," Draco muttered, eyes flashing.

"Then explain!" Weasley shouted, and Draco could see that he was desperate for the answers. "I'm giving you a chance, Malfoy, why don't you just take it?!"

"Because, Weasley, I don't deserve it," Draco whispered.