I own nothing

A/N: Hey everyone! Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, New Year, and start to 2010!

O.K, here is chapter 13 - woop woop! Lol. Don't get too excited, it's written really badly, but I needed to get it done in order to get to the thing we've all been waiting for…*oohh suspense* haha.

I found this sooo difficult to write because, as we all know, it's getting pretty angsty round here - and the forecast is more angst in store - and I'm finding it impossible to be miserable enough to get it right because….well, I'm in love. Haha. Yes, me - the woman with the worst romantic history in the world - has met an amazing guy who is pretty perfect and treats me like an absolute princess - he loves my son too! So, slightly bad for the story, but very, very good for me. Apologies if it affects my writing, I will try and summon ill feelings to get this done hehe.

As ever, thank you all so much for your reviews and the amazing amount of support for this story! I love you all! Xxx

***

Chapter 13 - Hide and Seek.

"Sir, we have arrived." Dobbs' deep, rumbling voice announced from the darkened front seat of one of the Malfoy's many vintage cars. Draco slumped further into the cold, black leather back seat, trying to ignore the mild concern in his life-long driver's voice.

Draco had been loath to request Dobbs' services, had despised that a man who had witnessed him grow up would have to see him in such a state, but he had no other choice - he had to get away from the demons that had finally caught up with him, and the only way he could think of accomplishing that was calling upon his personal driver to take him home to his family's private estate.

Dobbs had arrived at Draco's flat faster than the blonde man could've thought possible, especially considering it was the early hours of the morning. He had pulled up outside the building that Draco had called his home for some of the happiest and saddest years of his life, readily accepting Draco's bag of clothing and asking no questions as he took in the blonde man's devastated expression.

Besides asking that they stop at an empty Aurors to deliver his farewell to Harry, the humming of the engine inside the car was the only noise made during the 2 hour drive to Malfoy Manor, and for that Draco was thankful- he simply couldn't bear having to engage in mindless chatter when his life was falling spectacularly to pieces…yet again.

He had stared at the leather headrest of the seat in front of him for the entire journey, his eyes unseeing as his mind replayed the devastating evening he'd had to endure.

Hermione Weasley. How he despised her, how he wished her nothing but excruciating pain - just as he was experiencing now. But he couldn't justify the wish to himself, because he understood why she had done what she had done - She had faulty information, and she was protecting her friend from a danger that wasn't really there…not anymore anyway. How could he hate her when the friend she was protecting was the one person who needed protection from him?

The car door to his left opened, a sharp icy breeze entering the warm backseat, dragging Draco's attention back to the present, and he turned his bleary eyes to Dobbs. The short, portly driver gazed at his charge somberly; fatherly concern apparent in his large, bulbous eyes, and Draco knew he was recalling the last time he had delivered a broken Draco back to his childhood home. The blonde shivered as he joined the driver in the past before hastily ripping himself back again.

"Thank you, Dobbs," He murmured politely as he exited the car, his vision sweeping the vast white mansion that towered in front of him. His heart sank that he was back here again, back in a situation where he needed to run home, run and hide from the world around him.

He slowly climbed the front steps wanting nothing more than to be back in his flat curled up in bed with Pansy watching a crap chick-flick. He didn't want to be here, didn't want to be walking through his parent's front door, pacing the reception room, scaling the grand staircase…and least of all, he didn't want to be entering his old bedroom.

It looked the same as it did the last time he had been here; his outdated still lining the walls around his now outdated stereo system. Posters of music groups that had long disbanded hanging in varying positions against the walls, some even losing their grip- their corners hanging as though ready to take the plunge to the ground. His vast walk-in wardrobe holding clothes that had long since fit and had long since gone out of fashion.

He dumped his bag on his massive bed, ignoring the twinge of déjà vu that attacked him at the action. His eyes travelled towards his closet and he felt a familiar draw to go towards it, to walk inside and look at the garment that had hung there since his 18th birthday, the garment that he had longed to wear - and knew now that he never would.

With a sickening twist to his stomach and a stab to his heart, Draco turned and left the room before he broke down completely. He was such an idiot! He always did this, tormented himself with a future that was now impossible, it was like he was a sadist - like he wasn't in enough pain already!

He paced through the halls of Malfoy Manor, heading towards his mother's classroom where he knew she would be if she were home. Of course, his father would have gone to the hospital as soon as Pansy's wedding was over, the need to be back inside its familiar, sterile environment like an itch begging to be scratched. Envy washed over Draco like ice cold water. He wished his itch could be scratched as easily. But at least he wouldn't have to run into the cold man or attempt to explain why he was in the house - he didn't think he'd be able to handle seeing disappointment in his father's eyes again.

As he drew nearer to his mother's wing a drop of fear filtered through his veins. What if his mother wasn't home? Though he knew Pansy Parkinson's wedding was the last place his mother would have wanted to have been, he still couldn't shake the fear that his mother might have decided to stay on late, enjoying the party with old acquaintances.

Narcissa's classroom stood at the end of her wing, the door standing slightly ajar letting a stream of bright light fall across the wooden floor of the hall, and relief washed over him at the sight of it.

Draco took slow, deliberate steps toward it, feeling his expression from the inside in an attempt to know what it looked like. He had a feeling it wasn't a pretty sight and hoped fervently that the red, puffy, blotchiness that generally accompanied crying wasn't obvious on his normally pale face.

His mother's voice made its way out into the hall and Draco cringed when he realised she was probably in the middle of a lesson. Cursing his luck that he should have a crisis and require her assistance during one of her uptight classes, Draco peered through the crack in the wide oak doors of the classroom, and watched as his mother took measured steps around the large polished dining table in the centre of the replica aristocratic dining hall.

Scattered evenly around the table were a collection of intimidated looking young girls, all stealing nervous glances at one another when they thought Narcissa wasn't looking. But something Draco had learned from a very early age was that Narcissa was always looking, and she always punished those who were caught in wrong doing.

Narcissa Malfoy was a renowned etiquette teacher to the pretentious socialite community in which she resided, and taught the future ladies of upper class Britain how to act in order to find the right suitor when they were old enough to be married off.

The ladies, Draco thought with a sarcastic eye roll, were all pre-pubescent children, all being forced to attend his mother's etiquette training by their over-ambitious, social climbing parents in the hopes that they will eventually attract the eye of a rich, well connected man to whom they can quickly and extravagantly off-load their offspring onto.

His lip curled distastefully at the sick, outdated ritual. He hated the circles in which his family moved, hated that his life or any of these girls' lives would be decided by their parents - what was so wrong with falling in love by your own accord?! What ever happened to fairytale endings and finding the love of your life by just staring across a crowded room and spotting that random person who you would gladly spend the rest of your life with?

Draco knew what had happened to love - life had happened!

His mother's rigid figure continued to meander hawk-like around the table full of adolescence, her critical eyes running over posture and poise, and Draco unconsciously straitened where he stood - his chin raising an inch higher, his shoulders realigning from their slight slouch without his permission.

Etiquette, his mother lived and breathed it, just as his father lived and breathed medicine. His parents' motto was that a body needed a heart to function, but needed etiquette to survive - completely ridiculous, as if any of that actually mattered - but that was how he had been raised, and a long time ago he had grasped at that motto.

"Now, each take the napkin that is placed directly in front of you. One should always fold one's napkin in half before placing across one's lap. One must never tuck their napkin inside their blouse, Miss Millicent." Narcissa announced to the room, her tone hardening as she reprimanded one of the girls.

The evening dinner party training was tough, he thought sympathetically, glancing at each of the children's nervous expressions. His mother's lessons generally started at 5am, something Draco knew from experience, with Narcissa repeating the class over and over until ever single 'lady' could do it perfectly. Looking at the clock and finding that it was 5:30am, Draco wondered how lucky the girls in the class knew they were that he was about to cut it short and save them a day of being hit on the knuckles with a solid silver spoon.

Feeling a small amount of tenderness to the young girls in his mother's charge, and happy that he could gate crash the gathering and give them all a break, Draco sucked in a steadying breath, hoping beyond hopes that he didn't look as scary as he thought he did, and knocked demandingly at the door.

He heard his mother's exasperated sigh at the sound and waited for permission to enter the room.

"You may enter." She announced scathingly, making the invitation sound more like an acidic threat.

Draco took another calming breath before pushing the door open wider and stepping slightly into the room, ignoring the hushed gasps that issued from the gaggle of girls. His mother's rigid, expressionless face remained expressionless thanks to her botox sessions, but her demeanour changed instantly. She morphed from Miss Narcissa to Mother in a split second and ordered the girls to leave the room just as quickly, which was when Draco realised that he must have looked terrible. To invoke such a reaction from his mother, commanding her complete and utter undivided attention, something he had only experienced once in his life, was enough to tell him he looked a wreck, but to be quite honest he didn't really care. He couldn't care less what he looked like, and he cared even less about how that made his mother feel.

Once the room was cleared, Narcissa beckoned her son forward, steering him towards the first available chair she met. Her hands fluttered over his face, her cold, manicured fingers sweeping across his cheekbones and down the length of his jaw, and she sighed softly as she pulled him close to her for a brief hug. Draco froze, unused to such contact from his mother, and he held his breath until she released him, letting him pull back into his personal space.

"Draco, what has happened?" Narcissa asked after a silent, tense moment, her eyes centred on her only son who looked so distraught.

Draco gazed at his mother for the tiniest portion of a second before he looked away, ashamed. He didn't want to tell her, didn't want to explain that he was once again back at rock bottom- that he had lost everything because of a series of stupid mistakes that seemed intent on ruining his entire life.

He slouched into his chair as the weight of the past 24 hours pressed down on top of his shoulders, physically and mentally exhausted.

His mother was quick to reprimand, her voice whipping out sharply, "Posture, Draco!" she demanded, her hand reaching across to lift his chin as he pulled his back rigid, "One must always keep his head held high, especially in times of stress!" she added sternly, speaking to him as though he were a student rather than her son.

Draco straightened out, bitterness and hate welling up inside him. The image of Harry's face burst across his vision and he shuddered away from it. He'd lost him…before he could even have him. "I've been fired." he whispered softly, gazing at the shining surface of the table before him.

From the corner of his eye he could see that Narcissa was confused, the conversation he'd had with her little more than 12 hours previous in which he had assured her he was doing well as a P.A and that he was happy, obviously playing through her mind, "Fired? I thought you were doing well as a secretary…" she murmured, bemused.

Draco's eyes fell closed, resentment crashing into him. He was about to correct his mother, spit out that he was a personal assistant and not a secretary, but then he realised it didn't matter - he wasn't either anymore. He focused of her query. "They found out about…Theo…" he whispered, fighting the urge to break down and cry. He knew that no matter his problem, he must never cry in front of anyone - least of all his mother!

Understanding passed across Narcissa's face and she reached her hand out again, placing it lightly on Draco's shoulder. Her crystal blue eyes bored into the steel greyness of her son's, and she mentally cringed at the lifelessness she found. Such bright silver eyes he'd had when he was born, sparkling with knowledge and enthusiasm as he grew, but now…it pained her how very broken he looked. "I'm sorry, Draco-"

"Can I stay for a few days, until I find somewhere else -" Draco interrupted, unwilling to hear his mother's sympathies, "I don't want to go back to the flat, especially now Pans' has left…" he added, running his trembling hands roughly through his hair as he fought to control his emotions, "I'll stay out of Dad's way, he won't know…I'm here."

"Draco, your father will understand why you're here-" Narcissa whispered softly, knowing her assurance would fall on deaf ears.

"No, he won't, mum. I don't want to see anymore disappointment in his eyes, I can't handle it-" Draco said fighting a sob. The tears were close now, everything was piling on top of him and it was becoming harder and harder to maintain control, "Mum-" he added desperately, his eyes begging for her understanding, his gaze switching from the door and back again. He needed to leave her company now; he needed to escape to his rooms where he could break down in private.

"You are excused, sweetheart." Narcissa informed, looking away as though his desperation were shameful.

"Thank you," Draco breathed before sweeping from the room and running towards his own, ignoring the startled cry of a maid he almost knocked down in his haste.

He all but threw himself through his door, slamming it as though he could block out his past along with the world. His bleary eyes landed on the closet again, and this time, feeling as though he had nothing to lose, he answered its call, walking through its vast doors and into the stuffy room beyond.

The clothes hanging from the rails held no interest to the blonde, the shoes lining the floor were all but invisible. His eyes were focused on the rail at the very back, behind a cluster of plastic wrapped dry cleaning, where he knew his most prized possession rested.

The tears he'd been holding back since he had left his flat fell uninterrupted now, cascading down his cheeks in one long endless torrent. He hesitantly extended his hand, letting it fall against the white fabric, carefully fingering the royal blue stitching on the left handed breast, the delicate scrawl elegantly spelling his name.

Rage overtook him, indignation that he should keep befalling such misery racing through his veins, and a red veil fell over his eyes, blinding him. He bellowed pitifully, savagely wrenching clothes from hangers around him and tossing them in all directions, though he was careful not disturb the white jacket. A sob tore through him as he flung shoes against the walls, and he was taken by surprise when one ricocheted back on him, clipping his shoulder.

He stumbled, his foot becoming caught in the pile of clothes on the ground, and he fell to his knees, burying his head in his hands as the rage dissipated and he was overtaken by grief.

He had been right to do this in private; no one should have to witness such a display of self-pity.

He didn't know how long he was slumped there, crying noisy, sob filled tears. It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, time froze as he wept for his lost future and his broken past.

Eventually the tears began to subside, his breathing regulated as he stared unseeing at the wall opposite him. His mind kept trying to ask him questions, kept prompting him to figure out what he was going to do now, how he was going to start again, but he shied away from such thoughts. It was far too early, and frankly, Draco couldn't see how he could start again, wasn't sure if he wanted to try.

From nowhere a knock came to the closet door, startling Draco out of his reverie. He knew he should be angry that someone had entered far enough into his room to be able to knock at the closet door, annoyed that a member of staff would disturb him, but then it occurred to him that, besides his mother and Dobbs, no one knew he was even in the house.

Slowly he rose from his position in the heap of clothes, his shaking hands scrubbing roughly at his tear stained face, and he turned towards the door as it knocked again, gasping as he took in the sight of the man before him.

Harry stood in the doorway at the end of the closet, his hair completely wild and his face deathly pale…and yet, he had never looked more beautiful. It was obvious even from where Draco stood that the other man had been crying, which reminded him of the state of his own face. Harry looked an absolute wreck, his rumpled suit and skewed glasses looking oddly foreign on his usually well presented body. Draco didn't know what to say, didn't know if he wanted to say anything to begin with. Harry simply stood there, staring at Draco with a strange, desperate expression, and it was all the blonde could do not to run towards him and collapse in his arms. But he knew why Harry was here, knew that no matter what Hermione had promised, she had told Harry her version of the truth, and he was here to have it out with him.

So, to say Draco was surprised by the words Harry eventually uttered would have been a major understatement,

"If you tell me she's lying…I'll believe you." Harry whispered, his voice breaking with such unadulterated pain it caused Draco physical agony, "Please."

Draco squeezed his eyes closed to fight another round of the noisy sobbing he had engaged in earlier, his pride desperately wanting to maintain at least a fragment of a cool façade. This wasn't fair, it wasn't fair! Harry wasn't supposed to be here, wasn't supposed to track him down, wasn't supposed to confront him. It was the whole reason Draco had run away…Harry wasn't meant to follow!

He heard movement, the sound of cloth rubbing together along with light footsteps, and he opened his eyes to find Harry stood in front him, close enough to touch.

He looked worse up close, Draco's mind distantly recognised. Thick black shadows sat beneath tired, dull green eyes, and it occurred to Draco that Harry must've slept poorly the night before, or maybe his blood sugar was low and the stress of the situation was making him worse. It sickened the blonde that he was causing Harry this displeasure, that he was making him so unhappy when all he really wanted to do was spend the rest of his days filling Harry's life with joy.

Harry's hand floated up out of nowhere and hesitantly rested against Draco's neck. The blonde trembled, Harry's ice cold skin frightening him, and he bit down on the inside of his lip as he fought to control himself.

"Please," Harry begged softly, his eyes boring into Draco's with a laser-like quality, as though he were trying to gaze into the depths of Draco's soul. "Tell me she's lying." he breathed, his frozen fingers shaking gently.

Draco could feel himself breaking, could feel his heart splintering inside his chest, and he swallowed down a sob that was creeping up his throat. He took a harsh step back to be free himself of Harry's touch and slammed into a shelving system that was behind him. He gasped with surprise, his head turning to see what he had bumped into and his eyes landed on the garment he'd been admiring earlier - his most treasured possession. Hatred once again surged up inside him at the sight of it, because he couldn't tell Harry what he wanted to hear, he couldn't pretend that he was innocent…and he could never be the person he used to be, the person who should be wearing that jacket. Finally, he allowed the tears to well in his eyes. What was the use in hiding anymore?

"I can't tell you that, Harry." he whispered, his voice breaking as he uttered the other man's name.

Harry gazed at the blonde for a long moment; his breathing so ragged Draco feared he was hyperventilating.

He shook his head in denial, tears tumbling down his face. "I don't believe it," He moaned, running his hands through his hair causing it to stick up wildly in all directions. Draco didn't find it comical, didn't find it endearing that Harry had picked up his nervous habit. No, he found it gut-wrenching, because the dark haired man was radiating such absolute anxiety that it made the blonde want to fold him inside his arms and tell him that it was all just a huge mistake.

"Drugs! I don't believe that you would…! Drugs, Draco?! No!" Harry begged.

Draco didn't reply. He looked away from the man before him, shame washing over him in powerful, icy waves, and huge salty tears streamed rapidly over his cheeks.

When he spoke again, Harry's voice had changed; it was hard and betrayed, and Draco found it harder to hear then the pain, "My parents were killed by a man who was drunk and wasted!-" he gasped, his fists clenching at his sides.

Draco's eyes pinned themselves to Harry's hands, a small amount of fear simmering at the sight of them.

"-I told you that, I told you he was wasted!!! Why didn't you say anything, why didn't you do the decent thing?" He shouted.

"Harry, I'm sorry-" the blonde exclaimed, cowering against the shelves behind him. His stomach clenched tightly knowing that, with Harry stood angrily before him, he was trapped.

"Why didn't you tell me!?" Harry demanded, pointing his shaking finger accusingly, "Why didn't you tell me you were a fucking junkie before I went and fell for you!"

Draco's heart crumbled, his entire world crumbled. He didn't want to hear that, didn't want Harry to feel that way. He wished that the other man would take it back, to have never said it in the first place. Silence descended over the closet, betrayed green eyes gazing expectedly into shamed grey, and Draco found himself doing something he didn't want to do. He tried to defend himself.

"I'm not… a junkie, I would never…" He mumbled earnestly, shaking his head to emphasise his point. Harry stared at him for a moment, his face clouding over with confusion. "I don't understand." he whispered, a tinge of hope in his tone that whipped at Draco.

"You won't…you'll never understand - no one ever does!" Draco moaned, shaking his head again, this time with self-loathing.

Harry's desperation presented itself again. He stepped closer, so close that he was almost crushing Draco against the shelves behind him. His hands sought out the blondes, enclosing them in his own and bringing them up to his chest so they rested against his heart. Draco's eyes widened as he felt the soft thud through Harry's shirt and a sob tore through him without his permission. "Make me understand, Draco! Please."

Draco's head fell back against a shelf, desperately trying to avoid looking into the begging emerald eyes before him.

"Please, I'm begging you - I can't lose you," Harry whispered, his hand squeezing at Draco's fingers, "I need to believe that you're a good person, Draco, because I don't know what I'll do without you…please."

Draco's head fell to the side, his eyes once again connecting with the white jacket hanging on the rail to his right.

It was time. Time to stop running from who he was. Time to be honest.

"O.K." He whispered, tears cascading freely over his pale cheeks, "I'll tell you…I'll tell you the truth - all of it."

To be continued…

***

A/N: Thank you for reading xxx

P.S, Meghan, thank you for my diamond necklace - I love it! Here is a gorgeous new diamond bracelet, hope you like it *sparkle, sparkle* haha.