(A/N): Okay, so, feel free to badger me with wooden sticks. This chapter is WAY later than I had planned on, but, I recently got a new job and any time I wasn't at work, I spent sleeping. I know, I'm lazy, but my body wasn't used to working. LOL But, I'm off tomorrow (YAY!) so I spent the night finishing and proofreading this chapter so my lovely readers could enjoy it - and hopefully, review it! =D

AND, it's a little bit longer than the last chapter, not much, but hey, and accomplishment is an accomplishment, right?

Disclaimer:

J.K. Rowling owns the lot. But the plot's mine.

So please don't sue, I'm terrified of court. =P

Anyways, I won't keep you any longer, and again, I'M SORRY! Enjoy:

Chapter Three:

Taboo Thinking

The drone of talking and laughter bore down on Harry incessantly. His head hung lowly between his shoulders as he stared idly at his long island ice tea, watching in amusement as the ice cubes bobbed whimsically within the dark liquid. He slowly lifted his head to stare out the dark window into the warm night air, the sky littered with thousands of twinkling stars and a foreboding moon that cast the grey streets in a silver glow.

Harry was having trouble keeping himself in the plane of consciousness; his mind was swirling with thoughts and memories that had formed a fog that hung heavily around his brain, leaving him currently unaware of where he was. This happened often, usually at times of intense depression or anxiety. He figured the alcohol that was currently coursing through his system could very well be adding to this effect, but it wasn't like it was escapable once it happened.

Through the dense, white fog surrounding his senses, he could make out a face; the face of Him. He had become a daily haunt for his mind and despite how long it had been since he had seen the man, every detail of the face was dubiously replicated to a tee. He remembered every hair, every freckle, every curve of His beautiful features; the way his full lips always seemed to pout, the way his eyes would light up when he was happy or excited, every expression his manicured eyebrows had ever formed. He had him memorized, and Harry absently thought, somewhere in the far corners of his mind how pathetic he seemed, or rather, how pathetic he must seem to the outside world, but he never thought much of how anyone else viewed his feelings for Him. That seemed to be Harry's greatest dilemma; the fact that no one would ever understand the complexity and depths of every emotion he felt for Aarron. He made it a clear point to never unveil those feelings for that exact reason. Why tell anyone about it when in the end they wouldn't understand every aspect of his rationale anyway?

Therefore, Harry kept these feelings under lock an key, in the only part of his heart that still showed signs of life and vitality; the only part that had the will to keep his blood flowing through his very veins. The rest of which were charred to a black and ashen lump, which encased every happy memory and every dire thought pertaining to Him that passed through his subconscious. Here was where Harry had been living for the past several months, where Harry found was a place where he could keep Aarron alive in some twisted, macabre way. The thoughts that leaked from this destructed place had the ability to warp and bend his very thought process, and, if left to fester, could drive Harry into a realm of madness, that scared even him. These thoughts filled his body and spread like poison, infecting him until he was nothing more than a rotting shell of false hope and frivolous 'what ifs'.

Currently, Harry had allowed himself, with the gentle urging of the liquor, to feel the effects of this poison, which had pulled him into the depths of his burned heart like a manic Grindylow. How could he have let himself get so attached to someone that functioning without them proved an almost impossible feat? For Harry, love had been such a rare thing for most of his life that he actually craved it, like a drug; a hardcore one. Harry absently thought about how rough heroin addicts must have it while enduring a 90 day pass through treatment. Although, he couldn't help but feel that this had to be worse. Affairs of the heart, especially when that heart has been used for target practice, are very intertwined with every part of the body. If ones heart is left to flat-line, metaphorically speaking, the mind will soon follow, and without the heart or the brain, what is a person but a walking, breathing shell. Sure, they breathe, they walk, they work, they live; but do they really? Harry certainly couldn't call his current existence living.

He once thought that he would never have to worry about happiness again. He had Aarron, he had a career, he had friends, but it's funny how one of those things went wrong and suddenly they all nosedive into perpetual death. But wait a minute . . . friends? Did he have friends back then? His mind, picking up on the fragmented thought, careened him into a dizzying flashback sometime last year.

X x X x X

He and Aarron were at Harry's flat, watching TV under a blanket. Harry's attention was focused intently upon the screen across the room, as Aarron stared down at the mobile in his hands. The mobile was Harry's; his heart pounded menacingly in his throat. Harry had no idea why he felt so nervous; he hadn't done anything, would never do anything that would make Aarron question his fidelity, yet still, Aarron insisted he 'check up' on Harry occasionally, just to qualm his nerves. Sometimes, he would find a text or call that seemed suspicious, and would question Harry mercilessly, determined to 'catch him in something', as he liked to say.

Despite all the checking, Harry was never proved of anything, yet, just to make him feel better, Aarron would insist that he delete and never talk to the person again that had made him so suspicious. So far, Harry was no longer allowed to speak to Dean, Seamus, Ginny, all of his co-workers outside of the office, Ron and his family, and any male he also attended Hogwarts with. Aarron was currently running through the list of text messages between Hermione and himself, for Hermione was the only person with a mobile he was still allowed to text.

"What's this, huh?" Aarron asked in a 'Gotcha!' sort-of tone.

"What's what?" Harry replied, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

"This here, what were you two talking about? Tell me! And don't lie. If you do, I won't talk to you for a week." Aarron threatened.

Harry reached into Aarron's hands and pulled the mobile from his grasp, sighing audibly and reading the text aloud. "I'm so happy for you, Harry! Honestly, he thinks you're amazing!!" Harry turned to look at Aarron, who was wearing a smug look upon his features, staring at Harry impatiently, waiting for an explanation. Harry sighed once more before speaking, in the most matter-of-fact tone he could muster, "She was talking about her friend Corey." Aarron's nose flared in rage, before Harry quickly continued, "He knows the editor of Avant Garde and he read through some of my portfolio pieces. He liked them and was going to try and show them to the Editor In-Chief of the magazine."

"You're so full of shit!" Aarron growled, blowing out a puff of angry air from his nostrils, slumping down into the couch and staring at the television.

"I swear! Ask Hermione! I don't know why you think I would cheat on you. It's barking mad! You have to know I care more about you than to do that!" Harry cried, desperately trying to convince his boyfriend of the truth.

"I really don't trust you Harry. Hermione probably wants you two to hook up or something. I don't want you to talk to her anymore." Aarron stated simply.

Harry stared at Aarron in disbelief, his jaw practically slamming to the hardwood floor with an inaudible 'thud'. "She's my best friend! The only person I talk to anymore! You really think she would do something like that?!"

"It's either that, or we're through, Harry. My mind's made up." Harry was on the verge of tears as Aarron continued, "I thought you said you cared about me, said that you love me. If you love me so much, why wouldn't you want to make me happy? You talking to her makes me unhappy." Aarron looked at Harry deeply, taking in his appearance.

Harry turned his gaze to his hands folded awkwardly in his lap, turning his thoughts over and over again in his mind. Slowly, he brought his eyes back up to meet the other man's, mumbling softly, "Okay, I won't talk to her anymore."

Aarron smiled sweetly, looking Harry over once more, speaking again in a gentle tone, "I'm all you need, aren't I,?" His eyes sparkled and his lips looked so soft to Harry, and Harry couldn't deny the fact that Aarron was absolutely beautiful. He had always said that Aaron was all he needed in this world, that if he only had him, he would be just fine. Aarron was his life, his very breathe, and he was, in fact, all he needed to be happy. Hermione was his best friend, and the thought of losing her along with Ron hurt terribly, but he kept reminding himself that he would do anything for Aarron, and what Aarron wanted was him to himself. That's a good thing . . .right? He didn't want to share Harry with anyone, that clearly showed how much he loved Harry . . . didn't it?

Harry shook his head and smiled, "Of course you are, baby." Harry scooted closer to Aaron as the other boy brought his feet up into the couch and lowered his head into Harry's lap. Harry instinctually entwined his finger's in the other's hair, massaging his scalp lovingly. "I love you, baby," Harry whispered.

Aarron shifted and yawned widely, giving Harry's thigh a light squeeze, "I love you."

X x X x X

"Harry!" Hermione's shrill voice echoed piercingly through his clouded brain and he was sharply pulled from the recesses of his own thought and planted heavily back into the chair before Hermione. His eyes came back into focus and Hermione's face, creased with worry and concerned, stared back at him, her eyes frantically searching his face for something.

"What?" Harry asked, having absolutely no idea what had been going on.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice shaky and dripping in concern.

"Yea, fine. Sorry, just zoned out a bit," Harry admitted, lowering his gaze back to his drink, gripping his fingers around the cold, wet glass and taking a large gulp of the strong liquid, his throat tingling as the alcohol washed over his dry throat.

"You sat there and stared out the window for a good 20 minutes. I must have said your name a dozen times. You're sure you feel alright?" she locked her gaze with Harry's green orbs and tried to coax Harry into telling her the truth.

"Just thinking, 'Mione. Whenever I start thinking about, Him, I tend to zone out and get lost in thinking . . ." Harry trailed off, the corners of his mouth falling into a small frown.

"Harry, I know it's hard, but you need to try and not think about Him so much. All it's doing is driving you mad. You're going to have to try and move on." Hermione noticed the dulling of Harry's features and quickly interjected, "You don't have to completely forget about him, he was a big part of your life, but just try and push it to the back of your mind. Focus on your work more, focus on having fun."

"Fun seems to be alluding me lately," Harry mumbled, his frown falling even more.

Hermione grabbed for his hand across the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know, love. It'll seem that way for a while. But things will get better, I promise you. Your heart will heal in time, but if you keep sitting and thinking and getting lost in these overwhelming thoughts about Aarron, you'll never heal, and your heart will stay broken. All it takes is time. Im here for you, Harry, you know that. Day or night, if you need me, all you have to do is call, or floo. Hell, apparate to my flat and tell me to wake my arse up, I'll be there." Hermione finished with a chuckle, squeezing his hand once more and smiling brightly at him. Harry gingerly returned the smile, taking another sip of his cocktail and giving Hermione's fingers an appreciative squeeze.

Slowly, with the ingestion of more alcohol, Harry's mind slowly lost control over his conscious, and he was able to have fun a little more easily, even if only for the time being. He and Hermione had come to a small pub just down the street after dinner, and were currently on their second round of drinks. Hermione's cheeks had flushed a gentle shade of pink as the alcohol of her first slow gin fizz made its presence known to her body. Harry, having feared becoming too smashed, had passed on a second LIT and had ordered a slow gin fizz as well. To this day, he wondered who had ever come up with the idea to mix so many different liquors together and call it 'tea'. Nonetheless, he commended them, whoever they were, for he enjoyed it quite a bit, but too much of it tended to put him on the floor long before he was ready.

He and Hermione had chatted, quite enthusiastically, for the past 20 minutes or so about nothing in particular. She had told him that Corey had wondered what had happened to Harry after he had read his portfolio pieces and was curious as to if Harry was still interested in working for Avant Garde. Of course he was, that was his dream!

"Absolutely! Merlin, I've been so drowned out in emotion lately it had hardly crossed my mind. Yes, tell him I definitely am." Harry resounded, becoming excited at the prospect of still being able to work for a magazine as astute as Avant Garde.

Hermione smiled happily at him, her eyes twinkling with knowing, "See, Harry! Things are looking good already!"

Harry smiled sheepishly at her. She had a point. At least maybe his career would take a turn for the better. Their attention was suddenly grabbed as two people came to halt at their table, smiling happily.

"I'm starting to think the two of you are following me!" the blond laughed, smiling widely at the two in turn.

"He's onto us, Harry! Let's bolt!" Hermione giggled, making Harry's smile widen, a chuckle escaping his pink lips.

Draco laughed harder, then gestured to the two empty chairs at their table. "You mind if we join you?"

They both shook their heads and the blond and a pretty looking woman in her mid-20's sat down in the two remaining chairs. "This is my cousin Sophi. She's deaf, but she can sign and read lips. I translate for her when she needs me to."

Hermione looked at Draco, astonished. "You know sign language?"

Draco nodded and folded his arms, "Yeah, she taught me when we were little." He turned to Sophi and smiled.

Harry, smiling at the opportunity, tapped the blonde woman on the shoulder to get her attention, before his hands whirled into lividity. "Hi, my name's Harry. It's nice to meet you," he signed.

Sophi smiled brightly as her hands, too, jumped into movement, "My name is Sophie. Likewise."

Hermione looked at Harry, her mouth hanging idly open, matching that of Draco's look of surprised shock.

"Since when did you learn to sign, Harry?" Hermione asked, astonished at not knowing this tidbit of information sooner. Draco's and Sophi's eyes both turned to him, Draco watching in both amazement and wonder.

Continuing his signing for Sophi's sake as he spoke, known as SimCom (Simultaneous Communication), Harry spoke, "I learned about 2 years ago. Ashley, a girl I work with, is hard-of-hearing, and she started teaching me a little. Now, I guess you could say I'm fluent. Ashley seems to think so."

Harry caught Draco's eyes, as he had been eyeing him since he began signing to Sophi. Draco smiled warmly at Harry, before breaking their stare and dropping his eyes to his hands folded on the table in front of him.

Catching Harry's attention with a small wave, Sophi began signing, "You're very good to have learned so recently ago. You sign like a natural. Have you ever thought about interpreting?"

Also signing for the sake of his cousin, Draco spoke, "She's right, Harry. I'm a hearing signer and I can tell you sign just like a deaf signer. You would be a great interpreter. I wanted to be an interpreter but I've got too much riding on me with my chemist job."

"You're a chemist? That's great." Harry smiled, looking over Draco appreciatively. Harry's mind secretly admired at just how handsome Draco was. He had never paid much attention in school, but he was absolutely stunning.

"Thanks," Draco replied sheepishly, his cheeks flushing in the slightest bit. "But Sophi is right, Harry. You should think about it."

Harry slowly mulled the thought over in his brain. He did enjoy sign language, but he had high hopes for the job with Avant Garde. Maybe, he would just have to give it some serious thought. "I will," he finally said, smiling again at Draco, then at Sophi.

The group continued talking into the night; Sophi told stories about being deaf, and Draco regaled them about some times he and Sophi had when they were younger. Harry, Sophi, and Draco had even started teaching Hermione some sign.

"I don't get it! My hands just suck!" Hermione huffed. To Harry and Draco's surprise, Hermione had quite a bit of difficulty grasping the concepts of sign language. The three of them just laughed, Harry and Draco more so at the sight of the Hermione Granger having such difficulty mastering something.

Becoming exasperated, Hermione gave up, mumbling in frustration, "It's the alcohol. I could do it if it wasn't for that."

Harry just laughed, "Sure, Hermione." She gave him a devilish stare then allowed her features to lighten, giggling softly.

"So," Hermione began, "is sign language universal all over the world?"

It was Sophie who spoke this time, or rather, signed, with Harry translating what her hands portrayed for Hermione's signing impairment, "No. Every country utilizes it's own sign language, just like every country has it's own language. But, each country sometimes has different dialects of sign, but that's a much more complex subject." She laughed as she finished her last sign.

"The Wizarding World, however," Draco began, "has it's own sign language in it's own entirety. But Sophi's a muggle, so she uses BSL."

"BSL?" Hermione asked, puzzled.

"British Sign Language." Harry stated matter-of-factly. Hermione shook her head slowly, smiling. She guessed that the reading behind sign language was going to keep her busy for quite some time.

Slowly, the pub began to empty, and as Draco looked up at the ornate clock hanging on the far wall, he saw that the time had crept to half-one. Sophi had left about 30 minutes before, and the remaining three had been so busy talking without noticing that the hour had gotten so late. "Blimey! I better be going," Draco said, finishing the last of his beer and setting down some bills on the table. "You two be careful. It was nice talking to you. We'll have to do it again."

"We will!" Hermione chirped, smiling with a nod at Harry then to Draco. Harry nodded with her, smiling back.

Draco leaned down to hug Hermione before turning to Harry and holding out his hand. "Take care, Harry." Harry hesitated for a second before he took Draco's hand into his. The contact of their bare skin caused a heat to build within Harry's chest, one he didn't know quite how to explain. Between their hands, Harry felt something being slid into his palm, before Draco removed his pale hand from Harry's, turning to walk out of the pub with resounding grace, giving Harry one last smile and a quick wink.

Harry looked in his palm, finding a small piece of folded paper. With Hermione watching him curiously, Harry unfolded the paper slowly. Inside, Draco had written down his mobile number, adorned with a smiley face at the very bottom of the torn paper.

"What's that?" Hermione asked, an eyebrow slowly finding it's way towards her hairline.

"Uhm . . . his mobile number. And a smiley face . . ." Harry mumbled, his cheeks taking the time to turn a mild shade of crimson.

"Ah ha," Hermione smiled knowingly, folding her arms and sitting back in her chair.

"'Mione, I don't think–" Harry began, but Hermione interrupted.

"I know what your going to say, Harry, and I understand. But I think you should just keep it. He wasn't coming onto you really strongly or anything. I think it was nice." she smiled at Harry, keeping her voice as gentle as possible.

Harry thought for a few moments. He still didn't think he was ready just yet to move on from the love of his life. For that was the problem; he still considered Aarron the love of his life. Sure, Draco was a beautiful man, and even though they were once at each other's throats on a daily basis, their evening of talking and socializing had turned out to be quite pleasant and even fun. He was funny, amusing, thoughtful, and he seemed like a real gentleman. But he couldn't just jump into something with someone when he wouldn't be able to fully commit to a relationship, not while He was on his mind practically every second of the day. No, in doing that he would risk breaking someone else's heart; something Harry vowed to never do in his lifetime. He couldn't possibly imagine putting someone through what he had gone through in the past months.

However, there was no harm in keeping Draco's number, just in case. "Okay, I'll keep it."

Hermione just smiled her ever-present knowing smile and giggled, "Good! But I think it's time to be going. I have to work in the morning, and at this rate I'll never get up at 7am."

"Yeah, me too. I have to be at work at 10am." Harry sighed, realizing the reality of the entire situation.

They laid their money for their drinks along with Draco's on the table and stood, making their way out into the darkened street. It had cooled off quite substantially from earlier that day, but still felt pleasant. "Want me to walk you home, 'Mione?" Harry asked.

"No thanks, there's an aparition poin' just around the corner. 'M too tired and tipsy to walk that far." she giggled at her slightly slurred speech and gave Harry a warm hug.

"Be careful, you. You're sure you'll be alrigh'?" Harry asked thoughtfully.

"I'll be fine, love. Go get some rest," she gave him one last hug before turning and walking around the corner.

Harry turned in the direction to his flat and began the short walk home. His alcohol-laden brain mulled with thoughts of what had transpired over the past few hours. He figured, absentmindedly, that his brain would have a field day that night with all these new thoughts. Hopefully, since the alcohol was still flowing through him, he would be able to sleep for a while tonight. Hope, was all he could do these days, anyway.

As he drew closer to his flat, he turned his head towards the sky, gazing at the clusters of twinkling light littering the dark sky. He yawned widely, approaching an intersection and turning right onto Medowlark, his feet scuffling against the pavement, and a folded scrap of paper held tightly in his fingers.

(A/N): There you have it. Please review! I love getting reviews, it really makes me work harder at getting these chapters up, even though this one is pathetically late. But, I promise, my sleeping schedule is back under control, so there shouldn't be such a long wait anymore.

Chapter Four should be posted sometime next week.

And another thing, I know the sign language was a bit random, but I'm an interpreting student and I thought it would be neat to throw it into the story, since I haven't found any other Harry/Draco stories with it. It will have something to do with the plot though, but not for a while.

Remember: Please, please review! I'll love you forever!

-D