Flirt by xErised
Fumbling Towards Frustration
Hermione nudged Ron.
Ron nudged Hermione back.
They did a funny little dance of back and forth, the pair fidgeting and shuffling futilely around in the doorway. Harry seemed to take no notice of the both of them, his mind filled with thoughts that Ron and Hermione did not know how to breach.
"Go on, he's your best friend! Go and say something to him!" Hermione insisted, keeping her voice low and throwing her husband a dirty look. Hermione's eyes were glazed with worry as she gnawed helplessly on her knuckle. Harry had been mooching around like a funeral on legs, having done nothing for the past hour but to stare blankly at the newspaper clipping in his hands and gaze strangely into the middle distance. The couple had tried approaching him before, but Harry had simply dredged up an apathetic smile.
"Am I… am I in the way? I guess I'll be on the way home then-"
"No no no, Harry! You can stay here; it's not a problem at all! We don't have anywhere to go today!"
"That's easy enough for you to say! The last time I gave Harry advice he ended up snogging his ex!" Ron whispered back quickly. "You told me before that I've got an emotional range of a teaspoon, so I won't be much help at times like this, right?" Ron pointed out hopefully.
"You remember things like that and forget it whenever I ask you to do chores like to bring the washing in and to clean the fireplace," Hermione hissed back furiously, elbowing Ron painfully in the ribs. In response, Ron mustered a watery grin and gently pushed his wife forward.
Hermione directed a long-suffering sigh at Ron, rolled up her sleeves and made her way towards Harry.
"Your tea's cold. Let me brew you another cup," Hermione said, smiling warmly at the brunette. Harry jerked out of his reverie and blinked rapidly as though he had woken up from a deep sleep. Harry thanked Hermione quietly and returned sadly to his musings, his chin propped up on his palm and a troubled furrow caught between his brows.
He eyeballed the newspaper cut-out in his hands, uncertainty and confusion welling up in him. Folds and wrinkles snaked out from the sides of the clipping, and Harry gripped it just a bit tighter. The article had been printed in this morning's copy of The Daily Prophet and consisted of a brief write-up about the dissolving of the partnership between Malfoy and Labelle, introducing Millicent Bulstrode as Draco's right-hand man.
Cold guilt closed its tentacles around him, and Harry snarled angrily at nothing in particular. His tousled black hair was like a scrawl of ink, having ran his hand through it so many times in sheer what does this mean, if they were getting back together, then why did they break up the partnership, does it mean that Draco had never done anything with him, what does it mean for us, I don't know, I don't know!- frustration.
look at all their-
A fetid emotional cocktail rose up in him like bile, fueled by a rankling mixture of despair and misery. He had spooled back every moment of the past two months, over-analyzing every miniscule scowl that had ever cast a shadow across Draco's face, dissecting every genuine smile has he ever meant it at all- that had graced Draco's lips. Harry had managed to strip away his hard veneer, had battled his way into the inner sanctum of Draco's heart, and it had all been for naught at the end.
love washed down the drain-
Their relationship had been incapacitated by the weight of the things left neglected and unsaid. It was as though the world had stopped together with them; the calendar of Harry's life was now governed by the last time he had set eyes on the blond it's been two days since I've seen him, he hasn't contacted me, he hasn't, is it my fault-
But into his coma of sorrow, righteous indignation came striding in. A sparkling mudslide of insecurity tumbled over Harry, and Harry smacked a hand across his forehead, punishing himself for being so amazingly daft he never did chase me, he never did apologize for what he had said those few weeks ago, we will never fit well together, because I was never good enough and I will never, never be good enough!- and stupid throughout the course of the courtship.
"Talk to me, Harry," Hermione pleaded quietly, placing two fresh mugs of tea on the table. She sat calmly across the kitchen table from Harry, her hands wrapped comfortably around her cup of tea.
"I-" Harry started, but his words stuck adamantly in his throat. How could he box it all up, how could he put all that emotion, all of that anger and disbelief and disappointment and sadness into mere words and sentences, wrap it up in a nice pretty little package with a bow at the top and hand it over to Hermione to understand?
"Maybe you don't know where to start, maybe you would rather sort your thoughts out alone, or maybe you just need to listen to someone at this juncture. It's okay, Harry," Hermione said soothingly. She scooted her chair forward and fixed Harry with one of those disconcerting looks that forced Harry to look up into her serious, hazel eyes.
"It's not always been smooth sailing for Ron and me, you know. He's never been good with words and always ends up blushing to the roots of his hair when he tries to mutter some vaguely romantic nonsense at me. He never notices it whenever I buy a new dress and wear it for him. He's got a mind like a sieve when it comes to remembering anniversaries and occasionally, my birthdays. And, well, both of us know how boorish Ron can be in his mannerisms, especially when he's eating," Hermione said, laughing a tad too brightly. Harry tilted his head curiously at his friend and was just about to say something when Hermione placed her hand on top of his, silencing him.
"He never does the chores until I nag him to death, and sometimes when he works late, he forgets to notify me, and as a result, the kids and me end up eating late. He sometimes says things without thinking it through, and in the process ends up hurting me. I would call that insensitive, wouldn't you? We have fights, we have blazing rows that reduces Hugo to tears and forces Rose to grab Hugo and lock them up in her room. We can argue over the most inconsequential things, like whose turn it is to do the grocery shopping this week, things like that.
"He doesn't like it when I make convenience food like nuggets and chips for the kids because he thinks it's not nutritious enough but he doesn't know how difficult it is for me, a working mother of two to juggle everything up in the air, especially when he's too lazy to get off his arse and help me! It's easy for him to talk, since his mother didn't work and he grew up with home-cooked food for every meal! And do you know, Harry, sometimes I feel like I'm taking care of three kids, including Ron!" Hermione finished heatedly, her cheeks flushed with annoyance. With every conflict highlighted in their everyday life, Hermione's voice had gained in speed and volume, and Harry looked sharply at her. He had always thought that his two best friends had the perfect marriage.
"Hermione, why are you telling me all of this? Don't tell me… don't tell me that you're thinking of leaving Ron?!" Harry said urgently, his mind already whirring with how he could talk Hermione out of it. The witch's eyes went round with alarm, but before she could answer, Ron, Hugo and Rose burst into the kitchen.
"Cookie!" Hugo chanted, clapping his hands joyously. With that, Ron bent down, letting Hugo take a flying leap towards his father's shoulders. Ron straightened up and Hugo giggled as he riffled around in the cookie jar that was placed high up in the shelves.
"I'm taking a chocolate chip cookie, Rosie, Daddy, what would you like?" Hugo asked. He turned his head and suddenly noticed Hermione and Harry. "Mummy, Uncle Harry, would you like a cookie too?" The boy asked politely, his tongue held in between his teeth as he stuck his hand further into the jar.
"They're discussing important matters, Hugo, let's not bother them. I'll have a peanut butter one," Ron said hastily. When all of the Cookie Logistics were settled, Ron moved towards Harry and patted him rather awkwardly on the back.
"Cheer up, mate."
Harry could only summon up a small smile at the redhead to show his appreciation.
"Daddy, would you like to help me with my homework? I've got a few questions that I need help with," Rose piped up shyly.
"Sure, but wouldn't you rather have your mother's help? You know how she's so much better with your schoolwork than me," Ron replied sheepishly.
"It's okay, Daddy. We can… we can get the questions wrong together," Rose said, slipping her hand into Ron's and grinning contentedly up at him.
"To the study!" Hugo roared importantly, kicking his feet up in the air and wobbling a bit on his father's shoulders. Ron quickly grabbed onto Hugo's ankles and steadied him as the three of them bounded energetically out of the kitchen.
Harry turned back to Hermione. The witch was staring deeply into the cold dregs of her tea, deep in thought.
"You were saying?" Harry said quietly, prompting Hermione back to the threads of their interrupted conversation. Slivers of apprehension please don't tell me that Hermione wants to leave Ron, please- were gathering in Harry when he remembered the vexation and exasperation that Hermione had expressed towards her husband. Hermione snapped out of her absorption and looked at Harry with a neutral gaze. Her eyes drifted towards the spot on the floor where her small family had occupied just seconds before.
A satisfied smile formed on her lips.
"Harry, love isn't always about grand gestures all the time. Even though Ron has his faults, I've never once thought about leaving him. He has this uncanny ability to make me laugh, and whenever we make up after we fight, we end up treasuring each other more. Yes, he's a complete glutton, but he always gives the best bits of our meals to our kids. Yes, he might forget our anniversaries, but he has never once forgotten any one of Hugo and Rose's birthdays. Yes, he acts like a child sometimes, but whenever I'm sick or too tired to move a finger, he'll attempt to whip up dinner and clean the place up. And all of us end up eating burnt remains for dinner, but the fact is that he made an effort.
"I'm not perfect either. I can hear the disappointment in his voice when I tell him that I've got to work late sometimes and he can't meet you blokes at the pub because he's got to look after the kids in my place. I'm easing up on the nagging, it might not be much, but it's a start. We can't always be newly-weds, can we?" Hermione quipped, tucking a few strands of unruly hair behind her ear.
"In a relationship, at some point the both of you will disappoint one another. The most crucial thing is that you don't run away, you don't leave one another and pretend that nothing has happened because things don't go your way. You and Draco have only been going out properly for two months only, Harry. There will be things in his past that he won't be ready to share with you yet, and you've got to be patient regarding this aspect.
"You've told me a lot of things about him, including the whole money issue. But putting that aside completely, I'm certain that there're snippets of affection that he's shown towards you, is there not? Think about that, Harry. Think about that and ask yourself whether a relationship with Draco is worth pursuing," Hermione finished, looking into Harry's confused green eyes.
"-Harry, I… don't know whatever it is that we've got between us… but I… I like it."
With that, Hermione slid off her chair and folded Harry up in a firm, gentle hug.
So here he was, back again.
The only sound that Draco could hear was the steady rhythm of his breathing as he sat motionless in his office with the lights off. The streets below were unearthly quiet, and Draco felt like he was the only person that was conscious in the whole world right now because it's late at night and everyone's sleeping or at home and yet here you are, in the office working, working, working throughout the night-
He used to like that feeling, used to bask in that infinitely superior thought.
But things seemed to have changed.
Why did he feel so… lonely instead?
He wasn't hurt.
Why would he be hurt?
It was just a trial, a test to see whether they would be compatible, and recent events have showed that they didn't fit well together, like two mismatched jigsaw puzzles that would never click well properly no matter how much you tried to force it.
So why would he be hurt? The very idea was preposterous, so the next logical step was simply to whitewash the whole event, excise it neatly from his memory, treat it as a minor blip in his sorry excuse of his love life and file it scrupulously away in the dimension of ruined relationships, just like how he filed completed business deals away.
so wrapped up in your little cotton wool of-
It had been a ghastly tangle of hitches from start to end, and Draco should never have invested so much hope on it. It had been absolutely silly of him to get all starry-eyed about Potter. His mind and heart was now a freshly varnished slate of clean page, and Draco sat waiting for life and the next unfortunate casualty of love to scribble and scrawl over him all rinse and repeat, rinse and fucking repeat- over him again.
denial-
Work distracted Draco from the murky cauldron of his thoughts, so Draco immersed himself in wall to wall meetings and commanded himself to present his usual proud, composed carapace to the world. He was a machine that bristled with efficiency, precisely-tuned to confront and bulldoze through the paperwork and proposals that reared up at him like a hissing, biting snake.
Falling in love was a load of crap and a waste of time anyway.
then why are you here right now, why are you here pretending to be perfectly fine when you would be at home normally at this time, Draco, it's because of, because-
The silence of the four walls at home was just a bit too much.
The orderly, rigidly controlled compartments of his life were all muddled up, their contents thrown all over the place by a wayward child that was Potter. His cluttered thoughts floundered and drowned in the dismal whirlpool of disappointment, leaving him stranded in a wasteland of emotional shreds and tatters that he absolutely had no control over, simply because Harry had sought out the cracks, the fissures in the barricades of his heart and had managed to break through Draco's defenses with the sneakiness and surreptitiousness of a rogue.
because no one will tuck you into bed like that anymore-
There had been too many strings attached to expect a smooth path towards heartbreak.
Draco tore his fingers through his hair and sighed deeply and longingly, a lingering whisper it sounds like ihateyouihateyou but I think it means don'tleavemedon'tleaveme- that dissolved and crumbled sadly into the cold night air.
it's gonna hurt when it heals too-
Harry's words were spinning like a macabre merry-go-round in Draco's heart, each ill thought-out protest that the brunette had yelled was like a javelin thrown straight under his skin and making the blond vacillate between anger how dare he say all those things, how dare he accuse me of sleeping with Labelle- and pain I never knew what we were going to do for our last date-. The blond had succumbed to the graveyard of words, weighing and rating every word uttered, and he had tried to blot it out, blot the whole scene out, but it seemed to be impossible because it was like a wrecking ball, demolishing his mind, spinning and spiraling and swerving out of control and whenever he closed his eyes he could see the disappointment and hurt splashed across narrowed green eyes-
"-stuck-up, arrogant, indifferent Slytherin-"
Draco ran a hand absently through the weave of the carpet. His fingers stumbled onto something peculiar. Frowning, the blond plucked it out.
It was a petal from the time when Harry had flooded Draco's office with roses when the brunette had accidentally cheated on him.
Draco rubbed the wilted petal in between his thumb and index finger.
It felt feeble and wizened, like a mummified wing from a dead butterfly.
Night pressed in around Draco, black, suffocating, choking-
"Look at you, Draco, wallowing in your puny bowl of self-despair! I won't have you feeling sorry for yourself again!"
The blond jumped and stared up at a towering Pansy, who had suddenly appeared from the Floo. She was coiffed in a bright orange-red dress, its color looking like she had snipped a few ethereal fronds of tangerine sunrise down to earth.
It was a stark contrast to the night that Draco was familiar with.
The ends of her outfit swirled around Pansy's knees as she bent down and grabbed Draco roughly by the elbow. With her lips pursed in a show of stern disapproval, she dragged a squawking Draco back to the fireplace. The blond shrieked when he accidentally tripped over a stack of files on the floor, sending them fanning out in all directions.
"Pansy, have you gone absolutely mad?! I need some time alone right now! Where are we going, hey, let go, let go!"
But the brunette took no heed of Draco's protests. She stepped into the fireplace in Draco's office, shoving Draco unceremoniously beside her. The pair was transported to the Zabini household within seconds. Without letting out a single word, Pansy carted Draco towards the veranda and tossed him curtly in a chair. Pansy snapped her fingers and a house elf appeared instantaneously.
"Serve dinner to Draco and me," the brunette ordered brusquely and dismissed the house elf. She stretched across the table, grabbed a bottle of wine and poured a generous amount of the drink into two glasses. She pushed one glass towards Draco, who didn't make any move to accept it.
"So what's been going on?" Pansy crossed her legs and looked at him with a penetrative gaze as she sipped on her wine.
"We broke up. That's all that's there to know," Draco replied succinctly, turning his body away from Pansy slightly and refusing to meet her inquisitive eyes.
"Don't you dare shut me off by using your sodding avoidance tactics on me! I'm not Labelle, nor am I Potter! I'm Pansy, your oldest friend!" She flared up, snuck a foot under the table and harshly jerked Draco's ankle, forcing Draco to shift the direction of his body towards her. "I always confide in you when I've got my problems! You know I'll always be here, so why can't you talk to me too?"
Still scowling at Draco after her outburst, Pansy lowered her glass and stared at Draco, who was still being surprisingly reticent. Usually that would be enough to worm a decent reaction out from him. Being friends with Draco for such a long time taught Pansy many things about him: for one, there was no point in going all wishy-washy when you wanted to find out what he was thinking. The ex-Slytherin kept things, especially his disconsolate emotions and feelings close to his heart. The all-out offensive approach was needed to annihilate the tight-lipped nature of his personality, and that was one area where Pansy excelled.
"Where's Blaise? And why are you still dressed like that so late at night?" Draco asked quietly, neatly side-stepping Pansy's questions with finesse.
"He's having a few guests over for his usual champagne party at the other wing of the house. You know how late those things can run to. I was entertaining them for a while, but they began to talk about vineyards and the wine market, boring things like that, so I took my leave. It's only eleven, Draco, it's not that late. Labelle was here-"
"What? Is he still here now?"
"No, he's left. He took me to one side and told me what happened during the photo shoot two days ago. And I've yet to scold you for not telling me about this earlier! I had an inkling that you'd be all depressed and gloomy in your office, so I quickly hurried down. And I wasn't wrong, was I?" Pansy said, her fingers playing a calculative drum-roll on the table while she studied the blond.
But Draco still kept his silence. The only hint to the turmoil roiling within him was the way he downed his allocation of wine in one gulp.
"It's obvious that Labelle still cares about you. There is something rather curious, though. Potter clearly doesn't want anything to do with you anymore, so why don't you get back together with Labelle? It's better than giving him up and staying all alone, isn't it? There was also the chance of possible commercial backlash, having dissolved the partnership with him, hmmm? Why would you take that risk? Wouldn't it be better for all parties for you to kiss and make up with Labelle?" Pansy said flippantly, closely gauging the blond's reaction, or lack thereof, with a practiced eye.
Draco's grip on the edge of the table tightened.
"Of course, I do sympathize with you, having dated that peasant Potter for the past two months. He knows absolutely nothing about how we operate. I reckon every date with him was abysmally cheap, wasn't it, maybe dinner on the sidewalk, that sort of thing? But for you to have stuck with him through the whole duration, it had to mean something, hmmm? Such a shame, such a complete shame-"
"Stop it! Harry's not like that at all! He's not a peasant and he's not cheap! I like spending time with him, he makes me happy, is that a crime?! Does it mean that I can't enjoy being around people that aren't as wealthy as me, Pansy? And I will never get back with Labelle because I'm not in love with him at all! I don't understand, so what if I make more money than Harry, so what if we move in different social circles, why can't we be together, why?!" Draco fumed, his sadness giving rise to anger, the sheer unfairness of everything, sodding Salazar, this wasn't the old times when people were prohibited from being in a relationship simply because of the difference in their status!
"You're finally talking," Pansy said, pleased. She had to play devil's advocate in order to trigger an answer from Draco, and apparently this last resort of a trick had worked.
"Do you remember how our parents were brought together by arranged marriages? Different reasons were given, such as to conserve the purity of our bloodline, to ensure that the bride wasn't some uneducated woman off the streets that would squander the family wealth away. It was necessary for the credentials of both bride and groom to be scoured meticulously before both families would be satisfied. It wasn't just for our parents, practically the whole house of Slytherin had similar experiences.
"Things have improved since then, but such traditions still have a tendency to linger. Do you remember Sir Cairn, that old geezer who made the worst mistake of his life by getting together with that commoner of a girl? The tabloids were all over them like an infectious disease, publicizing their disgraceful and ugly breakup! He fell so, so far from the social pedestal after the fool that he'd made of himself. We've been surrounded by rich people for the majority of our lives, Draco, we were born into this station of life. That's why a lot of eyebrows were raised when you appeared at my wedding with Potter as your date," Pansy said evenly, explaining things that Draco already knew by heart but refused to acknowledge.
The house elf abruptly Apparated beside them, placed two plates of steak in front of the pair and vanished as quickly as he had come.
"When you're so sad over Potter, it means that you're not willing to give up whatever you've got with him, isn't it?" Pansy guessed, her voice dropping to a soft murmur.
"It doesn't matter now. From what he said, I'm quite sure that he doesn't want to be with me anymore," Draco said shortly, ignoring the sharp pang in his heart as he sawed his knife through the meat.
"-never should have gotten into a relationship with you!"
"It's not all his fault, Draco. Maybe he feels belittled when he's around you, maybe he feels unworthy of you, maybe it's those little bits and pieces of body language that he picks up, maybe he has a feeling that you're ashamed of him in social situations," Pansy persuaded, trying to give Draco another perspective.
"Pansy, you've never seen us out on a date, so please stop assuming," Draco barked heatedly.
"You were shunning Potter throughout my wedding, Draco. He was squirreled away somewhere in a corner while you were out there socializing. Isn't that proof enough?" Pansy pointed out gently, careful to keep her usual bluntness in check.
"-why would you want to waste your time with me?!"
A stubborn Draco ignored Pansy, glared mutely at his plate and continued to cut up his meal into small chunks.
"What if you saw Potter with another bloke on the streets?"
Draco's knife let out a discordant screech as it scraped painfully across his plate.
I think you're perfect but your hair is a mess-
and your shoes are untied but that's what I love best-
Pansy leant over and rested her hand on top of Draco's. The blond finally dared to lift his chin and meet the brunette's scrutinizing gaze warily. Pansy sighed softly when she saw Draco's eyes reflecting dismay no, no, I won't let him go, I won't, never, not after all we've done- and alarm.
"There's your answer," Pansy said quietly, squeezing Draco's hand comfortingly.
Draco dropped his gaze to his hand, wondering why Pansy's fingers felt so foreign, so unnatural, so bizarre against his skin-
because you're used to him-
his touch his laughter his smile his voice his green eyes his everything-
but no longer-
no
more.
"How is… Draco?"
"On the occasion that you might deign to ask after him, Draco wishes for me to inform you that he is doing perfectly fine and does not require your presence back in his life whatsoever, Mister Potter."
"Oh. So I'll… just make a move then. T-Thanks, Millicent."
"… Potter! How can you take what I've just said at face value?! Listen, Draco's a mess right now, yes, he doesn't show it, but I can see it! He's eating less than usual, he doesn't go home until in the middle of the night, he's going through his work like a madman, for Salazar's sake, Potter, it's not going to be long before he breaks himself into two! Do something about it-"
"It's obvious he doesn't want to see me, I really don't know-"
"I don't care, Potter! I don't know exactly what has happened between the both of you, but it's frightfully apparent that he's deeply affected about it all, so it's your responsibility to make it right again!"
"I was wondering when you were going to turn up."
Harry raked up a morose half-smile, directing it to Millicent, but his eyes were already straying helplessly towards the closed door of Draco's office.
"He's inside?" Harry asked, slashes of nervousness scything across his skin.
"Yes. I'll make my way out now. Hope all goes well, Potter," Millicent said, her features softening with true concern. With that, she swiftly gathered up her things and left.
It was strange how Harry suddenly felt so alone.
The brunette felt a stirring of dread forming, and he gulped. This was déjà vu all over again, like the very first time that he had hesitated marginally outside Draco's door two months ago, but this, this was different because so much more was at stake here and this might not have a happy ending after all-
Harry squared his shoulders in determination, took in a deep breath for courage and opened the door.
"I thought you should be on your way back already, Millicent-" Draco started distractedly, his head snapping up. The blond immediately fell silent when he saw Harry. Draco appeared unfazed on the outside, but Harry detected a split-second chink of emotion flit across Draco's blanched face, and he knew that Draco was wrestling with his feelings and trying not to show it. Harry looked at the torn paper grey of Draco's eyes, and he felt this overwhelming, almost smothering urge to rush towards the other man and bundle him up in his arms but you were the one that said all those things, you're the reason why he's not eating, it's all your fault-
Blobs of forgotten ink dripped sadly from the nib of Draco's quill that hovered unsteadily above the half-written proposal that the blond had been working on. Both men gazed silently at each other, words ranging from anger to hope to bitterness lining up and lurking beneath their tongues, but they had no idea how to start, no idea how to approach things.
Harry took a step forward, his movements slow and careful as though he was afraid to sever this fragile connection with too much noise and actions.
Draco gave his head a little shake, frowned darkly and slammed a hefty stack of documents directly in front of him, as though the documents were some sort of physical barrier in between the both of them.
"Do I owe you something?" Draco said coolly, dipping his head and continuing to write, but Harry could see yellow crescents of pressure forming under Draco's fingernails.
"I just wanted to give you this… I heard that you weren't eating much," Harry muttered, valiantly marching up to Draco's table and depositing a bowl of soup. Unlike previous occasions, Harry had actually spent hours under Hermione's tutelage and slaved over a hot stove to cook the soup himself, making sure that it was impeccable for Draco. Harry knew that roses and ice-cream won't be able to work their magic now.
He just hoped that Draco didn't throw the soup away without even looking at it.
"I'll let you shout at me, I'll let you say anything you want, I don't want us to continue like this. Draco, let's just talk it out, please?" Harry said beseechingly, the words feeling clumsy and clunky in his mouth.
Draco's quill paused.
And then Harry was reaching out to take hold of Draco's hand and it felt as though everything would be fine, it would be okay, that maybe they could have their own happy ending after all-
"I thought that we could make it," Draco said callously, his chin jutting with resolve and pride as he shied away from Harry's touch.
…
Oh.
The ground was crumbling beneath Harry's feet, and he felt this strange feeling, this teetering, irregular sensation pooling under the bottoms of his toes like he was standing at the edge of a very high why is he using past tense, is he saying that we're over, just like that- cliff.
Draco was sitting so still, so frighteningly still as though his soul had been sucked out. His eyes were subdued, rimmed with icicles of impenetrable steel. His eyelashes drooped like bars, his feelings safeguarded behind well-honed indifference.
He refused to lift his veil of silence.
Harry's stomach contracted to the size of a coin. He whispered Draco's name again in pure desperation, giving Draco one more chance to make things right, because Harry no longer knew what to do next if the blond remained so unresponsive, so reserved, so irritatingly tight-lipped-
Regret flickered across cloudy grey eyes, and Harry thought that Draco was going to say something to alleviate Harry's apprehensions, but then Draco's lips straightened out, forming those flat, disengaged smiles that meant that the conversation was over.
With that, Draco lowered his head and continued writing, treating Harry as though he was completely invisible.
This was the sort of finality that chilled Harry to the bone, the sort of finality that brooked no argument.
and he's left wondering which part of him isn't good enough-
And Harry could only turn his back on Draco and make his way stiffly out of Draco's office, his heart breaking piece by piece all over again, completely missing the way Draco's writing hand was trembling, the way his long fingers accidentally tripped over one another, toppling the ink-well on the table, leaving the ink seeping into the parchment, leaking black tendrils of wretchedness and self-reproach all over Draco's precious proposals, but Draco didn't seem to care, his fingertips slowly staining with ink because his eyes were glued oh-so-miserably on Harry's retreating back-
it was such a-
beautiful letdown.
/tbc
If I stick to my original plans, the next chapter should actually be the last chapter of Flirt. But it shouldn't come across as a surprise to know that I've still got a few more tricks up my sleeve, hmmm?