𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐃

Chapter 12

We Help the Helpless

Harry squinted as he stared harder at the shadowy object under Draco's bed. He scrambled onto his stomach, knocking over his beer as he went, and reached for it. He tugged on it and carefully extricated himself from under the mattress.

It was a shirt. The ratty white t-shirt Draco slept in nearly every night.

It was covered in a thick layer of dust.

Harry beat it with his hand and then coughed as dust filled the air around his face. He pulled his wand out of his back pocket, thinking of a cleansing charm when he realized that would remove the scent as well. He stared at the thing, drunk and angry. Why did it have to smell like dust? Why hadn't he found it earlier? Why had he left it so long that he had allowed that to happen?

No. Why had Draco left it so long that that had been allowed to happen?

It was Draco's fault. He was the one that had left. The one that had forgot his sleep shirt. How did he sleep now? This, Harry shook the shirt, this was fucking necessary to Draco getting a good night's sleep and he had just forgotten it? He was probably looking for it and he had just fucking left it here!

Left it behind like it had never meant anything to him.

Harry screwed up his face, trying to stop the hot tears that were building in his eyes.

He hadn't cared that he had deserted it in a pile of dust and ash, never to know anything as brilliant as the rays of the sun or the deep breaths of fresh air ever again, just stuck in the dark. Alone. Well, fuck Draco. Fuck him for not caring, for not even knowing what he'd done, for just disappearing. This fucking shirt, it needed him. No one else was ever going to wear it again but did Draco care? No. He couldn't be bothered because he was over that shirt, he had probably even found one to replace it.

Could the shirt replace him? No, it was stuck in the fucking dark!

Harry clutched the shirt in his fist and got unsteadily to his feet. He glanced down to see his spilled beer and growled. He grabbed the open one off the nightstand next to the bed, taking a moment to glare at the offending thing. It no longer smelled of... anything. Just himself. He had needed to sleep there and now the comforting scent that had lulled him into that blissful calm was usurped. Gone forever. Harry mourned it like he would any person.

Harry tipped the bottle back and chugged the dark liquid. He stumbled as he left the bedroom, the shirt dragging along the floor beside him as he walked. He glanced to the kitchen, noticing the only thing in his trash were empty bottles of all different shapes and sizes and one pamphlet.

Hermione's message came back to him:

I know you're there, Harry. You never leave your apartment.

Fine, ignore me, but you know you needed to hear it. I won't apologize for what I said. It was only the truth, nothing more, nothing less. I'm not going to coddle you, not anymore. I'm sure you're busy drinking at the moment. By the way, killing your liver isn't going to help you get Draco back. Sigh, Harry, you're an alcoholic. It's only gotten worse since Draco left you. How much do you drink a day now? A frustrated exhale, Listen, I know you won't talk to me about this but please look at the pamphlet I sent you. These groups can really help you –

Harry had viciously picked up the receiver and slammed it back down, killing her whiny, nasally nagging instantly.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm and gazed blearily around his living room. Fucking empty. It was always fucking empty now.