Carpe Noctem (DRARRY)

Chapter 8- Daddy Issues

"Good. Because I'm coming back, you know." Draco turned, the light outlining his back in now shades of golden. At his, he kissed Harry, right on the mouth. A light kiss, or at least it was intended to be. Harry let out an incredulous grunt when Draco tried to pull away, and it continued. Hard, bruised against each other's lips: a message unsaid. Mine. But it was over as soon as it started, roughly snatching themselves away because if they didn't stop then, they wouldn't ever.

The curve of his back inside his robes: shoulders creating a thin silhouette between the blades. Not as a deadly, certainly, as a knife; but the shape was plain as Draco turned the other direction. A fluttering of panic rose in Harry's stomach, the unmistakable knowing that this would be the last time they saw each other. A too-sharp breath, terrified for something not quite tangible.

Harry's shoulders sagged; his smile fell; his eyes glazed over... As Draco walked away.

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~Draco's POV~

He gathered up his things in his arms, not wanting to say goodbye to anyone else. He hadn't even intended to say goodbye to Harry, but the boy goddamned sensed everything.

Those black and green robes he wore to his classes, and almost everywhere else. Some of them still smelled like Harry... Some were stale with dust. The nightshirt he had worn out that night when he was beaten up was still faintly stained with blood.

Pack it all into the suitcase he used barely three months ago: pack it up. Who knows when he'll unpack it again? Pack up the bad memories with his clothing, fold it into the space between two old t-shirts. Neatly and tightly, to be thrown out as soon as possible. Keep the good memories; the kisses, whispers, and scents; keep them in the locked box that holds his pencils (they kept getting stolen), a few dozen Galleons, and all the rest of his few valuables.

Make a point not to bring the leather journal with no title at all. Stash it in the Slytherin bookshelf, and remember where you put it. Stack other books on top of it; naively thinking that it won't find a way to follow.

Oh, how naive he was to think he could stop it from following him. Just like the shadows were still in the corners, watching silently, the book would always be nearby. But he didn't know that yet, did he?

He packed up his suitcase, closing the little brass clasp with a satisfying click. A magical click, sure, but did that make a difference? Who cared if something beautiful was artificial? Nothing these days are raw, careful, purely natural. Not even- not even love.

And with that click came another, quieter noise- the opening of a door. Draco sighed to himself when another face came into view, leaning over Draco's bed to see whatever the hell he was doing. The hair fell in their face as they watched, stony-faced, and he finally looked up to tell them to piss off.

Their eyes were so familiar, as if in a dream. Why? Their hair, doubly puzzling. Male, definitely. Those rosy lips: Draco was sure he had kissed them. Charming, curly, light brown hair falling in dark eyes. A soft, smiling sort of face, starry with freckles.

Freckles.

How quickly he walked away; how soon it was over. But it was unmistakable- the meeting of two pairs of eyes. A friend for barely a week would turn romantic interest, then enemy, in two seconds: via nothing but an in-the-moment hazy kiss. Now, here, at this moment, it was hard to grasp that he simply wasn't a friend anymore. Not a character in this story; existing only for a moment of conflict and then- gone again. Draco could barely wrap his head around it...

Confused resignation to the present.

And then Freckles was gone again. Seconds kept ticking by. The moment was gone, and no matter how he tried, he could not claw it back. The illusion of time kept rolling into the distance.