Part 11: Love, Maybe
Do you really think
that love is gonna save the world?
Well, I don't think so
Do you really think
that love is gonna save your soul?
Well I sure hope so
I really hope so
But I don't think so
"Do You Believe", The Cardigans
The first day of their second month found them together. The morning was streaming through the window, and rays of light were filling Harry's room. The black-haired man was slowly waking up, in the peaceful warmness of his bed. The bed he was sharing with Draco since that sort of silent truce. Harry smiled softly at the winter sun and, still half asleep, raised a hand to caress the silky blonde hair of his lover, feeling a sort of calm happiness surrounding him.
I'm falling in love with Draco Malfoy, he thought involuntarily. And with that epiphany, the Boy-Who-Lived woke up completely. Harry blinked and reached for his glasses on the nightstand, suddenly beginning to feel uncomfortable and somehow exposed, while those few words echoed again and again in his mind.
Draco was still peacefully sleeping, unaware of a very awake Harry shifting nervously under the sheets at his side.
Am I *really* falling in love with Draco Malfoy? Harry wondered coldly, suddenly looking at the shape of his lover and considering the strange sensations that hit him as his green gaze laid on the sleeping fair-haired man.
Shit.
Frantically, Harry got up, searching for his clothes while a thousands contrasting emotions swirled in his mind.
No way. I'm not falling in love with him. I *can't* fall in love with him. What the hell was I thinking? He's *Draco Malfoy*! I just can't let him get to me. I don't trust him. I don't trust him at all. I...
Harry was completely dressed now. He looked down, once more, at the fair-haired man. For a while, looking at his relaxed perfect features, Harry felt something softening inside his chest. Draco was so defenceless lying there on Harry's bed, unaware of the contrasting feelings that his presence was causing.
Harry's confusion lasted a while. Finally, the Gryffindor shook his head firmly and, pushing aside any further thought, he left, quickly and without looking back once. He couldn’t look at the man in his bed, because just looking at Draco evoked too many pleasurable sensations. And Harry was afraid of them, even if, as the worthy brave Gryffindor he happened to be, he would have never admitted it. Just as he would have never admitted that his possible falling for the Slytherin was becoming a bloody probability.
Harry ran, trying not to think that Gryffindors don’t run away.
"Mmm... Harry?"
When Draco woke up, the bed was empty, but in the past few days he had grown used to this. Harry always got up before him, and would go out for business. He laid back down on the bed, staying still for a while. Finally he stretched lazily and got up.
Draco was in a good mood that morning. He and Harry had had a good session last night. And he had slept peacefully. He smirked at his reflection in the mirror of the bathroom.
Harry had been almost caring since that night.
At least he hasn't made me regret giving in so easily that night, Draco considered. Well, not *yet*, he corrected himself.
The day went by slowly. Draco didn't really think about Harry’s absence, not until he finished watching an incredibly boring film. He yawned lazily, turning off the TV and stretching on the couch. Finally he checked his watch.
Half past twelve. And still no news about Harry, he thought, frowning.
Harry was always back for dinner. And for a good shag, Draco added mentally. But the day had passed without a single call from him. This was unusual and the Slytherin began to wonder if anything had happened. He was still making conjectures when he drifted into an agitated sleep.
Harry was drunk. Completely drunk and he couldn't find his keys.
"There. Let me help you," a voice said, amused, while a hand slipped easily inside the pocket of the tight jeans.
Harry chuckled.
"Wow. Do that again, T.R.," he drawled, smirking.
The man called T.R. laughed softly, shaking his head. Compared to Harry, he was completely sober.
"Impatient, aren't you, Harry?" he teased, pushing the door open, "I suggest getting in before. I don't think that making out here, in the hallway, would have very comfortable," T.R. said, pushing away some black locks from his blue eyes.
Harry slumped slowly against the man.
"Mmm, why not?" He murmured closing his eyes.
T.R. laughed again, dragging Harry inside the darkness of the flat.
"Maybe because in your state, you can't do it even in a bed, let alone standing up, leaning on a wall. You'd better go to sleep, there is no way you’re getting it up tonight."
"No way. I'm perfectly fine. Just give me a moment," Harry insisted in a slurred voice.
His mate sighed deeply at that, trying to find the switch on the wall without letting Harry slump further on the floor. A hard task to accomplish, actually, but fortunately T.R. didn't have to search for long, because suddenly the living room was filled by light.
The man blinked, finally focusing on a figure standing at the other side of the room, his hand still on the switch and a strange expression on his pale face. T.R. smiled uneasily.
"Harry... Harry, are you still there? You didn't tell me you had guests," the man began, his eyes fixed on Draco.
"Harry?" T.R. insisted after a while.
"I heard you," the drunken wizard answered, suddenly, his voice strangely firm.
T.R. looked at Harry, who was staring at Draco. Then, after a while, he spoke.
"I should go, now," the blue-eyed man said.
Harry shook his head and smiled at him, calmly.
"No. We had plans for tonight, hadn't we?"
T.R. blinked.
"We... Well, Harry, but," the man trailed, searching for the right words. "Who's that?"
Harry shifted his cold gaze on Draco, who stood still, too confused to say anything, and smirked.
"No one."
And with that, Harry took T.R.'s hand and dragged him into his room, leaving behind an astonished Draco.
No one.
Who's that?
No one.
Who am I?
No one.
Why am I worrying? It’s not true; I'm dreaming. Just dreaming. I was waiting for Harry and I fell asleep on the couch. I'll wake up when he comes back. Yes. I'm still sleeping now. And I'm just dreaming. The noises coming from his bedroom are nothing but a nightmare.
But it wasn't true. And Draco couldn't believe his lie, no matter how much he wanted to. So, trying to dispel any thought, he entered the kitchen and mechanically reached for a vodka bottle in the freezer. Without bothering with a glass, he took a long sip, barely registering the cool liquid burning inside him.
After some more draught, Draco slumped on the floor, his back against the wall, his gaze lost just as much as his heart. He could feel the alcohol began to run in his veins, but he wasn't numb enough to stop the pain in his chest. He passed a hand through his hair, sighing deeply.
I shouldn't feel pain, should I? I shouldn't care. We had a truce, nothing more. So why do I feel this bloody pain in my chest when I think about Harry shagging that guy? Shagging that guy in the other room as if I wasn't even here.
No one.
Oh, right. I'm no one to Harry. I'm the no one he fucked almost every damn day for the last damn month. I'm the no one he managed to hurt me. I'm the no one he kissed. And I’m the no one who kissed him back.
Draco chuckled softly, thinking about that kiss, about the way it had reached into his soul. Poisoning him. He shook his head tiredly and swallowed more vodka.
Well. I've been really stupid. I shouldn't have trusted him. I shouldn't have trusted *myself*. And I shouldn't have fallen in love. Shit.
Draco closed his eyes, breathing deeply, trying to ease that unbearable weight crushing his chest.
Because this is the problem. This is my cross and this is my pleasure. I, Draco Malfoy, am bloody in love with Harry Potter.
Unable to deny the truth any longer, Draco began to laugh hysterically, louder and louder, until, fearing to be heard, he bit his right hand until he tasted blood. When he felt the coppery taste in his mouth he stopped. He drew his knees to his chest, leaning his head against them defeated.
I'm in love with Harry Potter. And no one can save me from this. How can I be saved from myself?
Draco covered his ears with his hands, ignoring the blood dripping from his right one, staining his silky hair and the white floor of the kitchen. He felt sick. Tired. Helpless.
And desperately alone.
"Hey."
Draco jerked, waking up. He blinked. He looked around for a moment. The neon light was lightening the kitchen. He finally focused a pair of legs wrapped in dark jeans right in front of his eyes. Slowly, he raised his grey eyes until he focused on the stranger’s smiley face.
Draco narrowed his eyes, angrily and suspiciously. He had a throbbing headache and couldn’t recall clearly. Quick flashes the previous night assaulted him, hurting him physically and emotionally. The memories also reminded him that he did not like this man.
Draco was about to utter one of his sarcastic and pungent remarks when a cup of coffee materialized in front of him. Looking at the table, he realized that the stranger had prepared breakfast with an efficiency that spoke of familiarity. The bottle of vodka had disappeared and Draco had a blanket around his shoulders.
The Slytherin took the coffee mug from the other man and slowly got up. His head span dangerously, and if the man hadn't help him settle on a chair he would have fallen at the floor.
"Well, good morning. I see you are enjoying the wonderful effects of the day after. Aren’t hangovers a bitch?"
Draco said nothing, sipping his coffee. The man didn't seem to care and went on spreading butter on some slices of bread.
"By the way, I'm T.R.," he said conversationally, holding out his hand to Draco. Tiredly, Draco took it and flinched as the stranger squeezed lightly his wounded right hand.
T.R. frowned looking at the stains of blood on Draco's pale skin. The blonde looked away uneasily.
"It will get infected," T.R. said lightly. Then without adding a word, he left the kitchen.
Draco blinked and drew his attention back to his coffee.
Harry. Damn bastard. I hate you. I want to hate you. I *need* to hate you. Why can't things be back to the way they were?
His thoughts were interrupted by T.R.’s return. The man came back into the kitchen carrying a bottle of hydrogen peroxide and some band-aids. Without saying a word, he took Draco's hand and began to treat it. The wizard stayed silent until T.R. finished.
"Thanks."
The other just shrugged.
"More coffee?" T.R. asked simply. Draco nodded, looking away.
"T.R... What sort of name it is?"
"Thomas Raphael. But people use it rarely. It's too long." he explained, smiling.
"My name is Draco," suddenly the wizard said, looking away.
"It's nice."
After that they remained silent for a while.
"Are you Harry's boyfriend?" T.R. asked after a while, distractedly.
Draco flinched. Then he shook his head.
"But you love him, don't you?"
Draco blinked, looking at the man in front of him as if he had grown another head. T.R. smiled softly.
"Is it so obvious?" Draco asked, flatly.
The man shook his head.
"No. It's just that I'm good at guessing. And I've been knowing Harry for a while."
Draco didn't move his eyes from T.R. as he began to talk.
"Harry is full of shit. I mean, he has something inside, something heavy he's carrying around trying to ignore it. When the weight becomes unbearable he snaps. Usually he comes to me. We get drunk, he talks, mainly about nothing, and when he gets tired of talking, we shag. This is the basis of our relationship," T.R. explained, smiling.
"We’ve been doing it since we first met in a pub. That night, we were both alone and particularly pissed off. He wanted to talk; I didn't want to think. We both wanted to get drunk. And we both wanted to shag. Breathlessly and heartlessly."
The blue-eyed man paused, thinking about his last statement.
"If you're really in love with him, you've got a big problem, Draco. Harry hurts people. Involuntarily, but deeply. I knew it and I've been smart enough not to grow too attached to him. But I understand from your look that my words are useless for you."
Draco sighed rubbing his temples.
"Not useless," he said. "Just late."
T.R. grimaced.
"Well, then I can only give you an advice, if you want it."
Draco nodded, tiredly.
"Look for the darkness inside him. Study it. And if you think that you can deal with it, then you'll be able to deal with Harry."
The Slytherin stared at the man, considering those words, wondering about his feelings and his fears, about Harry's darkness and his kisses. Draco sighed.
"I hope I will."
"You'll have to," T.R. stated gravely. "Otherwise he'll make you regret of having a heart."
After that, they remained silent for a long while, both lost in their thoughts. Finally T.R. got up.
"I've to go now. I don't want to be here when Harry wakes up. He's a bitch when he's got a headache."
Draco got up too and led the blue-eyed man to the front door.
"Nice to meet you, Draco. And good luck. Hopefully this is the last time I see you or Harry."
The blonde nodded slightly and T.R. smiled at him. They shook their hands and the blue-eyed man left. Draco closed the door and leaned against it, lost in his thoughts.
Look for the darkness.
The Slytherin felt as he was suffocating, caught between his thoughts and the stale air lingering in the flat. Without thinking twice about it, he unconsciously followed Harry’s example and left, without even really knowing where he was going.