It's Over
Blaise crashed spectacularly at the calamitous bang of his front door being slammed open. The paper he had been holding to his tongue was shaken by the unexpected interruption and green shavings littered his t-shirt. His body jerked violently and he found himself on his floor since he had been sitting precariously close to the edge of the couch.
He scowled at his visitor and narrowed his eyes only to have, seemingly, jet black ones glare back at him dangerously. Blaise closed his mouth and stopped the reprimand that had been imminent at the sight of the other's warning stare.
"What the hell did you do?"
Oh, he was angry. That was not good. Blaise knew he might be in a teensy, tiny, bit of trouble for his, um, unwarranted....help but that mixture must have been decidedly potent if it had Draco staring at him like that.
"I asked you a question, Blaise," Draco said icily, each syllable edged with a threat, "What the hell did you give me?"
Blaise had rarely, if ever, been frightened by his best friend but this was definitely an occasion that would qualify. He grinned sheepishly and attempted a really bad and ill-advised light-heartedness, "You should sit. We'll talk. Someone made me spill my pot, so let me clean this up and I'll answer your question."
Draco pointed his wand at Blaise. When had he gotten that out? His tone held no room for friendly vibes to be bandied about at the moment, "What did you do to me?"
Blaise puffed out his chest, feeling indignant at the accusation, "I didn't do anything to you. Everything you did was of your own volition, I didn't create anything."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Draco barked, not changing his stance in the slightest, "What exactly did you do to me?"
Blaise shrugged, trying to make himself as small as possible, "I just...I...um...Imayhaveslippedsomethinginyourdrink," he managed in one breath.
Draco continued to glare at him and raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'that's not going to cut it.'
Blaise took a deep breath and began calmly, "When we met for lunch and you mentioned that you were going to see Potter later, I slipped something in your drink to make your encounter a little less....tight-lipped."
"What, Blaise?" Draco spat, looking less and less like his best friend and more like a bounty hunter ready to collect by the second.
"It was, kind of, a mixture between Veritaserum and a Revealing Potion." Blaise stared at him innocently, "So see? You didn't say anything you didn't mean, or anything that wasn't true." Blaise stared up at Draco, having never actually gotten up, "What exactly did you say, by the way?"
Draco seemed too shocked to answer and only managed a short and halting, "You didn't....That was...all me?"
Blaise was immediately intrigued and sat up further. "Dray, what did you say," Blaise asked in an awe-like reverence.
Draco seemed distracted, as if he were replaying the entire conversation in his head. He sat down heavily on the couch and Blaise scrambled to join him. Draco placed his head in his hands and was staring, unblinkingly, at the carpet. He began speaking in a dead monotone, "I felt like it was being pulled from me, it was as if I couldn't stop myself and I was forced to stay passive as I said all these things I had no desire to reveal. Most of those things had been buried for so long....I forgot that I knew them in the first place." Draco gave a pronounced sigh, "I told him that he didn't care about me, that he barely even liked me, that he didn't treat me right, that he was just using me, and that I hated loving him. Then, I asked him for a break." Draco straightened and his eyes widened, "Oh god, I have to tell him that I wasn't myself. I have to beg him to take me back."
Blaise grabbed his forearm before he could so much as think to stand and glared at him in disbelief, "You can't be serious? All of that was the truth, Draco, and now I know you know it too. How can you even consider going back to him? He doesn't deserve you and the worst part is, you know it! So what the hell are you doing?"
Draco leaned his head back on the couch and covered his eyes with one hand, "I don't know. I don't know, okay? Are you happy now? I don't know what I'm doing. All I know is that I hate being away from him. I absolutely hate it. Just the thought that he could be mad at me....God....it makes my stomach churn. I just...I love him so much, Blaise."
"That's. Not. Healthy." Blaise stated cleanly. "How come you can't see that? This hold he has over you, it's not right."
Draco stood resolutely, "I have to see him." Blaise was immediately on his feet as well, shaking his head in negation. Draco turned to him with pleading eyes, "I promise, I'll take it slow, I'll demand better, but, right now, I just have to see him."
Blaise, again, grabbed Draco's forearm and attempted a whiny, "Draco..."
"I'm going, Blaise," Draco said determinedly, leaving no room for argument. Blaise reluctantly withdrew his hand, seeing that there was no way of changing his best friend's mind, and Draco left his apartment with purposeful strides.
~*~
Draco waited impatiently outside of Harry's door, wondering over and over if he was doing the right thing, all the time the ache in his stomach worsening. He wrung his hands and stared challengingly at the peeling red paint and mocking peep hole. Something in his gut was telling him not to go inside, of course, this was the same gut that was currently digesting itself in longing.
He hobbled from one foot to the other in indecision as his panicky eyes searched for any object that could possibly be interpreted as a sign that he could use as a decisive verdict. Finding none, as he knew he would, or rather, wouldn't, he placed his hand on the ominous gold handle and, inadvertently, closed his eyes and held his breath as he pushed open the door.
The innards of the apartment were surprisingly still and eerily quiet. Draco entered the flat warily, he had been so sure something was wrong. He looked around and was nearly suffocated by the intense quiet. The room was both stifling and chill-inducing. He tried to shake off the feeling, deciding it was all in his head, and turned to leave since Harry, clearly, was not there when he was stopped by faint noises coming from the hallway.
Draco followed the only reverberation in the entire hollow flat and could hear grunting and huffing that he would relate to either pain or heavy-lifting and as he followed the sounds, he realized, more precisely, that there were coming from Harry's room. A sick feeling rose in his stomach and he audibly groaned. He should leave, whatever it was, he didn't need to know. Ignorance was bliss, right? He, again, placed his hand on the door handle, and, again, he questioned his decision to do so.
He should walk away, walk away, just walk away, at least that's what he kept thinking as he turned the door handle. There was no going back now.
Somehow, he felt oddly detached from the scene in front of him, almost as if he had expected nothing less. Harry. Riding Oliver. Hard.
He didn't make a sound or move a muscle or look away. It was as if he was frozen in time, allowing
the horror of this moment to truly hit him. Oliver saw him first. His blue eyes opened, spotted him, closed lazily, widened in shock, and stared at him in unbridled fear and....disappointment? Harry must have noticed Oliver's expression because in the next second his head was turned back at an odd angle to look at the immobilized blonde.
Emotions seemed to flit across Harry's face, but they were too quick to identify until they finally settled on smug satisfaction. He glared at Draco as he continued his unhampered movements.
Draco's eyes brimmed but Harry had gotten enough fucking tears from him. All he could manage was a small, "Oh." He wished he could rail at him, scream, yell, bellow, and everything else that bastard deserved, but, really, all he wanted was to be as far away from him as possible, as quickly as possible.
He didn't really remember leaving the apartment or the neighborhood and was simply walking in a sort of delirious haze when he found himself looking up at an unfamiliar coffee shop he had accidentally dead-ended into.
Deciding this was fate, he could definitely use a pick me up, he entered the unimpressive shop and sat tiredly at the counter. A waitress with auburn hair that was done up in a haphazard manner with a pencil, a genuine smile, and a freckled nose came over with a coffee pot and asked kindly, "You want, hun?"
Draco, who was resting despairingly, facedown, on the cool counter, raised his head slowly and took in the glinting name tag, "Yeah, thanks...Jan."
She got him a cup and poured the black liquid into the previously barren mug. She popped her gum and gave him a heartwarming look, her big hazel eyes gleaming knowingly, "You all right there, hun? You look as if your entire world's been crushed."
Draco inhaled the reviving smell of coffee beans and suddenly everything seemed so clear and he felt oddly liberated, he found himself stating unwaveringly, "It's... over."