Alone
Draco brushed his fingertips over the glass orb, his own drawn expression reflected back. He drew the tips of his digits over the dark, reddened wood of the shelf it rested on and he hated it. It mocked him, covering its imperfections, hiding them, waiting for him to fall for its trickery before maddeningly revealing them in one fell swoop. Everything betrayed him, he just didn't know why he allowed it. The imperfections were there for him to see, displayed evenly, and yet he chose to believe it to be faultless. It was through his own error that he was stuck with the flawed, lying, heartless bookshelf but then, he could always disown it, rid himself of it.
"Must you touch everything like an impertinent child?" His tone was strict but Draco could hear the undertone of amusement in his voice.
He withdrew his hand but he didn't turn to face him as he knew the other wanted him to. He appreciated his hospitality but not the company. Not that Draco truly felt his presence as he was sure he had never been more alone in his life. It was an 'alone' that came from independence and freedom but it was still alone. So utterly alone.
A caring, if not somewhat impatient, voice asked, "How are you?" Draco scoffed and he heard a responding chuckle as he added, "Today. Just today, how are you?"
Draco turned to look him in the eyes as he said this, he bit his lip, and sighed sadly but firmly, "Lonely and angry and depressed and terrified and stupid and ashamed and pathetic and pitiful and—" Strong arms and potion-stained fingers slid around him and held him close. Draco allowed his eyelids to darken his vision as he inhaled the scent of safety that the powerful man gave off. He hadn't even seen the other man move from his seat as he had been so entrenched and blinded by his own emotions.
A soft, clenched voice whispered, "Enough now." His arms, his embrace, said more than his mouth ever could, more than he would ever allow it anyway. His body whispered its love for him, its undying devotion and protection of him, its support, and its reliability and Draco was grateful for all of it. He needed it now more than ever and would never have expected to have it willingly offered by this or any other person.
But this was the only remnant of 'family' that he had left, the only source of guardian-esque type comfort that would ever be offered to him, so he reveled in it. He hated that he needed this. Needed the comfort. He was so pathetic, unable to face himself any longer. He had had to flit off to Italy just to be sure he wouldn't go crawling back. Which was why he had come to Snape.
He knew his godfather would never allow such a thing, not after what Harry had done, and Draco had left nothing out. Snape was now the only person whose mind housed the same knowledge as his own. And clearly Draco wasn't wrong in thinking it was enough to drive anyone mad. There had been endless amounts of yelling at first, admonishments, curses, threats, and pure, irate fury. Draco had nearly trembled at Severus' reaction but after the initial tirade, there had been whispered words, loving embraces, and sincerest apologies.
Draco had known that Severus cared for him, after he had risked his own life to save his, but he had forgotten how much in their absence. But the man had been absolutely livid.
Snape removed his hold and Draco bit his tongue to reprimand himself for missing its warmth. He needed to learn this. He needed to be...alone. God, he hated that word. The finality of it, the reliance of self, the necessity of it. If he had been truly attempting, he would have changed his name, gone to Azerbaijan, made a life for himself, and started over, but he simply didn't have that kind of resolve. Maybe that was why he had stayed so long, perhaps he had needed the familiarity.
He stopped his train of thought, the one that just chugged on endlessly, never reaching a satisfying station. He would never be able to answer that question. Why had he stayed? There were excuses, justifications, explanations, some were even believable, but none were true. The truth was he didn't know. Blaise had asked if he were simply self-destructive, but it went beyond that, didn't it? He hadn't even had the comfort of fake promises, feigned declarations of love.
He had never given the slightest indication that there was anything more than lust beneath the surface. Was he just stupid, so blindly in love that he had allowed himself to be used? In school, he had been attracted to the power, to all aspects of it. His fantasies had strayed to darker depths more than once but never anything like what became his reality. Because in his fantasies, Harry loved him.
Oh no, tears. He had done it to himself, he had thought that name. Snape's thumb brushed the moisture from Draco's cheek and he turned his head embarrassedly. Snape had seen him cry more in these last few days than he ever had in his life. Draco hated himself for being so weak, and not only that, but for displaying it so openly. He had always prided himself on his strength and yet...that...man, had reduced him to some stuttering puddle of pitiful wreckage.
"Don't think of him," Snape's pained voice begged.
Draco let out a single bark of laughter, "Don't think of him? He's been my entire world for five years and I've let him shape it for two and a half, and I'm supposed to what, just forget about all of that?"
"How else do you expect to move on?" The prolonged silence from Draco was more telling than any words he could ever give. "You don't, then? You'll resign yourself to pining for a boy that doesn't exist and never deserved you in the first place?"
"He did exist, once," Draco said quietly.
"No, that's idealistic bullshit." Draco gasped, he didn't think he'd ever heard the man lower himself to using such bastardizations of the English language. "You let yourself believe that he would be different for you, that he would change for you, that he could love you. But he never did. None of it. And as your relationship continued, he got worse, so much worse, to the point where you could convince yourself that the start really wasn't so bad. That he had cared for you then, that he was nice, but it's not true, you've just beaten and broken the memories until they resembled what you wanted to begin with."
"I still love him," Draco admitted, hating the vile words as they poured out of his mouth.
"I know." Snape nodded, understanding completely, having seen into the blonde boy's mind. There had been some things that Draco couldn't bring himself to voice and he had allowed Severus' intrusion. "I'm sorry," It was a genuine apology, one of the few he'd ever given. He couldn't help but think that if he hadn't disappeared, if he hadn't needed to get away, if he hadn't gone into hiding, then Potter wouldn't have been able to sink his teeth into Draco.
He hadn't deserved it, not evenwhen he was nothing but a spoiled know-it-all, and especially not now. Not after his parents. Snape shook the thoughts from him, unwilling to replay their gruesome deaths and the horror Draco must have felt being forced to watch. He hoped Potter wouldn't be foolish enough to come looking for his godson as Snape would happily eviscerate him, but then again, maybe a part of him hoped that Gryffindor idiocy streak would lead him right to his front door.
He didn't understand why Draco had allowed it. Why did he think he warranted that kind of pain? What had he done in his life that could possibly have justified Potter's...defilement? What had made him so weak and compliant? Was it his parents? But then why did he seem to get off on the feeling of helplessness? Snape examined that thought more closely. Did he get off on that? The images he had seen in Draco's mind, most of the pain was inflicted during rough sex, but Draco didn't look as if he were enjoying himself. So why? Why did he think he merited Potter's wrath?
Snape's thoughts were interrupted by Draco's small voice, "Will this ever go away?"
Snape placed a hand on Draco's shoulder and answered sympathetically, "I don't know, Draco, but if it doesn't then you'll have to make a place for it. You can't dwell on this. You can't let him control you anymore."
Draco nodded and wiped the infernal tears from his eyes before they could fall and said in a choked voice, "I'm going to shower." In truth, he just wanted to get away from Severus, while he appreciated the older man's help, Draco knew that he must be judging him. Wondering what he ever saw in Harry, why he let things get as bad as they did, and what was wrong with him that he had stayed. Draco scoffed at the fact he was crying again, it was truly impressive at this point that he had any moisture left in his body, but at least, this time, he was alone.
That fucking word.
Draco cast a Silencing Spell on the bathroom door and let his magic loose. The items on the counter were lifted in a swirling maelstrom of pent up anger and threw themselves in each direction like toiletry bullets. The tile cracked and broke as the pinging objects came into contact with it. The items fell and Draco took deep, calming breaths with his hands on either side of the sink and made the mistake of looking up.
A face that Draco didn't recognize was staring back at him, tear streaks down pale cheeks, lank hair hanging down to partially cover the grey, feeble eyes that were staring back at him, weakness etched into every line of the drawn face. Draco hated it. He never wanted to look upon that face again and drew back his fist to smash it into the revealing mirror.
The pieces rent apart in a satisfying smash and Draco cradled his bloody, glass-ridden hand against his body as he slid down the cabinet and cried his heart out, knowing that he would never get over this. Over him.