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1. The first step is running away.
Draco listens politely as Harry dismisses him. He watches frozen as Harry piles his things on the bed and dumps them into a bag. His face goes pale and his eyes turn cold and hard as Harry tells him they’re over, that he can’t do this anymore.
“Okay.” Is all Draco can force out of his lips as he grabs the bag Harry offers him and apperates straight into the most rural part of Scotland.
When he gets there it’s raining. As he tromps through the muddy field the rain drenches his hair, plastering it to his forehead. He can’t even bring himself to be mad at the weather. In fact, it feels pretty fitting.
The cold soaks him to the bone. He forces himself step by step up the rolling green hill in front of him. The muscles in his legs fill with a deep ache and the pain feels almost like a relief.
He counts every step as he works his way up the incline. He finds the monotony of counting is the only thing that keeps him from picturing Harry’s face.
When he reaches the summit he drops his bag of things straight onto the soaking ground. He thinks he’ll leave it there. Everything inside it smells like Harry, reminds him of Harry, and just looking at it makes him feel sick.
Moving purposefully away from the bag Draco gazes below him and watches as the rain pelts onto the bright green fields around him. It’s beautiful and he finds himself looking away into the swirling clouds above him.
After standing for a couple minutes he sighs and drops into a sitting position. Mud immediately covers his pants but he can’t quite bring himself to care. He loses track of time as icy water pelts against his skin. After a while his skin starts to burn.
2. The second step means telling his friends.
When he finally arrives home the Slytherins are waiting for him.
Pansy and Blaise lay sprawled across his soft leather sofa. Theo is laying on his back in the middle of the sofa staring at the ceiling and gesturing dramatically as if he’s in the middle of explaining something important. Adrian and Greg are in the midst of a heated chess game. Adrian is yelling. Pansy is telling him to be quiet. The click of the front door makes them all look up. As they gaze upon Draco’s bedraggled appearance their eyes widen slowly. The air catches in Draco’s chest. Suddenly it feels hard to breathe.
“You look… awful.” Pansy breathes.
“Cheers! Just what I like to hear.” Draco says hysterically. He’s fairly sure they can all see straight through him. He feels vulnerable, rubbed raw. He wishes they would all disappear. He wonders if there’s a spell for that.
“Well I’ll just go get changed then, don’t mind me.” The bright note in his tone sounds brittle and unbelievable. Draco winces and attempts to rush through the room before anyone can stop him.
“What happened Draco?” Theo springs from the rug blocking his path. Draco curses Auror training for encouraging such quick reflexes. He attempts to dodge him. They do a little back and forth dance before Draco gives up sighing and slumping to the floor. He gets mud all over his designer carpet. He’s troubled to find it doesn’t bother him at all.
“Harry dumped me,” he mumbles quietly. Part of him hopes if he says it quietly enough no one will hear.
“He broke up with you?” Pansy asks. Her voice is loud and shrill. Draco winces. So much for no one hearing.
“Yes.” He’s horrified to notice water collecting in his eyes. He wonders if he’s gotten dust in them. He stares determinately at the dark green carpet beneath him and wills it to go away. It won’t do for his friends to think he’s crying because he definitely isn’t.
“Oh Draco, you’re crying aren’t you?” Pansy says, her tone sympathetic.
“I am NOT crying,” he scoffs back, clenching his jaw to keep the pesky water at bay.
“You might be mate,” Blaise chimes in gently. He rises from his chair and approaches Draco carefully, like he’s a feral animal.
Draco’s a bit famous for his emotional outbursts. He finds himself flattered that Blaise is approaching him with such caution. Then, he wonders if Harry dumped him because of his outbursts. The knot in his chest sinches tighter and he finds himself suddenly a lot less proud of Blaise’s cautious steps.
“Oh for Merlin’s sake, stop acting like I’m going to attack you or something,” he spits at Blaise. Blaise winces and approaches him with more tentative steps. Draco rubs his hand over his forehead in defeat and for the first time regrets his affinity for throwing hex’s when he’s upset.
“Sorry for yelling Blaise,” he manages as gently as he can, “this really isn’t one of my best moments. In fact, it might actually be the worst.”
Blaise looks at him suspiciously like he can’t quite trust him. Draco supposes he’s earned that look.
Merlin, he wishes he was different.
Better.
The water starts to collect in his eyes again.
“This is definitely not the worst moment of your life,” Pansy scoffs. “Remember when you spent a year trying to kill Dumbledore? Or, when you were given a prison sentence? Or, even when you spent a year lusting after Potter thinking he’d never return the affection?”
“You’ve got a point there Pansy,” Draco says, attempting to smirk at her. The water collecting in his eyes starts to pour down his cheeks.
“Oh no,” Blaise sighs from beside him on the carpet. He stretches his long muscled arms around Draco and Draco leans into his firm chest. He finds himself wishing it was Harry’s. His shoulders shake with sobs. Okay fine. Maybe he is crying.
Pansy and Adrian join them on the floor. Pansy rubs his back. Adrian cards his hands through Draco’s long blonde hair. Greg stands awkwardly beside them, he’s never been one for emotions.
“Sorry,” Draco mumbles as he forces the sobs down in his chest. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s okay,” Pansy murmurs back. She continues rubbing circles on his back. Draco leans in, sighing.
“You know I think you’re the first one of us to get their heart properly broken,” Blaise muses, loosening his arms a bit.
Draco squirms into his chest silently demanding him not to let go yet. “Oh good Blaise. Way to rub it in.”
“Oh I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I think heartbreak is an important part of growing up.”
Draco hates when Blaise gets in his philosophical moods.
“Just wait till it happens to you,” Draco retorts snidely. “I bet you won’t be waxing poetic about it then.”
When he pulls away to glare at Blaise and he’s grinning at him, white teeth glowing against dark skin.
Draco huffs a weak laugh. “Just like you to try and wind me up to make me feel better Blaise.”
“You’ve got to admit it works.” Blaise shoots back bringing his arms back up to wrap tight around Draco’s shoulders. This time Draco lets himself relax.
“Okay this is great and all, but now we’re all soaked, I have mud on my robes, and we’ve ruined a designer carpet,’ Pansy says shrilly, breaking through the calm.
“And what should we do about that?” Adrian responds languidly. His breath tickles Draco's ear.
“I don’t know Adrian, maybe get up and shower?” Pansy glares at him scornfully.
“Only if Draco’s ready,” Blaise tells her, cradling Draco closer to his chest.
“Well obviously.” Draco can tell without looking that Pansy is rolling her eyes.
“Look Draco, if you can manage to get up, shower, and dress yourself. I’ll treat everyone to brunch and you can get so drunk you won’t even remember Potter’s name.”
As if on cue, Draco hears Blaise’s stomach rumble beneath him.
“Alright,” he sighs. Carefully he untangles his limbs from everyone around him and gingerly stands up. His body feels fragile, like with one small touch he could break into a thousand pieces.
3. The third step is getting so drunk he can’t see straight
Draco pre-games brunch. He isn’t usually one for public debauchery, but they’re all getting ready, and Pansy shoves a bottle of firewhisky into his empty hands, and suddenly he’s drinking it.
The burn of the alcohol on his throat matches the ache in his chest nicely. He feels his limbs loosen, relax. The room goes soft and hazy around him and the warmth building in his stomach from the firewhisky makes the world feel more tolerable. He leans back on the bed behind him and gazes blearily at the chaos of his friends getting ready.
They blur around the room in shimmering fabrics and regal silks. He watches Pansy slide a black slinky dress over her curves. He thinks he sees Blaise watching her from the corner of his eye. He revels in the beauty of friendship, at least he has people at his back, ready to fight for him. His friends love him. He knows they do. The knot in his chest loosens a little.
Draco continues to swing from his bottle. As each of his friends finish dressing they join him on the bed. Eventually they’re passing the bottle clockwise. By the time everyone’s pleasantly tipsy (except Pansy. She’d explained haughtily that drinking before noon was pedestrian), Pansy announces that it’s time to go. Then she grabs them all unceremoniously and side-alongs them to the Leaky Cauldron.
Merlin's Beard, Draco thinks, because of course he’d been too tipsy to even think about asking Pansy where she planned to go for brunch. This is Harry’s favorite place to eat in Diagon alley. He’d explained it to Draco on their fourth date, the first time Draco had slept over. He’d insisted they go to the Leaky for breakfast. He’d said something about nostalgia and the three weeks he’d stayed there. Draco thought it just had to do with the pancakes they served bigger than his head.
Now Draco’s standing in front of the bright sign with a freshly broken heart. He tries not to wince, tries to keep his composure calm and cool. He must not do a great job of it because Adrian sidles up and wraps his arm tightly across Draco’s shoulders.
“You alright mate?” He asks softly, trying not to catch the attention of the others.
“Yeah,” Draco mumbles back unconvincingly.
“We could leave you know,” Adrian offers. “It would make sense if you weren’t ready to go out just yet. The others would get it.”
Draco nods, leaning his head onto Adrians shoulder.
“Are you two coming?” Pansy calls behind her, interrupting them.
Draco stands for a second caught in indecision. Then he stiffens his spine and pushes his head off of Adrians shoulder because fuck that, he’s not letting Harry dictate his life anymore.
“Yes we’re coming!” He clenches his jaw tight and pulls Adrian towards the door of the pub. When Adrain stumbles on one of the cobblestones he looks back for a second and catches Adrian staring at him. His bright smile is wild and unabashed. Looking at him Draco feels his lips quirk up into a small smile of their own.
Inside the waitress seats them quickly. As she serves water and takes their drink orders she looks down her nose at them suspiciously. However, she quickly warms up as Blaise flirts, complimenting her on everything from her hair to the way she effortlessly slides drinks across the table. Pansy looks absolutely murderous. Hmm, Draco thinks. Interesting.
Once the waitress leaves Pansy relaxes a little and the meal quickly devolves into chaos. Draco loses himself in the bright chatter of his friends. He leans back against Greg’s warm frame and watches as Blaise and Adrian compete to chug a mimosa the fastest. Blaise wins. Pansy leans in to kiss him on the cheek. Something is going on between them, Draco thinks. Then Blaise distracts him by challenging him to chug. Three gulps in he spills his drink down his shirt. He watches as pale orange soaks across the white linen and realizes he’s not even upset. This is what they’re here for aren’t they? To fall apart and leave a mess and live to tell the tale tomorrow?
He declares Blaise the winner. He’s giving him a loud high five across the table when he realizes that he hasn’t thought about Harry in at least five minutes. Right now that’s a pretty impressive record. He reaches across the table to refill his drink as a reward but abruptly Adrian stops him, encasing his ribs in a broad hand and pulling him back down into the booth.
“Um Draco, is that who I think it is?” He points quickly to the entrance of the pub where two wizards are standing, talking to their waitress.
Draco’s eyes go comically wide. After dating Harry for nine months he has no problem identifying his two best friends without even seeing their faces.
“Oh no. Oh no.” He turns to Adrian, his heart palpating in his chest. “I can’t let them SEE me.”
“It’s okay. I don’t think they’re coming this way.” Adrian soothes as Draco attempts to shove his way past Greg and out of the booth.
“Draco, getting up and leaving is just going to draw their attention.” Pansy hisses, catching on to the disaster unfolding in front of her.
“Oh no,” Blaise chimes in. “They’re headed this way.”
Panicked, Draco reaches for Adrian and Greg’s hands on either side of him and dives underneath the long white table cloth. Using all his body strength he yanks them down with him.
“Ow,” Greg complains as he hits the floor next to him. “What are you thinking?!”
And okay, maybe Draco hadn’t been thinking because Greg doesn’t exactly fit under the table cloth. “Quick scoot in closer.” He whispers to Greg, hoping that if he just moves a couple inches his long legs will no longer peek out into the walkway.
“I don’t know if I can,” Greg replies hurriedly as he squishes Draco into Adrians chest.
Pansy’s head appears under the table next to them, “This was really your worst idea ever,” she screeches.
“Shut up,” Draco whispers furiously, his cheeks blushing red, “You’re going to give us away.”
“Oh I’m going to give you away? What about Greg’s legs sticking out from under the table?” Pansy squawks. Draco sighs and looks to his left, sure enough Gregs legs are still sticking haphazardly out like a tripping hazard.
At that moment he hears the unmistakable sound of Hermione’s voice coming towards them.
“Oh nooooo,” He groans. Turning his face into Adrian’s chest he wishes he could disappear.
“Hello Pansy!” Hermione’s voice sounds frighteningly close by.
Draco winces. Greg tries to tuck his feet under his body and fails. His left boot slips to the side and catches Draco’s slender fingers under it. The press of heavy dragonhide on delicate skin pinches Draco’s hand against the floor, “Merlin's Beard get off me Greg!” Draco yells. Then his heart drops in his chest because he can see a hand picking at the white table cloth in front of him. He freezes, hardly daring to breathe. It takes seconds for Hermione to lift the cloth in her careful grip. The tablecloth folds up, letting in the light, and then her face is peering down at them. “Draco?” She exclaims. Her brown eyes blink once, wide and confused.
4. So, apparently step four is seeing Hermione and Ron. That’s fine. Draco can totally handle it.
“Oh hi!” Draco does his best to sound surprised. Hermione immediately looks suspicious.
“What are you doing down there?” She says slowly. Her gaze seems to catch on the orange juice stain spread across his shirt. Draco turns towards Adrian trying to hide the stain in the shadows of the table. Her eyes track his movements.
“Oh Uh, Draco dropped something,” Adrian responds hurriedly. “Me and Greg were just trying to help him find it.” He forces a laugh. Draco thinks it sounds a bit like a dying goat.
Hermione’s eyes narrow warily, “Oh? What did Draco drop? Do you need help finding it?”
“His wand,” Adrian replies quickly at the same time that Greg says, “His cufflink.”
Draco glares pointedly at Greg. He’s wearing a light linen button down and anyone who knows anything about fashion would know one wouldn’t wear cufflinks with this type of attire.
“Sorry, you know I’m bad under pressure,” Greg whispers frantically back at him.
“You know I can hear you right?” Hermione’s voice is shrill. Draco flinches a little.
“Oh you know Greg. He gets confused sometimes.” Draco bares his teeth in what he hopes is a calming smile.
“Are you okay?” Adrian asks him. “Is Greg still on your finger?”
“I’m fine, why would you even ask?” Draco spits back.
“Oh just your face looks a little strange right now.” Adrian says back in what Draco presumes is supposed to be a whisper. Adrian’s always had a bit of a loud voice. Draco winces.
Hermione coughs.
“Um anyways. We’ve found my wand!” Draco tells her. “So you’ve arrived just in time. Come on boys back up to the bench.”
As he squishes his body ungracefully back up onto the bench he curses his friends. How could he have befriended the most incompetent Slytherins to ever exist. Slytherins were supposed to be cunning, quick, statistical experts. It’s quite unfair of the universe to have landed him with Slytherins who can’t even pull off a teensy little lie.
“So that was weird,” Ron says flatly when Draco, Adrian, and Greg are finally situated on the bench again.
“Yeah sorry about them,” Pansy replies, smiling calmly. “We try not to take them out in public too much. They can’t handle themselves, you see.”
Ron nods cautiously like he’s not quite sure if Pansy’s teasing him or not. Draco bites back a smile.
“Anyways,” Hermione says, casually dropping her arm around Ron’s waist. Draco tracks the movement with his eyes. The smile lurking behind his lips disappears. “We’ll see you at the ministry ball tonight?”
“Um. the ministry ball?” Draco asks dumbly, not sure what she’s referring to.
“Oh you know. The one for Kingsley's fundraising efforts.” Hermione leans further into Ron's side. “Harry said he’d invited you.”
“What?” Draco’s sure he’s heard wrong because why would Harry, who’d looked him in the eyes this morning and told him that it was all too much, invite him to anything?
“Did he forget to invite you?” Hermione asks, looking at his blank face carefully.
“Oh Merlin,” Pansy exclaims quietly to Blaise. Her eyes are wide and horrified.
Hermione’s eyes snap to Pansy’s face and she freezes. Draco watches the exchange and feels his heart turn to lead in his chest. Of course stupid Potter would leave every horrible detail of their breakup to him. Merlin, look who’s the coward now, Draco thinks, as he coaches his back ramrod straight and takes a deep breath.
“Um.” He stops as he hears his voice falter, takes another breath and begins again, “Harry and I broke up. So I won’t be attending the ball.”
“Oh no.” Hermione exclaims, looking not very surprised at all. “I’m so sorry Draco. I can’t believe he wouldn’t tell us.”
Draco grimaces. He’s not at all surprised that Harry didn’t tell them. Harry always makes other people do the emotional labor. He stabs at the pancake on his plate a little too hard. The metal of his fork squeaks on the porcelain.
“Um. Anyways.” Draco notices Pansy’s using her diplomatic voice. The one she uses when she tries to bribe people for strange favors. “Nice to see you both. I'm sure we’ll be seeing you around. Have a nice meal.” Her dark eyes flick firmly across Hermione and Ron’s faces before glaring pointedly at the empty seating far away from them. Hermione gets the hint and waves awkwardly before tugging Ron away. Draco slumps back in his seat feeling rung out and entirely defeated.
5. The fifth step is moping around indoors preferably at his house where there is no chance of running into anyone remotely close to Harry Potter.
The morning after the dreaded bunch incident Draco peels his eyes open around noon. The sunlight drifting through his window renders his walls blindingly white making him wince and bury his head under his pillow. He stays there for about an hour feeling too weak and boneless to even find a hangover potion. Eventually Pansy’s shrill voice prompts him to get up and he hears the plop of a potion landing in the bed next to him. Once again he thanks Merlin for his friends. Without them he’s sure he would have perished by now.
As he tips the disgusting sludgy potion down his throat Pansy yells through the doorway that she's late to work, cautions him not to look at the newspaper before she comes home, and swirls off in a flash of expensive fabric.
So obviously the first thing Draco does when he gets up is make his way down to the kitchen and descend on the first copy of the paper he can find.
In her rush to work Pansy hasn’t actually done a great job hiding the paper, it's spread out invitingly along the granite countertop. Draco rushes to it, his heart fluttering with dread. After-all, it couldn’t be anything good, could it? Anything like Harry Potter says He is Still in Love With Draco Malfoy or, Harry Potter Begs Draco to Take Him Back? With a quick flick of his wrist Draco snaps the paper closed. His gaze flicks to the photograph in front of him and he stumbles slightly, catches his balance on the countertop.
His head feels strange and hazy and there spread out before him is a picture of Harry, his Harry. All tousled black curls and blushing cheeks and dark eyes irises blown wide. But the photograph is all wrong because there, wrapped up in Harry’s arms where Draco should be, is Ginny. The headline reads Potter-Weasley: A Romance Rekindled? There’s no mention of Draco. It’s like he never even existed.
Draco’s knees suddenly feel weak and he lets his body sink to the floor. He turns, letting his back rest against the hard wood of the kitchen cabinets. He can’t quite wrap his head around it. He’d thought Harry might marry him. He’d never imagined himself here hungover and sad, waiting for an apology where there wouldn’t ever be one.
When Pansy returns from work she finds him still there propped up against the cabinets staring into the distance.
6. Step six means giving up completely.
For the next two weeks Draco sleep walks through life feeling oddly detached from everything. Sometimes, in his head, he thinks about Harry like a drug. Even when he isn’t thinking about him it feels like he’s going through withdrawal. He feels cold all the time and his limbs are heavy and numb. He can’t stop himself from obsessively reading the newspapers and peering out the windows for a glimpse of Harry’s owl. Mostly he stays in bed for as much of the day as possible until Pansy or Blaise or Adrian come and pry him from his warm cocoon. Greg leaves him alone mostly, standing strong in his belief that it’s important to let people mourn however they need to as long as it’s not hurting anyone. Draco appreciates him for it.
After a while the monotony of his days start to feel almost boring. He finds a strange hilarity in the idea that his heart has been smashed to smithereens, the love of his life has left him and yet, he feels bored. He feels strangely guilty about this.
He starts forcing himself out of bed before his friends come home from work and going on long runs through London. The first couple times he feels like he’s drowning and his legs burn like he’s running through fire. The pain feels good, it leaves him feeling strangely awake.
After a while the pain recedes. He's surprised to find he still enjoys running.
He finally starts to catch up on his work. He finds the heartbreak leaves his paintings more vibrant, full of brilliant colors and aching emotions.
He feels more like himself. However, other than his long runs he has yet to leave the house.
It’s four weeks after the breakup when Pansy sits him down, calls him pathetic about a thousand times, and coerces him into going out to the club with her.
The rock in Draco’s chest is only slightly loosened by Pansy’s bribe of free merch from her new designer clothing line. Mostly he goes because she’s his friend and he can admit he is being a bit pathetic.
7. Step seven is going out. Draco hates step seven.
Draco tries to lose himself in the spinning rainbow lights. He watches the way they paint colorful circles across Pansy’s face. She grins, happy and carefree and tilts her head back laughing, as she dances in Blaise’s arms. Her body moves, lithe and languid. Draco feels an uncomfortable stab of jealousy deep in his stomach. He looks away.
He can’t relax here. His body is wound tight and as much as he hates himself for it, he can’t stop looking through the crowd for a glimpse of dark curls or a pair of startling green eyes.
Sighing, he turns from the dance floor and makes his way to the bar. He orders a double shot of firewhiskey and slams it back quickly. His head starts to spin pleasantly. He hopes if he can just get drunk enough he’ll forget to look for Harry around every corner. It feels almost like he’s being haunted by a memory.
He turns away from the bar and pushes through the crowd, scanning faces for his friends.
As he turns, searching for Pansy’s petite frame or Greg's large head towering over the crowd he catches a glimpse of fiery red and freezes. There, in the back corner laughing into Ginny’s hair is Harry.
It feels like he’s standing on a precipice, his balance shot to hell. His stomach lurches like he might throw up. Standing stock still he takes several breaths. He thinks he might be hallucinating, but he takes a second glance and yes that’s Harry. He’s hard to miss. His dark curls are hectic and wild around his face. His lips are cracked in a smile. He looks so happy, so alive, it makes Draco’s heart break all over again.
He knows he should turn away. Get as far away from Potter as he can. He tries to lift his feet. To convince his body to move. He finds he can’t rip his eyes away from the way Harry’s body undulates against Ginny’s.
Ginny’s hair falls down her back like a waterfall and, as she leans further into his chest his tanned hands come up and tangle through it. Draco knows those hands too well. He knows how they feel on the nape of a neck or sliding through soft blonde locks and it’s not fair. It's not fair, and he should be in Ginny’s place. Those should be his hands on Harry's shoulder pressing him gently into the wall behind them.
He watches as they kiss, as Harry moves his hands down to Ginny’s waist, as Harry pulls their bodies flush together. And Draco knows how that feels too, knows how Harry’s chest will be strong and solid beneath her, knows that his body temperature runs hot so his body against hers will feel like a forest fire, and Draco still can’t look away.
Several minutes go by.
People shove by Draco complaining that he’s blocking the pathway. He barely hears them. It feels like a dull knife is slowly sinking into his chest. He glances down almost expecting to see blood blooming like a wine stain on his white shirt. There’s nothing there.
He looks back up to Harry again. Ginny has pulled back, she pats Harry on the shoulder and gestures to the loo. He nods. She turns to walk away.
As Ginny pushes her way through the crowds Harry turns slightly to watch her. Then Harry’s body goes ridged. Draco has a split second to wonder why before startled green eyes lock with his. Draco stumbles slightly. The intensity of Harry’s gaze leaves his world tipping on its axis. He wishes he had had less to drink.
He tries to walk away. He really tries, but he finds himself still frozen, staring back at Harry like a deer in headlights.
Draco watches Harry watch him. His face goes from shell shocked to angry in about 5 seconds flat. Then, he’s stomping across the building towards him and fuck, Draco’s not ready for this. The rainbow lights flick across Harry’s face. He looks murderous, his jaw clenched, the light illuminates tendons dancing beneath his skin. When Draco scans down his body every muscle is taught and alert. His hands are clenched into fists and the tattoos on his forearms are swirling with emotion. Draco drinks him in. Harry’s always the hottest when he’s angry.
All at once the piercing pain in his chest is back again because how could he forget? How could he forget that Harry’s not his anymore? He's just watched him kiss someone else. This isn’t a lovers spat. They can’t kiss and makeup. This is real life and Harry doesn’t want him anymore.
Draco spins on his heel and pushes into the crowd. He’s so pathetic, he thinks, he’s always the one running. He shoves people haphazardly out of the way as he strides towards the side exit. It feels like he can’t breathe, like the air stuck in his throat. He wonders if he’s having a panic attack. He thrusts himself through the door to the alleyway and tumbles out breathing in biting winter air.
Thank god he’s made it away, he thinks, as he stares blankly into the alleyway in front of him.
Suddenly a warm palm is gripping his arm. He doesn't even have to look to know it’s Harry’s. He could recognize those callused fingers anywhere. He curses himself for not being faster. He lets Harry turn him and then they’re standing in the alleyway only a couple inches from each other. Draco watches as Harry’s chest heaves, as he sucks the cold air through his full lips. Draco wants to touch him so badly his hands shake. He carefully clasps them behind his back.
“Jesus christ, why can’t you just move on already?” Harry spits at him, shoving his chest hard.
Draco stumbles on the cobblestones. He knows Harry only uses muggle swears when he’s fully lost grip of his emotions, when he’s wound so tight he can’t help but let go. Draco wracks his brain for a retort. He’s about to respond that Harry had been watching him too, or that Harry’s the one who followed him out of the pub, but suddenly Harry’s lips are on his and his mind goes blank.
They don’t kiss so much as collapse into each other. Harry tastes like cheap cocktails and smells like home. Draco lets himself melt into his body like wax against a hot flame. Harry pushes his chest hard a second time. Draco stumbles back into the stone wall behind them. He gasps for air for a second before Harry’s lips are on him again. They kiss rough, hard. Harry bites Draco’s lip until he tastes metal. Draco grabs his belt loops pulling his hips tight against him. He shoves his hands up under Harry’s soft t-shirt and drags his nails down his back. He hopes he leaves marks.
“Ahem.” Someone clears their throat behind them.
Harry rips away from Draco as if he’s been burned. He storms out, down the alley without a backwards glance.
Draco sags against the stones behind him. He hates himself for being so weak. His knees fold and he slides down the wall until he’s sitting on the cobbles.
“Circe, I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Draco looks up dejectedly into Pany’s wide brown eyes.
“It’s probably better you did,” He responds glumly. His lips are hot and swollen. The telltale pinprick of tears gathers behind his eyes and damn it he’s so tired of letting Harry make him cry.
Pansy spends a few minutes looking distastefully at the ground before she sighs and plops herself down next to him. “Come here,” She tells him gently. Draco lets himself fall into her embrace.
They sit there for a long time in silence. Draco leans in as Pansy slowly strokes his back.
8. Step eight is about recovery.
Pansy takes him home. Then she goes back to the pub and gathers everyone else.
“So he just kissed you and left?” Blaise asks, clearly outraged as he stumbles into the kitchen knocking into a chair.
“Yeah.” Draco says dejectedly looking at his hands, they’re shaking a little which feels traitorous.
“What a filthy scumlord!” Blaise yells crashing down into the chair next to him. Draco wrinkles his nose. He guesses he should have known better to expect eloquent commentary from his clearly wasted friends.
“Well that is one way to describe it,” Pansy comments dryly, her face a mirror of Draco’s.
“What an asshole,” Adrian says, collapsing his torso onto Draco’s back and smothering him in his arms. It feels kind of like being crushed alive in a pleasant way. Draco relaxes into him.
“Well we can’t let the night end like this. This is horrible,” Pansy says flatley gazing dismissively at the four of them.
“Oh? You think we can fix this?” Draco asks aggressively.
“Yes, I think we can,” Pansy sniffs. “We are in control of our own destiny aren’t we.”
Fuck, Draco thinks, Blaise and his philosophical bullshit might really be rubbing off on her.
9. Step nine means Draco is so full of rage he can’t think straight.
As soon as he wakes up the next morning Draco’s body is full of a buzzing tension. He can’t quite place it at first, but when he snaps at Pansy for drinking the last of the tea and she looks at him confused and suspicious, he realizes that every bone in his body is burning with blinding rage.
He takes himself on his morning run, does some painting, even sets some time aside to cook his favorite dinner but the tension never ceases.
After dinner Pansy and Blaise swan off to an important social call, Adrian and Greg leave to attend chess club, and Draco is left buzzing with anger skulking around the sitting room.
It’s then that he decides to go out.
He apparates straight to the Leaky Cauldron. He could have chosen any bar but the Leaky has drink specials on Saturdays and fine, maybe he wants to see Potter. Maybe he wants to make him pay for the way he’d left him last night, maybe he wants the whole town to know how Harry messed him up.
Standing on the cobbles in front of the pub he clenches his hands into tight fists before taking a deep breath and releasing them. He pushes a hand roughly through his blonde hair and shakes his head slightly pushing all thoughts of Harry to the back of his head. He’s here to have fun.
Of course, as soon as Draco steps through the double doors and onto the smooth wood floor he spots Harry alone at the bar. It shouldn’t be that easy to spot him. The lights are dimmed and the bar sits at the far end of the room but Draco would recognize that hunched posture anywhere. Harry's bent over the bar cradling a beer in his right hand. He’s gazing blankly at the wall in front of him.
Draco wrinkles his nose watching Harry for a moment. He looks small and melancholy. Nothing like the Savior of the Wizarding World should be.
The sight hits Draco like a sucker punch. The anger in his stomach blossoms and spreads. It’s not fair. Draco’s angry at Harry. Harry’s hurt him. The last thing he wants is to be standing at a pub again staring at Harry wishing he would make him feel better.
Draco stomps over to the opposite end of the bar and quickly orders a drink refusing to give Harry so much as another glance.
Two drinks in Draco’s reflexes kick in. He feels an undeniable tug in his gut like someone’s watching him. He swings around expecting to be met by Harry’s shocked green eyes and feels his stomach drop in disappointment when his gaze lands on a man a little shorter than him. The man has sandy curls and when Draco’s gaze meets his blue-green eyes he smiles a little showing off straight white teeth. Draco holds his gaze as he brushes his lips over the rim of his glass. The man’s smile widens and he strolls over to lean on the bar next to him.
Draco smirks at him trying to look calm and ignoring the way his body wants to flinch away. The anger in his veins flickers slightly before coming back to life. No part of him wants to let the man come near him but if that’s what it takes to get to Harry then he’ll do it. In the back of his mind he's vaguely aware that this is maybe the most unhealthy way to cope ever, but then again, Draco’s never really been known for making healthy choices.
“Hey, I’m Nick,” The man, no Nick, Draco corrects himself, says. Nick’s voice is bright and very clearly American.
“Hey Nick, I’m Draco.” Draco watches as Nick’s eyes flick down across his lips and feels smug.
“Can I get you a drink, Draco?” Nick asks, sliding a little closer and letting their elbows bump. Draco leans in.
Draco nods, widening his smirk into a smile, “I’d let a man like you buy me a drink anytime.” He watches as a light blush spreads it’s way across Nick's face.
“Just what I like to hear,” Nick tells him, walking down the bar to grab the bartender’s attention.
It’s then that a firm grip closes around Draco’s shoulder. He gasps and whirls around and gasps again when he’s confronted by Harry’s green eyes. They’re narrowed into slits.
“You’re coming with me,” Harry spits at him. Before Draco gets a chance to respond Harry is dragging him out of the room towards the hall that runs to the toilets.
By the time they step into the hallway Draco’s regained his composure. He shoves Harry in the chest with his free hand and twists his shoulder shaking off Harry’s grasp. Gasping for breath he steps back putting space between them.
“What the actual fuck!” He hisses glaring at Harry.
Harry blinks at him for a second silently.
“Come on Harry, spit it out.” He pauses for a beat. “You can’t wreck my night just because you bloody feel like it.” He spins on his heel ready to storm back to the bar.
Harry reaches out and grabs him, pulling him until they face each other again. This time Draco notices something off about Harry’s posture, as strange tension in the line of he shoulders. Harry’s voice comes out low and strained, “Don’t go home with him.”
“Oh and why not?” Draco spits back at him, “You’ve made it very clear you don’t give a fuck about what I do.”
“I care.” Harry says softly, his face crumpling a little. “I can’t stop caring. I want you and I can’t stop.”
Draco watches him in silence. Harry’s eyes are dark with unshed tears and his cheeks are pale. Draco tries to turn away again. He wants to be anywhere but here but he looks into those green eyes a second too long and suddenly he thinks there is nowhere else he’d rather be, no one else he’d rather be with. Suddenly he can see nothing but the pain in Harry’s eyes. Suddenly he can’t even see himself.
He exhales a soft breath and then he’s reaching out over the chasm between them, wrapping Harry securely into his arms. Harry sags against him as if all the tension has left him at once. He reaches up a tanned palm and grabs Draco’s cheek tugging him down until their lips meet. They kiss soft and tentative as if they’re both expecting the other to pull away at any second. Draco wonders how something so gentle can feel so careless.
They stand in the hallway for a long time. Harry touches him like he’s made of glass. When Draco finally feels the tug of apperation in his stomach he finds himself unsurprised.
Harry drops them straight into his bedroom. He pushes Draco down onto the bed. Neither of them speaks. Draco lays there for a second blinking up at Harry. He feels numb, suspended in time.
Then Harry crowds into his space bracketing Draco’s head in his arms. Draco’s lips part and his pulse flutters to life at his wrists. He hands jerk off of the sheets and rise to cradle Harry’s waist. Harry’s body against his feels like coming home.
Their bodies move in tandem, all hot breath and biting mouths. Harry’s skin sings against his. Draco licks up along Harry's neck and relishes in the taste of his sweat. They take each other apart quickly and without talking.
When it’s over they collapse in a tangle of limbs and heat. Draco tugs at the blankets pulling them gently across Harry’s chest. He watches carefully as Harry’s eyes flutter shut.
10. Step ten is moving forward.
Draco wakes early. Harry is sprawled out against him, eyes still closed, snoring softly. His dark curls tangle across the white pillowcase. Draco reaches out and touches his cheek gently. His dark eyelashes flutter in response. He looks so comfortable there with his body melting gently into Draco’s side. Draco thinks this could almost be enough for him.
A sudden stabbing in Draco’s bladder distracts him from his musings and he prys himself carefully out of bed tiptoeing to the bathroom. He eases the door shut carefully and relieves himself. When he turns to the taps he glances to the left side of the sink; there are two toothbrushes. The first is short, stubby, green and clearly Harry’s. The second used to be Draco’s but it’s clearly been replaced, it stands tall, slender, dark red. Draco sighs, washes his hands quickly, and leaves the room.
Harry’s still asleep. Draco feels his breath catch in his chest as he watches the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Draco wants to wake him up. He wants to unfold what lays between them petal by petal. He watches Harry’s eyelashes flutter and thinks about the Harry who left him, the Harry who fell into Ginny’s waiting arms, the Harry who kissed him in an alleyway and left him hurting and alone.
Draco feels like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff.
Harry stirs turning onto his side. The sheets slip and leave his chest exposed. It glows golden in the early morning sunlight. Draco drinks him in, takes a deep breath and apperates away.
He lands in a familiar field in Scotland. This time the sun is shining. This time instead of climbing the hill he lays on his back in the green, green field. He stays there a long time watching puffy white clouds trace themselves across the wide open cerulean sky.