Melancholia | Drarry

difficult to love

Mud-crusted Docs prop up on the edge of the pullout couch. Justin raises his eyebrow, Pansy huffs, and the boots come off before socked feet take their place.

"I'm just saying, that's kind of creepy, Pans."

"What?" Pansy shrugs nonchalantly, sipping her beer. "Don't tell me you don't find Luna pretty when she sleeps."

"I do, but that's not why I fell in love with her," Justin insists. "And-and not to mention," He adds, stammering with disbelief, "Your 'boyfriend,' or whatever, was getting his damn memory erased! Kind of seems like taking advantage of a guy in a vulnerable position."

"I didn't talk to him right after he woke up, or anything," Pansy points out. "I just went to the café where he works the day after and asked him out."

Justin shakes his head as he deletes another tidbit of memory. "Stalker," He proclaims.

∞ ∞ ∞

Buttered toast and steaming mugs of coffee separate two people on opposite sides of the tiny dining table. Draco, crunching, doesn't even look at Harry as he reaches into his pocket. Harry's hand clenches, relaxes, and he watches it, wondering how long he and Draco had been growing apart for. If he saw the signs this early, could they have fixed things?

Draco unscrews the cap of a miniature whiskey bottle, pouring a few drops into his mug. Harry makes a noise of annoyance; Draco glares at him.

"Hair of the dog," Draco remarks sardonically, and takes a defiant swig of the spiked coffee.

You did what?

The voice comes loudly from above, as if a radio is stuck in the ceiling. Harry frowns and stands, brushing crumbs from his fingers. "Who is that?" He says aloud.

"Who?" Draco's voice is staticky; Harry glances at him, at his blurry outline. His features disappear for a second, leaving a smooth, pale expanse where his face should be, then everything reappears. Harry, a bit sick to his stomach, looks away.

Aw, come on, he has hundreds of the things, he won't miss it.

A second person, a girl, by the sound of it, less familiar than the first. Harry cocks his head, straining for more snippets.

You can't just steal people's stuff just 'cause you feel like it-

I'll tell him eventually, don't worry.

Doesn't he make dragons as a hobby? You took someone's hobby...

The last part is garbled, and Harry slams his fist on the table in frustration. Something bigger is going on, out of reach, and Harry feels like it has something to do with him and Draco.

"I think..." He wets his lips, unsure. "Someone stole one of your dragons."

Draco, mercifully solid, gives him a skeptical look over the rim of his mug. "Oh?"

"And they..." Harry moves towards the living room and pokes his head into it, but there's no one there. "Oh. I thought they were here."

"I don't see anyone." Draco takes a bite of toast, but the slice floats in the air; his hands, his arms, are quickly fading.

"You're getting erased," Harry says dumbly.

The view out of the window flickers. It momentarily turns to night, and in the new darkness, Draco's silver eyes become lucid, as they did before. He looks curiously at his absent limbs. "I thought you wanted this."