𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒?

Part XII

Part 12:   Late, Too Late

you love the way I look at you
while taking pleasure in the awful things you put me through
you take away if I give in
my life
my pride is broken

you like to think you're never wrong
you want to act like you're someone
you want someone to hurt like you
you want to share what you've been through
(you live what you learn)

"Points Of Authority", Linkin Park

"Damn."

Harry groaned, rolling on the bed and fighting with the mess that were his sheets. He kept his eyes shut, because the warm light of the afternoon wounded them, causing sharp waves of pain to cross his skull.  He struggled for a while, not really wanting to get up but unable to stay in bed any longer.

"Bloody headache," he cursed, finally heading towards the bathroom. He washed his face with cold water until he eased the uncomfortable pounding sensation behind his eyelids.

Sighing deeply and without bothering to look at his unfocused reflection on the mirror, Harry went back to his room, where he put on a tight jumper and a pair of jeans.  Tiredly, he put on his glasses and made his way to the kitchen.

The flat was silent but Harry didn't notice, because his head seemed to be in a bubble of glass.  However, once in the kitchen, he noticed the breakfast forgotten on the table. Harry looked away from the buttered bread.  Just the idea of putting anything more than a cup of black coffee in his stomach made him queasy.  Reaching the coffee machine he saw two cups abandoned on the counter. The cleaning spell hadn't worked.

Probably because it sensed T.R., Harry thought, placing them in the sink, barely noticing how they disappeared. I should modify the charm, to make it work again once Muggles are gone away. But before that I should take care of my headache. Well, in both cases I need my wand.

Harry took another cup, filled it with coffee and left the kitchen. He entered his study and sat in his chair, leaning back on it. Sighing, Harry took a sip of coffee, before putting the mug down on the desk in front of him.  He opened the first drawer where, under some papers, he found his old wand.

Tentatively, Harry reached it. Under his fingers, the wood seemed warm and vibrating.  Something between a smile and a grimace crossed Harry's lips. That single object carried so many memories with it, good and bad. Finally, he sighed, pushed away any further thought and, placing the tip of his wand at his temple, murmured a simple spell that Hermione had taught him.

His headache lessened considerably and, satisfied with the result, Harry placed his wand in the pocket of his carpenter’s jeans and calmly finished his coffee trying not to think.

It was half past three when he returned to the kitchen with his empty mug.  He decided to eat and took a slice of buttered bread. He was moving around the table that he noticed the red-brown stains on the white floor of the room.  Harry frowned, barely registering the fact that it was blood. Because, for some unknown reason, his brain associated the bloodstain with another thought:

Where is Draco?

Ron was watching a football match in TV, but he wasn't really enjoying the show. He didn't even have a team he fancied. He simply looked at the players running behind a ball and wondered what people liked about such a boring game.