𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

Saturday: Part II

Harry felt sick all night. Sick, tired, humiliated. And completely unsure of something he would have bet his life on only hours before.

His conversation with Hermione had yielded nothing but the undeniable fact that he had somehow, in the span of one week and a lot of arguing, fallen in love with his former enemy. The fact that said former enemy had overheard such a confession was bad; the fact that he had said nothing in his own defense, that he had simply let Hermione go on and on about his character in such a harsh fashion, made Harry feel on the verge of physical illness.

What made him feel even worse was walking upstairs to his small bedroom, which somehow seemed simultaneously suffocating and enormously lonely.

He froze at the doorway, shock and horror and that churning sick feeling mingled together as he took in the mess in front of him. A huge pile of clothing lay dumped on his bed, with a few garment bags spread out neatly next to it, and several pairs of obviously expensive shoes scattered haphazardly on the floor.

Draco’s clothes.

This explained Draco’s spotless appearance earlier. Clearly, in the time that he and Hermione had been downstairs arguing, Draco had Apparated back to the Manor, grabbed as much as he could, and returned to Harry’s flat. The thought sent guilt and anger twisting through Harry’s stomach.

He sat down on his bed feeling wretched and alone and wondering how he was ever going to fix this.

Hermione called moments later, her voice strained.

“Harry,” she said, and he could picture her twisting her hair anxiously, “Harry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin things for you, I just worry about you so much…and…I spoke to Ron,” her voice broke sharply, and Harry realized that she might actually be close to tears, “he said….he said what I did was really wrong.”

“He….did?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice quivering dangerously, “he said that…I should be happy for you…and that going off like that was….was selfish.”

“Yeah…well. Nice that Ron’s showing some sympathy now, you know, after he dropped Malfoy off a building.”

“Oh, Harry, you know we both just don’t want you to get hurt…and maybe we should rethink they way we choose to…convey that, but it all comes to the same thing.”

“I know.”

“OK then,” she said, and it sounded more like her, a little strength returning to her voice, “Alright. What’s done is done.”

“Yeah, thanks to you lot.”

“That isn’t what I mean, Harry. I mean we have to think of where to go from here. That is, if you’re sure you want him back.”

Harry looked around his bedroom, feeling the only source of comfort there was Malfoy’s overpriced attire.

“More than anything.”

“Then you have to go and find him,” she said resolutely, “and you have to apologize. You can tell him that Ron and I have….decided that our behavior was immature and unhelpful…”

“Which it was, by the way.”

“Yes. But you…maybe you should tell him…how you feel?”

“I think he pretty much got the jist, Hermione.”

“Alright, then you can leave that out. But, Harry, you have to go to him. The longer you wait the worse this is going to get.”

“OK,” Harry said, wishing he felt half the determination Hermione had in her voice. “Thanks, Hermione.”