Painkiller - A Drarry Fanfiction

Part 022

He was there, eight feet away from me.

Then, he was right there, barely an inch away from me.

But now, he's getting further and further away from me.

I couldn't grab him, tell him to wait, or call after him. I don't know what I could've done. Maybe there was something I should've done. But as Harry runs away, all I do is sit, unable to speak, unable to move.

Alone in the tunnel, I slump against the wall. My heart pounds, my hands tremble, and my brain haltes. I try to breathe, to think.

So you would break Ministry regulations for everyone?

No, I wouldn't.

"Fuck," I murmur to myself.

And I run.

/////

I ignore Petunia as I brush by her in the driveway and bolt up the stairs. Sweat trickles down my back in the blazing summer sun, but I ignore that, too. Before I can reconsider, my hand is already knocking on Harry's door—or, slamming on Harry's door.

"Har— I— Okay," I fumble, breathless and overheated. "Open the door."

There isn't an answer.

I knock again, particularly carefully this time. "Please?" I say, my hands on the door like fingers around cell bars.

There isn't an answer.

I lean my head between my hands, my forehead planted onto the door's wood. Closing my eyes, I try to pick up movement from inside the room, but everything sounds perfectly still. Not a footstep, not a squeak of a chair. I find my hands balled into fists, regret and frustration held in their grasp.

He said what he said, knowing what he was saying. I said what I said knowing what I was saying. We both knew, we both understood, and it went the way it did because we both wanted it. So why did he run? What did I do to make him doubt it? How do I make it right again?

Then, there, in the pocket of my trousers, is my wand. I peel my eyes open a little, glancing at its tempting presence. It won't be the first time I welcome myself into Harry's room—in fact, it'll be a third. I sigh, determined, closing my eyes again.

Each time, it was magic that chased Harry away. I won't let it happen again.

"Harry," I say, my voice firm, "I need to talk to you. I need to see your face. Please, open the door."

There isn't an—

"I can't." His voice is quiet, but steady. "You can't."

I press my mouth the closest I can to the seam of the door. "I could," I say, "but I'll wait until you let me, however long it takes."

A few creeks of wood, and Harry's voice is closer now. "You shouldn't."

I hold the door knob. I can almost feel him holding the other side. "Since when did I care about that?"

What feels like hours go by, silence choking the air. My grip on the knob tightens with every fluttering thump of my heart.

"Please—" But before I can finish, the knob rattles in my hand from the inside. The door swings open.

Harry stands with a safe distance between us, eyes darted at the floor, lips pursed. "You should care," he murmurs. "I'm—"

I walk in. I close the door behind me. I take Harry's hands in mine. Both of our hands shake intertwined in each other. I swallow. "Does 'should' matter that much to you?" I ask.