HeartBreak (Veela Drarry)

Who Am I?

Draco stayed in bed for days on end, not getting up except to read Harry's letters and write replies. The blonde felt lost, not in control. He didn't know how he had gotten where he was now. It was like a stranger had built his life for him, and he didn't know whether he wanted it anymore. He didn't even know what he wanted or what he liked. He just knew that time was ticking by while he stayed in bed, thinking about all the time that he had already lost and the time he was losing by thinking about the time he had lost.

It took him a week to get bored of the routine, finally working up the courage to walk out the front door. He still cried, still thought of the time he had lost, but at least he had gotten out of bed that day. With every step, though, the blonde wanted to turn back. The muggles on the streets looked like aliens, beings who can never understand what he had gone through. He had no one to talk to except Emmyl. Well...he was technically 'talking' to Harry; it just wasn't about anything serious. Draco hadn't even meant for it to turn the letters into a daily occurrence, but he was comforted by how Harry pushed for them to still be in contact.

The mere thought of Harry still sent shivers down Draco's spine and made his blood boil; he couldn't stop being angry at Harry no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that it wasn't reasonable. Harry was 11. He was 11 when he refused to shake the blonde's hand. He had never even stepped foot in the wizarding world before that. He didn't even know veelas existed. Harry was 11, but Draco was still mad. His brain refused to rest until it found someone to blame, someone to hate with everything it had, while his heart begged him to give the brunette another chance, to test the waters. The thought of asking Harry to meet was overwhelming. Even apparating to the Manor would be overwhelming, so the blonde did nothing.

At least I'm out of the house...

Despite all of that, the blonde felt terrified at the prospect of losing the brunette entirely. He didn't want Harry to move on. He didn't want Harry to forget him. He didn't want them to drift apart. He wanted the brunette in his life forever...and it wasn't just the veela's feelings anymore; Draco wanted Harry, but could still do nothing more than sending him half-hearted letters and hope the brunette doesn't get bored of the blonde too soon and stop writing back.

So, Draco continued with the same routine: wake up, wash up, eat, walk, go home, eat, walk, go to bed, and sleep. He didn't know the point of getting out of the house when he had no destination in mind, but he knew he had to hope that something would change if he left the house every day, that some opportunity would present itself. Sure enough, on the last day of the second week, he ran straight into someone on the streets: Hermione Granger.

What the hell?

What is she doing in Paris?

Did she follow me here?

How did she know where I was?

Did Harry send her to spy on me or something?

Oh, Merlin, is he going to come here, too?

"Sorry," he said, then tried to walk away before she roped him into a conversation. Apparently, he wasn't clear enough about not wanting to speak, because she called out to him.

"Wait, Malfoy!"

He groaned, not knowing what to do. Ignoring her would be too rude, and he still felt bad about everything his HeartBroken self had done to her while they were in school. With a sigh, he turned around to face her. She had a sympathetic look on her face, one which, oddly enough, calmed his nerves.

"Were you headed in there?" she asked, gesturing at the cafe that they both stood in front of, "We could sit together if that's alright with you."

Draco opened his mouth to say that he was going somewhere else, but something stopped him. The thought of returning to walking around with no goal in mind wasn't a nice one.