Drarry- It Was All Just a Game (Old Version)

Chapter 45- Death

Harry's mouth felt intensely sour ever since that day, as if he needed to scrub it with soap hundreds of times. Seeing Draco like that... 

God, it ripped him. He felt a constant sting in the back of his eyes. He felt a constant swell of his throat closing. He felt a constant burn in his chest with regret. 

He shouldn't have spoken to Draco like that. He shouldn't have treated him the way he did. He shouldn't have called him ruined goods or assumed Draco was hired to kill him, but something in his stomach turned whenever he saw him, something that pulled and pried and made him want to puke.

He still fucking hated him.

Draco on the other hand, when Harry had the chance to see him-- which wasn't very often-- physically looked gaunt, skeletal even. He barely showed up to classes. He never went to dinner. When Harry did see him, Draco ran in the other direction, because he couldn't stand being around Harry. It hurt too much. 

So Harry never got the chance to apologize, and Draco never got the chance to punch him in the face.

Draco went to potions one day out of the month, and when he did, he would hyperventilate, and he would have a panic attack, and he would leave. His arm would burn. He was afraid of him. 

But Harry wouldn't bother him. He tried to talk to him one time, but he couldn't, and Draco just pushed him away. The Gryffindor constantly kept his thoughts on Draco involuntarily, trying to figure him out. He wouldn't sleep. He's imagine Draco laying in bed next to him, them laughing at a cheesy joke or nuzzling their noses against each other. Harry wanted that again, but with the old Draco. A Draco that didn't exist anymore.

And just as Draco'd fixed the cabinet, he'd thought about Harry's lips, flying together. His voice. His laugh. Merlin, he loved his laugh. But that was the laugh of a Harry that didn't exist anymore.

This continued through the spring.

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As flowers bloomed, Draco felt absolutely sick to his stomach. It was an evening untouched by the horrors about to take place. Once May hit, he stopped going to classes completely. When McGonagall asked why, Snape said he'd take care of it. But Draco had another panic attack at the thought of the looming hours ahead, hiding in his room, and finally he sent him to the hospital wing for a calming draught and dreamless sleep potion, which never worked as well has a hug and goodnight kiss from Harry.

But every time he closed his eyes, he would envision the look on Harry's face when he got on one knee, and how it so easily changed to one of absolute horror. The words relayed in his mind over and over until he couldn't take it anymore and he would shutter, and open them once more: you're one of them.

And when he did fall asleep due to exhaustion, pictures of Dumbledore and Voldemort consumed his mind and he would wake up in a cold sweat. The Dark Lord threatening, torturing, killing Harry. Harry under all three unforgivables, one after the other, physically abused, kicked, beat, and no matter how many times Draco said no, please! Take me instead! it would just get worse and worse until finally Harry was dead, and Draco was forced to wake up.

And then the would have to think of Harry. And how no matter how much of a bastard the kid was, he couldn't blame him one second, he couldn't stand the idea of him getting hurt. It wasn't Harry who called him all those awful things, Draco concluded, it was war. It was war.

Because if Harry was just another student instead of the Dark Lord's pawn, he'd be okay with Draco being a Death Eater. He'd be upset and maybe a little uncomfortable, but he'd listen and understand. But being a Death Eater. Draco's father tried to kill him. Bellatrix killed his only god father. The Dark Lord killed his parents. It was only logical for Harry to think that Draco would kill him too.