Blackberry Jam (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Twenty Three

   Well, he had gotten his wish. The war was still very much in action, and he and Draco were still sharing a bed. The difference now was, he went to sleep most nights feeling sick and awkward, unable to fix the terrible rift that had grown between them.

Your fault, your fault, your fault, his thoughts sang as his brush glided up and down, white paint drops running down towards the lush green grass, forcing him to keep alert so they wouldn't cause a mess. He had ruined everything. He would have been happy to have just carried on with their silly play-fights, their sharing of food, their unacknowledged cuddles in the night when either one was sad or scared. Harry keenly missed the way Draco used to chat to him about any old idea that popped into his head, or how he would recount whatever interesting fact he had read in one of his books that day. Gradually, inch by inch, Harry had suffered what he had feared most would happen anyway, regardless of the war. He had lost his connection with the person he cared for the most in the whole world after his mother and father.

As Draco spent more and more time with Theo, Harry had penned letters to Ron daily. He often took his bike to call on Neville, Dean and Seamus, even Justin Finch-Fletchley when he grew desperate enough, as Justin was rather a bore. But at least he wasn't repulsed by Harry's company. On the contrary, he was rather flattered by it. He and Draco still held a sort of celebrity status as 'Londoners', despite having been in the countryside many years now. But as much as Harry liked his friends, not one of them held Draco's sly wit, his calculated observations, his wild imagination.

And then there were his eyes.

Harry knew it wasn't right to think on another boy's eyes the way he did with Draco, and had tried valiantly to afford the same attention to some of the local girls, like Lavender Brown or Hannah Abbot. But the terrible bother was, not many people had truly grey eyes, certainly not ones that practically sparkled silver in the sunlight. So nobody else could measure up, and so Harry was doomed.

Why him! What had he done wrong? He had kept himself awake during already stressful nights with these thoughts. What had he done to deserve these unnatural thoughts? Was this, like Draco had said, due to stress because of the war? How weak was he? Why couldn't he control it?

Harry had wondered, from time to time, if Draco now pitied him. He had never been unkind after all, just increasingly distant. Was this his way of trying to let Harry go kindly?

He screwed up his eyes and tried to focus on the birds twittering in the tress all around them. The sunlight permeated through his lids though, a stabbing awareness that wouldn't let him escape reality, even for a moment.

There was something wrong with him.

"Are you just going to keep going over that same bit over and over again?" Draco drawled. A few months ago, Harry would have called the tone playful, but now it was like nails on a chalkboard.

He opened his eyes, and realised he had indeed been painting over the same section many times, and his shoulders tensed. "I got lost in thought," he said defensively, edging over to his next section, which unfortunately brought him closer to Draco. "Besides, at least I'm going all the way to the bottom, you're missing spots."

Draco frowned and looked down. To be fair, there were only a few patches where he hadn't quite got the white paint all the way down to the cottage's foundation, but Harry didn't like him criticising him, even in jest. He knew he was a mess, why did Draco have to rub it in?