Forgive Me, Father

I Love You (At Least, I Think I Do)

Draco returned to Hogwarts after Christmas break with a newfound appreciation for normalcy. At this point in time, normal meant putting on a neutral expression around his friends and refusing to look at Potter, which is, surprisingly, what he was more than thrilled to do. Anything besides what was going on at home was fine by Draco.

Harry continued with the note passing and the staring, which Draco always refused to receive. Draco had a plan brewing, one to finalize his cold shoulder effect and, reluctantly, terminate his relationship with Harry. Long conversations over the holiday with his mother had cleared up what was blurry, and he had a family to keep alive, didn't he? Draco found himself struggling to find an alternative choice, to which he found the threat of death staring him cold and hard in the face. His parents were right, weren't they? Draco was being ridiculous. He was only a teenager, sixteen years old, and he was sure he'd find a suitable bloke at another point in time. Perhaps, if Draco was lucky, one that didn't have a target on his back.

Before he closed the curtain on anything that was beginning to brew between he and Harry, though, he had one final, personal wish to fulfill. One filled with spite, for his father, his mother, for Snape, and certainly, for Voldemort himself. One that would rock he and Harry's world entirely, bringing a twisted close to their potential as a pair. Draco considered it to be a gigantic "fuck you," of sorts, figuratively and literally.

Catching each other leaving the Great Hall seemed to be a prime form of communication for the two of them, so Draco went with that.

Much as Harry had done to him many times, Draco awaited Harry's passage through the doors of the Great Hall after dinner one fateful evening. It was Friday; he hoped Harry didn't have plans. Hell, he figured, Draco's offer might clear Harry's schedule entirely. Draco hadn't spoken to Harry in months; the most attention he'd given Harry this year was accidentally meeting his gaze once or twice. Judging by the way Harry's eyes were nearly always on Draco, he figured Harry would be quite open to any conversation Draco was willing to have.

Draco watched the entrance of the Great Hall. Soon enough, Harry made his way through. He was alone, to Draco's surprise. Easier for him, right? Draco grabbed Harry's sleeve and tugged him to the side.

"We have to.. Talk."

Harry's bright green eyes lit a fire in Draco's stomach, and it made him think that maybe this wasn't such a great idea, after all. Harry received his statement with all too much enthusiasm, poor guy. Draco felt his stomach tie in knots. Harry was making this so much harder, but he knew what he had to do.

"About?"

Draco, for the first time since last year, grabbed for Harry's hand. He was visibly surprised, but didn't make any complaints. Draco, without an explanation, was dragging Harry to the Room of Requirement. He was sure that there would be a bed in there, somewhere, right? If not, they'd have to go to one of their dorms, which would cause all too much talking among their classmates, which would only make things more difficult. Draco intended for it to be a quick, clean execution; he intended for all the ties to be severed after tonight. Any questions from his classmates would just make Draco think further into the situation, and he knew that for the split to be successful, he would have to do an awful lot of not thinking. He had to go numb, and he couldn't have any one coming along with their questions or comments to make Draco think about it when he was trying to avoid it all, it just wouldn't do. Draco had bigger things to worry about, for example, trying to keep his sanity among the chaos.

The walk there was a blur of questions from Harry, words that Draco couldn't bring himself to pay attention to. Harry's palm grew sweaty in Draco's grip, nerves, Draco presumed. Maybe Harry's hand was not the sweaty one after all, now that Draco really thought about it.