Conflicted Loyalites

Chapter 12

Draco's POV

I stood up groggily in the middle of the night. I felt incredibly nauseous and staggered out of bed and into the bathroom to throw up.

The Lumos light from my wand burned my eyes as it flickered on and I stumbled through the door, closing it behind me.

I hated being drunk. I have absolutely no idea why I allowed myself to consume so much alcohol, on a Friday no less!

Well, that's not entirely true. I do know why.

I wanted to forget my problems.

Just for one night. I didn't want to think about how unfair it was that Potter had such a stunning body yet was completely out of my reach and unattainable. I didn't want to be reminded of the war every time I looked at the scars across my arms. I didn't want to see the Mark grinning up at me whenever I looked down. I wanted to have a night of peace. The only way to achieve such a thing is through alcohol in my experience.

For some reason, as I stood up and wiped my mouth, the image of Potters eyes was burned into my brain. Almost like I'd been staring at him all night long.

'Oh fuck.'

Would I really know if I had been staring at him all night long? I pressed a hand to my forehead, leaning heavily on the porcelain sink as I focused on keeping upright and not swaying left and right. I struggled to remember something - anything - from last night.

The last thing I had any recollection of was glancing over at Potter as he took a shot at the same time as me. I'd been surprised at the time, but now the details were foggy.

One thing I remembered crystal clear though, was Potters hesitation near the beginning of the game.

I think the question had been something about ever having a crush on a boy. I'd drank, unfortunately, I hadn't been able to stop myself. I remember my humiliation pretty well. I'd been outed to the entire circle, but no one had really seemed to notice, which was good.

Potters hand had twitched forwards, almost reaching around the glass, but stopping suddenly and sitting still.

What the fucking shit did that mean?

Did Potter fancy someone? A guy? Did he not know if he did or not? Who was this person? Did they like him back?

I glared at myself in the mirror.

'They better not like him back.'

Then I frowned at myself.

"Merlin Draco, ge' a grip" I sighed to my reflection, turning the tap on and splashing my face with cool water. It's not like I could control what Potter did. It also wasn't like he knew I had a crush on him, and if he did, it wouldn't really change anything.

I still found that idea ridiculous, even after so long. I had a crush on Harry Potter. It was the most absurd thing that could ever have happened to me. I sank down to the floor, leaning against the wall.

If it wasn't for fucking Potter, I'd probably still be talking to my parents. I probably wouldn't be such a disgrace to my family. I wouldn't feel like someone was slowly dicing up my heart and destroying my soul.

But.

If it wasn't for Harry Fucking Potter, I wouldn't be alive.

Would that really be so bad?

Really?

What would change? I wouldn't be terribly missed. If he'd left me to die in that blazing fire, who would really have cared?