Star Quality

Chapter 12

Harry was late for work the next day. He woke up in a panic to a silent house, rather than the impatient banging on the door and the smell of coffee he'd quickly got used to. Parvati wasn't speaking to him, he remembered, and ran all the way to the shop, to find her silent and scowling, turning her head when he wished her a nervous good morning.

He supposed he deserved it. He'd started to have doubts about what he was doing even as he got to the airport, but it was only as the plane was actually taking off that it dawned on him that he might have overreacted, just a little. By then, of course, it was too late.

Once he'd got home, he plugged his phone in to charge, and was then too nervous to turn it on, kept wincing at any noises outside, in case it was someone charging up the staircase to bang on the door. He almost hoped they would – hoped Draco would – because then, at least, it would be evidence that Draco cared. No one did though, and eventually he cracked, turning on the phone and watching, wincing, as a stream of texts came through.

What the hell do you mean, you're going back to London? Where are you right now?

Have you gone insane? Are you seriously leaving without talking to me?

Can you answer my bloody calls, please?

WILL YOU FUCKING CALL ME.

The notification for missed calls read – horribly – 27. Harry hit the voicemail button, feeling like the lowest of the low, but still horrendously angry. If Draco hadn't wanted to Harry to leave, then he shouldn't have fucking left first, should he?

Draco had only left two messages. In the first, he sounded odd – flustered, bunged up, as if he had a heavy cold. "Harry? Are you – what are you doing? Call me back when you get this." In the second, he just sounded angry. "I thought Gryffindors were the brave ones?" he snapped. "Reception told me you've checked out. More fool me, I suppose. Well, screw you, Potter. I hope you have a really terrible life."

Potter.

It had hurt more than when Draco had broken his nose back in fifth year, which felt like a hundred, million years ago.

Harry had called Parvati, not wanting to deal with this. It didn't matter, anyway. Even if Draco was pissed off with him, it wasn't like they had a future, was it? He just wanted to fix the spell, fix his life, forget it ever happened. Maybe, by the time he died, he might even have managed to forget how much he loved Draco.

Parvati had not been helpful. "You did what?" she said incredulously.

"He wasn't there when I woke up!" Harry protested, feeling hot and ridiculous.

"He probably just popped to the shop!" Parvati said.

"The hotel has a butler! He has a bodyguard! He could have called Pansy!"

"You're a complete lunatic," Parvati said, actually sounding disgusted. "If you didn't want a boyfriend in the first place, you shouldn't have led him on." And then she'd hung up, leaving Harry feeling worse than he'd started.

He'd tried to call her back, but it went straight to voicemail, and he ended up babbling about work rather than doing what he actually felt like – which was crying. He wasn't going to cry though; he was going to get on with it.

Harry had spent the rest of the day waiting for it to be night time, the hours punctuated by unpleasant texts from practically everyone he'd ever met, with the exception of the one person he really wanted to hear from. Luna told him how disappointed she was. Ron told him he was a wankstain. Pansy left a short voicemail to tell him, her voice scathing, that she'd given him one job.