What If? -Drarry

Part Three: Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: This chapter features quotes directly from JK Rowling's book - 'Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire'. I do not claim to have created these lines. All rights and copyrights are JK Rowling's.

Present Day

Harry stared across the tables to where Draco sat, staring at his untouched breakfast. He didn't look very well. Harry felt a tug in his stomach as he watched Draco slowly squish his scrambled eggs into a slush with his fork.

"Stop looking at him," Hermione said quietly, touching his arm. "You'll just make yourself sad."

Harry snorted and went back to picking at the toast that Hermione had pointedly handed him as they had sat down at the Gryffindor table. As if he could get any sadder than this.

It had been about two weeks since he and Draco had last spoken, but Harry hadn't really noticed the time passing. In his continuous, dreary state of numbness, the days seemed to just mix together into a dirty brown sludge of moments. Nothing really made him happy anymore- well, he supposed that Dumbledore's Army made him feel something other than sad, but he wouldn't go so far as to say it was happiness. More like a distraction.

"I'm not hungry," Harry stated, pushing his plate away from himself as though it were poisoned. Ron looked at him worriedly.

"Come on, mate. You must be hungry, you barely ate anything at dinner last night. Or at lunch before that, or at breakfast. Come to think of it, I don't even know what you're existing on anymore. Please, just eat something,"

Distantly, Harry felt bad for making his best friend worried about him. But he didn't really feel it. "Seriously Ron, it's fine." He said appeasingly, trying vaguely to smile reassuringly but only succeeding in grimacing slightly. "I'll eat when I'm hungry, and I'm just not hungry right now."

Hermione squeezed his hand under the table, but that just made Harry feel worse. He stood up.

"I'm going for a run."

"Again? But it's freezing outside! And it's a Hogsmeade weekend," Ron protested.

"I don't want to buy anything in Hogsmeade, and I'll warm up when I'm running." Harry persisted. "It'll give me time to plan what we're doing tonight in DA."

Ron sighed. "Fine. We'll see you later. Have a good run."

Once Harry had changed into his quidditch gear - which was now doubling as his running clothes - he made his way outside into the crisp air. It was very cold, as Ron had said, but that was good. It is much harder to concentrate on anything when you're freezing, and Harry needed that kind of distraction. He began to jog, trying to concentrate on the feeling of his feet hitting the ground and nothing else. Jogging had become his meditation, lifting him far away from his feelings so that the hurt didn't feel quite so sharp. It wasn't flying, but it was the best he had at the moment. He ran until it hurt: until every step sent hot pain shooting through his muscles and he couldn't get enough air with each breath, and then he kept running. Only when he physically couldn't make his muscles move anymore did he finally allow himself to slow to a walk, making his way gradually around the lake with his pulse roaring in his ears. It was late afternoon by the time he got back to Gryffindor tower. The common room was empty - Ron and Hermione no doubt enjoying their Saturday in Hogsmeade - and he was glad of the solitude as he changed into more comfortable clothes, not even bothering to shower.