Chocolate & Pastry (Drarry)

Chapter Four

Blaise regarded him with kind eyes. Draco had been sitting on the floor of Blaise's ballroom, knees hugged to his chest, for thirty-seven minutes without speaking—a personal best—and while Blaise had been nothing but understanding, Draco suspected they were reaching their limit.

"What's happened?" Blaise asked, like the traitor he was.

"I need a drink," Draco moaned.

"No. I'm not getting you a drink. Unless it's water; would you like a glass of water, Draco?"

"No."

"Then stop asking and tell me what's happened."

Draco unraveled his legs and let his head fall back against the wall. "I fucked up."

"Several times this month, I'm sure. What in particular have you done that has caused this latest wave of melancholy?"

Blaise's words were light, but his mouth was pursed into a tight line. He knew what was wrong. Any other person, and Draco would assume they were faking empathy, but with Blaise it was real. He'd clearly been asleep when Draco arrived, past midnight—probably enjoying an early night after his party the night before—and yet there was no sign of annoyance. He simply sat there in his white, silken robe and sleep-mussed hair, gazing at Draco and waiting.

"I didn't..." Draco trailed off, staring up at the cavernous ceiling of Blaise's ballroom. He didn't know why the fuck he'd led Blaise in here when he turned up in the Floo tonight. It just seemed like the best shot of being in a room where the walls didn't feel like they were closing in. "I didn't get help. You know how you told me to get help? I didn't do it, and now he's in trouble, and I think I need help."

Blaise's eyebrows drew together. "Why can't you get help now?"

"Because it's too late."

"It's not too late. If it were too late, you wouldn't be here."

Their voices rang out oddly in the huge space. The light blue walls didn't feel like they were closing in, but they made Draco feel very small. Very small and very lost and very alone. The sensation of it all was making Draco's head spin and his vision blur. Or maybe that was just the panic.

"No." Draco shook his head, scrubbing his hands through his hair and gripping the strands tight enough that it hurt. "I mean it's too late for my plan. I wanted to stay with him, Blaise, so that I could help him. I was the... the warning bell. I was meant to keep an eye on the signs and swoop in like a... a.. a fucking guardian angel or something. I was meant to save him, but I don't think I should be around him anymore."

"Why not?"

Draco's mind went back to the other night, when Potter's rage had seemed to surround them, buried in the walls like embers, and all he'd wanted to do to resolve it was fuck Draco's brains out.

"I'm not helping," he whispered. "He's using me to ignore the problem."

Blaise's mouth opened indignantly, but Draco cut him off.

"He's not using me. I'm a willing participant, Blaise. Merlin, what do you take me for?"

Blaise raised one eyebrow. "Certainly not a Slytherin." Then, he pulled a thoughtful face. "Or possibly the most Slytherin of us all."

They fell into silence before Blaise gave a little sigh and spoke again. "He's using you to cope; that's normal. You'd be better equipped to handle this if you'd spoken to a professional when I told you to, but it's certainly not too late to start, Draco."

"They're just going to tell me to stop seeing him."

"You don't know that." Irritation broke through into Blaise's tone. "Merlin, Draco. You're trying to do this all on your own. I warned you about this."