When You Turn Your Back [Drarry]

[12] From the Dinning Table

2005
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Thankfully the air was still in his favour: Draco still had his job, his apartment and a future. Only, the time wasn't that great.

Harry hadn't been very eager on visiting Draco very soon when he had left his apartment that day, the blonde had figured. But, he hadn't expected this long of a wait. It had been months, almost three if he bothered to count the days, that he had seen any of the man. Sometime, inbetween the wait, he had sent an owl, but didn't recieve any response from him.

Although, under the pressure of his thesis paper, time was flying. The irony left a bitter taste on his tongue, and he felt pathetic. There was a part of him that told him to visit the man, at least once. But he feared rejection more than failure. Also, Harry had never been the first one to break. Ever.

Under the pretense of being busy, Draco spent his days in solitude other than special visits to the hospital for an emergency. There were things that he would have shared with Harry in real, the things he thought they had discussed together that evening. But didn't think he had any scope.

Though, he didn't last any longer in his apartment. In the midst of a nasty winter rain he had knocked on Harry's door with harsh knuckles, tears disappearing in the midst of rain splattered drops on his face.

“It's raining!”

“I'm conscious of it.” Draco spoke through the thickness of his throat.

Under the tiny shade of Harry's front porch, Draco sniffled with determination, without moving an inch when Harry sighed with an air of annoyance.

“Come in,” Harry invited begrudgingly.

“What's the matter?” he asked again.

“What do you think is the matter?” Draco addressed his frustration in mere mumbles.

Harry closed the door with a loud thud behind Draco's hunched up figure. “I need time.”

“It's been three months.”

“I need more time.”

The ceiling of the stairway had regained some of its lustre back from all the repairing Harry had been running on it. Color of the carpet below their feet had changed from dirty yellow to a shiny layer of wooly brown. Seeing the change, Draco stepped down on the landing with a quick foot to avoid getting his wet shoes on the fresh fabric.

“I'm sorry — ”

“It doesn't matter.” Harry interrupted while shaking his head. “I…need to clear my head.”

“Look — listen, can we please talk — ”

“There's nothing more to talk about! You have done what you had to. Nothing is going to change if we talk!” Harry barked.

“Then, are we going back to not seeing each other's faces?” It was Draco who spoke up. “Tell me, so that I can give this thing a closure.”

Furious eyes sought his figure in a rage. “You are the one at fault, here. Stop playing the victim card!” Harry pointed a finger at the blonde.

The lump in Draco's throat burst out in a gasp of sob which he barely concealed from Harry. Of course he knew he was faulty! But did Harry's word hurt him any less than it should have? No. Often, when his eyes went out of focus on the ceiling while he thought about everything that has been his weakness, like his family, Harry often popped up these days. In the worsened circumstances, he dared not indulge into those thoughts any longer than he had to but it still got the best of him some days. His struggle to define his feelings had been omnipresent in every step of his life; be it for when he had to deal with problems related to Voldemort or even later when he had to take care of his father. Feelings always confused him.