Draco's head remained remarkably un-kicked-in, but Harry grew pale and wan when he was told what had happened, and he dropped the brown paper bag he'd been holding behind his back loudly to the floor.

"Sometimes, Malfoy," he said, his eyes brimming with tears and his glasses fogging up slightly, "I wonder why I bother. I really do. You're unbearable."

And with that, he turned and ran from the room, unable to see or hear anyone or anything that wasn't his pain.

Hermione stared at the blonde, who was fixed to the spot, his expression of amusement slipping slightly. "Go after him, you prick!" she snapped. "Accio Harry's robes - here you go, take these with you. It looks like it's raining quite heavily."

Before Draco could protest, Granger thrust the bundle of very Harry-scented black material into his arms and shoved him towards the portrait. Too tired to argue, he obeyed.

The worst part, he thought as he walked, the worst part was that he'd almost let the Weasley bitch do what she wanted. Just for half a second, he'd considered it.

Was it just a habit now, to hurt Potter? Or was it still what he actively wanted, no matter what else he wanted alongside it?

Draco wished he didn't remember the night before. More than that, he wished it hadn't been the best of his life.

Has Potter always been so angelically beautiful? he wondered before he could bite the thought back. Harry was fit, sure, but words like exquisite had begun to flit through Draco's mind, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

And oh God, those words he'd moaned against Draco's mouth. He'd never felt so captivated, so adored in his life.

So why did he still fantasise about all the pain he could inflict on the other boy? He knew he had Harry's heart now, however he wanted it. Why not just accept it?

I wouldn't know how, even if I wanted to.

Something in his intuition told Draco to head to the lake to find Harry, so he forced his way down the rain-slicked stone steps, breathing heavily as he did so. It was disorientating to fight through this much water, and certainly the last thing Draco's trembling body craved as he came down from the previous night. He groaned inwardly as he realised he could be looking for Potter all evening.

"If the fucker isn't down at the lake I'll leave him to it," Draco resolved, but in the end his instinct was right and Potter was indeed by the lake.

He was a picture of misery, his figure hunched completely over, and clearly racked with sobs. His shirt and trousers clung to his skin and Draco wondered if he was allowed to enjoy the sight just a little.

"Granger asked me to give you this," said Draco quietly when he reached the other boy, shoving the armful of now-sodden robes at him and flinching at the brief skin contact as though he'd never touched him before. Which, he supposed, he probably hadn't. Not like this, anyway, not so neutrally.

He cleared his throat, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. "About that Weasel thing, Potter - it wasn't how it sounded. I didn't explain properly."

Harry squinted up at him, his expression of unbridled fury evident even through the wall of rain. "It's never how it sounded, is it, Malfoy?" he asked cuttingly, though he made no effort to pretend he wasn't sobbing. "It's never your fault, never your decision."

For once Draco let him speak, shivering hard in the downpour. He'd never felt so miserable.

"And you know what, fine, maybe this wasn't your fault. But what is your fault is your reaction. You fucking laughed when you told me about it-"

"That was nervous laughter! She molested me, Potter, I find the whole thing extremely bizarre!"

"I don't care! I literally don't care! You should've tried harder to not hurt me with it," Harry's voice cracked as he spoke. "Because actually, shit like this inevitably always is your fault, Draco, whatever you say."

"I can't believe how unfair you're being," Draco gasped. "I told you I didn't want anything off her, ok? Fuck, Potter, you know I only ever want to bang you now."

"God, teen romance," Harry rolled his eyes angrily. "Seriously though, I can't believe you'd be so careless after what we did last night."

Draco shifted uncomfortably. "It was just sex," he said. "Don't say romance like that."

"Except it wasn't just sex. Don't you remember what I s-"

"Potter, we were on ecstasy," Draco interrupted hurriedly. "Most people I've slept with on that drug have said exactly the same thing. And trust me, because I do it all the fucking time."

"I meant it."

"No, please don't do this."

The metre between them felt like miles; no matter how hard he tried, the space between them warped Draco's intentions and made them ugly.

I don't know how to talk to you, he tried to tell Harry with his eyes. But for once I'm really trying to save us both from each other.

But Draco didn't want to hear the words Harry wanted to say, and he knew Harry didn't want to hear his either. So what was the fucking point?

"Just please don't say something you'll regret," he insisted.

"But I swear I meant it, Draco, I really l-"

"That's enough!"

Draco shook his head roughly  as though trying to get rid of the vision before him. "Get out of the rain and go to bed. Your own bed."

"Are you serious?"

"My robes are getting wet."

Fuck. Fuck. Selfish. Harry's face twisted with hurt. Draco desperately tried to focus, to burn the image into his mind to paint later - it would make a beautiful painting -

"You're really spiteful, you know that?" Harry wept, oblivious. "I'm trying to tell you how hard I'm falling for you while you're standing here looking like you hope I fall all the way, right to my death."

"I don't know how to talk to you," Draco whispered, but this evidently wasn't the right thing to say either.

"Just try, would you?!" Harry waved his arms wildly in the air in front of Draco's face, as if trying to snap him into reality. "I'm not even asking you for romantic gestures, Draco, because I know you're fucking incapable. I just want you to fuck me sober, once, like you vaguely care about it. Like I'm not just a convenient way for you to get off. Maybe ask me how I am sometime too. Hey, how about this: maybe just don't hurt me any more."

"I hurt you even when I'm not trying to," Draco admitted, exasperated and lost. "I think about it all the time: maybe I'm just built for malice. Something went wrong when I was born, maybe, or there's a mis-wiring in my brain. Or my heart doesn't beat right, I don't know."

He raked a hand through his sopping hair, slicking it back to his skull. It was all he could to not to split apart in front of the other boy.

"It's excuses again though, isn't it, Draco?" Harry murmured sadly. "And one day, those excuses are going to run out and you're going to be so lonely."

A small fracture. "I know."

"Because while I will find countless other people in my life to be in love with, and will have that love reciprocated, I doubt you'll have more than infatuations in your life," Harry continued.

He looked as though the words hurt him as much to say as they hurt Draco to hear. Both boys drew a shaky breath; they got the feeling that what Harry was going to say next would hurt. And it did, but he forced it out anyway like barbed wire over his tongue.

"You are the most deeply unpleasant, vindictive being I ever had the misfortune to meet, Draco," he choked. "And I'm sorry I ever thought you were more."

A bigger fracture. Serious, lasting damage.

"Because, after everything we've been through, after every chance to redeem yourself," Harry's chest heaved painfully, "You are still nothing but a vicious, spiteful bully who gets high off other people's feelings. But you can't use mine any more."

Draco's whole mind lit up in anguish, a deep, inexplicable, blazing pain that stopped his heart for several beats.

"Do you realise what you're asking when you beg for me to be closer to you, Potter?" he croaked. "Do you know what a nightmare I am? What terror I am capable of? I'd kill you from the inside out, you know I would."

"You're already doing it," Harry cried.

The rain lashed down blindingly hard. It seemed like it was now reaching the boys' bones, licking over them like ice as the quality of the sky's darkness deepened. Draco realised in that moment that if grief could be a colour, it would be forever associated in his mind with that livid violet-grey. How could a person grieve for something they never had? Never even wanted?

"I ... I have to go," Draco whispered. He wasn't sure if his words were audible over the crescendo of the rain, but he also wasn't sure he wanted Harry to hear them.

On an impulse, he grabbed Harry's screwed up soaking face - clumsily, hastily - and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, trying to convey all the horror of his emotions in one simple motion. And then he walked away. He'd done what he was asked to do. He hoped Harry understood.

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a/n: thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed this one! i'm getting such funny comments recently, so thanks for entertaining me 🤍

~ paradisedraco