Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Homeless ❯ Homeless ~ Part 2 of the Infidelity Series ( Chapter 1 )
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Makoto Sagara 
Part 2 of the Infidelity Series - Draco knows he messed up, but now he doesn’t know how to fix it. - Sequel to Unfaithful
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Shounen | Type: Fanfiction Sequel | Uploaded On: 10.23.2012 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Completed
Part 2 of the Infidelity Series - Draco knows he messed up, but now he doesn’t know how to fix it. - Sequel to Unfaithful
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Drama / Romance / Shounen | Type: Fanfiction Sequel | Uploaded On: 10.23.2012 | Pages: 1 | Words: 1.3K | Visits: 1.2K | Status: Completed
Title: HomelessAuthor: Makoto SagaraSeries: Harry PotterArchive: the usual suspects; anywhere else, ask firstPairings: Harry/Draco, Draco/BlaiseRating: PG-13Category: Angst, RomanceWarnings: Slash, language, ooc, EWE, cheating, angstSummary: Draco knows he messed up, but now he doesn’t know how to fix it.Disclaimers: Harry Potter is owned by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Publishing, and Warner Bros. I make nothing from this. In fact, I lose money to write this, so… no suing, okay?
Author’s Notes: This is the second in the Infidelity series. It was inspired by the song ‘Homeless’ by Leona Lewis, which I also do not own. More’s the pity again. Expect the angst to be rather heavy. Thank you to all that read and reviewed the first part!
Homeless
The rain always made him remember the nights he’d spent with Harry. The times where they’d make love in front of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place while the world outside would be pelted by the temperamental British weather. The times where they’d cuddle in their ridiculous bed while the wind howled outside. The times where they’d wake up in each other’s arms and kiss languidly, whispering sweet nothings of how they’d be together forever, how they’d never love anyone else.
And he’d ruined it all.
Ruined it by having an affair with Blaise Zabini, who he didn’t love, didn’t even like half the time.
But, he’d missed the affection and attention that Harry would lavish on him before he started to work for the Ministry. He was lonely. And Blaise had been there. And the dark-skinned man wanted Draco.
He could admit it now, while he was alone and walking in the heavy rain outside in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. He’d been weak. Blaise had taken advantage of his weakness and loneliness. And Draco had given in. Repeatedly. The rush of the thing was all well and good, until Harry had told him it was over.
No, he’d said he couldn’t handle the lies and the running around anymore. He hadn’t said that it was over. It was Draco who’d screamed about not being appreciated anymore and wanting to feel alive again. It had been Draco who’d resorted to cruelty and petty words, demeaning everything they’d shared.
It had been Draco who’d made Harry’s beautiful green eyes – eyes that had once looked on him like he’d hung the moon – dull and close off against him.
It was entirely his fault.
And he was paying for it.
He hurt all the time now. Sleeping hurt. Being awake hurt. Breathing was excruciating. Getting out of bed was torture. His mother’s pleading with him to do something – go after Harry, apologize, beg for him to take him back, anything – was worse than a Cruciatus. There wasn’t a single second that didn’t cause both physical and mental anguish. And he’d done it to himself.
The worst part was that his mother was right. All it would take would be for him to go back to Harry, grovel and beg him to take him back, and the pain would stop. However, he couldn’t. His pride wouldn’t let him, and his pride was going to kill him. He was sure of it. Only he refused to go so quickly.
Earlier that day, while he was out with his mother shopping in Diagon Alley, Harry had been out with his friends, laughing and eating lunch in one of the new al fresco cafes that had begun springing up with alarming rate. Draco’s breath had caught in his throat and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He must have made a noise, because Harry looked up, his smile dying immediately and his face shutting down, until he resembled that stupid stone statue the Wizengamot had made in his likeness on the first anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat.
The look clearly said that Draco would not be welcome and that Harry had no use for him any longer. It hurt much more than anything Harry had said to him that last, painful night they’d spoken. He was so engrossed in watching Harry’s reaction that he didn’t notice Ron Weasley jumping up from his seat and coming over. He only had eyes for his former paramour. However, he felt the fist that had connected with his face, shattering his nose in a cruel re-enactment of the confrontation between Draco and Harry on the train at the beginning of their sixth year at Hogwarts. And he held back the tears until he saw Michael Corner lean over and kiss Harry softly on the cheek.
He’d run home and barricaded himself in his room, ignoring the blood and bruising all over his face until Narcissa had broken in and fixed everything.
“My Dragon, I cannot continue to watch you willingly kill yourself over Harry Potter,” she’d whispered sternly. “You have made a dreadful mistake, and you must make amends. Do not waste away like this. You must try to repair things with him. You love him desperately, and beyond what we saw today, he still loves you.”
“How can you tell?” he’d sobbed. “How? He has moved on. He’s with that Michael Corner, that pathetic Ravenclaw!”
“My love, you did not see his face after Ronald Weasley struck you.” His mother wiped the tears from his face as she cast the healing spell on his nose. “He looked as if he was going to strike the other man himself. And, I have heard that he went after Mr. Zabini after you left him.”
“Blaise?”
“Yes, my Dragon, Blaise’s mother told me that he returned to her house one step away from death, but he refused to say who attacked him. It does not take a genius to figure out who was responsible.” She sighed and pulled him into a hug. “You still have a chance, but you must stop this foolish pining. You must take action.”
That happened three hours ago. He’d been walking in the gardens ever since, only stopping as certain memories swam to the surface of his confused mind and he allowed himself to drown in them. When the storm began, it felt as if it was both pressing down on him and washing him clean. He knew his mother was right, but it was so difficult. How was he to go about making Harry realize that he loved him more than anything? That he was so terribly, deeply sorry for throwing everything they’d had away in a fit of pique? That he knew he’d been stupid for even allowing Blaise to kiss him that first time, let alone going back and fucking him so many times? That he was empty, directionless, pathetic, and emotionally homeless without the Boy Who Lived to love him?
He heard his father’s voice berate him in his mind, telling him that he should act like a Malfoy and take what he wanted. It was enough to shake him out of his stupor.
And then, he began to plot.
~ Finite ~
Author’s Notes: This is the second in the Infidelity series. It was inspired by the song ‘Homeless’ by Leona Lewis, which I also do not own. More’s the pity again. Expect the angst to be rather heavy. Thank you to all that read and reviewed the first part!
Homeless
The rain always made him remember the nights he’d spent with Harry. The times where they’d make love in front of the fireplace at Grimmauld Place while the world outside would be pelted by the temperamental British weather. The times where they’d cuddle in their ridiculous bed while the wind howled outside. The times where they’d wake up in each other’s arms and kiss languidly, whispering sweet nothings of how they’d be together forever, how they’d never love anyone else.
And he’d ruined it all.
Ruined it by having an affair with Blaise Zabini, who he didn’t love, didn’t even like half the time.
But, he’d missed the affection and attention that Harry would lavish on him before he started to work for the Ministry. He was lonely. And Blaise had been there. And the dark-skinned man wanted Draco.
He could admit it now, while he was alone and walking in the heavy rain outside in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. He’d been weak. Blaise had taken advantage of his weakness and loneliness. And Draco had given in. Repeatedly. The rush of the thing was all well and good, until Harry had told him it was over.
No, he’d said he couldn’t handle the lies and the running around anymore. He hadn’t said that it was over. It was Draco who’d screamed about not being appreciated anymore and wanting to feel alive again. It had been Draco who’d resorted to cruelty and petty words, demeaning everything they’d shared.
It had been Draco who’d made Harry’s beautiful green eyes – eyes that had once looked on him like he’d hung the moon – dull and close off against him.
It was entirely his fault.
And he was paying for it.
He hurt all the time now. Sleeping hurt. Being awake hurt. Breathing was excruciating. Getting out of bed was torture. His mother’s pleading with him to do something – go after Harry, apologize, beg for him to take him back, anything – was worse than a Cruciatus. There wasn’t a single second that didn’t cause both physical and mental anguish. And he’d done it to himself.
The worst part was that his mother was right. All it would take would be for him to go back to Harry, grovel and beg him to take him back, and the pain would stop. However, he couldn’t. His pride wouldn’t let him, and his pride was going to kill him. He was sure of it. Only he refused to go so quickly.
Earlier that day, while he was out with his mother shopping in Diagon Alley, Harry had been out with his friends, laughing and eating lunch in one of the new al fresco cafes that had begun springing up with alarming rate. Draco’s breath had caught in his throat and he felt like someone had punched him in the gut. He must have made a noise, because Harry looked up, his smile dying immediately and his face shutting down, until he resembled that stupid stone statue the Wizengamot had made in his likeness on the first anniversary of Voldemort’s defeat.
The look clearly said that Draco would not be welcome and that Harry had no use for him any longer. It hurt much more than anything Harry had said to him that last, painful night they’d spoken. He was so engrossed in watching Harry’s reaction that he didn’t notice Ron Weasley jumping up from his seat and coming over. He only had eyes for his former paramour. However, he felt the fist that had connected with his face, shattering his nose in a cruel re-enactment of the confrontation between Draco and Harry on the train at the beginning of their sixth year at Hogwarts. And he held back the tears until he saw Michael Corner lean over and kiss Harry softly on the cheek.
He’d run home and barricaded himself in his room, ignoring the blood and bruising all over his face until Narcissa had broken in and fixed everything.
“My Dragon, I cannot continue to watch you willingly kill yourself over Harry Potter,” she’d whispered sternly. “You have made a dreadful mistake, and you must make amends. Do not waste away like this. You must try to repair things with him. You love him desperately, and beyond what we saw today, he still loves you.”
“How can you tell?” he’d sobbed. “How? He has moved on. He’s with that Michael Corner, that pathetic Ravenclaw!”
“My love, you did not see his face after Ronald Weasley struck you.” His mother wiped the tears from his face as she cast the healing spell on his nose. “He looked as if he was going to strike the other man himself. And, I have heard that he went after Mr. Zabini after you left him.”
“Blaise?”
“Yes, my Dragon, Blaise’s mother told me that he returned to her house one step away from death, but he refused to say who attacked him. It does not take a genius to figure out who was responsible.” She sighed and pulled him into a hug. “You still have a chance, but you must stop this foolish pining. You must take action.”
That happened three hours ago. He’d been walking in the gardens ever since, only stopping as certain memories swam to the surface of his confused mind and he allowed himself to drown in them. When the storm began, it felt as if it was both pressing down on him and washing him clean. He knew his mother was right, but it was so difficult. How was he to go about making Harry realize that he loved him more than anything? That he was so terribly, deeply sorry for throwing everything they’d had away in a fit of pique? That he knew he’d been stupid for even allowing Blaise to kiss him that first time, let alone going back and fucking him so many times? That he was empty, directionless, pathetic, and emotionally homeless without the Boy Who Lived to love him?
He heard his father’s voice berate him in his mind, telling him that he should act like a Malfoy and take what he wanted. It was enough to shake him out of his stupor.
And then, he began to plot.
~ Finite ~