Careless Whisper

12.09.03

Disclaimer: Again, I own none of these fous ous characters, other than in my own little overactive imagination. They all belong to J.K. Rowling.

A/N: Okay, so I couldn\'t wait a whole week to upload the next chapter. Let me know what you think. In this chapter, I have a random quote from D.H. Lawrence that I have in my own personal quote book, I also use “A White Rose” by John Boyle O’Reilly, as well as “Goodbye” a song by Dada (which does not mean Defense Against the Dark Arts).

Careless Whisper
Ch 02 -- Goodbye


Hermione ran to the man that lay unconscious in front of her. Frantically shaking Harry, she knew she would be unable to wake him when she saw the bottle of pills slip from his hand. Leaning to pick them up, she examined the bottle. No label. How could she perform a spell to help him if she didn’t even know what he had taken?


Hermione cursed Harry in her mind. Why didn’t he have a fireplace? Stupid lofts. No connection to the floo network. Not knowing how long he had been like this or how long ago he had taken the pills, Hermione was at a loss as to what to do. Should she take him to St. Mungo’s? Or a muggle hospital? Perhaps to the infirmary back at Hogwarts? Finally, Hermione decided on St. Mungo’s, knowing that if Neville couldn’t do anything he would send Harry to a muggle facility.


Grabbing Harry’s cold and clammy hand in hers, she apparated to the wizard hospital.


*****


Draco sat at his desk, staring at the paperwork in front of him. He had read the same damn memo five times now. Something about suspected Dark Arts books hidden in a secret basement in the house of a suspected Death Eater. What did it matter anymore? Voldemort was dead and there was no one left to lead them to power. Even the greatest of minions, his own father, had been obliterated in the last battle.


Draco continued to stare, finally seeing past the memo and into his memory. He slipped into thoughts of Harry, wrapping them around him the way he would a down comforter winter’s evening. Thoughts of Harry warmed him, even if he did find conflict in them.


Theirs had been a tawdry affair. Dirty in every sense of the word -- a whirlwind of love and sex and passion. They had rocked the wizard world with their blatant disregard for societal mores. Draco and Harry had flamboyantly flaunted their romantic relationship in the public’s eye. Every day their faces graced the Daily Prophet.


And they were still popular. Everyone either loved them or hated them. No matter what though, no one could deny how attractive they were together. On an aesthetic level, they complimented each other in every single way. Draco was Harry’s light, just as Harry was Draco’s dark. They had been the envy of everyone who ever wanted love.


It had been when Draco started questioning Harry’s nightly wanderings that things had started to go awry. Harry was fond of slipping out in the middle of the night for a stroll since nightmares still haunted his sleep. At first Draco tried to be understanding, but as time went on, and these nightly outings grew later and later, he became suspicious.

Then Harry accused Draco of jealousy and possessiveness. Merlin, he’d even quoted a Muggle author and poet, D.H. Lawrence, in a card to Draco trying to explain his feelings. He pulled the card out now and looked at it, yet again. The fold in the center just barely holding the two halves of the card together.


Dear Draco,
I hate to quote someone else, but he said it better than I could ever
hope to. Please understand. I don’t want to lose you. ‘You love me
so much, you want to put me in your pocket. And I should die
there, smothered.’ You are smothering me love. All I ask is that you
let me sort this thing out on my own. There will never be a place
for another in my heart. I love you.
Harry

Draco angrily wiped the stubborn tear that had slid down his cheek and threw the card roughly back into his desk. He would not think about Harry today. He had this damn Death Eater to worry about.


*****


Ron was looking at his work without really seeing it too. Ron had been thinking about what Draco had said to him earlier that day. He didn’t like the fact that Harry had been drinking so much lately. Of course, he knew Harry was lonely, but alcohol was no way to solve his problems. If only those two could work things out…


Ron never understood what had happened between the two of them. They seemed obscenely happy together and then all of a sudden, it was over. Harry found a loft on the other side of the city, leaving Draco their apartment in Chelsea. Draco blamed Harry; Harry blamed Draco. But neither one of them ever got to the heart of what had happened between them.


Ron was trying to think of a way to bring the two wizards together when Hermione suddenly apparated into the middle of his messy office.


“Ron,” was all she could get out before she broke into sobs. Running to his wife, Ron guided her to a chair and sat her down, handing her a kerchief to blow her nose.


“What’s the matter, baby?” He asked, a worried furrow forming on his brow.


“I owled you that I was going to be late getting home today,” Hermione started.


“I know, I got it. You said you were going to see – Oh shit, Harry! Hermione, what happened?” Ron demanded, his fear escalating by the second.


Hermione started blubbering again and speaking incoherently. Ron paced, waiting for his wife to calm before he asked her again what had happened.


“I went to his loft. This sad song was playing. It just kept playing. I opened the door, and there, there…he was just…I couldn’t…I tried,” Hermione began sobbing again.


The noise had drawn Draco from his own office across the hall. He popped his head into the door to make sure everything was alright. Seeing Hermione, he turned whon son signaled him to wait.


Hermione tried her story again. “He took some pills. I don’t know what or how many. There was alcohol too. I took him to St. Mungo’s. I’m so afraid he’s going to die, Ron. What if I couldn’t save him?” Hermione finished, eyes red and puffy.


The color drained from Draco’s face and he ran from the room. Unable to worry about him at the moment, Ron was more worried about his wife, and his best friend.


“Hermione, baby, we need to get to the hospital. Are you okay to apparate right now?”


His wife nodded and they disappeared with a pop.


*****


Harry lay in the pristine bed, losing a battle with himself. There were monitors connected to him to read his heart rate, as well as any changes in his power level. It was unsure how muggle drugs affected the level of magic in the wizard body. Neville eyed the man with a frown, unsure of what else he could do for his old schoolmate.


Hermione and Ron appeared out of nowhere. They both ran to Harry’s side and looked at Neville with searching eyes, as if begging him for the reassurance he could not give them. He gave them a weak smile and started speaking.


“We pumped his stomach the old fashioned muggle way. However, he had already ingested quite a bit of both the drugs and the alcohol. I’m still not sure what he took or what affect it will have on him if he wakes up. There could be permanent or semi-permanent damage to his brain or other organs.

“We have done everything we can for him. The rest is up to him. It’s a matter of how much he is willing to fight to survive. He will remain here in the psychiatric ward since, without other evidence, we can only assume that this was an attempted suicide. No one will know other than myself, my most trusted assistants, and the two of you that Harry is here. It would not do for this to get to the Daily Prophet.

“Of course you can stay as long as you like. I encourage you to talk to him. We’re not sure how much he can hear, or if he can hear anything, but if he can, any words of encouragement will only be beneficial. You can reach me at any time, but of course you know that. I have another patient to attend to just now, but I will be back to check on Harry and you in a few minutes,” Neville said before he turned gently closing the door behind him.


Hermione reached out and grabbed Harry’s lifeless hand. “Oh, Harry, what have we done to you?” She whispered softly, leaning down to place a kiss on his forehead.


*****


Draco’s breath was coming in painful wheezes when he found himself at his apartment. He stumbled around, not knowing what to do with himself. Harry. What had happened to Harry? He hadn’t even stayed to find out -- he just had to escape.


Draco finally collapsed in his armchair and held his head in his hands. Time passed and he remembered. It had been a long time since he had allowed himself the comfort of reminiscence…

He had come home from work later than usual that evening. Opening
the door, he had expected a reproach from his lover, but was
pleasantly surprised by a bouquet of fresh flowers on the hall table.
Next to the flowers was a note: “Time to get out of those work clothes
and have a nice soak. Go to the bathroom.”
Smiling, Draco wandered down the hall to the bathroom. Opening the door,
he found the room softly glowing with the light of a thousand tiny candles;
the scent of lavender invaded his senses. The claw-foot tub was steaming
with a scented bath intended to wash away the tension of the day. On
the mirror was another note: “After your bath, there are clothes picked out
for you in the closet. DO NOT go into the bedroom. That is for later. ; )”
Draco eased himself into the tub, relishing in the warmth it spread
through him. After soaking for what felt like days, Draco dragged himself
out of the bath and into the adjoining closet. He smiled at the clothes
Harry had picked out: black dress pants and a charcoal silk shirt open to
mid-chest. Something was going on; Harry never wanted to dress up
after Draco got home from work. He found another note on the door of
the closet: “You will find hors d’œuvres in the living room, as well as music
and other entertainment.”
Draco wandered into the living room and again found himself embraced in
the soft light of candles flickering. Faint, instrumental music was drifting
into the room from an unknown source. A fire crackled in the grate.
Draco eased himself into his overstuffed chair and opened the book of
love poetry to the marked page.
The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
Oh, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud,
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is sweetest and purest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.
John Boyle O’Reilly
Draco smiled. Harry was perfect. He continued to flip through the book
of poetry and read snippets until he felt another presence in the room.
Looking up, Draco gasped as he beheld the sight before him. There was
Harry, dressed in cream colored pants and a green sweater that made his
eyes glow. In his hands, a white rose flushed with pink. Draco felt tears of
love and gratitude sting his eyes. Harry offered his arm, which Draco
readily accepted, and led him into the dining room.
There was a romantic table, lit with candles and a ceiling enchanted to reveal
the stars. It was all of Draco’s favorites on the table: shrimp to start off,
then soup and salad, lobster with twice-baked potatoes and garlic bread for
the main course, and chocolate mousse for dessert. Each course tasted
better than the one before. All of Draco’s senses were stimulated with this
meal and the thoughtful planning Harry had put into the evening.
Following dinner, Harry had led Draco to the bedroom. Rose petals lay
across every surface available. Music played softly in the background.
That night they had loved each other slowly and generously, giving in to
each other over and over again. That had been before…before the day
Draco had lost all of that.

Draco brought himself back to reality only to realize he had tears streaming down his face, unchecked. What had he done? He had pushed away the only man he loved. Now he may not ever be able to get Harry back.


Draco sat with his head in his hands, crying until there was nothing left in him.


*****


Across town, Harry was fighting his own demons. Hermione and Ron could only watch as his eyelids twitched and shifted in his sleep. Harry had found himself in a sadder memory…


It was the night things had blown up in his face. He and Draco had been
fighting for forever it seemed. Tired of the continued struggle, Harry
had stormed out of the apartment to the local bar he had never noticed
before. There he ran into an old friend. Seeing Harry was upset, the
man bought him a beer and they talked.
Harry told the man of his problems with Draco and how Draco had
been suffocating him lately, wanting to know his whereabouts all the time.
They had been there for some time, drowning Harry’s sorrow in the
alcohol. Harry tried to explain to the man the dreams he had been having,
how every night he relived the final battle every time he closed his eyes.
Draco hadn’t been able to understand that sleep was no longer a possibility
for Harry. After talking for some time, the man reached across the table
and grabbed Harry’s hand, bringing it to his lips for a kiss.
“You know Harry, no one has ever loved anyone the way everyone wants to
be loved.”
Harry thought about this statement for a moment and realized the truth
behind it. Draco didn’t love him the way he wanted to be loved, and he
obviously didn’t love Draco the way Draco wanted either. If they couldn’t
make love work, then no one could.
The man pulled Harry to his feet. “Dance with me Harry. Let me help you
forget Draco for a little while.” Harry had complied although he felt a pull in
his stomach that something about this wasn’t right.
The song playing was “Goodbye” by Dada. The words fit the situation perfectly:
It seems like part of you is already gone,
The rest is fading fast…
Good bye, I know it’s hard to say
Good bye, there’s no other way
The truth will only set you free
So please don’t cry,
It won’t make it well
Don’t lie,
I can always tell
It’s time for you to say the word I fear
No tears … Good bye…
The man leaned in and kissed Harry at the end of the song just as
Draco entered the bar, determined to apologize for his actions of late.
Draco stared, anguish written all over his face, as Harry stood there in the
arms of Blaise Zabini; his mouth opened and closed, emitting no sound.
Draco turned and walked out of Harry’s life forever. And Harry drifted back
into the blackness that enveloped him…