Summary: Things change and, 3 years after Hogwarts, Harry Potter is no more our Golden Boy, but an appreciated muggle writer. And one night he meets somebody from his past...
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the twisted plot of this story. Harry and Draco aren't mine. If they were I wouldn't need being writing this stuff.
Intro: The Golden Boy?
Why did we tell you then
You were always the golden boy then
And that you'd never lose that light in your eyes?
"Poles Apart", Pink Floyd
"Damn Harry... I thought you cared!"
"But I do care, Mark. I really care about my eardrums, too, so could you please stop yelling like that?" Harry Potter answered calmly, yawning lazily. He got up from the couch where he had been watching - for almost half an hour now - his current muggle boyfriend perform the role of the betrayed lover to a T.
The end of another fucking relationship. Oh well. Let's get it over with this shit. And quickly, Harry thought, looking at his soon to be ex-lover from his considerable height.
Mark had closed his mouth and was staring at the ground obstinately. Harry just sighed, bored, just knowing oh-so-well what was coming next, because it always came.
"Mark," he began, as he had begun so many times before, calling so many different names to try and halt a fight.
Since the Boy-Who-Lived had become one of the most famous and appreciated muggle writers, he had become used to get everything he wanted. Nothing could stop him, not even Mark, who kept looking at the ground. Harry continued.
"Mark, look at me." he said calmly, but firmly.
His tone didn't permit silence, and after a while, the younger man gave in and looked up.
Harry considered for a while Mark's warm brown gaze, the soft features of his handsome face and his generous red lips, now trembling nervously in expectation. Just like many others. Nothing new under the sun.
Finally, he stated tiredly, "Well," he sighed. "What do you want me to say, Mark? It has been nice," he said, noticing how the other man flinched at the use of the past tense. He shook his head and went on, firmly decided in finishing this sad confrontation once for all. "You know how these things go. So please, just face the reality: we're through. I know it hurts now, but soon you're going to realize that it's better this way," Harry concluded, making his calm words leave his mouth with the competence created by familiarity.
Then, he patiently began to wait for an answer, that - thanks to his now vast experience in the matters of breaking up - could easily be foreseen: either an angrily yelled "YOU BASTARD! YOU ONLY USED ME FOR SATISFYING YOUR SEXUAL NEEDS", or a sobbing, "please think twice about it".
Unfortunately, rules have their exceptions. After a minute of strange silence, Harry Potter began to consider the possibility of being faced with one of these exceptions, since he was receiving neither of the considered answers.
"Mark?" He called finally, forced by a sudden urge to bring an end to the matter as soon as possible.
Mark snapped out of his shocked trance and, as if focusing on Harry for the first time, smiled weakly.
"I understand, Harry," he murmured simply.
Clever boy, the raven-haired man thought, slightly surprised by the strange calmness radiating in his dining room. Suddenly Mark sighed deeply, drawing Harry's attention back to him.
"Now, if you excuse me, I'd like to leave as soon as possible, Harry," he said, lifting his gaze until meeting Harry's green eyes. "Could you call me a taxi?" He asked finally.
Harry blinked, then he nodded and grabbed his cordless from the couch. He called for a taxi and finally turned towards Mark, studying curiously the blank expression.
"The taxi will be here in ten minutes," he said tentatively, looking for some kind of reaction. Mark simply nodded.
"Thanks. I'll get my stuff."
Harry blinked again, staring at Mark's form disappear down the corridor, but then he smiled, considering that for once, things had been easier. After a while, his now ex-lover appeared again, carrying a single bag.
"Can I help you with that?" Harry asked with the politeness required for the situation.
"No, there's no need. It's light," Mark answered, and the phone began to ring.
Harry answered it, spoke for a moment, then he turned towards Mark.
"It was the doorkeeper. He says the taxi is waiting."
Mark nodded and moved towards the door, but Harry frowned. There's something wrong here, he thought, looking at the younger man opening the front door. Mark exited, and then he stopped, without turning.
"Harry," he called softly.
Harry frowned again. Did I just think there was something wrong? he considered in tired sarcasm.
"Yes," he asked, knowing that the situation needed to go to its ultimate conclusion.
"The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return," his ex-lover quoted calmly.
Harry frowned. What the hell should this mean, he wondered, slightly annoyed.
"First time you heard this words, you laughed," Mark said, a tone of amusement filling his voice. "You said they were crap. You were probably right, but anyway, call me when you would have learnt to love, Harry, if you will ever learn. Just 'cause the "Famous Harry Potter in Love" is something you don't have the chance to see everyday of your life. And I don't want to take the risk of losing such a show for anything in the world," he stated.
Harry clenched his fist around the doorknob, but didn't answer. Mark sighed.
“Well gotta go now. But please, remember to call me, Harry. You own me this at least, don't you think?" Mark finished, the amusement in his voice now transformed in a more stinging sarcasm.
Harry said nothing, and Mark waited for a while, but then he shrugged and left. The Golden Boy closed the door slowly and leaned against it. He didn't feel bright as his nickname might suggest. Not at all. He cursed himself for having underestimated the matter, this time around.
Never ever take these things so easily again. The moment I get distracted is the moment I get stuck with these annoying gits, he considered angrily, feeling something moving inside his chest.
Then, before that strange sensation could get worse, he slammed his fist against the wood, achieving enough pain to clear away whatever in Mark's speech had touched his inner self, more than he could stand.
He narrowed his green eyes until the sting in his left hand disappeared, and only then he relaxed a bit. He allowed a little disgusted smile to curve his pale lips.
"Bloody love," Harry muttered venomously, while his smile widened. "Damn bloody, stupid thing called love," he said aloud to his empty dining room.
And, after a while, he began to laugh hysterically at the sound of his own angry words.