Those who dream by night in the dusty recesses of their minds wake in the day to find that it was vanity: but the dreamers of the day are dangerous men, for they may act their dream with open eyes, to make it possible.
~ T. E. Lawrence ~
Friday, January 20th ~ Early Evening
Draco stood at the railing of his balcony, watching the sunset without actually taking it in. He turned at the sound of a crash, unconcerned as he watched the night wind whip through the open doors and back through the wreckage of his lab, scattering papers in its wake. As one of the sheets blew over his head, he turned back to the railing, watched it flutter and finally fall into the dirty snow so far below.
He was fairly sure that he should be feeling something - he certainly had earlier as he took his anger and disappointment out on the breakables within reach - but all he felt was numb. Frowning as his hand slipped on the railing he noticed a thin trickle of blood, turning it over to discover a small cut on his hand. Huh. When did that happen? I should clean it. It was only years of lectures about safety around ingredients that prompted him to move indoors.
Shutting the balcony doors behind him, Draco made his way to the master bath, pulling out the small kit from the medicine cabinet. Avoiding looking in the mirror he watched as the pink tinged water rinsed him and then covered the wound. Bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, he slowly looked up into the mirror. His hair was a mess, bits of glass sparkled in the light as he shook them out gingerly. His face was blotched, evidence of the day he had gone through.
Draco felt tired. Emotionally wrung out, exhausted. He looked longingly through the open door to his bed, wanting so badly to crawl into it and deny that any of it had been real - but that was the problem.
None of what Harry - Potter had said, done, felt had been real. Draco gave a bitter laugh as he watched the reflection in the mirror. "You knew it could never be, why are you so surprised? You thought it was real. For a few moments, you felt so much joy," his voice dripped with scorn as he continued to eye his reflection with contempt.
"You're the real idiot here."
"So what now? This is the only way you can be with the person you want? You need to be pitied, the only way someone would love you is by having their inner most thoughts and feelings falsified, twisted by a potion? You make me sick," Draco spat at the mirror before sending the first aid kit crashing through it.
"Mother. She's the only one who knew. Where would she - Snape." Draco muttered angrily to himself as he walked down the hall and out into the entry, carefully avoiding looking at the unconscious man on the couch as he grabbed his cloak. "Not this way. It's not real." Pausing at the doorway, he fought the urge to look at Harry and then finally slammed out of the penthouse.
He could have apparated, but the thought of walking appealed.