Notes: Not completely what you think it is. Very very angsty, and was originally meant to end with just this section. Unfortunately, after I finished, Harry threw a fit (surprisingly, not Draco) about how I'd damaged his character by not letting him go after Draco. So...there ended up being a fluffy-ish optional ending if you're like me (and Harry) and angsty endings kill you. Fear not though--tigersilver just betaed another angst fic for me that doesn't get a fluffy ending, so that should be around soon~


Chances Past

It's the last time, and Draco knows it.

He'd found the letter weeks ago, sitting on the kitchen table. Dearest Harry, it had said, and Draco had remembered he'd never called Harry that himself. The letter was from Ginny Weasley, saying she was returning to London for a while in the summer, and did Harry remember when she asked him to wait? Because now she had made her choice and wanted to try again.

He'd heard the Floo conversation, later, having walked into the flat without Harry noticing. Harry had promised Ginny to meet her again, and when she said she'd missed him, that was a definite smile, not the pasted-on kind that Draco felt was all he saw anymore.

He'd been there, in the café, at a different table, when Harry's friends told him excitedly how wonderful it was that he and Ginny were getting back together. And Draco had reminded himself then that he was a dignified person, and that he and Harry had never said their relationship was exclusive or built on real feelings, or really anything more than a matter of sexual convenience.

And now, it's the last night, because Draco knows Harry will meet his ginger-haired lover in the morning, and somehow he can't delude himself that Harry would throw it away for him.

He knows it's the end, because Harry is being gentle, and it's almost wrong how good it all feels. It's not that everything else felt bad, but Draco has never felt quite like this, being touched so reverently. He can't help the piercingly intense desire to reciprocate in like kind, so he sweeps his hands feather-light over Harry's hips instead of gripping them until they bruise.

And fuck, he doesn't care about this, because he doesn't love Harry and Harry doesn't love him. None of it matters, has ever mattered, and he won't change when it's over. He just…he just wants to give Harry a reason to remember him, even if he's not sure why he's so desperate not to be forgotten. So that he regrets leaving me, Draco tells himself. So that when Harry is married to the nice, normal, acceptable Weasley girl, he'll sleep with her and remember what it felt like to sleep with Draco, and find his wife inadequate. It's out of spite, Draco insists to his treasonous mind.

He wants Harry's last time with him to be special, and he wants Harry to feel this impossibly good too, so that later, when Draco will inevitably be trying to find this again with someone, and probably failing, Harry will be in the same position. He wants…he wants…he wants Harry to feel what he does—the sharp jabs in the chest, as if something crystalline were splintering slowly.

--

Harry's terrified that this is going to be the last time.

Draco's body is trembling, his hands gliding erratically and softly over Harry's skin. He thinks Draco probably hasn't noticed it, but the Slytherin is wet-eyed, and the sounds he makes are softer and sadder than usual.

He's not sure why, but Draco has withdrawn in the past week, pulling away more, looking more put out than usual, losing the spitefulness and sarcasm that makes him Draco. Harry has to keep reminding himself that Draco had promised him only a sex friend, not a lover, and Harry doesn't have the right to keep him.

Ginny's come home recently, and he really should have jumped at the chance to reconcile with her. But somehow, the more he thought about it, no matter how excitedly his friends had told him to try it out, he couldn't bring himself to go back. Not anymore. Not when he's known this every day.

And even if Draco isn't really his lover, and even if Ginny could provide the affection he's searching for, it isn't so much a search for simple affection anymore. What Harry wants now is too hard to define by anything other than: to stay here forever.

He wants to wake up and see hazy white-gold in the mornings, and squeeze tightly against Draco on cold nights when Draco steals the blankets. He wants to spend evenings drinking Firewhisky with Draco in front of the fire, and getting just tipsy enough to make out sloppily. He wants fiery fights, and amazing makeup sex, and he wants that glowing feeling of being all right again.

He doesn't want to give this up.

So, he's found his decision much less difficult than he originally thought, and he's resolved to tell Ginny as much tomorrow. But the way Draco is clinging to him, almost desperately, is scaring him. Draco has always wanted, he's never needed. He's never cried out so loudly and openly, with words like "please" and "good" and "Harry". He's never closed his eyes.

Harry holds on tightly as Draco came down from the high, and it almost feels like Draco is going to disappear in his arms right now. But he doesn't, and Harry lays him back down. He watches Draco's breathing even out into sleep, thinking that tomorrow, come hell or high water, he'll tell Draco everything. He'll say that he doesn't want to leave, and he doesn't want just a convenience, that he wants something real, no matter how insane and stupid it is. And if Draco walks away, Harry knows he's going to fight tooth and nail to make him come back.

After finally experiencing how good it can actually be, he's not going to be satisfied with only this one chance. In the past, he's always thought, maybe tomorrow, maybe later, maybe when Draco's in a better mood. There's always been an excuse, because he was afraid of the backlash from all directions. But now, he tells himself as he tentatively strokes Draco's hair, he is making himself a promise.

Tomorrow. He'll say it tomorrow.

--

Draco knows Harry is watching him, and it's hard not to change his mind and try to encroach on Harry's life forever, just to always feel such a sense of mutual fondness.

But then, Draco remembers everything that's about to happen tomorrow, and he sets his resolve. As soon as Harry subsides into heavy, even breaths, Draco slides silently from the bed and walks to the desk.

He's already prepared it all, the note and the things he wants to take, so he simply removes them from the desk drawer and lays them out. When he was planning this, he hadn't wanted to take anything. It would be better if nothing reminds him of this fling that was already on the verge of meaning too much to him.

Just angry schoolboy lust, he repeats to himself, like a prayer, just some inane desires that we've fulfilled anyway.

But then he'd imagined a life in which he'd completely and totally forgotten Harry, and he'd felt as though most of his identity was ripped away. His final solution had been to pick something small and unnoticeable, something for which the memory might fade eventually.

It had been a frantic morning, both of them running late, and one of Draco's reports was due when he walked in the door, but he'd just noticed an error.

"Harry, why haven't you got any quills around here?"

"Here, use a pen."

And Harry had clicked the pen out, and handed it to Draco. The Muggle contraption had enthralled Draco, so Harry had let him keep it.

It's out of ink by now, but Harry's said he'll teach Draco to refill the ink sometime. They'll never get around to it now, of course, so Draco thinks maybe one day he'll try to do it on his own. Just as a bit of nostalgia.

He takes the pen and his coat and his keys, and puts on his shoes. Standing at the door, he pauses, imagining himself being caught by Harry, who would miraculously make him stay. Draco shakes his head to bring himself back into reality. With a swift motion, he is gone.

I didn't love him or anything, he tells himself.

Then why are you giving him up? asks a voice in Draco's head.

Draco doesn't know the answer.