AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Angsty Drarry one-shot, but I promise a happy ending! Trigger warnings for mentions of assault and self-harm.
They were just in it for the sex. That was what they'd always said, at least, and that was what Draco was determined to believe. The illusion couldn't last, though. Not with that stupid receptionist who was always flirting with Harry at work, and always in front of Draco. He might have thought she'd done it on purpose, precisely whenever he decided to drop by, except no one seemed to even notice it, let alone think it was out of place.
Draco did not make a habit of visiting Harry at work. That was too close to a couple-thing, he'd said, and it wasn't like Harry had ever asked him to. Once, he'd done it out of the kindness of his heart because Harry had left his glasses on the counter that morning in his rush. They both knew he would be too stubborn to come back for them. But, regardless, Draco did have a habit of just showing up at the Ministry—definitely not to visit Harry, of course—because he still knew and associated with many shady people that were of interest to Aurors. He could always tell the newer ones, because they were the ones that paled whenever Harry touched him.
It was work, though, so Harry never did anything blatant. They weren't dating and they were barely even civil in public but Harry still touched him in little ways. He wasn't allowed to interrogate Draco anymore—not since the Minister had realized they had a less than professional connection—but he was still the only one who dared put cuffs on the blond, let alone pat him down for weapons. As if Draco was going to walk into the Ministry covered in exploding candies, or something.
"What's he doing here?" Draco could never remember the bitch's name, but he glared anyways. Was it Glory? Cory? Or maybe it was Laurie? He was fairly certain that it ended in an -ry because he could remember her making a comment about how Harry's name fit with hers to very last letter. What was her name? Draco never remembered, he just knew that she hated him and he gladly returned the sentiment.
"Take a damn breath, Malfoy." The entire office turned at Harry's voice, but Draco was used to it by now. Last names didn't fool anyone anymore, but they were never friendly in public and rarely even in private so no one really suspected anything. Instead, what tipped them off was the command. Harry was the only person Draco had ever let boss him around like that without making some kind of threat in return.
"I'm not the one refusing to play nice, Potter." But, evidently, Harry was having a bad day because he refused to give Draco any sort of leeway. He was pouty and pissed, clearly, but Draco hadn't expected any kind of backlash. It wasn't like he'd started it, even. But Harry didn't see it that way, apparently, because the dark-haired Auror leaned against the edge of the bitch's desk with a sickly sweet little smile.
"Hey, Tory, how's it going today?" Draco rolled his eyes, pretending that it didn't irk him to see Harry flirt with some girl. It didn't, honestly. Harry was his own man and they were both grown ass adults so they could do whatever—or whoever—they wanted. Still, though, he had to cross his arms and look away to keep from spouting off.
"Harry! I've been meaning to tell you that you did so well on the last unicorn's blood case. Honest, we were all so impressed—" She kept talking, but Draco merely stared at the glass of the nearby office. If Shacklebolt could just come out and deal with whatever he'd been called in for, then Draco could bloody well leave and stop subjecting himself to this.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of light skin against dark. The bitch was touching Harry, running her fingers over one of the scars on his hand, and Draco wanted to throw something. He bit his lip a little harder and focused on the door. What gave her the right? Harry winced away from the touch and, when the bitch asked, her voice dripping with concern, merely said it was still just a bit tender, love, but Draco was calling bullshit. Love? Who was he to be calling some random girl love? Besides, if anyone knew Harry's scars, it was him. That particular one on the back of his hand was practically dragon's hide for how much he could feel it. It was from before the war, even. A Quidditch accident.
Thank Merlin Shacklebolt only needed a signature. If Draco had had to stand there for even a minute longer, he might have actually hexed someone. Starting with that bumbling brunette… But, unfortunately, Draco was still considered a rather untrustworthy and rather dangerous person to be around so he was not allowed to roam the Ministry as a free man. No, he got an escort. And today, like everyday, that escort was none other than Auror Harry Potter.
"Potter, show our guest out." Harry hopped off the desk, letting the bitch's fingers linger on his arm, but ultimately led him out of the office. They walked in silence toward the floo network, completely tense. Draco could tell that the raven-haired man knew that he'd pushed it too far, but he wasn't hearing any apologies so he wasn't about to start the conversation. He just kept walking. Truthfully, he was expecting Harry to say something or to stop him and pull them into a hidden alcove because Harry was always the one who did relationship things like that. They weren't in a relationship, though, so Draco shook it off.
"Drake." Ah, there it was. Harry had relaxed a bit and Draco could tell it'd been a hard day but he wasn't feeling particularly forgiving. A bad day at work didn't excuse flirting with other people blatantly in front of him. Even if they weren't in a relationship, that was rude. The former Gryffindor had been trying to piss him off—and he'd succeeded.
"Drake… Are you jealous?" That word seized in his gut and churned like venom. Jealous? No, jealous was for relationships and for love and for couples who didn't just meet up drunkenly and have sex.
"Don't be ridiculous, love," He had his hand on the door, but he lowered his voice. "We're just fucking, after all."
"You'd better be here to apologize." Immediately, Draco felt himself stiffen on the defensive and he dug his fingernails into his palms. Him apologize?
"Actually, I was here to get one." Harry slammed his briefcase down on the table. For once, the dark-haired man ignored the way Draco flinched away from the movement and didn't apologize or reassure him.
"You're an absolute dick, Malfoy."
"I'm not the one eye-banging my secretary." Draco kept his voice calm—much calmer than Harry's—and anyone from the outside might have thought that he didn't care. That was how he fought, though. While Harry yelled and slammed things when he was angry, Draco just shut down. His voice became cold and level, like steel, and his body became calm and controlled, like a weapon. Harry sneered when he recognized the posture.
"Hypocrite."
"Excuse me?" His tone was warning, but Harry was evidently in the mood to fight because he didn't take it back.
"I said you're a fucking hypocrite! You say you don't give a shit, that we're just hooking up, but then the second I even have a conversation with a girl you flip out! Either you care or you don't! Pick one!" Draco lifted his head, but those emerald rings were filled with anger now. It paralyzed him, but he tried not to show that.
"Pick one?" Harry knew that he didn't want a relationship. He knew that flirting with that bitch pissed him off, and he'd done it for that express purpose. Of all people, Harry should have been the one to understand. Yet, here they were.
"Yes, Malfoy! Fucking pick one! You either care or you don't, and you get pissed at me for acting like we're not together when that's all you ever tell me! You don't give a shit about me, you've made that very clear. After all, we're just fucking, right? So either get over yourself and stop acting like you own me or get the hell out of my apartment!"
Draco left. He didn't slam the door on the way out—he didn't even close it. Having to walk across the room to actually close the door would piss Harry off more than if he'd slammed it, and he knew that. After all, we're just fucking, right? Draco wanted to throw up. Tears started down his cheeks and, at first he tried to scrub them away, but then he realized it was dark and he was in muggle London so no one would care. He just walked.
You don't give a shit about me, you've made that very clear.
He didn't give a shit—he couldn't give a shit—but he'd thought that Harry, of all people, would understand that. His hands shook, even as he sank down onto a park bench. Draco knew it wasn't fair. Harry deserved a normal relationship with a normal person and he'd even told the man that when they'd first had sex. He'd tried to leave, even, but Harry hadn't let him.
He knew Harry had feelings for him, and he'd tried to prevent that from happening. It was too late now, though, and even as he thought it he felt the familiar clench of fear in his chest. Draco knew it wasn't fair. But couldn't Harry see how much progress they'd made, even with what they had? True, it wasn't dinner and a movie every Friday night. But still…
Draco had gotten used to his touch. To anyone else it sounded small but only a select few knew how badly Draco used to flinch and jolt away from any kind of physical contact. He'd let Harry dominate, too, which was a huge leap of faith because the last time Draco had let someone take control like that he'd ended up half dead in a cellar. He'd never told Harry any of this, though.
It wasn't like he hadn't tried to tell the man—he had, multiple times—but his throat always closed up and he couldn't breathe and there was no way in hell that he was going to have a panic attack in front of Harry so he just stopped trying. Harry tried little bits of wordless communication, at first. He kissed the scars that Draco had carved into his left forearm, over the dark mark, and he ran his fingers through Draco's hair to get him to fall asleep. Honestly, it helped more than any potion ever had. But Draco couldn't make himself tell Harry that, no matter what he did, so it was pointless.
He'd been lacking for a long time and he knew it. The Slytherin prince had doubted himself and their relationship since the beginning because he knew he would never be enough, but Harry had convinced him. You're more than enough, Drake, just the way you are. He wasn't, though. Harry traced his scars and told him stories from the war, but Draco could never make himself reciprocate. Harry told him about work, about his day, and would tell him sweet little nothings like you're beautiful but Draco always felt like he was choking when he tried to say the same. He thought it, of course, but he could never say it.
He knew that Harry deserved better. Draco went back to the apartment, fully expecting the door to be locked with all his stuff—including his keys—still inside it. It wasn't, though. And he stepped into the silent living room fully prepared to end whatever they had going on because it clearly wasn't working, but Harry wasn't there. He hadn't… left? Had he?
But, on a hunch, Draco tiptoed down the hall towards the bedroom that he knew so well. Honestly, he spent more time in Harry's bedroom than he did in his own and a lot of the neighbors thought that they lived together—which he was quick to correct them on. Thank Merlin Harry was there, huddled in the comforter. He was asleep, and Draco couldn't help breathing a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to deal with another fight, but that beautiful face was red and puffy. Harry had been crying, he realized.
Because of him.
With a sigh, Draco sank down onto the carpet beside the bed. He pressed his back against the nightstand, praying for anything sturdy to lean on that was steadier than he was, and tried to breathe. What the hell was he supposed to do? He'd come back, prepared to fight again or at the very least get some of his stuff, but Harry was asleep. Logic told him he should leave, but he didn't want to. The room smell like familiarity and safety and the thought of going back to his own cold, empty apartment made him shudder. No, he was staying even if it killed him.
"Harry?" Draco waited, half hoping to see those green eyes open and half praying that they wouldn't. "Harry, you awake?" But the man, clearly, was exhausted and was out like a light. Slowly, Draco curled his hands into fists and dug his nails into his palms as his lower lip started to quiver again. Damn emotions. He was terrified of crying in front of Harry or showing any kind of emotional turmoil and he hated himself for it but he just couldn't do it. He'd spent too many years with his family to ever feel safe being vulnerable like that.
"I'm sorry.." he finally managed to whisper, his voice shaking. What was he sorry for? That he was pathetic? That he wasn't good enough and never would be? That he couldn't speak his mind or just be honest the way Harry could? That milestones for him were just everyday things to normal people? That he'd ever even approached Harry in that bar in the first place?
"I'm sorry for saying that, and for storming out," he decided. "I'm sorry for getting jealous when I'm too scared to even tell you that I care about you. I'm sorry…" When Harry didn't stir, Draco let himself get a little more ballsy. Maybe he'd had a few swigs of firewhiskey on his walk back to the apartment and maybe he was a little braver than usual, but Harry was still asleep, right?
"You are honestly the reason that I live, Harry." Shit he had not been expecting that to come out. Searching, though, he found no sign that Harry had heard him let alone understood. He took a deep breath. There was no harm in it if Harry never knew, right? At least then, subconsciously, he could give the man some form of closure or reassurance before he just left?
"Harry… I get out of bed every morning because I think about the way your face crinkles whenever I'm late, like you're worried about me. I eat meals, now, because I know you would notice if I got skinnier. I'm sorry I've never told you any of this. I know that you deserve better, and I know that you expect better, but I'm trying. You've gotten closer than anyone else ever has." Draco stopped, forcing himself to take another breath. His voice was starting to crack over the syllables and tears were slipping down his cheeks but he risked at glance at Harry just in case. Still asleep, thank Merlin.
"You're the only person I've ever let top. You're the only person I've ever slept with—and I mean sleep, not fuck. I know that you think I don't give a shit about you and I know that that's my fault but I just… You have no idea how close I've let you get. I know it's not enough, and I get that. You deserve so much more—hell, you deserve someone who doesn't choke every time they try to say something to you." He risked another glance, but was pleased to see that Harry's eyes were still closed. His face looked so peaceful and so relaxed that Draco almost felt bad sitting there like that, as if he was intruding on a private moment. This was the only chance he would ever have, though, and even if Harry never heard it consciously he at least deserved this. Taking a deep breath, Draco forced himself to keep talking.
"I… I stopped cutting because of the way you kiss the scars when you think I'm asleep. I've started drinking tea, even when I'm alone, because I associate it with you and you make me feel steady. I still get nightmares from the war, but now it's you dying that I'm scared of. I cried the first time you said that I was enough, that I was worth it—but I made sure that you never knew. I just…" He stopped, taking a moment to really study Harry's face just to make sure. There was no going back, and he had to know that Harry couldn't actually hear him. The man's face was perfectly lax, though. Shaking, Draco forced his lips to move.
"I love you, Harry." The world stopped, but Draco could only thank Merlin that Harry's eyes didn't open. He'd never let himself say those words—he couldn't. Saying them now felt like the biggest weight had just been lifted from his shoulders and dropped onto his chest, because he knew it wasn't enough but it was better than nothing. It was true, too. Draco trembled at the mere thought but it was true and he'd just tried to ignore it because he was scared.
"Honestly, I love you Harry. And I'm so sorry that I don't have the courage to tell you that and I'm sorry that I probably never will. I'm sorry that I'm so fucking terrified... I'm just sorry." Draco felt the tears streaming down his face, but they were far away. Everything, even the aching in his chest, felt distant and surreal in a way that he couldn't quite touch just because he knew Harry couldn't see it. Harry didn't know he was breaking down, so it was okay.
He lowered his eyes to the ground and covered his mouth with one hand, trying to stifle the sobs. He couldn't, though. More than anything, as he sat there, he felt their closeness slipping away and it killed him because he knew how much it meant to them—both of them. But he was a coward and he would never get up the nerve to tell Harry anything that he felt so he could only watch it slip through his hands. Draco knew that he'd fucked up. Harry had every right to be mad and every right to leave him, but he couldn't stop the fear that was beginning to snake through his chest.
Harry was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Even from before the war, nothing had ever managed to ground him and heal him the way Harry had. Draco swore under his breath. He was so pathetic, and he was such a coward that he was going to just watch this fall apart. It killed him that he couldn't just say it. That he couldn't just tell Harry what he felt, that he couldn't just be normal, and that he was so fucking terrified of making this real. The thought of losing Harry felt worse than death. Draco couldn't lose this, not when he'd only just realized how much it meant to him. It was a lost cause, though, and he knew it.
"Come to bed." He nearly shrieked, jumping straight in the air and colliding very ungracefully with the nightstand, but Harry's eyes weren't open. The man was still breathing, slow and shallow. Harry was asleep, he'd imagined the voice, and he knew that but it only made the ache even worse. So pathetic! It wasn't enough to watch everything he loved disappear, knowing that it was all his fault, but now his brain had to torment him too? He was crying rather substantially now, but he couldn't make it stop long enough to breathe.
"I said come to bed." And then, Draco distinctly saw Harry's lips move. One dark hand reached out from under the comforter towards him and tugged at his shirt. It pulled, and refused to relent, until he was under the blankets and shaking, curling into Harry's chest the way they normally slept. Maybe Harry was still half asleep? Maybe he didn't remember the fight and thought Draco had just had another nightmare? It wasn't uncommon and, even though he knew he shouldn't, Draco welcomed the touch like a drug.
Harry wrapped him tightly in his arms, tangling a hand in his hair the way he always did, and Draco almost started sobbing. He knew that he didn't deserve this comfort. It burned in his chest but he knew that he was shitty, that he was pathetic, and that, if anyone deserved to be kicked out of bed, it was him. Harry kept holding him, though.
Just for a moment, Draco could have sworn that he felt tears falling into his hair, but then he reasoned that they had to be his own. Harry was half asleep, and Draco was just abusing that for his own comfort to make himself feel better about being a horrible person. The tears were his own—made out of self-pity and self-hatred. They had to be right? Harry curled around him just a little tighter, holding him flush against his own body. Merlin, the man was warm. He felt like home, like safety, and Draco relented into the feeling because he knew that it would be the last time he ever got to lay like this. It was selfish, but Draco couldn't stop himself. Just when he was about to fall asleep, he heard the faintest little whisper..
"I love you too, Drake."
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