Draco Malfoy sat in his study, flipping a galleon between his fingers. He looked at all of his valuable possessions; books that were worth thousands of galleons, mahogany shelves finished with the finest magical protection money could buy, jewels that made the room look like an old lady's jewelry box. Draco Malfoy had many valuable things, but none of these things, did he truly value. He listened, passively, at the sounds of his friends…friends? Acquaintances, allies, and people he knew…if that. They were people who used him…because he let them; people who defined him. But they were not people who loved him, no body loved him.
Once upon a time, there had been someone…but no. That was in the past, a past that no longer existed, and a past the Draco was determined to forget. He slammed his fist down on the desk, biting back tears that told all his secrets, even the ones he did not know he had. He stood from his luxuriously soft armchair, smoothing back his hair, preparing himself to go out to a party he was not really throwing so he could continue to live a life he was not really living. And as he opened the doors of his decorated study, all the unspoken apologies that rested on his lips slipped away into a past that was never going to forgive him.
Harry Potter sat at a table that was supposedly his in a house he supposedly owned. His gaze was fixated on a newspaper he was supposedly reading while he held a mug in his hand that was supposedly full of coffee. But the table was not his and neither was the house and he was not really reading the paper and the coffee was not coffee, but whiskey. He stared blankly at the black and white print, sipping the coffee-that-was-not-really-coffee. The home he was in belonged to another man named Harry. The house he sat in now belonged to a hero, a man who had saved the world. It belonged to a man who had friends and love and a family. But the man who once lived here no longer existed, so this Harry moved in. He was much different than the Harry that lived here before. He had no friends, no love, and no family. He had one love, whiskey. Whiskey never betrayed him, never left him, and never ruined his life. Whiskey loved him and he loved it.
Harry continued to stare blankly at the paper he was not really reading. He did not need to read it, the articles about the world's most beloved hero, the pictures of a man too beautiful for his own good, the captions describing the beauty with words that did not do his real beauty justice. It was a paper of redundancy for Harry, telling him things he already knew. He closed his eyes, dreaming of a world that he once loved, a world that had forgotten him. Recalling a past that made him feel lighter, times that made him feel like the Harry who once lived in this house-that-wan-not-his and drank coffee-that-was-coffee and read papers about himself with friends who loved him and a family with red hair would tell him he was wonderful. And all his unspoken apologies, as he drunkenly fell asleep drooling on the paper-he-was-not-reading on the table-that-was-not-his, fell away into a past that was no longer listening to him.
Draco Malfoy lay awake in his expensively comfortable bed, reaching for a sleep that would not come. A sleep that would return him to a past he could not forget. A past that would take him to the love he had let go of. Another two hours go by and the sleep is more present than it was before. And as it rains down on him, he slowly closes his eyes; waiting with longing for a love he had only ever tasted once, waiting patiently for touches that could only be given in dreams, waiting desperately for a chance to free his bitten tongue and fill his dreams with words he was too afraid to speak.
For the first time in 365 days, Harry Potter was sober. For the first time in 365 days, Harry was in pain. For the first time in 365 days, Harry was ready. With trembling hands, he pulled from a dusty box, a piece of parchment and a quill. For the first time in 365 days, Harry was completely aware of himself, his memories of school flooding him with pain that made his eyes sting. It had been seven years since the war, three years since he had been in love, two years since his love had left him, and one year since Harry had been coherent. Now, in complete coherency, Harry wrote a letter. Now, in complete coherency, Harry knew what he must do. Now, in complete coherency, Harry smiled.
Many things happened at once for Draco Malfoy that morning. First, the head editor for the Daily Prophet came crashing into his office. Draco watched with silence and surprised as the man sputtered and gasped, tears running down his face. For a minute, Draco was too surprised to respond, but when the man crumpled to the floor, Draco found his voice.
"What? What is it? What's happened?" Draco said, slightly nervous from the way the man was crying.
"Minister Malfoy, M-minister, p-p-please, it's Ha-Ha-Harry P-Potter." Draco stiffened every bone in his body, freezing. He suddenly felt very vulnerable.
"What's happened to my Harry?" Draco asked, now terrified, not caring anymore. The only man he had ever loved was obviously in danger.
"M-Minister, Harry Potter…is…is d-d-dead." Everything went silent and Draco collapsed onto the floor.
Harry finished his letter, sealed it, and set it aside. He was not done; there were still things he had to do. With quivering hands, he groomed himself. He pulled on his old Auror robes and looked at himself in the mirror. He took a deep breath and apparated. The cottage looked the same as the first time he had been there. It was nice, neat, with little hints of messiness that suggested a certain red haired man also inhabited the place. The inhabitants of the cottage were sitting in the living room, sipping tea and chattering away about their lives. Two children ran around the room, laughing gleefully. The older of the two spotted Harry and she squealed.
"Rose! Rose, calm down what's…Harry." Harry looked at Ron Weasely, tears brimming in his eyes. He had missed his best friend dearly.
"Honey, darling is everything—", Hermione did not finish here question as she stared, dumbstruck at the new house guest.
"Hi guys," Harry said in a choked voice. The two friends flung themselves at Harry, wrapping him in a tight hug.
"Harry! Oh my god," The both rambled about things, but Harry was not listening, he simply took it all in. He felt their love and tried his best to reciprocate it.
"Come, stay a while, we'll have tea, we can, we can…" Ron trailed off, beaming at the sight of his best friend.
"I'm sorry, I can't stay. I just came to say hello, to meet my god children, just so I can…know that I've done this. I'm sorry for everything I've put you through. I love you…and when you see Ginny and everyone else…can you tell them…can you tell them that I'm sorry. I love you all, I really do. Goodbye." Without waiting for a response, Harry apparated back to his flat. With his scores settled, he dumped all his alcohol down the drain, cleaned the house one last time. Finally, he grabbed the letter he had put aside earlier that day, tying it to the barn owl's leg.
"Don't deliver it to him until he hears the news of my death, okay?" The owl blinked, gave a soft hoot, and flew out the window.
The owl tapped at the window as Draco stared absently at the old photograph. He walked like a zombie to let the owl in. It swooped in, dropping the letter on the desk and swooped at. Draco took the letter and almost dropped it, seeing the return address. He stared at the letter for a long time, contemplating opening it. Then, with trembling hands, he tore the seal and removed and unfolded the letter tenderly, holding his breath all the while.
Dear Draco,
I feel as if I am an old man, writing this to you in a future where you don't exist. It's been a very long time since I've felt your skin against mine. I remember how you smell. I still have that handkerchief you gave me. Do you remember that?—
Draco laughed, because he did remember that. It seemed so long ago…
"You're a prat," Draco laughed, as Harry teased him with swaying hips and wandering fingers.
"Oh Draco, you wound me," Harry responded, sarcastically.
"Here wipe your tears with this," Draco said dryly, handing Harry a dark green handkerchief with silver embroidery.
"I could wipe tears with it," He agreed, taking the silken piece of fabric, "Or, when I go home tonight, I could use it while I wan—" Draco cut him off with a loud laugh, shoving Harry away from him.
"Harry! You're terrible!" He scolded, laughing.
"Yeah, but you love it."
Draco shook the memory from his head, feeling tears streak down his cheeks. He continued to read;
I remember everyday I've ever spent with you. I remember those nights we'd spend out on the terrace of your summer home in France. You always wanted to make love there, so that everyone could see it. I remember how you feel, Draco. The softness of your skin, the tightness of your heat, I remember it all. If I could have it all again, I would. I remember the first time you asked me to make love on the terrace; I remember how much I didn't want to
Draco laughed again, because he remembered that too. He remembered how beautiful Harry looked that first night. He remembered just how desperately he had wanted him.
"Someone's excited," Harry muttered against Draco's lips as eager hands made away with his clothes.
"I want you so badly Harry, but not here," He said, gesturing to the bedroom Harry's grin turned wicked and he ground his hips down onto Draco's. Draco groaned in approval, arching his back to be closer to the friction.
"Where do you want it then, Draco?" Harry asked, his voice husky, almost a growl. Draco shivered and pointed to the doors that led out to the terrace.
"What? Draco, no, I thought you meant the kitchen or the bathroom, not the terrace," Harry said, suddenly stepping away from Draco.
"Please Harry," Draco begged.
"No, people will see us," Harry argued, a blush creeping up on his cheeks.
"I want people to see us." Harry gasped, and the tone of Draco's voice made it impossible to say no. He yanked Draco out onto the terrace and made quick work of stripping him.
He leaned him over the fence and fell to his knees. Draco looked down at the people on the street, some of them glancing up in surprise at the show they were putting on, some ignoring them, others shamelessly watching. He gasped as he felt Harry's tongue dip into his tight heat. He moaned and pushed his hips back against his face. Draco forgot about the people on the ground.
"Harry, now…No! No fingers, I need you now," Draco mewled. Harry moaned at the tone of Draco's voice and slowly eased himself into his heat. They both groaned when Harry thrust into him, finding his prostate right away. Their moans filled the night air as they began to move faster and faster, more desperately, more perfectly.
"Oh God Harry, oh god! Fuck! H-Harry, l-look, they're watching us," Draco moaned, looking at the people down on the street. Harry growled, grabbing Draco's throbbing dick, which made Draco cry out.
"Good, let them watch," He growled, "Let them know you're…mine!" Harry almost shouted the last part, filling Draco with his seed as he worked Draco to the edge.
"Oh Harry," Draco choked as he exploded all over Harry's hand.
"I love you, Draco Malfoy, and now everybody knows it." Draco purred and nodded.
"I love you too."
Draco could not help but sob this time. The tears he had been holding in, flowed out, dripping onto the letter in his shaking hand. He swallowed thickly and wiped the tears away. He forced himself to read on.
I remember everything. I remember the night it all fell apart…
Draco shook his head, the tears coming in a fresh, powerful wave.
"You want to run for Minister of Magic? But…I thought you wanted to go to the country, I thought we would travel," Harry said, feeling his heart break a little.
"Harry, I need my self-respect back. People used to love my family, I used to mean something. I want to mean something again. I want everybody to love me again," Draco stated firmly.
"You mean something to me," Harry whispered.
"That's not enough."
"I'm not enough?" Harry choked, feeling the tears spring.
"No…you know that's not what I mean. But that's not what I came here to talk about, I've made my decision. I've already put in my name at the ministry. I'm in the running. I came here…I'm so sorry Harry…but the wizarding world isn't ready for a gay minister. I can't keep you in the closet forever…plus, I'll need a son to take on my legacy, so…we can't be together anymore. I-I'm breaking up with you."
"No! No, but, Draco, please! No, no, no, no! Don't do this to me." Draco ignored his pleas, and apparated back to his flat where he, promptly, broke down.
"If I could go back," Draco whispered to the letter, "I'd do it all again. I'd love you like I should have." He read on.
So you got what you wanted. Your son, he's beautiful, he looks so much like you. Maybe one day, you can tell him about me. I wish I could have met him. Maybe, in some other dimension, he would have been ours. Tell Astoria that I wish you two the best. You don't have to go to my funeral if you don't want to. I know it'd hurt too much. Or would it? Maybe you don't even care about me anymore. Maybe you've forgotten me like the rest of the world. Maybe you're not even reading this letter.
I'm happy for you Draco. You have everything you've ever wanted. Everybody loves you now. Just know that, I loved you first. I still love you…I'll always love you. I know you're past feeling the same way about me. I'm so happy for you, my love. You're rich, famous, and beautiful. Everybody Loves You Now. Is it everything you dreamed it would be?
"No," Draco whispered in answer to the question.
I love you, Draco. Maybe, someday, we'll see each other again.
Love,
Harry Potter
"Everybody loves you now," Draco said aloud. "Oh, Harry, they can never love me like you loved me."
"I know." A whisper whooshed through the room, sending papers flying everywhere. Draco's heart skipped and the tears dried on his cheeks.
"I'll always love you," The whisper blew Draco's hair back this time and Draco smiled a small, sad smile. The window blew open and Draco knew that he was gone. Draco's eyes dampened again. Everybody loves me now, he though somberly, but I don't love everybody…goodbye, Harry…my love.