AN: Ok, typical mumbo jumbo. I do not own any of these characters, with the exception of around 3 original characters who you will meet later in the story. All of the storylines and characters belong to the ever brilliant J.K Rowling. This is simply an homage to her phenomenal work.

This fic is slightly AU. There are characters not dead that died in canon, and the epilogue is completely ignored. I also take creative license to have the characters have grown since school in a way that fits the tale I am weaving. I hope you can forgive me for that if it does not fit your mental image of who they would have become.

Also, a little warning. This is going to be a Harry/Draco relationship with complete with shameless flirting, lots of gooey romance, pre slash, and possible slash later in thr story. So, if any of these concepts disturb you, I would get out now. Currently the rating is set to T for drinking, adult language, dark topics, hints of sex, and sexy scenes. Though there is a chance it will get upped to M later (probably will) at my personal discretion.

And last but not least, I want to give all the thank's in the world to my wonderful beta indeerah. Without her help, this story would not be everything that it is today.

So, without further ado, please enjoy Can't Go On.

Chapter 1

It was 4:30 in the morning when Draco shot up in bed. He was dripping with sweat and could feel a lump swelling in the back of his throat. Another nightmare had woken him out of a dead sleep, and though that wasn't the first time that had happened lately, this nightmare had been more hellish than he was used to. It had been 5 years since the war, and for the most part life in the wizarding world had gone back to some semblance of normal. Most people had been able to go back to their homes and families, even as broken as they were. People had jobs to attend to, school to complete, and lives that had to move forward. Yet for some, the nightmares of what had happened, of what they had done, would continue for the rest of their lives. Draco was one of those people. Nearly every night since the war the nightmares had been the same, just with different names, different faces, and different screams. Though he would never admit it to anyone, he deeply regretted everything he had done while the Dark Lord was in power. He had never really wanted to hurt anyone, much less torture them. All he had wanted was to be someone else, with a different lineage and a different fate-to be able to make his own mistakes. But, as it had been, he was a Malfoy, and that meant he had two choices: take the Dark Mark and face the horrors that would ensue, or abandon his family for the Golden Boy's side, and face the horrors that that would entail. His choice had always been clear.

As he shook his head to clear the last of the dark images from his mind left over from a less than pleasant slumber, he took a second to take in his surroundings. Through the darkness he took in the few items he had left. A few books on hexes from his family library, a handful of sweaters and pants, and a set of silver and green sheets that were more worn than his mother would have ever approved of. Though his path had been clear while the Dark Lord was in power, as soon as the war ended he got a choice. Because his mother had lied about Harry Potter being dead, his family was spared any kind of real punishment for their actions. He was able to return to Hogwarts to finish his education and live his life as closely to normal as possible. That was the theory, of course. But things were not the same as they had always been. At school he was tormented by those who still saw him as the enemy. In classes his every action was analyzed to ensure he wasn't going to cause anyone harm. Even at home his parents didn't look at him in the same way, with a hollowness in their eyes that betrayed the emptiness left in their soul that had never been there before the war. And with everything that his mother had told him during his last year at Hogwarts, he knew he no longer had a place in her home. For this reason he decided that once he finished school, he would disappear. So one day, long after his parents had gone to bed, he grabbed whatever he could fit in one bag, and closed the Manor doors for the last time. If his parents ever tried to find him or contact him, he didn't know. He had disappeared, and that was exactly how he liked it.

Realizing there was no chance of getting back to sleep now, he decided with a sigh that he might as well get moving for the day. With a quick wave of his wand he brightened the room to a dull glow. His head was pounding entirely too hard from the lack of sleep lately to handle the bright fluorescence of the all too harsh muggle light hanging from the ceiling. He couldn't help but wonder how people so ordinary had even managed to survive in the world. Throwing open the door of his room, he peered into the only other real room in the small apartment he had procured just north of downtown London. Despite his desire to get away, he couldn't convince himself to go too far away from the city he had loved visiting as a child. His apartment was small to say the least. It had just enough room to fit a television on a stand with some drawers to hold various odds and ends, a small wooden coffee table he had taken to using for everything, a decent sized black felt couch big enough for three, and a couple of chairs that came close to matching. Off to the left was the kitchen. With a small fridge, two burners, a microwave, and a sink, it was a far cry from the elaborate kitchen his mother had insisted upon in his grandiose home despite never once cooking. But what he had as he looked around was really all he needed. Not that he could have afforded more.

After starting a pot of coffee, Draco opened the fridge to stare absentmindedly at eggs, a few slices of bread, old cheese, and muggle beer on the shelves. "Shit," he thought to himself, shaking his head dejectedly. Though he had known full well upon opening the fridge how empty it would be, he had hoped that some magic would have filled it while he slept. Having not been able to take a house elf with him, things like cooking, cleaning, and shopping had become his responsibility. And he wasn't very good at it. But his stomach felt like it was gnawing at him, so he would have to make due with what he had and go to the store in Diagon Alley later. All these mundane tasks had been so incredibly foreign to him when he first arrived. He didn't know the first thing about finding a place to live or cooking a meal, and spent most of his first few months at the Leaky Cauldron in a room with damp air that smelled mostly of dragon's breath. His meals were few and far between and he had spent entirely too much money on firewhisky and nettle wine. But that was nearly a year ago now. Eventually he found an apartment in a wizarding community dotted with the occasional muggle. It was less than ideal, but Draco didn't have the ability to be as pretentious in location choice as he normally would have been. and a job writing stories under the pseudonym Reginald Rybeck for a local tabloid-style paper that ran stories such as "Aliens: The New Wizards?" and "Godric Gryffindor Found Alive in Manchester Pub!" Though he wasn't proud of the distance from glory he had fallen, it paid 150 Galleons a week and ensured no one would ever find him.

But on cold October mornings such as this one, as the loneliness crept into the corners of his mind like a heavy fog, he wondered if that was what he really wanted. He was alone in this world. Aside from the occasional owl between himself and Pansy Parkinson, with whom he had become much closer after the war, he rarely saw or talked to anyone. Having to only go to work once a week to turn in his stories, and Diagon Alley a few times a month for food and supplies, most of his time was spent at home reading or watching the television set he had happened upon in a muggle store. Their idea of humor and entertainment was crude and unintelligent to say the least, but he couldn't help but be sucked into the monotony of it all when it was early and his dreams kept him awake. Normally it was enough, but on these lonely mornings, as he sipped his coffee and watched the sky turning a slightly brighter shade of gray, he realized how truly alone he really was.

After finishing up his admittedly pathetic excuse for a breakfast, he decided he might as well get ready for the day ahead of him. Glancing at the clock, he saw it was nearly 6:30. The Leaky Cauldron would be open in around 2 hours, and the rest of the shops shortly thereafter. Pulling himself into the bathroom, he caught a glance of himself in the mirror. 'Fuck I look awful,' he said as he looked himself over. He had lost a lot of weight since moving here, and he had stopped taking as good of care of his skin and hair. Throughout school his hair was generally slicked back, while now it fell in his eyes and had a dishwater color in the otherwise platinum locks. His porcelain skin had become ashy and sullen and the circles under his eyes became deeper and more sunken by the day. 'Look at you now, the great Draco Malfoy. Bet the girls are clamoring to be with you like this.' He couldn't help sighing audibly, realizing that this was why his bed had been lonely for so in the shower, he decided to try to clean himself up today. He took longer than usual scrubbing his skin and hair, and when he got out he tried to make himself look presentable. He let his now shiny hair fall across his forehead, and he stood up straight. After slipping into some dark jeans and an emerald green sweater, he realized he looked better. Though there was little he could do about his sleep strained eyes, he had a hint of the dignity and pride he used to carry himself with. He could almost pass for his old self, and after all he didn't need people feeling sorry for him or knowing he was no longer well off. Deciding he looked good enough, he slipped on a black pea coat, and with a gentle pop he was in front of the pub he briefly called home.

As he pushed opened the doors, he was greeted with the all too familiar smell of butterbeer, sherry, and corned beef wafting out from the back. He hated to admit it, but this place had become his home away from home as of late. It was too dingy for his family or friends, and if he sat in the back booth, not even the occasional old classmate would notice him.

"Good mornin', Draco. Mighty early for you to be wandering on in. What can I get ya?" Tom asked from behind the bar, as he dried glasses with a rag Draco doubted was clean. Though he tried for total anonymity, when you stay somewhere for a while, people are bound to notice and remember you are there. But Tom was nice enough and always left him be. He never pried into his patrons private lives, which was something Draco highly prized right now.

"Oh, just the usual," Draco responded casually. When he had first arrived he had made quite a fuss about being a prat to everyone and acting entitled, as if the world owed him something. Though Tom had never given him crap for it, he also never enabled it. But the longer Draco was away from his father, the less he felt the need to verbally assault everything with a pulse.

"Firewhiskey on the rocks it is then." Taking a sip of his whiskey, he felt the burn trickle down the back of his throat. It was exactly that burn that he looked for, knowing it would help shake the cold of the morning air and the last memories of the shadow left over from last nights dreams. He knew it was a bit early in the morning to be drinking, but honestly, who was going to judge him? As he finished his first drink and ordered another, he heard a familiar voice entering the pub. He turned around and saw the last people he could have ever wanted to see.

"Harry, I just don't think we are going to find anything here. Hermione is so finicky about her jewelry and this is sort of an important decision, ya know?" Ron Weasley spoke slightly frantically as he hung his coat on a hook near the door. "I mean, I need to buy a ring to make the girl want to marry me, not a book to learn new spells. That would be an easy buy, just find the longest most boring sounding one they have. Can't do that with an engagement ring."

Draco cursed to himself, not wanting to be noticed by these two, of all people. He slipped his hood on and sunk back into the shadows of his booth and waited as they sat at the bar and ordered two butterbeers. The last thing he needed was Weasel-bee and Potter to notice him, or worse, try to talk to him..

"Honestly Ron, I think you are being a bit dramatic. The ring isn't why she will say yes. It's you." Potter said with an overly cheerful smile. Draco hated the way that, even after all that had happened to him, Harry managed to act like everything was fine and the world was made out of freaking sunshine. "Besides, they have some historic pieces in the new shop that just opened that I'm sure will strike her fancy. But hurry up and finish that beer, we don't need to be late for your mum's tea."

"You're right, Harry." Ron hiccupped a bit as he downed the last of his drink. "I'm just a wreck over this. I just don't want her to say no."

"Ron, you need to calm down." This was the last thing Draco heard. Their voices trailed off as they exited the pub.

Just as he had hoped, he had managed to go unnoticed. Draco huffed to himself at the thought of the Weasel and the Mudblood getting married. 'Even those two losers can find happiness, and I will be forever alone' he thought to himself, feeling even more pathetic than he had this morning. But what else could he do? After putting down the payment for his tab and downing the last of his third drink around a half hour later, Draco decided it would probably be safe to venture into the Alley now. Heading out the back door, he cautiously tapped the brick to gain access to the part of the world muggles could never believe existed. Keeping his hood up, he glanced around to make sure he didn't see anyone important that could recognize him. When he decided it was safe he headed toward the bookstore. Seeing as he had finished all of his other books and he had a bit of extra money, he decided to treat himself. When he entered the shop, the small bell above his head tinged, announcing his arrival. He headed toward the hexes section before drifting to history, self-teaching books, Occlumency, and finally fiction. Finding an action novel with a werewolf on the cover, he settled on this and a book all about Salazar Slytherin that he hadn't read yet. A Galleon and a half later, he was back out the door.

But the second he stepped outside something didn't feel right. He couldn't place his finger on it, but it felt like someone was watching him. There was an energy in the air that was all at once familiar and terrifying. Pulling his hood a bit farther down over his face, he slowly inched in the direction of the market, scanning every face he saw. With every passing second, Draco's heart beat faster. He could feel the anxiety swirling around his head. Then, just as he believed he was being overly paranoid, he spotted the woman that was giving him so much dread. Narcissa Malfoy, his mother.

His normal calm demeanor broke and he began to panic. She couldn't see him. He looked around trying to find an escape. Just to his left was a crowd that would easily draw attention to his location, behind him was the bookstore, which, to the best of his knowledge, had no other exit than that from which he came. As he slunk back into the shadows of the overhang, he knew he had mere moments to decide what to do. Then, just as he was sure he was too late, two hands shot out from the dark of an alley he hadn't noticed, one firmly over his mouth, pulling him back into the dark and preventing him from screaming. His attacker turned him around and shoved him hard into a wall. Reaching for his wand ready to fight, he looked up into the face of his apparent attacker and realized it was none other than his one-time rival. Harry Potter.