Harry will remember him like this: lips puffy and stretched in a wild grin. Draco's one drink had turned into ten and he was staggering his way onto the dance floor; grinding against another man's firm body; leaning in for a hot, heavy kiss. Harry feels sick, though he's not quite sure why. They're not exclusive - Draco made that clear the first time they were drunk enough to sleep together.
'Not,' thought Harry with a wry grin. 'that Draco would want someone as messed up as him anyways.' Harry had always understood that people used him: the Dursleys as free labour, Hermione to vent and never listen, Ron to boost his self esteem. At least Draco was upfront about it, and gave back in the form of slick sex.
Harry remembered the first time they'd seen each other in the bleary morning light, and Draco had traced the thin, silver scars that crisscrossed his back. "Where are these from Potter?" he'd asked absently, as though the answer were obvious. Harry almost lied out of reflex, then took Draco in - blearily gazing with no real interest - and tried to provoke a reaction. "My uncle." he said. "Hmm." replied Draco, then went back to sleep.
Harry listened more intently when Draco ranted about his father's expectations, or his mother calling him too often; absorbed the information though he had no idea why.
"Have you told him?" Harry asked one evening, as Draco ate their takeout. "Told him what?" asked Draco, brow furrowed in confusion, and for once with no bite. "That you like men." Draco spluttered in response. "Don't be ridiculous Potter," he spat at last. "I'm not some - some sort of fag."
Harry ignored the pang of pain that shot through him; Dudley had said much worse after all.
One night Draco came over in a blind rage: shattered the table Harry had picked up secondhand, and knocked over the bookcase. He knelt on his haunches, looking more broken than Harry had ever seen, as tears streamed down his face.
"I'm engaged," croaked Draco at last. "to Astoria Greengrass."
Harry pressed his hand comfortingly on Draco's. "You don't have to - " he began softly. The hand was knocked harshly off, as Draco whirled away. "Don't have to?" Draco mimicked, laughing. It was a cruel, broken little thing, nothing like the streams when they danced and Harry tripped over himself.
"I have no choice. None. I'm nothing without his money." said Draco, and for once Harry could offer no comfort, because it was true. Draco stared up at him, looking for all the world like a lost child, but Harry couldn't offer him direction.
Instead, he lay Draco down on the bed and took off his shoes, then curled up next to him. Draco was gone in the morning, with no dramatic announcement of his departure. Harry waited for him to come back, because without their twisted version of love he too would be nothing. Still that freak in the cupboard. But Draco never did.
Notes: AN: Many fics seem to gloss over the fact that both Draco and Harry have issues that would result in an unhealthy relationship. I tried to show how although I love them together, it could have also a pretty tragic ending.
