Dizziness was threatening to overtake Draco as Potter led him to the hospital wing. Right outside the doors to the infirmary, Draco's head began to spin even faster, and he leaned all the more heavily into Potter.

"Woah, hey, stay awake," came Potter's surprisingly gentle voice. "Do that for me, yeah?"

Draco found himself clinging onto that voice in a vice grip like a child on a rope swing.

With Draco leaned against him and pain flashing through his ribs and shoulders, Potter pushed open the door to the infirmary. Draco could see that Pomfrey was attending to a patient, but at the sound of the doors opening her head shot up.

"Oh, dear, what's happened?" she asked, rushing over to them. Draco tensed up in Potter's grip. He felt Potter's hand tighten around his waist in response.

"Stinging hexes to the shoulders and a few broken ribs," said Potter clinically, and Draco wanted to hex his balls off. He could relay his own injuries, damnit! Although in his current state, he couldn't summon the energy to cast Potter so much as a glare so he all but deflated in his grip, breathing raggedly and wincing every few moments.

"Alright, Mr. Malfoy, let's get you all fixed up," said Madam Pomfrey. "Thank you for bringing him, Mr. Potter. I can take it from here."

"But-"

"I said I can take it from here." Her tone was final.

Potter sighed and released his grip of Draco, who staggered into Promfrey's waiting arms.

"When can I come back to see him?" asked Potter as Pomfrey led Draco over to a vacant bed, and what?

Pomfrey gave him an odd look, gaze flitting between him and Draco before saying, "My visiting hours are posted outside the doors."

"Right. Thank you." And then he was gone, and Draco was more confused than ever as Pomfrey began her assessment of him.

She coaxed pain potions down his throat, and waited until he was good and sated to begin the line of questioning.

"Who did this to you, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I don't know."

"I'm going to ask you again. Who did this to you?"

"I said I don't know."

Pomfrey sighed. "I understand you don't want to drag anybody's name into it. But you need to understand that at Hogwarts we have a zero bullying tolerance. If you let this go unpunished, those people will go around thinking it's okay to attack innocent people, and will inflict pain onto others. You have a responsibility to confess."

But Draco wasn't innocent, not by a long shot. How could he get her to see that?

"I'm not innocent," he said darkly, with a dry chuckle. "I hurt people." I deserve to be hurt.

Pomfrey looked at him with a mixture of pity and sadness in her eyes. "Mr. Malfoy, you certainly won't be if you let them get away with this."

Draco toyed with the sheets, beginning to feel drowsy from the potions. His eyes fluttered closed. He fought to keep them open.

"I'll let you rest," said Pomfrey. "Headmistress McGonagall will want to have a word with you when you wake up."

Dread coursed through his stomach. McGonagall meant questions, and questions ultimately meant confessing because the way Pomfrey had laid it out, what choice did he have? He'd be making himself vulnerable to more attacks if he did, but he'd be making himself the villain if he didn't.

What was he supposed to do?

Fitful sleep overtook him, and his dreams were plagued with red slits for eyes and screams of Muggleborns and the force of his own wand shaking from the curse.

When McGonagall came to see him, exhaustion hung from the rings of his eyes and he felt bleary and dazed, even if the pain in his ribs had somewhat subsided.

"Mr. Malfoy," greeted McGonagall, face pinched in a tight frown. "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances."

"I wish I didn't have half the school after me just for existing," Draco joked, though it came out dryer than he'd intended.

McGonagall's eyes softened.

"That's what I came here to talk to you about, Mr. Malfoy," she said. "As I'm sure Madam Pomfrey has informed you, we do not take kindly to bullying. Of any capacity. I understand your apprehension in confessing who has injured you, but I believe that it is for your safety as well as the school's that we see to whoever hurt you and have them punished."

"That's just the thing, headmistress," said Draco, willing his voice not to sound so weak, "as soon as I tell, I'll be punished. Endlessly. For telling. He'll talk to all his friends and I'll never see the end of it, he'll-"

"He won't hurt you so long as we don't let him," said McGonagall. "I will punish him strongly enough to send the message that he isn't to hurt you, or anyone else at this school, ever again. Physical violence is no joking matter, Mr. Malfoy, and it concerns me that you're taking this so lightly."

"Do you really think I provoked Dean and Seamus and Justin?" Draco asked, voice small. McGonagall's eyes widened.

"Mr. Malfoy, that matter is closed. You are to serve detentions with me for the remainder of the year, as you have been doing, and that is all I wish to speak on the matter."

"But I didn't provoke them," Draco pleaded, unsure whether it was the potions or a newfound sense of urgency that was making him do this, "They attacked me unprovoked, knowing my wand was deficient. Potter told them. Guess he wanted to see me get hurt."

"Mr. Potter would never do something like that."

"Well, then maybe you don't know our saviour as well as you thought you did."

"Mr. Malfoy, we are here to talk about you. And what happened today. I'm going to give you another chance to tell me, as it is very important and may very well affect another person's wellbeing."

Draco scoffed. "Please. I know who they're after."

"You think they're after just you?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." McGonagall appeared to be in thought. "It isn't an outrageous claim, considering your family's contributions in the war."

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Pieces coming together yet?

"And it makes sense why you keep getting attacked."

Because I'm a lowlife piece of shit who deserves to die?

"But what's escaping me is why they resorted to such violent means, Mr. Malfoy."

Oh, come on! She couldn't seriously be thinking that he had anything to do with his attack, could she?

Draco released a shuddering breath. "H-His parents were killed. In the war. And his sister was tortured to insanity."

McGonagall's face relaxed in understanding. "I see."

"H-He called m-me a Death Eater, s-said the Kiss was too kind a punishment for me."

Well, you were one. Weren't you?

McGonagall gasped quietly. "So he verbally assaulted you as well."

Draco found himself nodding, even though he'd sworn he wouldn't tell. To his dismay and embarrassment, he felt his eyes begin to sting. His breathing picked up, and he tried to take another deep breath before remembering he was still physically incapable, and that just only made the panting worse. He needed to breathe.

"Mr. Malfoy, it appears you need a calming draught. I'm going to fetch you one. I'll be right back."

When McGonagall returned with the vial, Draco took it from her and gulped its contents down greedily.

"There you go," she said soothingly. "That's better."

Draco waited a moment for the potion to start taking effect, and the results were nearly instantaneous. He felt himself begin to relax head to toe, and the tension that was rooted in his shoulders rapidly eased until it dissipated altogether. He still couldn't breathe deep, but he could breathe slower, now that he was not on the cusp of panic, so he managed a few slow breaths. He felt himself sink into the pillows.

"Now, Mr. Malfoy," said McGonagall, though her voice sounded like it was far away, "what is his name?"

"Whose? Whose name?"

"The one who attacked you." She spoke very delicately. "What is his name?"

Draco hesitated only a moment before saying, "Dennis Parsons."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "I see."

"Let me guess," said Draco. "Model student, top of his class, highest marks of the Ravenclaw sixth years."

McGonagall looked grim. "You would be correct on all accounts, yes."

Draco sighed. "It's always the ones who are least likely to do it, you know. Sometimes, that's why they do it. Teachers never suspect the smart ones."

"No, I suppose not. Though, you've created quite a name for yourself here through bullying, and you're second best in your year."

Draco felt like someone had taken his heart and squished it. He didn't let any of that show, though, only chuckling good naturedly. "All in the past, I assure you. I have no interest in bullying anybody now."

"That's good to hear," said McGonagall, and she sounded like she meant it.

It didn't register to Draco that he shouldn't have said Parsons' name, that he was under the influence of the calming draught and McGonagall must have done that on purpose knowing it was the only way to get him to open up. He only sank further into the bliss of relaxation, and chatted amicably with McGonagall until she decided it was time for her to leave.

"But we were having such a nice conversation," Draco said sadly. "Do I really still have to come see you for detention every week? Every week? Doesn't that seem a bit excessive?"

McGonagall gave him a look like she was trying very hard not to chuckle. "You need to rest. I will see you later, Mr. Malfoy."

And with a swish of her robes she was gone.

"You have a visitor, Mr. Malfoy," Madam Pomfrey said the next morning. His ribs were mostly healed, the pain in his shoulders had subsided, and his black eye had been completely vanished. He was going to be discharged that afternoon once Pomfrey finished the remaining work on his ribs.

Draco felt himself brighten up. He'd been bored out of his mind, and worrying himself sick over his confession to McGonagall. Parsons was surely to come for him twice as hard now that he'd told, and he didn't think he was prepared to face any of it.

"Who is it?" Draco asked, assuming it would be Pansy or Theo. Turns out, it was neither. Turns out, it was Potter. He stood in the frame of Draco's bed, and Draco felt an instant parallel to the last time Potter had seen him like this. A stab of hurt pierced through him when he realized that Potter still sided with Finch-Fletchley and the others, thinking that Draco had started the attack when in reality he had done everything to avoid it. With that in mind, worrying that Potter would think similarly about this attack, Draco tensed up, and put on his best mask of indifference that he possibly could.

"Hello, Potter," he said icily.

Potter's smile diminished instantly, and he took a step closer to Draco's bed. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know. About as good as someone who broke half their ribs can feel."

Potter sighed. He ran a hand through his impossibly messy, dark brown curls. "You don't have to make every interaction between us so hard, you know. There's an easier way to talk."

"How do you suppose I do that?"

"By, oh I don't know, maybe not insulting me every breath you take? That'd be a start."

Draco fisted the sheets tightly, wishing he could just disappear. Potter was seeing him at a vulnerable moment, and he didn't like it one bit. He needed to regain the upper hand in this situation.

"But you make it so easy," Draco said, and fuck that hadn't been meant to make the prat smile. Potter gestured to the far corner of his bed.

"May I?" he asked.

Draco found himself nodding before his tongue could form the word no.

"I was pretty worried about you, when I found you," said Potter, and fuck. Why? Why? Why?

"W-Why?"

Potter's expression softened. "Because you were really hurt. Someone . . . wanted to hurt you, and that's . . . that's . . . That's wrong, Malfoy."

Again, they were back to his saviour complex. It was wrong on principle, not because it was Draco who Parsons had hurt.

"You're only concerned where this scratches your itch to be the hero," Draco said coldly. "You don't care about me, and I don't appreciate you coming in here and making a whole big spectacle out of a few broken ribs."

Potter looked as though he were about to fall off the bed. "You . . . you think I don't care? Really, Malfoy?"

"Why would you?" Draco asked him, tone coming out harsher than he'd intended. Potter flinched. "What's there to care about?" he asked, quieter.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

"Is that really how you feel?" Potter asked, matching his tone and leaning in closer to Draco, who shuddered from the proximity. "That you're not worth caring about?"

"Well, I-I'm- That's not what I- Well, no," Draco stammered weakly, stumbling over his words and desperately attempting to sort them in some sort of way that would smear that stupid, sad look off Potter's face.

"It's just . . . I'm . . . I did things. In the war. Bad things. Unforgivable things. It's understandable that the student body isn't the most happy with me."

"You didn't have a choice," Potter said softly, sounding nothing short of livid, but somehow Draco knew it wasn't directed at him. "You didn't have a fucking choice. If those people knew half the things you went through just to survive, they'd leave you the fuck alone, I'm sure of it."

Draco was a reasonable man. And reasonable men listened to what others had to say, even if others' opinions weren't super valuable to them. Now, Potter had just told him that he hadn't had a choice.

What was he supposed to do with that?

"I did, though," Draco argued, pushing himself up to sit up straighter against his pillows. "I chose to impress my father. I chose to make my family proud. I chose to make him proud."

Potter looked for a moment like he was going to be sick. "If you think to any capacity that was a choice, then I can deem you certifiably insane."

Now Draco was the one who felt like he was going to throw up. "It was, though," he said quietly.

Potter sighed. "Was it something you wanted?"

Draco instantly felt himself harden. He shuttered back up, rapidly, and put on his best sneer.

"What's it to you, Potter?" he asked. "What do you care about what I wanted? For all you know, I wanted it more than anything in the world."

"You don't mean that," said Potter calmly. "But the way you flaunted it about in sixth year could've fooled anyone."

And oh, that was so unfair Draco wanted to cry.

"You want to talk about want?" cried Draco shrilly. "Do you t-think I wanted to cast Cruciatus on all those innocent people? To sneak the Lovegood girl food while I slowly watched her starve? To watch a professor get eaten alive? To g-give up any chance at a good life, ever, all because my father wasn't quite evil enough? Huh? Do you think I did?"

Potter stared at him, mouth agape, eyes wide. The familiar stinging in Draco's eyes was starting to come back, and this was dangerous territory, very dangerous.

"I-I think it's best if you left," he said thickly.

"Malfoy, that's . . . I didn't-"

"Know? Yeah, got that much. Go."

But Potter didn't go. He sat stubbornly on the edge of Draco's bed, toying with the linen. His hand very nearly grazed Draco's knee. Strangely enough, Draco didn't tell him to stop.

"Y'know, I saw into Voldemort's mind when Charity got eaten. I saw that whole thing. I saw you."

Draco looked up at him, startled, expecting him to say anything but that.

"Y-You did?"

"I did. You weren't wearing the face of someone who wanted to be there."

"But I-"

"Wore a mask, I know." And what Potter was saying really, really unnerved Draco. What else did he know about him that he wasn't letting on?

"You did such a good job of covering up that you didn't want to be there that you almost fooled me. Almost. Then I looked into your eyes. They were swimming, full of life. The rest of you looked dead. That was the difference. It was your eyes."

Draco felt his own eyes widen at this admission, spoken so softly with such reverence. Potter's fingers ghosted his knee, and he nearly jumped a foot in the air, stifling a gasp.

"You looked . . . so trapped. And at the time I was so consumed by the memory itself and my own fear, that I didn't . . . I didn't help you."

"It wasn't your responsibility to help me," said Draco.

"I could've done something. You were clearly struggling, and instead of helping you I sliced you to ribbons."

Draco shuddered. Just thinking about that night, one of the worst of his life, caused him to tense and well up. He'd known that Potter had hated him, but he hadn't thought Potter hated him that much.

"It was an accident, you know. I never told you that."

Wait, what?

Draco's fingers tightened in the sheets. He froze, eyes locked with Potter's. Those green eyes were fixed right at him, and he felt as though he were under a spotlight all of a sudden.

"W-What?"

"I . . ." Potter sighed deeply. "I didn't mean to harm you as much as I did with the spell. I got it out of a book, and it said 'for enemies.' I had no idea . . . I'd never used it before, and I thought I could just teach you a lesson and scare you off . . . I didn't know it would do that, Malfoy, I swear I didn't."

Draco felt something akin to hope bloom in his chest. Potter hadn't been trying to kill him. Potter hadn't been trying to kill him. Potter may have hated him, but he didn't hate him that much.

"Nice to know you don't hate me as much as I thought you did," Draco said lightly, going for a nice jest to counter the somber atmosphere. But it didn't take, apparently, for it only deepened Potter's frown.

"Do you really think I still hate you? After everything?"

He had saved Draco's life. Twice. And visited him in the hospital wing last time he'd been here, taken Draco to the kitchens when he'd fainted, held his hands in the bathroom and talked him down from a panic attack . . .

"I-I dunno," said Draco, feeling very shaken all of a sudden. This was a lot of information for his over exhausted mind to process. "It's hard for me to tell . . . sometimes you're so . . . so . . . nice, and other times it's like I can't even read you at all."

"You're one to talk," said Potter, though he kept his tone gentle. "You can say as many rude things to me as you want, but as soon as I say one thing to you that's out of line, you retreat and it's game over. And talk about hard to read! You're probably the hardest person I've ever had to read. I never know what's going through that head of yours."

Draco cradled the linen with his fingers, thumbing the fabric and running it through his hands to distract himself.

"I don't know what your motives are," Draco said, "or why you're helping me. Why did you bring me here, Potter? You could have left me on that step and laughed about it with Weasley, which is what I'm sure you would've done any time before this strange year where you aren't acting like yourself."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you thought you did," said Potter. "And as to why I helped you? Simple. You were hurt, and needed someone. I happened to be there. Is that really so hard for you to process, that you're just as deserving of basic human compassion as everybody else?"

Draco blinked in shock. "I-That's not-"

"And why does everything always have to turn into some complicated question?" continued Potter, sounding the tiniest bit frustrated. Draco shrank into the pillows. "You always ask why I do what I do; can't the answer that I do it just because it's the thing to do be enough?"

Draco had to bite his lip to keep it from wobbling. He felt incredibly hurt. Of course Potter was only helping him because it was the thing to do. He was another charity for Potter to cross off his list before he moved onto the next one. Why did Draco let himself for a second think differently?

"Of course," Draco said calmly, and Potter cocked an eyebrow at him. "You only helped me because it was the thing to do. It was silly of me to think otherwise."

"Otherwise- what do you mean, otherwise?"

"Oh, I dunno, that you . . . that you . . . helped me because it was me who needed help."

Draco was surprised he was able to admit the words aloud. He blamed it on the calming draught, which wasn't doing very much to calm him if his racing, pounding heart was any proof to go by.

"We already talked about this, Malfoy," said Potter, but to Draco's knowledge, they'd gotten interrupted before Potter had officially answered him. If Potter wanted to play safe ball and avoid the question, Draco wouldn't push him.

"This isn't some saviour complex or charity case. I helped you because you needed help. That's all there is to it. Honest."

He sounded so sincere, so innocent, that Draco wanted to throw himself on the boy and hug him until he crushed him. But since that was an option and he preferred leaving the hospital wing with his wand intact, he settled for smiling up at Potter and shrugging his shoulders.

"I can accept that." The words nearly killed him, but for Potter he would try.

Potter opened his mouth to speak, but before any words came out he heard voices.

"Draco! Draco!"

Pansy and Greg ran up to his bed, but reeled back at the sight of Potter.

"What are you doing here?" Pansy asked him, none too kindly.

"I brought him in yesterday. I wanted to check and make sure he was okay," said Potter, standing up.

"Well, he's clearly fine, so you can scram," said Greg coldly. Potter took one last fleeting glance at Draco, before saying, "I'll see you around, Malfoy," and leaving.

Draco found that where he should have been grateful for his friends to "rescue" him from Potter and come see him, he was annoyed and disappointed at having been interrupted.

"What happened to you?" Pansy asked.

"I figured you were here when you didn't come home last night," said Greg.

"It was nothing," Draco lied. "Just a few stinging hexes to the shoulders and a few broken ribs. I'm right as rain now."

"Who did this?" asked Greg.

"Dennis Parsons. Ravenclaw sixth year."

"That bastard," seethed Pansy. "He'll pay for this. You talked to McGonagall, right?"

"She about forced me to. She gave me a calming draught, and under its effects I confessed who attacked me."

"I dunno how else she was gonna get you to talk, mate, to be fair," chided Greg.

"Where's Theo?" Draco asked.

"Sleeping," said Greg. "He was out all night, again. He's up to something, that's for sure. I'm beginning to believe he didn't throw all his drugs away."

"How can you say that?" exclaimed Draco, sitting up suddenly, too suddenly. The movement hurt his tender ribs. He winced in pain, and sank back into the pillows.

"Hey, just relax," Pansy soothed, reaching forward to place a hand on his shoulder and rub back and forth. "Don't stress yourself out right now."

Draco shook his head. "Stop accusing him, you guys. You have no idea how hard of a time he's had, and to imply that you think he still has the drugs goes against our entire relationship. You really think he'd lie to me like that?"

"We've known the bloke since first year, and he always comes back to bed at 10 or 11:00," said Greg. "But now, he's been up all night and sleeping all day, missing classes, exams. He's going to get in a lot of trouble when he gets caught. When, not if. Because the prat's not careful enough to cover his own tracks."

"Wait a minute," said Draco. "He didn't come home last night?"

"Nope."

What if he was with . . . Callahan?

What if it had all been a lie?

What if Callahan and Theo were seeing each other, in secret?

No. No. That was ridiculous. Callahan had raped Theo, and now Draco was being the worst boyfriend in the world yet again by doubting him.

Stupid stupid stupid-

"We need to start sending you with someone to all your classes," said Pansy.

"I'd do it, but we have classes on the opposite sides of the castle at conflicting times," said Greg. "But whenever I can, I'll do it. We won't let them hurt you again."

Draco felt spiritually lifted to have such determined friends, but at the same time he felt hopeless, like all the protection in the world wasn't going to stop the bullies from getting what they wanted.

They would not stop until Draco no longer walked the corridors of Hogwarts.

"Thank you guys for coming by," Draco said sincerely.

"Of course," said Pansy. "We weren't going to let you rot in here all by yourself. When do you leave?"

"This afternoon."

"Excellent."

"My, Theo, Draco's really done a number on you, hasn't he?" Blaise teased over dinner.

Theo's hands immediately flew to his neck to cover up the mark as Draco looked up from his plate. Theo looked nothing short of horrified, and Blaise was laughing his arse off.

"No need to look so humiliated. We all know what you lads get up to."

The gears began turning in Draco's mind. He hadn't left him a mark, not since before they'd done drugs together. That would mean-

"I've got to go," Draco said, appetite rapidly waning, as he stood up suddenly and climbed out of the bench.

"Don't be so embarrassed, Draco, it's just a love mark, now, come back!" cried Blaise half-heartedly. Draco shook his head, feeling the all-too familiar sting in the back of his eyes, before rushing out of the Great Hall. He ran all the way back to the eighth year common room, up the stairs, and into their room at the end of the hallway. He burst through the door and began tearing through Theo's belongings.

He finally found what he was looking for, hidden beneath a spare set of robes: a baggie filled with four pills. Dread coursed through his veins.

"Draco, stop!" came Theo's voice from behind him. Draco wasn't even surprised Theo had followed him all the way here. When Draco didn't stop, he felt strong hands grab his skinny arms and all but yank him away from Theo's suitcase. He cried out in pain, and struggled against the grip.

"Let me go! Let me go!"

"Let go of the drugs! Let go of them now."

"No! No! You lied to me, Theo! You lied."

Draco continued struggling in Theo's grip, and in response Theo's fingers dug deep into Draco's biceps hard enough to bruise.

"S-Stop it," Draco pleaded, clutching the drugs close to his chest.

"Not until you give me back what's mine."

"What about Callahan?" Draco asked. "Did you fuck him? Did you tell him the same things you told me?"

"Draco, give me the fucking drugs."

"Or else what."

Theo spun him around and slapped him square across the face. Gasping, Draco dropped the baggie as his shaking hands reached up to cover his face. The familiar stinging was back in full force, and this time it did not relent. A tear escaped his eye and slid slowly down his cheek, almost in slow motion.

"You had no right going through my things like that, Draco."

Another tear escaped, and then another, and before long Draco was full-on crying in front of his boyfriend who had just hit him.

"Hey, hey now, none of that." Theo gathered the trembling form into his arms, and pressed a firm kiss atop his head. "You know I love you, right? I love you."

"S-Stop," Draco pleaded. "You don't love me."

"Yes, I do. You think I enjoyed sleeping with Callahan? You think he's a better lay than you? I did this for us, so we could be happy together. I got these for us, so we could have another magical night together. Don't you want that, Draco? Wouldn't that make you happy?"

"No. No, no." Draco shook his head firmly back and forth. "You . . . You hit me, Theo. This is over. You're fucking crazy."

Theo sighed shakily. "You broke into my property, without my permission. That made me very upset."

"But-"

"Sleeping with Callahan was the only way to get these. He pushed me into it; I was initially going to say no, and then he pushed me. I promise you. I didn't enjoy a second of it."

So it basically had been rape, then? Even if Theo had technically consented?

"But you still consented," Draco said, choosing his words very carefully, afraid to set Theo off and get hit again. "You told him yes, that you wanted it."

"Yes."

"That's not rape."

"It may have not technically been rape, but-"

"You said he forced you."

"I thought I was about to lose you," Theo said. "Draco, you drive me crazy. I would've said anything I could in that moment to keep you. I got these drugs because I wanted to experience everything I experienced with you, all over again."

"But don't you see how dangerous that is?" Draco asked. "You need to understand, Theo. It isn't. Real."

"How dare you," Theo growled, taking a step closer to him. Draco backed away in trepidation. "Saying everything we did together wasn't real-"

"I already told you, that's not what I'm saying at all!" exclaimed Draco. "And it doesn't even matter, because I'm leaving you. You're a liar and a cheater."

"Draco, don't. Please. We can work this out. I'll throw away the drugs."

"Then do it. Right now. Won't change anything, but would give me a little peace of mind."

Theo hesitated. "I-"

"That's what I fucking thought."

"Draco, it isn't that easy. I need these, without them I'll-"

"You'll what? What's the worst that could happen if you stop?"

"I dunno, but I'll be sad. I don't want to be sad."

"That feeling is only temporary! It went away for me; it's already gone. For you, now it's going to be a little bit worse since you've been using them basically nonstop all week but you'll get over it."

Theo looked down at the baggie, and then back to Draco.

"I don't want to lose you, Draco. Please don't leave me."

"I'm sorry," said Draco quietly. "But it's done."

"Please." Theo reached for Draco's hand. Draco tried to pull it away, but the other man was too strong. He pulled Draco close, resting a hand on the side of his face where he'd slapped him. "I'm so sorry." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the skin of his face. Draco shuddered, unable to pull away. Where Theo's kisses had once set him on fire, they now threw cold buckets of ice water over him, sobering him, making him flinch.

"I love you so much, Draco. More than anything."

"I'm sorry," said Draco weakly.

"I'm sorry," said Theo. "I love you."

"That's the thing, Theo," said Draco. "You don't hit the people you love. I don't love you. And I don't see that changing any time soon."

He took the opportunity of Theo slackening his grip on his hand to back away a few steps, out of the danger zone. He still wasn't safe, wouldn't feel safe within the same room as him again for a while, but this would have to do. It would have to do.

"Draco . . ."

"I'm sorry, Theo," said Draco. "But this is over."