Title: I'm Not Supposed to Love You Anymore

Author: Fiery Disposition

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Harry/Draco

Genre: Angst

Disclaimer: Not mine, JKR's. No money, poor college student.

Notes: Thanks go out to my wonderful beta, Hazyfairytale. Darlin', I love you dearly. This little ficlet I have written is a song fic, which is a little strange for me as I generally don't prefer to read them. However I was listening to this song on the way home, inspiration struck, and well, after that I couldn't help myself. The song is "I'm Not Supposed to Love You Anymore" and the version I was listening to was by Clay Aiken. The lyrics have been placed at the bottom because I distinctly remember being appreciative when someone did that in a song fic. Hope you enjoy.

Draco stopped just inside the doorway of his flat and took a look around. A month. It had been a month and he still wasn't used to it, regardless of what he tried to tell himself. He considered it progress though that he did not walk to the bedroom and the adjoining bath to be sure… to be absolutely positive… that Harry was gone. Granted, he had stopped giving into that urge a long time ago, but he felt that there was no harm in admitting it was there. At least, not today. He had made it through this month in one piece. He had not given in and gone running back to Harry. He had remained strong. He had remained proud. He had remained alone.

He deserved the luxury of brooding.

It wasn't supposed to be like this, he thought as he turned to hang up his cloak by the door. Harry was supposed to be here when he got home, putting away groceries, working on reports for his job as an Auror, or even standing naked in the middle of the room waiting to shag Draco's brains out. He had gotten used to those things, had enjoyed them. Yet, as far as Draco could tell, he had royal fucked things up, so none of that was ever likely to happen again.

Walking into the kitchen for a glass of wine, Draco once again thought back to that night a month prior. They had argued, and it had been the worst argument in Draco's memory. Obviously, being who they were, the two of them had had spats and rows here and there; it was inevitable really. Yet, none of them compared to that one.

Leaning back against the counter, glass in hand, Draco tried to remember the details of the actual argument. It might have seemed strange to outsiders that he couldn't recall every second in vivid detail, but he had done such a good job repressing it this past month that during the few moments of reflection he allowed himself, the details were fuzzy. Honestly, repressing it was far easier than having to deal with the fact that Harry was gone. If he didn't think about it, then he could continue his daily routine as though nothing were the matter. As though he had completely forgotten about him.

As though he didn't love him anymore.

It had been about his father, he remembered. Yes, his father had sent him a letter asking for his help in realizing the dream the Dark Lord had failed to see come to fruition, thanks to Harry. Cursing his father under his breath for weaselling his way out of Azkaban, Draco grabbed the wine bottle and headed towards his favourite chair in the den.

It sickened him now to think that he had almost considered it. Almost. Yet, it was that brief hesitation on his part that had started it all.

Nasty things had been said. Horrible insults had been flung, not just about each other, but at friends and family, loyalties and morals. It was why they had never brought it up to begin with. It had seemed pointless really. Voldemort was gone, so nothing except public opinion was stopping them, and they had both let go of that a long time ago. Yet, here alone in his chair, he allowed himself to admit that maybe that had not been the brightest decision they had ever made.

Draco poured himself another glass. All of the doubts, the questions, and the little holes in their trust for each other had built up and grown, just waiting for something to poke them and cause everything to come crashing down around their ears. And oh, had it ever.

Despite the promises made to each other, and the time and effort invested, Draco was here and Harry was gone.

Remembering the fight might be a little tough, but Draco could remember the following day quite clearly. He had come home from work to find his flat empty; empty of Harry, empty of Harry's belongings, empty of the sheer presence that Harry carried with him wherever he went.

He could remember with perfect clarity, walking through each and every room in the house, searching each and every surface and drawer for any sign of Harry, any note, any item that would inform him that Harry was not gone. Only when his search was complete and nothing was found, did he allow emotion to seep in.

Oh, but he had not broken down that day, Draco thought with bitter sense of satisfaction, refilling his glass. Oh no, he had raged. All of the pictures that had Harry in them came off the walls, the mantle, and the tables. All of the little Gryffindor touches Harry had made were immediately modified or simply gotten rid of altogether. He had had the flat re-keyed for Draco and Pansy only. Upon re-entering the bedroom, Draco had been so inexplicably angry that he had torn off the gold ring Harry had given him for his birthday and hurled it across the room.

Later, much later, he had retrieved it and placed it in the top drawer of his nightstand.

Pansy had stopped by later that week, he remembered. She had tried to get him to go out with her to a new club for a bit of "fun", but he had refused. The last thing Draco wanted was another lover, when he had just become free of this one. From the look on her face, Pansy had not believed him for an instant, but as far as Draco was concerned that was her problem.

She had been persistent though, and finally, last weekend, Draco had given in. The evening had gone horribly wrong, just has Draco had known it would. He told himself that he couldn't be bothered with another lover. He was a free bachelor dammit, and he wanted to be left alone for now. Besides, none of the men had been to his liking. They had been too… fair-haired. Or too tall. Or they had had brown eyes. Draco hated brown eyes…

However, Pansy had not been pleased.

"What in the hell are you waiting for, Draco? Huh?" she had shouted, hands on her hips. "Him? If that's it then allow me to let you in on a little secret," she had sneered, getting in his face. "He's not coming back. You're going to have to come to terms with that at some point so listen up now. Potter. Is. Gone."

And she had been right, Draco thought morosely, emptying the contents of the bottle. Harry had not come back. Not that first night, nor the night after the club with Pansy, and he wasn't here now. If he was really honest with himself, Draco was worried. He didn't know where Harry was, too proud to contact Granger or anyone else who might know his whereabouts.

Yet… maybe…

Slowly, Draco rose from his chair to walk to his study. Heaven knew what his father was up to with his crazed plan about being the new ruler of the Death Eaters. Draco half-suspected that Azkaban had addled his brain. And it had been a month. Writing a letter now… that couldn't possibly be seen as a sign of defeat. No, merely a curious inquiry, perhaps a word of caution… just to ease his mind…

Draco watched from the window as the owl soured away into the night sky. Once it could no longer be seen, he returned to the den and his chair. He should probably go to bed, he mused, but between the alcohol, the letter, and the significance of the evening, too many memories had been hashed. Draco didn't want to risk his already weakened state on what might happen if he ventured into the bedroom at this point.

 The fire danced before Draco's slightly glazed eyes as he stared into it, replaying images from the past month over and over; the monotony of his days, the lonely evenings, the letter, the club, the argument. Then back even further, to Harry's last birthday, Draco's job promotion, and their last holiday… their last kiss… their last time together.

Their last, their last, their last…

Leaning forward, placing his head in his hands, Draco finally released all of his internal barriers and let his grief flow through him. He had to stop fighting reality. They were over. Harry was gone. He wasn't coming back.

He had to stop pretending this wasn't bothering him, that he was perfectly fine… that he didn't love him anymore.

We agreed that it was over,
Now the lines have all been drawn,
The vows we made began to fade but now they're gone.

Put your pictures in a shoebox,
and my gold ring in the drawer.
I'm not supposed to love you anymore.

Now Pansy says she's jealous,
Of this freedom that I've found.
If she were me, she would be,

Out on the town.

And she says she can't imagine,
What on earth I'm waiting for.
I'm not supposed to love you anymore.

Oh I shouldn't care and wonder where and how you are,
but I can't hide this hurt inside my broken heart.
I'm fighting back emotions that I've never fought before,
'cause I'm not supposed to love you anymore.

Now I'm writing you this letter,
And it's killing me tonight,
That I agreed when you believed it wasn't right.

And I couldn't sleep up on the bed,
So I'm down here on the floor.
Will I'm not supposed to love you anymore.

Oh I shouldn't care and wonder where and how you are,
But I can't hide this hurt inside my broken heart.
I'm fighting back emotions that I've never fought before,
'cause I'm not supposed to love you anymore.
I'm fighting back emotions I've never fought before,
'cause I'm not supposed to love you anymore.

                                                I'm Not Supposed to Love You Anymore, Clay Aiken

In the original lyrics of the song, the name is Sherry, but I changed it to suit my own purposes.