Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the amazing JK Rowling, and sadly, not me.

Thank you to my beta, HPalto87.

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3

Harry slumped down on the couch. He had come to Hermione and Ron for support, not to get yelled at or lectured. Well, Ron seemed to support him. Hermione, however, seemed to be on Draco's side. Which was odd, because she was usually so good at seeing things objectively.

Harry sighed and looked at the stack of parchment in the box. Hermione wanted him to read it. He didn't want to. It was an old letter, after all. Any feelings Draco expressed in it five years ago weren't necessarily going to apply now, but Hermione was so bloody insistent.

Harry sighed, and picked up the parchment. Deep down, he was afraid there was something there that would change his mind. He started reading anyway.

This was a side of Draco that was rarely seen. The letter showed a caring, possessive, yet completely defenseless Draco. It wasn't often that anyone got to see beyond the cool, confident, sophisticated yet sarcastic façade Draco usually presented. Harry was amazed by the confessions on just the first two pages.

He hated it.

More specifically, he hated how their relationship turned out. They had been so in love with each other. When did all of that fade? He read on, wondering how in the world the impatient, self-absorbed Draco Malfoy was ever able to handle the situation.

The letter went on, recounting briefly why Harry was in St. Mungo's.

We can finally be together now. The war is over. There's no one to stop us.

This is what we've worked so hard for. Remember how we got together? Remember those nights by the lake, that first kiss, hot cocoa by the fire? I want that sort of romance again, Harry. We don't even have to hide it anymore. I want to spend each day by your side, and each night in your arms.

Of course Harry remembered. The little romantic things from the past did not make up for what had happened between them recently. The lies and the misery just ran too deep.

Merlin, I'm rambling.

Malfoys didn't ramble. They engaged in sophisticated, boring conversation, and the sort of small talk that Harry was never good at. They would go to those obligatory high-class social parties, and Harry would feel like a common house-elf when he was supposed to be Draco's trophy boyfriend.

But that's just it, right? Everything was always about Draco, and all Harry had to do was sit back and look good. Draco found their home, set up the Quidditch shop they owned together, took care of the finances, the help staff (after the various disasters with Dobby and Kreature, Harry refused to keep house-elves, much to Hermione's relief), and countless other things.

The only things he expected Harry to do were to stand beside him, and cook occasionally. When Draco had learned that living with the Dursleys had made Harry a rather good cook, he had insisted he had to try some of Harry's food. Harry had been reluctant at first. Surely, his cooking couldn't compare to the gourmet food Draco was used to. He finally gave in to Draco's pleading, however, and his boyfriend had quickly fallen in love with his cooking.

After that, he had made an effort to make one romantic dinner for the two of them every week. After a while, it seemed like it was expected of him.

It's not that Harry minded, really. He did actually like to cook. He just didn't feel needed like he should. He was supposed to be more than Draco's cook or trophy boyfriend. They were supposed to be in love. They were supposed to appreciate each other.

Harry hadn't truly felt appreciated in a long time. His life with Draco had become monotonous. They did the same things and saw the same people all the time. They made love in the same places. They had everything they could want, but their life just wasn't exciting any more. Harry felt like he was missing something.

Maybe that's why he did what he did. Draco had inadvertently driven him into the arms of someone more exciting. Harry had just wanted to feel alive and appreciated, and Draco wasn't giving him that.

Harry went back to Draco's letter.

You've turned me into a romantic sod, you know that? It's kind of pathetic, but I am so head-over-heels for you that I don't even care. Just, please, come back to me.

Please, wake up.

'When did Draco turn into such a romantic sod?' Harry wondered.

Probably sometime during those nights in the room of requirement. At that time, they were so completely wrapped up in each other that they were able to put all of their past differences and everything that was going on with the war aside. Harry and Draco had known that they shouldn't be together, but once they realized how much they had in common, and what a great potential for love they shared, they just couldn't stand to be apart.

Even after Hogwarts and the war, they used to do all sorts of sweet things together. They went out of their way to make each other happy. There were picnics, candlelit dinners and roses. They had stayed up long nights talking, just to watch the sun rise together. It had all faded though. Except for an isolated incident last summer, which marked their six-year anniversary, they hadn't done anything romantic and spontaneous in… a year?

No, it couldn't have been that long, but it was. How could they have been miserable together for that long?

They hadn't been miserable, though. They were too busy to be. Or rather, they kept themselves busy so they wouldn't have time to dwell on their suffering relationship.

The last time they had done something romantic was that night they slept under the stars.