Many thanks to my beta YetiBettyFoufetti, who makes these chapters better.

CW: swearing, substance abuse

Chapter Text

It was two o'clock in the morning when Harry tried to sneak out of Draco's spare bedroom only to find six people waiting for him in the living room. He turned on his heel, but Ron sealed the hallway door shut with a twist of his wand. Draco gasped at the violence of it all. He felt the magic tremble around them as Harry tried to Apparate but couldn't because of the anti-apparition spell Hermione had cast over his apartment. It was the first thing she had done, despite Draco's assurances that Harry was in no state to Apparate.

He turned towards the front door, but Ron had gotten up and blocked the way. "It's going to be fine, Harry," he said softly.

Harry tried to push him aside. He was obviously in no condition to overpower Ron. He looked around, desperation quickly taking hold of him. He met Draco's gaze and the desperation turned to hatred.

Draco wanted to say something. He wanted to say something sensible, something that would make everything OK again. There was something to be said, if only he could find it. But Harry moved his eyes from him over to Neville and Luna and, finally, to Tom.

"No!" he growled. "No!"

"Harry… "

"It was only one time, I swear!" he begged, switching so fast from a commanding tone to an imploring one it made Draco cringe. He grabbed Ron by the collar. "I won't do it again, I promise!"

"It's all going to be fine," Ron repeated.

"YOU CAN'T MAKE ME GO THERE AGAIN! YOU CAN'T, RON!"

Hermione came closer and put her hand tentatively on his shoulder.

"Nobody's making you go anywhere."

"We'll figure it out together, mate."

"We're here for you," Neville said.

"Yes," Luna echoed.

Draco still couldn't speak. Everybody else but him seemed to know their lines. Even Harry.

Harry shook free of Ron and Hermione. He was breathing heavily. He took a few steps back until he hit the wall. "You're lying!" he screamed. Draco had never heard Harry's voice break quite like that.

"They're not," Tom intervened, his voice calm and professional. So Healer-like. So Camille-like. "We can weigh our options. But you have to be honest with us. Draco told us he found many empty bottles in your bedroom."

"They're not - I didn't - I…"

Draco winced. He almost couldn't watch anymore. How had he ended up there in the first place?

"I just wanted to go to sleep!"

"We know, Harry, nobody's blaming you."

"I didn't mean to," he begged.

"We know."

"For how long?" Tom asked, matter of factly.

Harry was trembling again.

"It's important we know, Harry."

"I don't know… a couple weeks?"

"When did you start again?"

"I don't… I…"

"The sooner you tell us, the sooner this will end."

"In Scotland. When I went to Scotland. I just needed to sleep, I didn-"

Draco slid down on the couch, suddenly weak in the knees. Thankfully, nobody was paying him any mind.

"Alright, that's not so long. You might be able to get through withdrawal at home, if you really don't wish to go back to the- "

"I don't!"

"Fine, nobody's going to force you…"

That seemed to calm Harry down considerably. He was, Draco couldn't help but notice, still shaking. The conversation turned to logistics.

"... we'll take turns…"

"... I'll prescribe something…"

"... have to tell us every single thing you took…"

"... must go back to therapy…"

"... take at least two months off work…"

"No, please, not that," Harry begged again, his eyes wet.

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry."

"I can work from home."

"Under no circumstances," Ron replied. Everybody else in the room fell silent and watched the two friends: one crouched over, barely standing; the other towering over, arms crossed.

"I'll go crazy," Harry implored.

"You won't, we'll all be there."

"You know I will," Harry wailed, tears filling his eyes. How was it that it was the first time it occurred to Draco that Harry too could cry?

Ron put his arms around his friend, which only prompted Harry to start sobbing.

"I… don't… want to."

"I know, mate."

"I'll go… crazy."

"You won't."

He was alone with Ron. Normally, talking to him came easy. But right then, he didn't know if he was angry with him or scared of him. They were in the kitchen, waiting for Neville to come back with ingredients for Draco to brew the potion that Tom had prescribed Harry. Luna and Hermione had taken Harry home. Draco gathered the courage to speak.

"I would have figured it out sooner if you had told me. He tried to sneak Sleeping Potions from the stockroom five times… "

"What?" Ron exclaimed, suddenly alert again after staring into empty space for a good ten minutes while Draco cleaned the cauldron he'd used to brew the Vomiting Potion. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought he was just being forgetful. Or that he was trying to annoy me."

Ron sighed. "Goddamn it. I should have seen it too. He's just so good at hiding stuff like that."

"How long has this been going on then?"

"Since… since forever. Since the end of the war."

Draco stopped scrubbing for a minute.

"Really?"

"It's been on and off. He hadn't touched anything in almost three years."

The sinking feeling in Draco's stomach returned. He knew it wasn't the moment to make everything about himself, but he couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Do you- is it because of- is it my fault, you think?"

Ron gave him a stern look. "Don't be stupid. It's not anybody's fault."

"But," Draco stammered, suddenly overwhelmed by it all, "you said… "

Ron crossed his arms, just like he did when Harry pushed his limits. Draco never pushed Ron's limits.

"It's not your fault. Harry needs distractions. If it's not work or some bloke, it's drugs. That's all there is to it. If you wouldn't have been there, he'd have obsessed over someone else and the same thing would have happened, probably."

"Is that supposed to be reassuring?!"

"What can I tell you, Draco? He did exactly the same thing when some guy he barely knew stopped answering his texts. Or when he got dumped by yet another boyfriend he did nothing but ignore the entire relationship. Or when you left for France a long time ago."

"Then why didn't you say something? For God's sake! I wouldn't have…"

Draco didn't know how to finish that sentence.

"Because I thought this time he'd really stopped for good," Ron said, guilt recognisable in his voice. "Because I really wanted to believe he wouldn't put himself through this again…"

"I'm sorry," Draco said right away. "I didn't mean to…"

"I've already done this too many times with Hermione," Ron cut him off, sounding as if he was convincing himself just as much as Draco. "Going through every single thing he said or did to see where we screwed up. And guess what? We always screw up again. At some point, we all have to just accept that it's not our fault. It's not Harry's fault either. It's just how it is."

It was already light out by the time he finished brewing the potion for Harry. He didn't want to screw up so he took his time, triple checking every instruction. It was supposed to help regulate his mood, but based on the ingredients Draco understood it wouldn't do much. Still, it was better than nothing. Once Ron Apparated out of there with the potion, he made his way to bed. Without bothering to change from his work robes he let himself fall face down on the cold sheets.

He couldn't fall asleep despite feeling absolutely drained. Adrenaline still running through his veins, he kept replaying the events of that night over and over in his head.

He'd done the same thing when you left for France.

…she made you sleep in the cupboard…

I shouldn't have let them hurt you.

What the hell was going on? How could he have missed all the signs? Had he been so focused on keeping at bay his own feelings, making sure they don't seep through, that he had become blind? They'd seen each other almost every day for a year and he didn't question - didn't even cross his mind - that something was off when Harry had been unable to keep a steady hand long enough to put a candle on a birthday cake. He didn't think twice about it. He'd just assumed that whatever it was, Harry Potter had it all under control. That there was nothing that he couldn't just handle. He never really believed he was the one taking the Prozac, not until he heard it from his mouth.

He's just so good at hiding stuff like that.

But he didn't hide it from him, did he? It was almost as if he had been waiting for Draco to catch him. And Draco almost didn't.

And the worst thing was that he didn't really know how to wrap his mind around it. He felt terrible, of course. It had been nothing short of heartbreaking seeing Harry like that. But there was a part of him - a part that he hated, but which he'd had to learn to live with - that had been somehow… relieved? That wanted to take the pity he'd felt watching Harry crumble in front of his eyes and channel it, use it to his advantage. Ron had been right. He had always idolized Harry, put him on a pedestal, way above everybody else. Way above himself. Hadn't he hated that position? Hadn't he hated him, for as long as he'd been in love with him? Envied him? Hadn't he willed himself to smother his infatuation out of a desire to win the game they've been playing? To get back at him for hurting him?

Well, here was his chance. Harry wasn't invincible. He wasn't untouchable. He too could be hurt. He was just like any other person Draco had met, so what was the big fuss about? He could go back to his husband. Go back to his beautiful, comfortable life that had taken him such a long time to put together and leave behind this sordid story. He should take the present he'd been given and move on.

I shouldn't have let them hurt you.

Draco rolled out of bed, suddenly angry and ashamed with himself. He took off his work robes and changed into muggle clothes.

If Harry wasn't the perfect hero he always thought he was, then maybe he didn't have to be a coward either. Maybe the story hadn't been written yet.

He called Camille when he was already on the train. Like that, there was no turning back.

Harry stared at the ceiling for hours wondering why everybody had come like he was on his deathbed. Everybody, except for Malfoy.

He'd gone through all the stages.

Anger.

Breaking a promise five minutes after making it - only Malfoy could do that. Only he could be that fucking cruel.

Denial.

If he shows up here, I'll hex him, and I don't give a shit that he can't protect himself.

Bargaining.

I'll never do this again if he comes back.

Everytime the bedroom door opened, he wished it was him. He desperately wished it was him. But it never was.

"How are you feeling?" Ron had asked him, a couple of hours before, when he switched with Neville.

"Like shit."

"Yeah… it will pass, mate."

Ron had no idea what he was talking about. It never passed. He simply sometimes managed to forget. And now he just couldn't, because they had locked him up in his own house with nothing to distract himself but his memories of that night. He hated everyone, him most of all. Why had he pretended to care, just to disappear? Was this his thing? Was this how he got off?

Of course, he knew the actual answer.

He didn't show up because he had seen who Harry really was.

He hadn't really thought of Draco then. He was still half high during the ambush in his living room. The memory of it made his skin crawl. Who wouldn't leave him after seeing how pathetic he was?

Your friends never did, a small voice said. He hated that voice. He wanted to flatten it until it suffocated.

Because they're stupid. He's not.

He heard the front door open and Ron saying goodbye.

Good, he thought to himself, let him go back to his perfect life. I've taken enough of his time already. When will I stop taking things from him?

He pulled the blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes. They left him alone when he pretended to be asleep. Sure enough, the newcomer made his way to his bedroom and opened the door.

He heard footsteps and then someone sitting down next to him. He felt a hand on his forehead. He recognised that hand. He opened his eyes. It startled Draco, but he didn't draw his hand away.

"You're awake," he stupidly said.

"Yes," Harry said, sitting up so that they were at the same eye level. Now that Malfoy was here, Harry wanted him to go away.

"How are you feel-"

"Like shit."

"Of course."

"Go away."

Draco nodded, as if considering Harry's demand. "I'll stay, if you don't mind." The determination in his voice shut Harry up.

Draco stood up and Harry immediately regretted his words. He already missed the heat of Draco's body. But Draco didn't go far. He had moved around the mattress to sit on the other side of the bed. Harry watched his back as he started taking off his shoes.

"I need to lay down."

Harry didn't know what to say to that so he didn't say anything. Draco lay down next to him at a respectable distance, over the heavy covers.

He fell asleep so quickly Harry had no choice but to lay there as well and look at him. Malfoy had dark circles under his eyes. He looked quite terrible actually. Still, he was so eerily beautiful just sleeping there that Harry couldn't take his eyes away. Watching his chest rise and fall was surprisingly calming, and he felt his own heartbeat slowing down. Malfoy had a hand under his head - he had positioned himself much lower than the pillow - and the other resting neatly between them. Harry noticed it right away. How could he not, when that fucking ring had been the object of his misery for the last couple of months.

He probably forgot it at home.

Don't be stupid. He just got into bed with you.

Panic started to creep through. What had happened? Why had Draco not visited for two days and then when he had the first thing he did was go to sleep?

Harry got out of bed and went to wash his face in the bathroom sink. He was all sweaty and gross. He couldn't breathe properly. Draco came after him, rubbing his eyes.

"Everything all right?"

Harry didn't dare confront him. It was ridiculous, anyways. He could have actually just forgotten it at home. He wasn't going to start making assumptions. Not with Draco. Not again. But his mind wouldn't stop jumping around from idea to idea. He couldn't hold on to any thought for longer than a couple of seconds.

He turned off the tap.

"No."

"Go back to bed, I'll bring you your medicine."

Harry complied, properly scared now. He was losing his mind. He let Draco hold his head and help him drink without a fight because he knew his hands were shaking too hard to do it himself.

He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on his breath like Emma had taught him. At some point he became aware that Draco was holding him in his arms, his chin resting on Harry's head. Eventually, the panic passed. His thoughts settled down into orderly sequences again. But now he felt so tired. It had been nothing but that for two days straight. He wanted it to be over so, so much.

"Where were you?" he said, to distract himself from the tears that were forming in the corners of his eyes.

Draco didn't immediately reply. He had one hand stretched over Harry's back. With the other he was caressing his hair. Harry wished he'd never stop.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

"Did you go to France?" he asked urgently. It took Draco by surprise.

"Yes, but- "

"You're not wearing your wedding ring anymore."

Draco looked at his own hand, as if to check. "No."

"You shouldn't have done it. It's not worth it. I'm not worth it." He pushed away from Draco's embrace. "There's still time. You should go back."

Draco stared at him with guilt in his eyes.

"Jesus, I didn't think you'd notice. We don't need to talk about it now. I didn't mean to, er, put pressure on you."

He wasn't getting it.

"You can still talk him out of it. I'm sure he'll take you back."

Draco ignored him and put his arms around him. Harry felt like he was going to burst into tears again, for no reason at all. Or for too many reasons, all at once.

"I'm not going anywhere until you're better."

"I'll never be better," he moaned, face buried in Draco's chest, and let the tears fall.

"Of course you will."

Harry didn't reply out of fear Draco would figure out he was crying. It was suddenly very important for him not to see that.

After what felt like a long time, or maybe none at all, he fell into that state which he had started calling sleep, despite it not being anything as restful and amazing as real sleep. His thoughts just became so muddled up together he couldn't find any trace of meaning in them anymore, but there was no respite in it from the pain. When he woke up it was dark outside. Draco's hands were still wrapped around him and Harry suddenly felt the urge to cling tighter to him.

He didn't like you before. How could he like you now?

He'll leave, just like everybody else. He'll figure it out and he'll leave as well.

His chest felt tight.

Don't get too used to being held like that. He'll get rid of you as soon as he realizes nothing can fix you.

"Harry," Draco whispered, his voice husky from sleep.

Harry tried to calm down. "Don't go," was all he could say, hanging on even tighter.

"I'm not. I'm not going anywhere."

"It's going to be like this for at least another week," he managed to articulate, desperate to make Draco understand. To make him stay.

"I know, Harry."

"Probably longer."

"As long as it takes."

"It's horrible."

Draco scooted down so he could look into his eyes.

"I'm so sorry you're going through this, Harry."

Harry bit his lip.

"It's worse than anything. It's worse than Dementors."

Draco put a hand on his cheek, still looking him in the eyes.

"I wish I could make it better," he said, his voice hoarse.

Harry wished it so much too. The idea - the impossibility of it - brought tears to his eyes again but he held them back.

"It's worse than dying."

"Harry," Draco said softly, visibly shaken by Harry's nonsensical explanations. Draco didn't say anything else, just kept caressing him, his eyes blurry. But Harry felt like he couldn't stop now that the floodgates had opened.

"I'm going to die," he said. He was convinced it was true. Why else was it so hard to keep breathing?

Draco looked really conflicted now. He started getting up. "C'mon, let's go watch a movie."

Was he stupid? He wasn't in the state of mind to watch a fucking movie. He wanted to scream, or to cry, or a combination of both. But if Harry did, then maybe Draco would leave again. Maybe Draco really wanted to watch a movie. After all, he was probably sick of listening to Harry's-

"Harry!" He was holding his face with both hands. "You're in withdrawal. All these thoughts you're having, they're not real. Alright?"

Harry nodded. He didn't necessarily believe him, as much as he just wanted to.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

Harry shook his head.

"Do you want me to tell you a story?"

Harry nodded.

"About what?"

"Anything."

And Draco did. He told Harry stories from his many jobs before moving to France, from washing dishes to waiting tables to working in a bookstore. Some of them were funny - like how he couldn't figure out how computers worked for way too long - but most of them were about everyday, mundane things, such as dealing with angry customers. Harry listened because listening to Draco was so much better than listening to whatever was going on inside his head. Also, he was curious. He'd been curious for such a long time but had never dared ask. At some point he fell asleep. Real sleep.