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“Just you?”
He stopped breathing entirely. Draco had known Potter was there all along, waiting in the dark—watching him from afar. He only didn’t have the heart to make the stubborn Gryffindor go away, not when some part of him still ached for the git.
So, Draco nodded. Still and carefully blank. “Just me.”
Potter hesitated for a second, glancing around the room, as if he were anticipating for a person to pop out all of a sudden behind the couch. “I wanted to …” he looked feebly guilty. “… talk.”
“What’s there to talk about?” said Draco flatly, looking away before letting out a short bitter laugh. “You made it clear you’re marrying Weaslette in about a week. Congrats, by the way.”
He couldn’t bring himself to look at him—to look at the man he once loved, his emerald eyes, knowing he didn’t feel the same affection for him anymore. Draco could only wonder if Potter had Weaslette’s perfumed scent on him, as they’re talking, or if he’d already bought a suit and tie for his big day.
All of it made an unpleasant feeling settle in the pit of his stomach, but what made Draco falter was the familiar burn in his eyes—and the sudden blur of the room.
Potter’s mouth went dry. “We … we never really talked, or—or discussed things, you know? I wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing, especially after the …”
Draco didn’t trust himself to speak. The proposal, was what Potter meant. The day he left the blond lost and confused, the day he offered to take another woman’s hand with a beautiful, jeweled ring.
He remembered every single moment—how Weaslette’s face lit up into a tearful smile, how they shared a tender kiss on the lips, and how Draco tried to down potion after potion of Dreamless Sleep the next day in hopes of thinking it was all just some delusional nightmare his mind had conjured.
“Look, I … I realised it was a mistake,” said Potter quietly, his words no more than a void to Draco’s ears. Empty. Hollow. “I just felt like there were—there were so many things, going on at once, and I didn’t know what to do.”
“You could’ve told me,” whispered Draco, his voice cracking. He didn’t have it in him to shout, to scream, to fight back—not when all that he’s held on to were shattering at his feet. “Why didn’t you?”
“Draco,” started Potter, and all at once, everything came crashing down.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” his words were hoarse, and every staggering breath felt like a stab to his heart. Draco found himself standing up abruptly, making his head spin with a sinful rage. “I would have understood, instead you made me watch you propose to her like an idiot, you—” a sob clawed at his throat. “—you fucking bastard!”
Potter’s breath hitched, his eyes glistening. “I didn’t know you were going to be there, love, I just—”
“Don’t you dare, Potter.” Draco had always said his name fondly in a tone of endearment, or whenever he’d come across his lover doing something rather stupid and dunce-like. But now, the name flowed from his mouth like a curse, like it brought a painful ache to the chest every time he said it. “Don’t you dare call me that.”
Potter looked helpless. “Please, just let me explain—”
“Explain?” Draco felt whimsical and light-headed. His body shook, his eyes blurred, and his breath reeled. “Gods, I should’ve known.” Has he ever sounded like that? So broken and fragile? “No matter what I do, I’m still going to be the same Death Eater you hate, I’m still going to be the Malfoy you despise, I’m still going to mean nothing—”
Draco gasped. A white-hot feeling burned through his skin, his mind unfocused, his mouth warm against another. Potter held him close like he was a one-in-a-million chance, like Draco might slip through his fingers if he looked away for even just a second.
He might’ve enjoyed it—loved it, even—if it weren’t for the dark thoughts that circled his head. Draco knew it, but he was trying; he tried to slip in his tongue, savour the tingles that danced on his skin, moan softly and buck against the gentle hand resting on his waist, but all that came out was a strangled sob.
Potter felt the salty tears come before he did. Draco buried his face in the crook of his neck, letting his shields fall down once more; a mistake he swore to never do again, yet …
“I’m so sorry,” Potter whispered. No, no—that wasn’t Potter. That was Harry. The Harry that gave him a chance, the Harry that whispered songs to him during nightmares, the Harry that made his heart flutter.
Draco shut his eyes tight, his whisper quiet as he listened to Harry’s soft heartbeat. “I thought you didn’t want me.”
He felt Harry stiffen, yet the voice that responded back was delicate. “I was just … so scared at—” he paused, smiling weakly. “—at how easy it was to be with you. My fears got to the best of me, Molly pressured me on, and I decided to …”
“Propose to her,” Draco finished, his gaze travelling down. He should be pushing this man away from him, as far as possible; he should be fighting and kicking, but none of that urged him to move—not even the bittersweet ache in his heart.
His eyes went to Harry’s hand almost instantly, only to find there was no bejeweled ring on it.
Harry saw where he was looking. His mouth pulled into a tight smile. “I broke up with Ginny, took all my vows back, just right after you left.”
Draco swallowed, biting the inside of his cheek. “Why?”
“It was a mistake,” whispered Harry, nuzzling his nose in his crown of blond locks. “I realised I was missing on the best thing that ever happened to me.”
He was too busy kissing him to notice the emerald ring Harry had slipped on his finger.