Sorry it’s taking me literally three years to do ANYTHING so as always, this is delayed as hell. Also I’m not sure how I feel about this, but here you go!
<3
Part 2
Draco ran his fingers over the veins crossing Harry’s knuckles. And waited. Antiseptic burned his nostrils and his lungs as he took one breath after another. He’d tried counting at first, reaching thousands of breaths before he succumbed into the endless passage of time. St. Mungo’s was a vacuum of nothing, of life, of everything, and death. Of Harry most especially.
According to Hermione, he’d been awake earlier for a minute or two, but had quickly collapsed back into the monotony of cold sleep. According to Ron, he’d asked for Draco. And according to Ginny, Draco needed to be here, next to Harry.
He took another breath, starting back at one breath.
Harry shifted slightly, his mouth opening just barely with his movement. Draco didn’t start or look up. By now, after three years of being married to Harry Potter, Draco was too familiar with this pattern.
It always started off with smiles, tears. Reassurances that Harry would be back soon as he primly folded his robes into the sturdy black bag that Draco had bought him for their one year anniversary. Draco hadn’t meant for the bag to become Harry’s Auror travel bag. It was supposed to be for constant traveling and sporadic honeymoons. The two of them never went on any trips together.
When there were only a couple of minutes until Harry’s departure time, a Portkey held close in his hand, Draco would finally come to him. Finally tell him that he loved him, kiss his face and hold him close, hope that Harry would stay on his own volition. Draco never begged for him to stay. Harry would be swirled away with a swarming blue light, and Draco would sit on the floor and cry.
In the beginning, after they were first married, Draco leapt into action every time Harry left. There were chores to be done, Harry’s sweaters to sniff dejectedly and then put back in their drawers, potions work, new discoveries to be made. Wishes to ruminate over. Wishes about fussing children and holding his husband’s hand.
By their two year anniversary, there was nothing to be done. Harry left, and Draco stayed. He sat alone for a week, and then he went back to work. Perhaps the choice Draco most admired in himself, aside from growing to love Harry, was choosing not to work at the Ministry. Having his own commission based business gave him the time for baths and self care days, allowed him the space to grieve when he needed to, miss Harry when he had nothing better to hold onto.
So the pattern continued on when Harry would return home weeks, sometimes months, later. Inevitably, he could be found in St. Mungo’s, close to death, traumatized, injured, lost. As always, Draco would rush to his side and hold onto him until he was alive and well. Harry would promise not to rashly put his life in danger, and Draco would nod and kiss him even though he knew Harry was lying to himself and to him.
Harry would get better, and then the process would start all again.
This time around, things were different. Draco didn’t wait a week when Harry left. Draco didn’t rush to his side when he returned. He worked and kept his time busy with friends and taking care of himself. The only thing that dragged him to Harry’s side was Ginny Weasley shouting at him in front of a client to get to his husband before he died.
Draco’s heart dropped and he left, and went to Harry like he always did. And just like always, Harry was unconscious and uncaring that Draco was back to cry over him yet again.
So when he woke this time, Draco didn’t let out a gasping sob and scramble onto him. He let go of his hand and sat back as Harry blinked his way back to life.
“Draco,” Harry rasped, a smile working slowly across his bruised cheeks.
“Harry,” Draco said. He folded his arms across his chest, and Harry’s face dropped.
“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, his hands twitching towards Draco.
“You tell me.” Draco couldn’t say Harry’s name again. Couldn’t look him in the eyes. If he did, he would break and be in love, and his heart would fall apart all over again. Again, again, again. That’s all this was. A repeated pattern of waiting and being heartbroken and allowing himself to be crushed repeatedly by the person who had promised to protect him.
“Look,” Harry sighed, as if trying to prepare himself for some long winded argument. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen, but-”
“No,” Draco cut him off. He stared at the pale blue, papery sheets covering Harry. “I don’t expect you to understand why I hate your job so much, but give me a chance to explain before you spout off some shite about saving the world.”
Green eyes widened, and Draco did not look up.
“I have spent every waking moment from the day I was born looking up to you, Harry Potter,” Draco said sharply. He stood from the stiff hospital chair and stood over Harry, still without looking into his face. “Even before we met, I looked up to the famous Harry Potter, who held the world in his tiny hands.
“The world adored you, and so did I.” Out of his periphery, Draco could see Harry slowly shaking his head. “I won’t go into the suffering details of growing up as your arch nemesis, but I will say that falling in love with you and knowing you loved me back was, without a doubt, the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Was?” Harry said in a small voice.
Draco ignored him. “The most important thing I learned from loving you was that the most important thing, over anything or anyone else and their opinions of me, is to take care of myself.”
“Draco…” Harry said softly, brokenly. “Where is this going?”
“I need to take care of myself now,” Draco said, and he finally looked up. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t. Harry’s eyes filled up too much of his face, and thick tracks of tears ran back into the unwashed threads of his hair. Draco swallowed down the bile in his throat, and ignored every whirling feeling in his body telling him to hold on tighter. “I can’t keep falling into this cycle of losing you,” Draco said firmly.
Harry’s breath turned ragged.
Draco couldn’t look away. “You married me, Harry, not the Ministry. Right now, it doesn’t feel like that. Actually, it hasn’t felt like that for years.”
“Draco, no.”
“I need a break from this,” Draco waved his hand above the scene taking place around him. “All this.”
And then Draco left. And he didn’t turn around when the the door closed behind him, muffling and eventually silencing Harry’s half spoken sobs and explanations.
