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gummyyummyjam · 6 months ago

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I'm home alone (you're God-knows-where)

In the shadow of Harry Potter’s endless departures and promises, Draco Malfoy learns the cost of loving someone who may never learn to stay.

The Slytherin common room was eerily quiet tonight. The greenish glow from the lake’s waters reflected through the windows, casting an otherworldly light on the plush furniture. It was a silence Draco Malfoy had grown accustomed to, though not one he particularly liked. His fingers toyed with the edges of a well-worn book on his lap, though he hadn’t turned a page in over twenty minutes. His thoughts were elsewhere, circling back to a certain messy-haired Gryffindor who had, once again, disappeared without explanation.

Harry bloody Potter.

Draco’s lips twitched into a wry smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He’d never imagined himself in this position: pining for the Golden Boy, waiting for scraps of his attention like some lovesick fool. It was ironic, really. He’d spent years hating Potter, envying him, and now… well, now he’d give anything for Harry to stay.

But Harry never stayed. Not really.

“The games you played were never fun,” Draco muttered to himself, voice low and bitter. The memory of Harry’s last departure lingered in his mind. The half-hearted promises, the fleeting kiss goodbye, and then… nothing. Days would pass, sometimes weeks, before Harry resurfaced, acting as though everything was fine, as though Draco wasn’t left behind to pick up the pieces.

Draco’s knuckles tightened around the book. He was tired of it. Tired of giving Harry what he wanted, of trying to be what Harry said he needed, only to be left torn apart when the Gryffindor inevitably walked away. It wasn’t fair, was it? No, Draco thought bitterly, it wasn’t fair at all.

The first time they’d kissed had been in the aftermath of a duel. A heated exchange of spells in an abandoned classroom had spiraled into something else entirely. The room had smelled of burnt parchment and dust, the air still crackling with residual magic. Draco could still remember the way Harry had looked at him—eyes blazing, cheeks flushed, and then, suddenly, lips pressed against his in a kiss that was more fire than finesse. It had been exhilarating, intoxicating, and utterly confusing.

Draco had pushed Harry away at first, his heart hammering in his chest. “What the hell was that?” he’d demanded, though the answer was clear in Harry’s eyes. Those damn green eyes… they always seemed to hold the truth Draco wasn’t ready to face.

Harry had shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. “Does it matter?”

And at the time, it hadn’t. The heat of the moment, the thrill of breaking every unspoken rule… it had been enough. But now, months later, it mattered more than Draco cared to admit. He’d fallen into something he couldn’t control, and the weight of it was starting to crush him.

Draco sighed and set the book aside, leaning back against the couch. His gaze drifted to the window, where he could just make out the faint outline of the squid gliding past. The room felt too big, too empty. “I don’t want any settled scores,” he whispered to the empty room. “I just want you to set me free.”

But Harry never did. He kept coming back, weaving himself into Draco’s life with a charm that was impossible to resist. And every time, Draco let him. He let Harry in, knowing full well that he’d leave again. Knowing that every return carried a ticking clock, counting down to the moment Harry would slip away once more.

It wasn’t that Draco was afraid of being alone. He’d faced more than his fair share of solitude over the years. It had been his constant companion in the shadowed corners of Malfoy Manor, during sleepless nights spent dreading his father’s wrath, and in the quiet moments when the weight of the war threatened to break him. But with Harry, it was different. With Harry, he’d tasted something he hadn’t realized he craved: a connection, a bond that felt real, even if it was fleeting.

“What makes you so sure you’re all I need?” Draco asked the empty room, his voice cracking slightly. He hated how vulnerable he felt, hated the way Harry’s absence left him feeling hollow and restless. It was like trying to breathe with half his lungs missing.

Draco's breath hitched as he stared into the flickering flames of the Slytherin common room’s hearth, his hands trembling ever so slightly. The quiet crackle of the fire was the only sound, but in his mind, Harry’s voice was loud, echoing with words that should have been comforting but had cut him instead.

“You knew what this was,” Harry had said. His tone had been even, almost apologetic, but not enough to disguise the indifference beneath. “Don’t make it more than it is, Draco.”

The words replayed in a loop, each iteration stabbing deeper into the fragile walls Draco had tried to build around his heart. He’d given everything to Harry, more than he thought he was capable of. And yet, it was never enough.

When Harry finally returned, it was well past midnight. Draco heard the telltale creak of the common room door and the soft shuffle of footsteps. The sound was almost tentative, as though Harry knew he wasn’t welcome, he was sneaking inside the supposed-to-be-enemy’s territory for Merlin’s sake, but hoped he might be forgiven anyway. Draco didn’t bother to turn around. Let Harry come to him for once.

“Good. You’re still awake,” Harry said softly, his voice laced with guilt.

Draco let out a humorless laugh. “What gave it away? The fact that I’m sitting here, wide-eyed, in the middle of the night? Yeah, it’s good too that no one hexed me yet, I could still brood and all.”

Harry winced and moved closer, perching on the armrest of the couch. He looked tired, his hair messier than usual, and there was a smudge of dirt on his cheek. Wherever he’d been, it hadn’t been easy. But Draco didn’t care. Not tonight.

“I’m sorry,” Harry murmured, reaching out to touch Draco’s shoulder. But Draco shrugged him off, his body stiff with tension.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Potter,” Draco snapped. His silver eyes burned with anger and something deeper, something more painful. “You can’t just… disappear and expect me to wait around like some loyal lapdog. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of you.”

Harry’s face fell, and for a moment, Draco thought he’d finally gotten through to him. But then Harry’s expression hardened. “You don’t mean that,” he said quietly.

“Don’t I?” Draco challenged, standing up and glaring at Harry. His hands trembled at his sides, but he clenched them into fists, willing himself to stay strong. “You’re teaching me to live without you, Potter. And guess what? I’m getting good at it.”

The words hung in the air like a curse, heavy and unforgiving. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Harry stood, his jaw clenched. “If that’s how you feel, maybe I should go.”

Draco’s heart clenched, but he refused to let it show. “Maybe you should.”

Harry left, slamming the door behind him, and Draco sank back onto the couch. He’d gotten what he wanted, hadn’t he? He was free. Free from the endless cycle of hope and disappointment. Free from Harry’s games.

So why did it feel like he’d just lost the only thing that had ever truly mattered?

The minutes stretched into hours, the silence growing heavier with each passing moment. Draco stared at the window, his reflection blurry in the glass. “I’m not afraid anymore,” he whispered, though the words felt hollow. “I’m not afraid.”

But as the night dragged on, and the first rays of dawn began to filter through the windows, Draco realized something he’d been avoiding for months.

He wasn’t afraid of being alone.

He was afraid of a life without Harry.

The days following Harry’s departure blurred together in a haze of monotony. Draco carried on, as one does, slipping into the carefully curated routines that masked his unraveling. Breakfast in the Great Hall, potions with Slughorn, study sessions in the library—each task performed with meticulous precision, each interaction scripted to perfection.

But the truth was glaring beneath the surface.

He was hollow.

The Slytherin common room, once a sanctuary of cold comfort, now felt suffocating. The greenish light of the lake had lost its hypnotic quality, replaced by a dull reminder of isolation. Even his dormitory, always a reprieve from the world, felt heavy with Harry’s absence. The spaces between Draco’s breaths were no longer filled with Harry’s reckless laughter, the way his presence seemed to electrify even the most mundane moments.

Draco had told himself he was teaching his heart to forget. But forgetting was harder than he’d anticipated.

A flashback, an unbidden memory, tugged at the corners of Draco's mind like a relentless tide. It was from the beginning, a long way before Harry had first kissed him, and their meetings—because of their so-called truce or friendship or whatever Harry was indicating— were still wrapped in the thrill of secrecy.

It had been a rainy afternoon in the library, the sound of raindrops against the ancient windows a soothing backdrop. Harry had appeared out of nowhere, his tie loose, his hair damp, and that maddening smirk on his face.

“Can’t stay away, can you?” Harry had teased, leaning over Draco’s shoulder as if they were the closest of friends.

Draco had scowled, though the heat in his cheeks betrayed him. “Don’t flatter yourself, Potter. Some of us actually are here to study.”

But Harry had laughed, that low, infectious chuckle that made Draco’s stomach twist in ways he refused to acknowledge. He’d sat down across from Draco, close enough that their knees brushed under the table. It had been infuriating and intoxicating all at once. And so, he’d ignored Harry after that, burying himself in his work. But Harry’s presence was impossible to ignore. He lingered, leaning against the bookshelf, tossing casual remarks that disrupted Draco’s concentration.

“You’re so bloody predictable,” Harry had remarked again, his green eyes dancing. “Always pretending you’re above it all.”

Draco’s cheeks had burned, and his pride stung. He snapped his book shut, glaring, his voice rising despite the glares from Madam Pince. “And you’re insufferable. Why don’t you go bother someone else?”

Harry’s smile had faded, replaced by something unreadable. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Because I don’t want someone else.”

The air had shifted, charged, and heavy. Draco had frozen, his quill poised mid-air. He’d wanted to retort, to cut Harry down with words, but his throat had tightened. By the time he’d found his voice, Harry had suddenly walked away, leaving Draco with a swirl of confusion and an ache he couldn’t name. And for that moment, Draco had allowed himself to believe and believe, that maybe, just maybe, Harry meant it.

One night, three days after Harry had walked out, Draco found himself back in the Astronomy Tower. He hadn’t intended to come here, but his feet had carried him almost of their own accord. The cool night air bit at his skin, and the stars above seemed distant and indifferent, much like Draco himself often pretended to be.

And then another memory rose up, it wasn’t nearly as soft. It came with the sharp sting of betrayal. It had been during one of those clandestine meetings in the Astronomy Tower, where they’d carved out a fragile world of their own .

Harry had arrived late, his hair damp from the rain, his robes askew. Draco had paced the length of the tower, his frustration boiling over as soon as Harry entered.

“Do you think I have nothing better to do than wait for you?” Draco had hissed, his voice sharp enough to cut.

Harry had run a hand through his hair, looking both guilty and defensive. “I’m sorry, okay? Things got… complicated.”

“They’re always complicated with you,” Draco shot back, his silver eyes blazing. “You say you want this—us—but then you disappear for days, weeks. Do you even care?”

Harry’s face had darkened, his jaw tightening. “Of course, I care! But it’s not that simple, Draco. It’s not always easy to get away. You know that! You don’t understand—”

“Do I? No, I don’t understand!” Draco had interrupted, his voice cracking. “Because you won’t let me. You keep me at arm’s length like I’m some dirty little secret you’re ashamed of. And yet, all I know is that I’m always here, waiting, while you—” He’d paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “While you treat me like an afterthought! Is that all I am to you?”

Harry had stepped closer, his expression softening. “That’s not fair.”

“What’s not fair is giving you everything,” Draco had whispered, his voice trembling, “and getting nothing in return.”

Harry’s silence had been damning. He’d reached out, his hand hovering near Draco’s shoulder, but Draco had stepped back, his heart splintering.

“Don’t,” Draco had whispered, his voice trembling. “Don’t touch me if you don’t mean it.”

Harry had dropped his hand, his expression a mixture of regret and frustration.

“I never asked you to…” Harry had muttered, his voice barely audible.

The words had hit Draco harder than any curse. He’d turned away, unwilling to let Harry see the tears that threatened to spill. And then, he felt Harry turned away too, and left without another word, leaving Draco alone in the cold, the wind biting at his skin.

Draco closed his eyes, the memory cutting sharper than any blade. He’d hated how Harry had made him feel so out of control, yet he’d craved it too. That wild, unpredictable spark that Harry carried—it had been intoxicating.

Now, it was a phantom pain.

Over and over, he tried to pinpoint the exact moment everything had unraveled. It wasn’t that Draco wanted Harry to suffer; that wasn’t it at all. What he wanted—what he had always wanted—was for Harry to understand. To see the cracks beneath the surface, the scars Draco carried from years of trying and failing to be enough. Enough for his family, enough for his housemates, and now, enough for Harry. But how could he make Harry see when he himself didn’t have the words?

But not all their moments were filled with pain. There were flashes of happiness, fleeting but bright enough to sear into Draco’s memory, as whatever the thing between them kept happening.

One winter evening, they’d found themselves in the Room of Requirement, where the fire crackled warmly, and the snow fell softly outside the enchanted windows as if the fiendfyre and its aftermath didn’t happen at all. They’d been arguing—as they always did—but it had dissolved into laughter when Harry had tripped over a pile of cushions and landed in an undignified heap.

Draco had smirked, leaning against the armrest of the couch. “Graceful as ever, Potter.”

Harry had thrown a cushion at him, his laughter infectious. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

Before Draco could respond, Harry had tackled him, pinning him to the couch. Their faces had been inches apart, their breaths mingling in the warm air.

“You’re insufferable,” Draco had muttered, though his voice lacked venom.

Harry had grinned, his eyes alight with mischief. “I already know that. What else?”

Draco had rolled his eyes, but he hadn’t pushed Harry away and instead pulled him closer. They stared deeply into each other’s eyes, their lips almost touching but not, and the tension between them had been soft and slow and filled with unspoken promises.

And another memory escaped, shifting the moments into something vile.

“Why do you always have to push me away?” Harry had asked, his voice raw.

Draco had laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Harry had looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a moment, Draco had thought he saw something real, something vulnerable in those emerald eyes. Harry had stepped closer, his hands framing Draco’s face.

“I’m trying,” Harry had whispered, his forehead resting against Draco’s. “I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

Draco had wanted to believe him. Merlin, he’d wanted to. And for a little while, he guessed he had.

As he sat alone in that tower, Draco closed his eyes against the sting of the memories, but they came anyway, brighter and more vivid than the firelight in his mind like a cruel montage. The good, the bad, the in-between—all of it a reminder of what he’d lost and what he still yearned for. Harry had been a storm in his life, unpredictable and consuming. And he’d loved Harry with a desperation that scared him, a love that he’d worn like armor even as it left him vulnerable. He’d have caught a grenade for Harry and jumped in front of the Killing Curse if it meant saving him. But Harry…

Harry had never been willing to do the same.

And now, in his absence, Draco was left with the quiet aftermath, wondering if he’d ever feel whole again.

One evening, as the common room grew colder with the approaching winter, Draco sat with his knees drawn up to his chest, staring into the fireplace. The flames flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the room. The embers reminded him of Harry—of the fire in his eyes, the warmth he carried even in his most infuriating moments.

“Why do you do this to yourself?” Pansy’s voice broke through the quiet, startling him. She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, her expression soft but tinged with frustration. She had always been perceptive, too much so for Draco’s comfort.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Draco said, though his voice lacked conviction.

Pansy sighed and sat down beside him, her presence steady and grounding. “You’re miserable, Draco. And we both know why.”

Draco didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The weight of her words settled over him, heavy and unyielding.

“He’s not worth this,” Pansy said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re tearing yourself apart for someone who doesn’t even see it.”

Draco flinched at her words, though he knew she wasn’t trying to hurt him. “It’s not that simple,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “He does see it. I think… I think that’s the problem.”

Pansy frowned, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Draco stared into the fire, searching for the right words. “Harry… he’s afraid of what this means. What we mean. Every time he gets close, he panics. He pulls away, and I—” He broke off, his throat tightening. “I let him.”

“Why?” Pansy’s voice was sharp now, demanding an answer.

“Because,” Draco said, his voice trembling, “I’d rather have pieces of him than nothing at all.”

The admission hung in the air, raw and unguarded. Pansy’s expression softened, and she squeezed his shoulder. “Draco, you deserve more than that. You deserve someone who stays.”

Draco didn’t respond. Deep down, he knew she was right. But knowing and believing were two entirely different things. He felt the weight of it all pressing down on him. He’d given Harry his heart, his soul, every piece of himself he could offer. But Harry had only ever taken, leaving Draco to pick up the shattered remains.

“I would have died for you,” Draco whispered into the empty room, his voice breaking. “But you wouldn’t even stay for me.”

The fire crackled on, indifferent to his pain, as Draco’s tears finally fell, silent and unrelenting.

The seventh day brought a letter.

It was tucked beneath Draco’s Charms textbook, folded haphazardly, as though whoever had delivered it hadn’t cared whether it reached him at all. Draco stared at the unfamiliar parchment for a long time, his pulse hammering in his ears. He didn’t need to see the messy handwriting to know it was from Harry.

His fingers trembled as he unfolded it.

Draco,

I don’t know how to start this. I never do. Words have never been my strong suit, not when it comes to this… to us. But I’ll try because you deserve that much.

Draco’s breath hitched.

I’ve always been rubbish at staying. I think you know that better than anyone. It’s not that I don’t care—it’s that I care too much. And sometimes that scares me. Being with you… it makes me feel things I don’t know how to handle. Like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t see, and one wrong move will send me over.

Draco’s vision blurred, and he blinked furiously.

But walking away doesn’t make it easier. It doesn’t stop me from missing you, from wanting you. I thought if I left, I’d be doing us both a favor. That maybe you’d be better off without me. But now… I’m not so sure.

I’m sorry for the way I’ve treated you. For making you feel like you’re not enough when the truth is, you’re more than I ever deserved.

I want to fix this. If you’ll let me.

-Harry

Draco sat there for what felt like hours, the letter clutched tightly in his hands. He read it over and over, dissecting every word, every pause, every sentiment. It was messy and flawed and painfully honest—just like Harry.

He wanted to scream, to cry, to storm into Gryffindor Tower and hex Harry for being so infuriating. But more than that, he wanted to believe again .

Believe that Harry meant it. Again .

That this time would be different. Again .

The knock on the Slytherin common room door came late that night. Draco knew it was Harry before he even opened it. He could feel his presence, like a storm brewing just beyond the threshold.

When Draco finally pulled the door open, Harry stood there, looking as disheveled as ever. His eyes were shadowed with exhaustion, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. He looked like a man ready to beg for redemption.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” Draco said quietly, his voice devoid of the sharp edges it usually carried.

Harry shrugged, his gaze flicking to the floor. “I had to try... and... I never really wanted to... leave... you..."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, finally, Draco stepped aside, allowing Harry to enter.

They sat by the fire, the warmth casting flickering shadows across their faces. Draco didn’t say a word as Harry poured out his heart—his fears, his regrets, his desperate hope for another chance.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” Harry admitted, his voice hoarse. But in Draco’s mind, You hurt me constantly, in every subtle and deliberate way imaginable.

“And I can’t promise I won’t mess up again. But I want to try, Draco. I want to be better—for you, for us.”

Draco studied him, his silver eyes unreadable. He wanted to believe Harry, all over again. But trust wasn’t something that could be rebuilt overnight.

“You’ve left me so many times,” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper. “How do I know you won’t do it again?”

Harry’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “You don’t. All I can do is prove to you that I’m not going anywhere this time.”

“Why do you always leave, Harry?” Draco’s voice cracked, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

Harry hesitated, running a hand through his messy hair. “Because I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m scared of what this means. Of what we could be.”

Draco’s chest tightened a mixture of anger and hope warring within him because he was right about Harry’s thoughts in the first place. “Do you think you’re the only one who’s scared?” he demanded. “Do you think I don’t feel the same way? But I’m here, Harry. I’m here, and you… you keep running.”

Harry moved closer, his expression filled with regret. “I know,” he said softly. “And I hate myself for it. But I can’t lose you, Draco. I can’t.”

Draco laughed bitterly, shaking his head. “You already have, Harry. Every time you walk away, you lose me a little more.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on them. Then Harry did something Draco hadn’t expected. He dropped to his knees in front of him, his hands trembling as he reached for Draco’s.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Harry said, his voice firm despite the tears glistening in his eyes. “Not this time. I swear.”

Draco stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all he saw was sincerity, raw and unfiltered. Draco’s heart ached with the weight of it all. The love, the pain, the hope that had been buried beneath the rubble of their broken relationship. Even if it kills him—whether from the pain Harry causes or simply because he’s Harry Potter—Draco will always forgive and choose him, over and over again. Slowly, tentatively, he reaches out, his hand brushing against Harry’s.

“You’d better not,” Draco said quietly, his voice steady but his heart racing. “Because if you do, Harry, I won’t be here when you come back.” If you do it again, Harry, well fuck that because I will still be here, waiting…

Harry nodded, his grip on Draco’s hands tightening. “I won’t leave. Not again.”

“Don’t make me regret this,” Draco said softly. Don’t make me choose you only to be hurt again in the end.

Harry’s fingers shifted, capturing Draco’s jaw with a trembling certainty, tilting his face upward until their eyes locked, the depth of emotion—a spark of something fragile and hopeful igniting between them.

“I won’t,” Harry promised.

Draco allowed himself to believe him, all over again .

okayy, so this was a one-shot i posted in Ao3. I just wanna share it LOL. btw, FLASHBACKS are in Italics! and yep, this is somehow based on Billie Eilish's song BORED x Bruno Mars' GRENADE! honestly, idk what timeline in the book suit this plot, and so i thought maybe a post-war hogwarts timeline. but then, you could just imagine any timeline, which is which, cause honestly this is just a bit of draco's perspective when it comes to harry & their push and pull dynamics, and not about what's happening around them, whether they're in the same room or not.

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