Chapter Text
Draco always knew it'd be a temporary probation thing, however long it lasted.
He wasn't even sure how it all started. One drunken shag had led to another drunken shag and before either of them realized it, Auror Potter came to Draco's flat three times a week.
There was no promises, no spoken words of love or commitment, Harry was still married, father of two (the second son popped out while Harry kept up with shagging Draco three times a week), no-one ever knew about this in Potter's entourage (Draco had only told Pansy in confidence), but, even so, the two of them still shared something deep, deeper than either of them could truly encompass. It had taken them both by surprise, caught them unaware and wormed its way into their hearts. Slowly and oh so softly but undeniably, Draco ended up falling for Harry entirely and utterly.
He had known then that it wouldn't last, but as the weeks and months and years passed by and Harry kept coming back to Draco's flat, to fuck him into oblivion and share his deepest and ugliest secrets with him, that day had seemed more and more surreal until it became a small insignificant and irrational fear buried at the back of his mind. Draco had settled into a cosy routine, a somehow comforting certainty about them that felt surer and surer after each visit. He had let himself be lulled into a false sense of safety to the point he had almost forgotten that their relationship—if there ever was one—was on borrowed time.
Draco had not anticipated how utterly devastated he would be when Harry stopped coming.
He had known, deep inside, that Harry would stop coming one day. That was an evidence, even if Draco had wished with all his heart that he wouldn't. He'd known. Honestly, he still marveled at the fact Harry had started coming altogether, still couldn't quite believe it sometimes, actually.
No matter how deep and strong their connection might have felt like, Draco had known. Why would Harry ever want to be with him?
Despite everything, Draco hadn't thought, however, that Harry would actually stop coming, just like that.
He had never thought that Harry would leave one Monday night, that he would kiss him goodnight on the forehead, a soft loving thing. It felt loving anyway, to Draco, had always felt so. Despite the lack of words, despite the lack of commitment and promises, Draco had felt love and cared for, during these brief moments of stolen intimacy. He had never felt so loved in his entire life, in fact. In Harry's arms, entangled in stained sheets, bathed in warmth and soft whispers and loving giggles, Draco had felt loved and desired and cherished. He had mattered to Harry, he knew he had. He knew he hadn't been the one to feel that way.
That's why it had never crossed his mind once, that this blasted Monday night when Harry put his Auror robes back on, layers after layers, still full of Draco's come, his nimble fingers confident and sure and a loving smile plastered on his face, that it would be the last time he came to him.
That it'd be the last time Draco saw him.
He even thought he had died, in his darkest moments, but he knew he hadn't. He knew deep inside Harry was still alive, he'd felt it otherwise. No, Harry hadn't died, he was just through with Draco and really, Draco couldn't even blame him, he had his family, his life, and Draco was... well, Draco was... a wizard, for starters. And a former Death Eater, at that. And that was without taking into account their complicated history.
Draco got it. He would have just appreciated being told in person, or not even in person, but... just be warned at least, that's all.
Draco waited for a week before he started to get anxious, and then another week, before he got really worried. After three weeks Draco wondered if something had happened, or if he had been dumped.
If he could actually claim his relationship with Harry to be enough of one to be 'dumped.'
He got part of an answer from the Prophet after four weeks. The Boy Who Lived Twice had survived one more time. He had finally woken up from a coma and was sent home to be looked after by his loving family, to summarize.
When he'd read those lines, Draco had felt a huge pang in his chest, the force of a blow powerful enough to wind him, and he crumbled under the weight of guilt and heartache. He tried to contact his lover but Harry never answered.
Maybe he couldn't, maybe he didn't want to. His recent accident had probably helped Harry to set his priorities straight and he realized there was no place for Draco in his life, not when he was surrounded by his loving family and friends. His wife and his two sons, and an entire clan of Weasleys.
It didn't feel like that when they were shagging, but what did Draco know? After all, all he knew about Harry's family he had heard from Harry himself, cradled in his arms and pressed into the warmth of the pillows of his own bed. They didn't only shag when they met, they talked too. They shared, a lot, about their wishes and their desires, their fears too. They helped each other through their nightmares and anxiety issues. They supported each other, listened to each other. Draco had never felt so close to anybody else. He had thought he knew Harry, better than anyone else. He had thought Harry felt the same way about him, naively.
Maybe it had all been in his head.
Draco stopped trying to contact him. He wasn't supposed to, it had always been Harry who sought him out and never the other way around. Draco had no place to seek him out. Who was he, besides the Saviour's dirty secret?
No-one.
He finally gave up and contented himself from getting news about Harry Potter, Saviour of the Wizarding World, through the Prophet.
It was only three months later, when Draco was slowly getting over their semblance of a relationship, that he finally learnt the whole truth, by happenstance, as he was randomly pacing the corridors of the ministry and unintentionally eavesdropped on a private conversation, and from Weasley of all people.
Harry had forgotten the last three or so years of his life.
He had forgotten about Draco and what they had meant to each other. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Draco anymore, he just didn't remember what they were to each other.
Draco didn't know what was worse, longing for a man who had never loved him and didn't want to see him anymore or longing for a man who loved him back but didn't remember it.
Draco fell apart that day.