Strong
For the @drarrymicrofic prompt Weak. 850 words 🫣 (I got carried away)
Draco was weak.
Always had been.
Everyone had always said so.
But it had never been so apparent as it was in this moment.
He wanted to say no. To slam the door in that broken man’s face.
But his body refused.
Instead, he leant down and hauled Potter up by the arm.
Potter was drenched, in more ways than one. By the look of things, he’d walked all the way to Malfoy Manor, from wherever, as the thunderstorm, which was currently wreaking havoc on the countryside, beat down on him. From the stench, Draco hadn’t needed the bottle of firewhisky to tumble out of Potter’s robes as confirmation, but it nonetheless fell out like a secret through clenched teeth.
Potter pawed at his face. “Draco,” he mumbled.
Draco leant away from the cold, wet, and unwelcome touch.
The house-elf who’d opened the door to a drunk Saviour was still nervously waiting, its wrinkly hands twisting in front of her.
“Shut the door and go to bed, Twimpy,” Draco ordered behind himself.
With a sigh of relief, the anxious house-elf was gone and Draco was left with this problem which had been dumped in his lap.
Slipping his arm under Potter’s shoulders, he led them towards one of the Manor’s many guest rooms.
“I-I’ve missed”—Potter hiccupped—“missed you,” he slurred.
Draco wrinkled his nose. “Of course you have. Fifteen years will do that.”
A sob tore out of Potter, and Draco wondered what part of the whole affair had caused it. The why? The when? The how? Maybe all of it.
With his hand on Potter’s mouth, Draco shushed him. It wouldn’t do to have him wake up the entire house.
As they arrived in the empty bedroom, the fireplace roared to life and Draco caught sight of their reflection in the mirror above it. How many times had they been like this? Arm under arm. Leaning against each other. Embracing.
Tearing his gaze away from the haunting reflection of their past, Draco shoved the blankets back and pushed Potter onto the mattress.
“Honestly,” he muttered, tugging the soaked robes off him. “Thirty-five years old and still incapable of basic self-preservation.”
He covered The Boy Who Drank Too Much with the heavy blankets and watched as he nestled further into the pillow, his green eyes mercifully closed.
As Draco tried to extricate himself, Harry instantly grabbed hold of him and pulled him closer.
“Let go of me, Potter,” Draco said, tired.
Harry’s eyes blinked open and Draco’s resolve crumbled like a sandcastle on the edge of a cliff.
“That’s not my name,” Harry said, his voice wet and plaintive.
Clenching his teeth, Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. “Let go of me, Harry.”
Tears brimmed Harry’s eyes; in the firelight they sparkled like emeralds. “Choose me,” he pleaded.
Draco tried to shake free, but Harry yanked him down and Draco found himself slotted between Harry’s spread legs. The position was still familiar. It still made his heart speed up. Still made the crotch of his pyjama bottoms tighten.
Their last night together, Harry had wanted them to fuck like this—face to face. With Harry's legs around his chest, and his length warmly encased, Draco had felt like Harry had broken a piece of him and stolen it.
Later, when their panting had subsided, and Draco had gone in for a kiss, Harry had pulled away and told him the truth. Another, bigger, more important, piece of Draco had broken then.
Draco had wanted to settle down, have a family.
Harry had still been young and wild. And self-sacrificing tosser that he was, he felt as if he were holding Draco back.
Truthfully, he was. But Draco hadn’t wanted to admit that then.
But he could admit it now.
Draco stroked Harry’s messy hair away from his face. “You already chose for us,” he said.
Releasing his grip as if Draco’s skin burned, Harry glared up at him—the fire in his eyes not dulled by the years of drinking. “I did it for you.”
“Yes, you did.” Draco stood up. “But I love Astoria. Not in a ‘she gave me a child way’, or a ‘I feel indebted to her’ way. I am in love with her,” he explained.
“You were once in love with me,” Harry replied with a look of anguish on his face that Draco wanted to smooth away with kisses.
This all hurt too much. Draco had to leave. Get back to his wife before she realised he was gone. He walked to the door and grasped the silver handle.
There was a quiet sob.
“I’m still in love with you,” he whispered so low, he was almost sure Harry hadn’t heard.
There was a quick rustle of the covers and Harry looked up at him with so much hope.
“But I’m weak.” Draco opened the door wide. “Be gone before my wife wakes,” he said coldly right before shutting the door.
Soon, Scorpius would be off to school and join Albus again.
Draco only hoped they were stronger.
