Stop All the Clocks (This Is the Last Time I'm Leaving Without You)

chapter 10

It's the details that Harry finds hardest to deal with. It's awful existing without Draco, but it's the thousand little remnants Draco left behind that Harry finds hardest to face. The empty stretch of bed beside him when he wakes up is a painful reminder of what he's lost, but it's nothing like the crippling heartache that seizes him when he comes across a pair of Draco's pants tossed carelessly beside the bath mat, or the latest catalogue for Quality Quidditch Supplies lying draped open over the arm of Draco's chair, or the half-empty jar of raspberry jam that Harry will never bring himself to finish because he hates all the little seeds in it. Draco's blue toothbrush is still in the holder by the sink and his silk dressing gown is draped over the footboard of their bed and two pairs of his shoes are still by the door.

It feels like everywhere he looks, Harry's faced with another little bit of detritus from a life in progress, suddenly abandoned. Here, a prescription potion for allergies. There, a half-written grocery list. A pair of socks stuffed between the cushions of the sofa, a hairbrush with a few fine blond strands caught between the bristles, "lunch with Mum!" penned on the calendar for next Saturday. Another pair of socks under the coffee table, the bottle of stupidly expensive conditioner in the shower, a half-empty packet of cigarettes, and the silver-framed reading glasses Draco pretends he doesn't need.

It isn't until Harry searches for the box of Earl Grey that he finally breaks. He finds it shoved way to the back of the cabinet, and opens it up to discover a single teabag and a note reading "This one's mine, Potter, drink it without replacing it and I shall be forced to murder you. I am an Auror and that means I know where to hide the body!" and Draco, the ridiculous bastard, has dotted each letter I with a little heart.

That telltale hot prickling swells up behind his eyes and through his sinuses, but Harry manages to swallow it down. He stuffs the note back into the box, folds the lid closed, and shoves it back to the rear of the cabinet. He can't stay here anymore. If he stays here, he's going to go mad. He shoves his feet into his shoes, takes the Floo to the Ministry, and goes straight to the Head Auror's office. Taking a deep breath, he squares his shoulders, raises his fist, and knocks on the door.

In the long pause that followed the fading echo of his knock, Harry seriously considered forgetting all about this nonsense and Disapparating. Harry wasn't sure what exactly Malfoy expected of him. He'd chased Harry out of his office shortly after they'd come to their agreement and without saying exactly what was going to happen tonight. Well, what would happen was fairly obvious, and really didn't explain his nerves. He'd already let Malfoy fuck him before, and so he thought he shouldn't feel nearly this anxious about it. But the butterflies winging through his stomach just wouldn't settle, and in the end Harry had packed up a change of clothes and his toothbrush in a small bag, Shrunk it down and tucked it into his pocket, then Apparated to Malfoy's doorstep.

Then the door swung open and Malfoy stepped back without a word. He was wearing a white button-down with the sleeves rolled up to mid-forearm, casually displaying the faded scarring of his Dark Mark, and his feet were bare and impossibly pale against the dark wood of the floor. There was something strangely intimate about seeing Malfoy's bare feet. He'd always kept his socks on when they'd fucked.

"Well?" Malfoy asked, and Harry wrenched his eyes back up to Malfoy's face. "Are you coming in or are you just going to stand there all night?"

Harry stepped inside and toed off his shoes as Malfoy shut the door behind him. He looked around, at the Persian rugs spread over the polished floorboards, at the heavy mahogany furniture and Tiffany lamps, at the tasteful art on the walls and the expensive knickknacks dotting shelves and tabletops, and Harry had never felt more out of place than he did right then. He wished he'd thought of putting on nicer trousers, at least.