please understand that im trying my hardest
"Harry." Malfoy's voice is clear, right in Harry's right ear. Harry flushes. Malfoy has never called him by his first name. Not once. Harry can't imagine himself calling Malfoy Draco. It feels wrong on his lips, almost as if the name is forbidden. Yet Harry can't help it when his heart beats faster at the sound of Malfoy's voice.
"What do you want, Malfoy?"
"Not much," Malfoy pauses as if pondering his choice of words, "just you."
Harry blinks and feels a set of lips on his own. Sure, he's kissed people before, but it's never felt like this. It's never felt like hundreds of fireworks were exploding throughout his chest. It's never felt this good. Blood rushes through his whole body fast enough to make him dizzy. Malfoy pulls away, flashes a grin, and walks away. Harry brings a hand up to touch his lips, still wet from the kiss. He grins to himself and stumbles back against the wall, sliding down it until he hits the floor.
When Harry wakes up, he feels like he's still dreaming. There's a ray of moonlight peeking into his dormitory, and he sighs in relief that it's not morning yet. He sits up on his four-poster bed, and his hand finds its way to his lips. The lips Malfoy had kissed. Harry flushes at the reminder of what he dreamed about. He falls back onto his pillow, and his mind races with questions and panicked thoughts. What did that dream mean? Why did Malfoy kiss him?
Under the haze of racing thoughts, Harry just hoped it was a one-off.
Though something deep inside him tells him it wasn’t a one-off, he has dreams like this all the time; he always has. Almost every night, Malfoy creeps his way into Harry’s dreams, does something to Harry, pins him against the wall, kisses him, confesses to him, and then just walks away. None of them ends with Malfoy staying and talking to Harry, even though it’s all Harry wants, which is to just have a conversation with Malfoy. Harry needs to know what goes on in Malfoy’s mind. He has to figure out if the part of Malfoy that others see is the real Malfoy. He needs to know Malfoy.
That’s all he’s ever needed. Ever since Malfoy first insulted him on their first day at Hogwarts, that’s all Harry has thought about. God, does he wish he knew his feelings sooner—that he risked even thinking about them? He wishes he could go back in time and tell himself that he had feelings for Malfoy. He wishes he had never insulted Malfoy on that day. He wishes he lived in a different time—a time when he could be honest. Hell, he wishes he and Malfoy weren’t wizards. If they weren’t wizards, if they were normal, Harry might’ve been able to confess his feelings years ago. Who knows where they'd be right now? If Malfoy had returned Harry’s feelings, they could have been together for years by now.
Harry could be happy. If only he weren’t a wizard. If only he were born a muggle in the future, where he could be happy. He’d be able to tell people how he felt without fear.
He knows what’s expected of him: get married, become an auror, and have kids to carry on his bloodline. But Harry doesn’t want that. He wants to be with Malfoy, not Ginny. Shit. He’d almost forgotten about Ginny. What the fuck is he going to do? If he leaves Ginny for Malfoy, Ron will hate him for the rest of his life. He’ll lose his first and closest friend. He can’t risk that, but he also can’t sit here and marry a girl he doesn’t love. He can’t love Ginny. He’s never been able to love anyone since Malfoy turned his world around.
Fuck. Fuck. What has he fucking done?
Everything is over for him. Ron and Hermione will never speak to him if he tells them or if he leaves Ginny without reason. He can’t just leave Ginny. Ron will never fucking forgive him. He’ll be with no one. He’ll lose the only people he knows and trusts. He’ll never be the same. All because of what, because he’s in love with a Death Eater?
His life is over. It’s over before it can even begin, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He can’t help that he doesn’t love Ginny. He wishes he could love Ginny. His life would be so much easier than it is now. He would still have all of his friends, he’d be happy, and no one would leave him. He doesn’t know what he would do if everyone he’s ever loved disappeared from his life. It’s already happened once, and he can’t have it happen again. He finally has a life, and he wishes he could hang onto it.
Yet he can’t live in a lie, either. He can’t stand there at the altar and utter the words, ‘I do’. Not when he knows he doesn’t want to. Ginny doesn’t deserve to be lied to. She doesn’t deserve to be in a relationship built on Harry’s denial and lies. Harry won’t stand for that, but he also can’t fucking bear to tell the truth to anyone but himself. No one else deserves to deal with that. It’s a problem he has to fix on his own. It’s all his fault. He has to fix it. He needs to fix it. He needs to just. Ignore it. He needs to. Breathe. Breathe. He has to breathe.
Breathe. Harry can’t breathe. Tears are rolling down his cheeks before he can stop them, and he lets out a sobbing breath. Every breath he takes fucking hurts. His chest hurts. He’s shaking so much that his bed is shaking. His eyes are swimming with tears. He brings his hand up to his mouth to muffle his sobs, but it’s no use.
Ron stirs across the room. "Harry, are you okay?”
Harry can’t answer. He can’t speak or do anything except let out another sob. He sees Ron get out of bed and walk over to him. Harry feels his bed dip and hears Ron whisper, “Harry, what’s going on?” Harry takes a deep breath.
“I’m such a fucking idiot.” Harry sniffles. “I’m an idiot who doesn’t know what his feelings are. I’ve ruined everything, Ron. I’m like a fucking failure.” Harry sees Ron’s expression change from worried to frustrated, and Harry knows why. Harry has breakdowns like this frequently, especially since the war ended, and he knows he says similar things every time. He feels bad for Ron; Ron has to sit there and listen to Harry say the same shit repeatedly. Harry hears Ron huff out a sigh.
“Harry, you’re not a failure, okay? What even makes you think that?”
He is a failure. He can’t even tell the truth to himself, let alone Ginny. He can’t tell the truth to anyone. It took him seven years to admit it to himself, so how long will it take for him to say it aloud? How long will it take for him to open up to anyone? How much time is he going to waste? All he wants is to be fucking happy. He can’t get that, though. He thinks he never will be. He’s in love with a boy. A boy who’s a known Death Eater. A boy who works with the man who killed Harry’s parents. He knows how bad it sounds.
He can’t help it. He wishes he could. He wishes he could be normal and that he could marry Ginny. Either he builds up a family with Ginny—a family built on a lie—or he loses his entire life. He’s so fucked. His life is over. He’ll never be happy. Ginny doesn’t deserve this. Ron doesn’t deserve this. Hermione doesn’t deserve this.
The only person who deserves this is Harry.
“Harry?”
All Harry sees is black.
*****
Harry wakes up in the infirmary. It’s dark out now. Was he asleep all day? He slowly sits up. Malfoy is sitting in a chair next to his bed. Harry blinks. “Malfoy?” Harry whispers. His voice is so hoarse that he can barely recognize it.
Malfoy slowly opens his eyes and says, “Oh, you’re awake.” Malfoy stretches his arms over his head, yawning as he does. Harry rubs his eyes. Is this another one of his dreams? “Weasley told me what happened,” Malfoy mutters. “He couldn’t stay with you, so I decided to.”
Harry furrows his eyebrows. “What happened?”
The last thing Harry can remember is... Oh, no. No, no, no. This is the last thing he needs. Harry can’t do this right now. He can’t fucking deal with this.
“Weasley said you had a panic attack,” Harry swears he sees Malfoy’s pale skin turn light pink, “and that you said a bunch of shit about not wanting to get married to Ginny. That you were,” Malfoy clears his throat, “in love with someone else.” Harry says nothing.
What is he going to do? Malfoy knows. He knows what a disgusting freak Harry is. He hates Harry even more than he did before. Harry has ruined any chance he’s ever gotten at turning things around. He’s fucking done for. His life is over. The very thing he tried to avoid is happening. Fuck. His life is fucking over. There’s nothing he can do to stop it. Why did Ron tell Malfoy? Why did Harry say that out loud?
Breathe.
What the fuck? Why did you even say that?
Breathe.
Malfoy knows. It’s all over.
Breathe.
Disgusting. Freak. A fucking waste of space. You’d be better off dead.
Breathe.
Worthless.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Freak.
In and out.
No one even cares about you. Everything is crumbling around you. It’s all your fault. Your fault. Everyone is better off without you.
Just. Breathe.
Harry can feel tears streaming down his face. He can feel Malfoy next to him, calling his name. He wishes he could call out and say anything, but he can’t. His lungs burn. His arms hurt. His cheeks hurt. Everything hurts. Why does this have to happen?
What the fuck is wrong with him?
“Harry! Harry, are you okay?” Malfoy’s voice is muffled. Harry can’t hear it over
Fucking disgusting. Look at how pathetic you are. Crying in front of a death eater What are you even good for?
“Harry? Answer me, please.” Malfoy’s voice is clearer. Harry can still barely make it out.
Your parents died because of you. Look at you, in love with a Death Eater. The minions of Voldemort. And you want to be with one. Laughable.
“Harry,” He can finally hear Malfoy’s voice: “Harry, talk to me.”
Harry breathes out. Then in.
“I’m sorry,” Harry gasps. “I didn’t want this to happen. This is so embarrassing.”
Malfoy shrugs. “I’ve seen worse.” Harry smiles. A faint smile, but it’s there.
A beat of silence settles between them.
“You called me Harry.” Malfoy hums, “I did.”