Harry sat there alone.
Alone because he was.
Alone for the simple fact that he no longer had anyone to love, anyone who cared for him and not the name. Well at least it felt that way.
It felt as though every breath was agony and every time he awoke his nerves were torn to shreds. The empty hurt in his stomach and his chest and his heart and his head never once went away.
Living in the constant anguish he experienced was worse than death. He’d choose death over life if it meant this.
If he had just chose death. He’d choose not to survive Voldemort spells and all his plots and plans he’d choose himself over everyone else for once, himself over the world.
If choosing himself over the world this very one time would prevent all this pain he would take it in a heartbeat not looking back once.
If he hadn’t worked for the ministry.
If he hadn’t testified for Malfoy.
If he hadn’t helped Malfoy.
If Malfoy hadn’t apologized.
If harry didn’t forgive him.
If Malfoy hadn’t turned to Draco.
If Harry hadn’t fallen in love.
If Draco hadn’t accepted it.
If the prophet never found out.
If Draco had been accepted in a society.
If Draco wasn’t hunted.
If Harry hadn’t fled with him.
If Harry didn’t let him get caught.
Harry felt everything and nothing. Nothing mattered but it did. Every reminder he loved and hated. Every nostalgic feeling brought him to tears yet he’d be filled with adoration. Every color green made him smile while the weight on his chest collapsed into him. In the rare chance he was ever met with grey eyes he’d feel as though Draco would be looking into him. But Draco was gone. And he’d never return.
If Draco was gone so was he.