Chapter 1. Breaking.

The quiet was pervasive, and only the echoes of a happier time played havoc with the silence in his head. Weak sunlight shining through a window highlighted a myriad of dust motes floating in the disturbed air as he passed. Dust covers in a pile on the floor were waiting to cover furniture that had borne witness to the happiest moments in his life.

The knick-knacks of his life were gone, packed in boxes, ready to move on, leaving the rooms devoid of character, unadorned by anything that gave a hint as to what sort of home this had been for the occupants. It was now just four walls and a roof. Without the love that had abided under its roof, it was reduced to no more than bricks and mortar. Vacant, it was dead, he thought. Just like me.

One last walk around then, he decided. Maybe then he could say goodbye. This place had too many memories for him to live there comfortably any longer. Every article of furniture, every room, the very air in the house, all reminded him of Draco and what he had lost. Repeated begging from his friends had finally worn him down and he was leaving the only home he had ever known, that had been filled with the only love he had ever known. And he was numb.

The aching chasm Draco had left behind, was too big a hole to fill. He lived a half-life now. Scruffy, unable to wear the clothes that they had picked out together, he had reverted back to the oldest, most horrible jeans and t-shirt that he owned.

I threw out all of your old clothes, Harry.

All except these.

Glasses once again framed dead eyes. He couldn't look at himself in the mirror anymore through the contact lenses that Draco had made him wear. Besides, they made his eyes hurt, he justified to himself, knowing better. Constantly withholding the tears that threatened to fall was what hurt his eyes.

Looking into your eyes is like looking into your soul Harry.

Harry didn't like the look of his soul these days. It was empty, he knew. The essence of what made his life make sense was gone.

As he walked around the house the ghosts of their love came to greet him. Here in the bathroom, the tiled shower still held a broken tile in the corner that Harry had never bothered to fix. He'd made the excuse that he didn't have enough time, but they had both known the real reason. Harry had cherished the memory that caused it, and had wanted to hold on to that, to always be reminded of that happy day. Before he knew it, visions of Draco standing under the hot water, skin flushed pink in the heat, came to him.

First day in their new house, and Draco had wanted to clean up after the unpacking. Harry had watched, not quite able to believe that he was happy, that he deserved to be so happy. Seeing him, Draco had held out his hand to Harry, who stepped in to share the heat of the water and his love. The first time they had made love in this house was right there in the shower. In their passion, one of them grasped at the shower curtain and it had come crashing down on them, cracking a tile in the process.

A flicker at the corners of his mouth was the only indication now that the memory of the two of them sprawled on the floor of the shower laughing until they were breathless, touched him.

Well that's an interesting way to christen a house Harry.

Or that he remembered the heat of hands sliding over the new bruises after that, or the reverence with which they had touched each other, bringing them both to completion with a tenderness he had hardly thought possible.

The familiar soft laugh loud in the silence startled him and he spun around, his breath catching, hoping. All that greeted him was a faint echo in the quiet. He took a deep breath, trying to combat a sudden ache in his throat, pleading with it to go away. Wondering where it had come from in the first place. He didn't have any feelings left did he? They had walked out the door along with Draco. This home had lost it's heart.

Blankly, he wandered down the hall and found himself in what had been their bedroom. No trace, he thought. There's no trace of us here anymore. No photos, no books and nothing to suggest that anyone had ever slept in this room. The bed was still there, bare of coverings. Just a plain mattress on a heavy based brass bed. No, he was wrong, there were traces of them, he saw. When he looked, there they were. There were scratches on the bed head from the handcuffs that they liked to use. He saw the marks of the cuffs around each bed post, a sight which forced into his head a perfectly clear image of Draco bound naked and squirming on the bed, his eyes dark with lust.

God Harry, you're driving me crazy, just fuck me already...

He sat down on the bed, defeated, running his hand across the cloth of the mattress and allowing the memories to come. All the times they had made love on this bed paraded mockingly before him. In passion, in lust, in pure anger, or with a gentleness that bought tears to his eyes, they were all there. But it was always, always with an undying love.

Mine.

Yours.

The hours spent mapping out his body with his fingers and his tongue, finding every sensitive place, learning every smell, tasting every flavour. Every single sigh and groan, every small noise, every touch was firmly etched into his being. He had known Draco's body better than his own, and now… well now his hands were as empty as the rest of him.

Rubbing eyes that for some reason had begun to hurt as much as his throat, he stood and walked to the kitchen, the ghosts floating ethereally along behind. At the breakfast nook, memories assaulted him of mornings they had talked and laughed over coffee or tea, and croissants. Of late afternoon discussions about their lives, their friends, dinner parties that Draco loved to host, the latest shopping expeditions. Of gentle kisses, tender smiles and loving touches.

My heart.

Mine too.

This room had known his joy. He wondered how he could leave all these memories, all this love? He wondered why he was so cold and desolate when he had such warmth in his past?

Past. That was the problem wasn't it? They were now his past. A small whimper escaped him. He couldn't remember any more, he had to stop. If he didn't it would kill him all over again.

Forcing himself from the warmth of the kitchen, he headed resolutely to the pile of dust cloths to begin to cover the lounge furniture. These were new, he thought as he picked one up. They were safe. No memories there. Tucking it under his arm, he turned to the couch to give a final check under the cushions for any lose objects he might have forgotten. A cold metallic chink hit the ring on his finger and he scrabbled around extracting the item. It was the gold bracelet he had given Draco on the first anniversary of the purchase of their home.

It was the one he had handed back to Harry as he walked out the door, breaking Harry's heart. In the pain of that evening he had paid no attention to what had happened to it. Now he knew.

Harry fell heavily onto the couch, face becoming a mask of misery, his eyes haunted. He felt the pain running through every fibre of his body straight into his heart, filling it, bursting it and flooding out in a wrenching cry of anguish. Wrapping his arms across his chest, clasping the bracelet to him tightly, he curled into a tight ball on the couch, sobbing months worth of tears. Something he had not allowed himself when Draco had left.

Both of them had tried to say that it was for the best. Neither felt that they could keep living the way they had been. This had been the room, Harry suddenly remembered, not knowing how he had managed to forget, the room where they had made the decision to part.

He didn't want to relive that night, those weeks, of building tension, but the flowing of his tears had opened the way for the bad memories to haunt him. He remembered the hermits they had become because of the damned press hounding them. The broken nights, spent in anger at the barrage of howlers they received every time the Daily Prophet wrote about them.

No matter how many times they had told themselves that the outcry would go away, that the press would find someone else to hound, it never did. Day after day, the incessant attention eventually wore down the walls they had built around themselves. The ones they had constructed over years of secrecy, years of relying only on each other, years of just being.

They couldn't go anywhere without being followed by hordes of people, some spitting on them, the rest confining themselves to hurling abuse. Most of it was directed at Draco. Once their relationship became news, he had borne the brunt of the hate because of his name. It didn't matter how many times Harry had defended Draco, had told everyone what he had done to help the Order, people refused to believe that Draco was any better than his father.

I am nothing like my father!

I know.

Day by day, Harry watched Draco become more and more withdrawn, bending under the weight, and he hated them all for what they had done to both of them. Draco who loved the limelight and the attention became a shadow of himself. It was breaking Harry too, and he couldn't stand by and watch what was happening to Draco any longer.

So, one gray, cloudy day when Draco came to him and told him that things had to change, he accepted it. Draco was being hurt too much for Harry to fight against it, so he let him go, thinking that Draco would be happier, better off without him. Still thought that.

The last thing Draco did before he walked out the door was to hand the bracelet back to Harry.

I have my memories safe in here Harry. Hand over his heart.

I don't need anything else to remind me.

Harry lay sobbing silently on the couch, pain and grief carved into every line of his body, still clasping the bracelet so tightly in his hand that the grooves imprinted upon his skin darkly. This had been their home. His entire world and everything that meant anything to him had been under this roof. Nothing meant anything anymore. He didn't care that he was moving into a room at Hermione's. He didn't care that she was worried about his state of mind. He didn't care that he no longer had a job, or that all but Ron and Hermione had abandoned him. He only cared that Draco wasn't with him.

Always?

Always.

Some time later, Harry was standing in the doorway to the lounge, eyes red-rimmed and sore, trying to swallow past his raw aching throat. There was a box of the last of the things from the house under his arm.

He paused, unable to make the final move to walk from the house for good.

How do I do this? How do I leave?

Draco's soft laughter mocked him. Some small part of him wanted to run through the house to see if he could find him anywhere, proof that he was still here after all. Every time he heard that gentle laugh his heart fluttered wildly with hope, before the cold hard rush of logic hit home. Logic in the form of the bracelet cold around his wrist, told him that it wasn't possible.

It was that cool metal that finally made him move. It reminded him that Draco had been able to leave, so he would be able to as well, no matter how hard it was.

Scared Potter?

It was so real, the voice in his head.

Yes. Terrified.

Take one step at a time Harry.

Right.

Unsteadily, he took the few remaining steps to the door.

As he walked out of the door, he stopped and turned back for one last look and the tears flowed again.

"Goodbye Draco." He whispered, and turned blindly, broken and desolate, towards his car.