Cold and Broken

He's beautiful when he sleeps. All rosy cheeks and parted lips…he's even more beautiful during his post-coital nap, like now. The black sheets, tangled around his hips and legs, a sharp contrast to his alabaster skin and white-blonde hair. He looks peaceful, innocent.

Except for that ugly black mark. A skull with a snake coming out of his mouth. His mark. The Dark Mark. It's been two years since the end of the war, since the Dark Lord perished, and yet the mark stays. As bold and evident as ever.

He can't wear short sleeves. He can't leave his house without being reminded of who he was, who he is…his family and…minions. But they've all left. His parents fled the country while the Auror's backs were turned. His other…acquaintances were sent to Azkaban. Draco, my dearest, was let off.

Thanks to Harry Potter.

I'll never understand that man, but I will be forever grateful to him. He set my Draco free. He has allowed him to heal. To move on.

I just wish he wouldn't move on from me.

Oh no, he never actually said he was leaving. He wouldn't do that. We've been together forever. Always in secret, but we knew. We shared a dorm in school. But what most people didn't know is that we shared a bed in school.

It started out innocent at first. I fancied him like mad, who wouldn't? He told me I looked like a girl. I will admit I have feminine features: slender neck, full lips, cheekbones. I believe that's what drew him to me.

It was storming one night. He'd just gotten an owl from his father and he was upset. I found him in the common room. I always knew when Draco was upset. He wore his emotions on his sleeve, you just had to know where to look.

He was facing the fire, slumped against one of the armchairs, his legs pulled to his chest. He was trying not to cry. He was trying so hard that he was crying, but out of the corner of his eyes, the tears going unnoticed.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked.

"No," Draco answered.

It was the first time we'd spoken real words to each other in a long time. Draco was usually off with his minions, doing something untold. I'd always been jealous of Crabbe and Goyle. Draco always spoke about Potter, Weasley, and Granger, the 'trio.' But did he realize he was part of his own trio? I noticed, though. And I knew it was something I could never be a part of.

I sat with him that night, as the fire died and he pretended not to realize he was crying. I pretended, too, for his sake. Then, when the fire was little more than red hot coals, he turned to me. I turned to him.

Then he kissed me.

I was taken aback at first, though inside I knew. He was kissing me, and I kissed him back. I was just about to open my mouth, my tongue nearly dancing against my teeth in excitement, when he pulled away.

He stormed down the corridor to our dorm without a backward glance. I'd ran my hand through my blonde hair, thinking I'd ruined everything. I followed him to the fifth year dorms, closing the door softly behind me. When I turned around I was startled.

Draco stood in the middle of the room casting silencing charms on the occupied beds. I wondered what he was doing, and then he turned to me. He closed the distance between us in three long strides before crushing his lips to mine.

We kissed for minutes. Long minutes drawn out by curling tongues and wandering hands – his. Mine were planted firmly on his slim shoulders. He gripped my waist, no doubt feeling my protruding hip bones. It wasn't my fault I hadn't filled out my body yet.

When his mouth left mine a second later, I was saddened. This was my opportunity, my dream come true. I had admired him from afar for years, and here he was, snogging me. He could choose anyone he pleased, and he chose me! Then he stopped.

He leaned forward, his scent ensnaring my senses. Sandalwood. Yum.

"You look like a girl," he whispered.

I wanted to throttle him and kiss him all at the same time. How dare he say that to me? Disrupt my innocence by kissing me in the common room and then insult me?

Then he kissed me again and I forgot my qualms.

We snogged for a long time that night, and the nights that followed. I still wasn't a member of the Slytherin Trio, but I was privy to the same information.

"Pillow talk," he told me one night during sixth year, the year we started making love. That year something was bothering him. It was only after I found out Draco was supposed to be the one to kill Dumbledore that I got upset.

He was supposed to tell me everything. Isn't that what people in relationships did? Oh, but Draco and I weren't in much of a relationship. A snog here, a fuck there. That's how he expressed it.

I was in love with him.

He had to know that. It was blatantly obvious. The way I stared at him, waited for him, hung on his every word. It was obvious to me, anyway.

After the war was over and his parents gone, I moved in to the manor with him. He couldn't bare to live there for long and bought his own place only three months after the war ended. It was quite large, I loved it. I moved in right away, but he made me move my things into a spare bedroom.

I told him I understood why. But I didn't. Who cared what other people thought? His mates, if you could even call them that, were being locked up left and right. No one ever came to visit him.

He didn't need to work because of his inheritance, but I did. I got a job at the Ministry, a small desk job that had me pushing parchment around all day. But it was nice to be bringing in some gold of my own. I figured Draco would be grateful that I'd have my own money once we got married.

He took me out to dinner one night on what we figured was close to our anniversary. It was terribly casual and I threw a fit when he wouldn't hold my hand. "Just like a girl," he muttered before paying our bill.

We left, him all but dragging me to the disapparation point in Diagon Alley. We landed in our bedroom, but instead of fighting me, he kissed me. A deep, expressive kiss that made my toes curl and body tighten.

We made slow love that night. With us it was usually rough and hot. But this time he was gentle. I enjoyed it much more this way.

As I curled into his arms afterwards, both of us ready for our post-coital nap, I mumbled, "I love you, Draco."

I froze for a second. Even after years of being involved with each other, I'd never let my true feelings be known. I was scared of what he would do or say…how he'd react. He muttered a sleepy, simple, "Love you, too, Nott."

I was happy. Ecstatic. Thrilled. My beloved had just told me he loved me. My life was perfect. Our life was perfect.

And it continued to be great. We were getting along, communicating well, he even allowed me to keep my toothbrush in his private bath. I told him I loved him and he said the words right back, each time making my heart soar.

Until, one day, it wasn't. He had to go on a trip, he said. He needed to see his father. He was gone a week, and things were different when he returned. He was distant. He didn't tell me he loved me as much. We didn't talk at all, really, unless we were about to have sex. He didn't kick me out of his bed, just out of his heart. I should have left him then, but my love for him was too strong.

It all changed suddenly one day a month after his trip. I came home early from work, laden with papers that needed sorting, but I had a headache and decided to work from home.

I walked into an eerily quiet house. I placed my papers in my study, across the hall from Draco's, and toed out of my boots. I moved up the stairs, wanting to see him. Wanting to see my beloved.

And see him I did.

He was in our room. With a woman. They were…in the throes of passion, we'll say. He saw me over her shoulder. I stood, stunned, for a moment before stomping down the hall to the spare bedroom, where all my things were.

It didn't take me long to pack, but I didn't want to leave without speaking to him. I threw myself down onto the neatly made bed. The one that had never been slept in. I tried hard not to, but once the flood gates opened I couldn't stop them. Merlin, I am such a girl. I cried for hours probably, and then fell asleep.

I was awoken by the bed dipping. A hand on my hip. I rolled over quickly, my feet landing on the floor. I stood and looked into the grey eyes of the man I loved, who just couldn't love me back. Not enough, anyway.

"Who was she?" I asked, my voice wavering with emotion. He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his damp hair, fresh from a shower. I knew instinctively that she was gone, but the sun was nearly set so she'd stayed for some time. "How long have you been fucking her?"

His grey eyes hardened, but he didn't say anything. His mouth formed a thin, angry line, but he didn't say anything. His eyes turned to slits, but he didn't say anything.

Then his features softened. He smiled a soft, sad smile. "Her name is Astoria Greengrass," he spoke softly, but I heard the underlying tone. "She is my betrothed."

Realization dawned on me as my heart chattered in my chest. My Draco, my beloved, was marrying. My face hardened. "This is your father's doing, isn't it?"

"What do you expect, Nott? He's found me a nice, wealthy pureblood to marry and that's what I'm going to do. It's what's best for the Malfoy name."

I wanted to speak. I wanted to yell. I wanted to beg him not to, to marry me. To be with me. But I couldn't form words, and a choked sob escaped my throat. "What about me?" I choked out, tears clouding my vision.

"I'll get you a flat near here," he insists. I can see the love in his eyes, hear it in his voice. But it's not enough. If he loved me enough, I would be good enough for him. Obviously I'm just good for a good shag. "We can still get together."

Yes, right. And what's the male form of mistress? No thank you. But I can't tell him that. I just nod, my lips pressed together tightly so I won't speak.

He walks around the bed, tries to take my hand and lead me out of the room. I know what's happening. He's trying to take me to our room…well, their room. I won't have that. I won't make love with him on soiled sheets. Not after she's been there.

Instead, I pull the quilt off the bed in the room we stood, watching the black quilt fall to the floor before laying back on the black sheets, enjoying the feeling of him above me once more.

I poured everything I'd ever felt for him into that last time. Every moan, every whimper, every shuddering breath was filled with emotion. I cried, I know I cried. He kissed my tears away, mistaking them for happy tears I'm sure. He didn't even realize that this was goodbye. But I knew.

He's beautiful when he sleeps, peaceful and innocent, tangled up in the black sheets of the spare bedroom's slightly lumpy bed. He shifted in his sleep, sighing peacefully. I smiled sadly as I picked up my belongings and left the room, left the house…

And that night I left him. I didn't look back.

I left him because he had left me: Cold and Broken.