A/N: First, yes, the title is a Toni Braxton song, and though it kind of fits, this story has nothing to do with that song. Many and unending thanks to Lori for the beta. Much love to you all. And, if you feel like leaving a review, it would be much appreciated.

Warning: Infidelity

The vase crashes against the wall, and shatters into a million pieces. The violence of it, the destruction of a simple, flowered vase is momentarily satisfying. He doesn't do this, resort to such neanderthal and plebian means of venting his anger. He doesn't do this… except now he does. And, he wants nothing more than to do it again.

His next target smiles at him from the mantel - bright green eyes, crooked grin, and soft lips. There is, however small, some gratification in the way the paint chips off the wall, as the metal frame strikes it and clatters to the floor.

Still, the pain wracks his body; his heart, like the vase, lies in shreds somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He could tear this house down, brick by brick, rip the floorboards out by hand, smash every window, set flame to the remains, and it wouldn't be enough.

Wand forgotten, because what good is it being a wizard when he can't spell the heartache away, he attacks the rug. It was a gift, a gift from him, and Draco wants to rip it up with his bare hands. He wants to see that beautiful rug lying in tatters at his feet.

Sweat drips down his brow, and he tells himself that all the wetness on his face is nothing more than sweat, as he pulls and tugs. Finally, finally, he hears the popping of seams, and he doubles his efforts.

They are in the sitting room, Harry having just flooed in from work. Normally they'd be naked by now, and Draco begins to become nervous, as Harry fingers the hem of his robe, not meeting Draco's eyes.

"Ginny's pregnant."

Draco shrugs. What does he care if Harry's gotten the ginger bint up the duff? He doesn't. His only worry right now, is if they will have time for a proper shag before Harry has to go home.

"Congratulations, Potter."

His says it with less disdain than he feels, because, he does care that she's pregnant. It will mean less time for them. But, beggars can't be choosers, and, as much as he doesn't want to admit it, Draco will beg for Harry's attention, if he has to.

"I can't see you anymore, Draco."

And, what happened to all the air in the room? Draco's heart pounds so hard against his ribcage, that he's sure Harry can hear it. Draco, on the other hand, can't hear anything. Those words play over and over in his head, and it's so loud, so deafeningly loud, that he can't hear what Harry's saying now.

He is able to get one good tear out of the rug, before he gives up. He drops it back to the floor, promising it first place in the line for the fire he'll build shortly.

His eyes light on the little figurine on the end table. A dragon, 'beautiful and strong, just like you,' Harry had said, as he presented it to Draco on his last birthday. Something in him snaps, as the shards fly in all directions. Nothing is safe.

Pictures, mirrors, bed sheets, towels, plates, teacups, he leaves a path of devastation in his wake, but nothing seems to quiet the ache of his heart, the loop of words playing in his mind.

"I need to be there for her. I want to be a good father, and I can't do that, if I'm sneaking off every chance I get, and coming here. I'm sorry, Draco."

"Sorry?" A half-crazed laugh flies from his mouth, but Draco is powerless to stop it. "You've been coming here almost daily for three fucking years. I had you before she did, but suddenly, I'm the one you can't see anymore?"

"Draco, please, don't make this so hard. We both knew-"

And, Draco can no longer sit still. He can't sit here, and listen to Harry renounce the only bloody thing that's ever meant anything to him.

"No! Don't you dare say what we have is nothing. You love me, Harry, and you fucking know it. She's the joke, not me. The only time you can be you is when you're with me, didn't you say that? Don't you always say that? This, what you have with me, isn't the lie. What you have with her is the lie."

Harry's twirling the hem of his robe so tightly around his finger that Draco is sure it'll tear any minute now. And the bloody prat still won't raise his head, won't look at Draco while he claims not to care, not to need him.

"Leave her, Harry. You don't have to stay with her to be a good father. You'll be happier, in the long run, she'll be happier, and your child won't grow up in a home built on deception."

He doesn't know how he makes such a clear, solid argument; his hands won't stop shaking, his eyes are burning, and the tightening in his chest threatens to drive him mad.

"I can't, Draco. I - I love h…her."

So unsure, so forced, the words fall from his lips. It sounds nothing like all the times Harry has proclaimed his love for Draco. He wonders if Harry is even able to fool himself with that weak declaration.

The mattress is slashed by means of a kitchen knife. He can't live with the memories it holds, the love it absorbed and with which it taunts him.

The curtains are next. He pulls them roughly from the wall, spares only a passing thought for the red stains forming on the white material, the knife slices through, over and over and over… and still…

He's hollow, broken, left behind. The knife falls to the floor, his sticky, bloodied hands grip his hair. Pain, physical pain, to outweigh the emptiness, blooms in his head, his hands, and in his carpet burned knees. He no longer kids himself that it's only sweat dampening his face, soaking his shirt. He gives in to the desire to crumble, curls in on himself, and lets the darkness overcome him.

He grips the mantle, stares at the picture of Harry. It was taken only days after Harry had kissed him for the first time. It's always been his little symbol of hope. Harry only ever looks like that - carefree, joyous, utterly uninhibited - when he's with Draco. Now though, that picture mocks him.

"Please stay, Harry."

He hates the whine in his voice, despises how weak and needy he sounds. He almost sighs with relief when Harry's hand slides along the back of his neck. But then, he dips into the pot of floo powder, and Draco fights to keep his tenuous hold on his emotions.

"I'm sorry."

And he's gone. Harry's gone, and Draco has never - in all the times Harry's left him to be with her - felt so completely alone.

X.X

The house is dark, and Harry trips over something as he stumbles through the fireplace. He casts a quick Lumos, and gasps. The rug is laying in the usual spot, but it's crumpled, and there's a tear at one corner. Stepping a little farther into the room, he sees glass, so much glass, covering the floor.

Walking carefully, to avoid treading on it, he makes his way through the mess, calling for Draco. What he finds makes his heart leap into his throat, and his stomach drops to his feet. There, on the railing, smears of dark red blood lead all the way up.

Forgetting to be mindful of the mess, he rushes up the stairs. There's destruction and blood everywhere, and it only pushes him along faster.

At first, he can only process the fact that the bed has been chopped to bits. Then, he sees the too still body lying in the center of the room. Draco.

In moments he has the man in his arms, and lets out a shaky breath when he feels how warm, how very alive Draco is. Harry rocks him gently, as he catalogues every injury, ensuring none of them are life-threatening.

Harry steps into his sitting room, sure he's made the right decision. He's sure up until Ginny leans in to kiss him hello. Her lips are too soft, too feminine. Her body feels too delicate, as she presses against him. It's the first time since he married her, that it just feels wrong.

But, now that he's aware of the feeling, he can't keep it at bay. When she brushes his arm during dinner, he pulls away from her. When she hugs him from behind while he's washing the dishes, he winces. She climbs onto his lap, kisses softly at his neck, and he cringes and sets her aside.

It isn't pretty, the ending of his very short marriage. There are curses yelled, and random flying objects aimed at his head, but he doesn't take it back. He can't. When she finally runs out of steam, he tucks her sleeping body into her bed, and floos St. Mungo's.

Once he's been informed that she and their child are fine, he scribbles two words on a scarp piece of paper, leaving it on the pillow beside her head, and floos directly back to Draco's.

I'm sorry.

"Draco?"

Still no answer, and Harry continues to clean the small cuts and abrasions on Draco's hands. Such small wounds, but they sure bled a lot. He doesn't know if they'll ever get it all off the stairs and the wall by their bedroom window.

"Mmm."

Harry finally gets a response, as he dabs healing antiseptic on Draco's knuckles.

"Sorry, sorry, I know it burns, but I'm almost done. Can you hold still for me, baby?"

Harry stops worrying so much, when Draco says, "I am not an infant, Harry."

"Can't tell it, not after the tantrum you threw in here. We'll be cleaning this mess up for the next week."

Slowly, Draco sits up, pulling himself out of Harry's lap, and rubbing at the bandages on his left hand.

"We?"

"Well, if you'll still have me. And, if you were serious about me staying. I really hope so, because I don't think I'll be welcome back at Gin's for a while."

"Gin's?"

Harry stands, gathering the items he pulled from the magical first aid kit they keep in the loo.

"Yeah. It's not really so much my home anymore. Actually, if you don't take me in, I'm pretty much homeless. I highly doubt any of the Weasleys would offer me a sofa right now."

Harry allows himself a quick glance at Draco's face, and is relieved by the wonderment he sees there.

"Why is that?"

As nonchalantly as he can manage, Harry says, "I told her about us, then, I asked for a divorce."

He's halfway to the bathroom door, when Draco catches up to him, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and pulling Harry to his chest.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. I couldn't do it, Draco. I don't know if we'll make it, considering how much we annoy each other, but I want to try. I want to really try having a real relationship, out in the open, no more hiding, no more secrets. But, you have to know, I come with baggage now. Soon there'll be a little-"

Draco spins him around, cutting off his speech by shoving his tongue down Harry's throat with less finesse than he's ever shown. Somehow, it's more erotic and so much sweeter than it's ever been.

"How quick do you think you can mend the bed?" Draco asks between kisses.

Pulling back, grinning widely, Harry's answers, "I can have it done before you're finished showering. You still have some blood in your hair and on your face."

Draco kisses him again, takes the medical supplies, and shoves Harry toward the bed.

"Hurry up then. I expect you to join me as soon as you're finished."

In mere minutes, Harry has the bed set to rights, and fresh sheets are fixing themselves to the mattress. By the time he steps into the bathroom, the bedroom is in perfect order. He leaves his clothes in a pile by the toilet, knowing Draco will probably complain about his untidiness. Strangely, he's looking forward to it.