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Harry has had his heart broken before. Not like this, though. He's loved people and lost them, but never willingly. Nobody has ever chosen to leave him, not like this. Never like this.
This is a different kind of pain. It's the kind that makes his face flame with embarrassment, only cooled by the pit of shame in his gut.
"You should take caution when it comes to love." Ginny had told him, way back when they were dating and still young and Harry hadn't learnt how to let someone leave.
He's still not sure he's learnt that lesson, yet. Maybe he never will. Maybe he's destined to ache every single time, maybe this brutal and cruel pain is something he'll never get used to.
Harry hadn't understood what Ginny meant at the time; he didn't know he was supposed to guard his heart from the people he loves the most. He's never had to know that, never had to worry about someone he loved breaking his heart on purpose.
But Ginny taught him what it was like. She taught him what it feels like to be left behind. And so, Harry learned. He tried to catch up with everyone around him, he tried not to let the confusion show.
And he moved on. He really did. But that lesson never left him, he had learned, and he would never be able to unlearn. So he did start taking caution when it came to love. He always made sure to leave first, he always made sure to not get attached.
He let people see the fame and the hero and the dazzling smile. He tucked away the shards of his heart and hid it behind charisma and flirtation. He made sure to never stay with one person for too long, always changing it up before he let someone in.
But then Draco came along.
Draco tore through the protective layers like butter, scooping Harry's innards out of him and inspecting them with care and precision. Harry let him, and that was his mistake.
He let Draco put the hooks in his palms, let him stretch Harry as far as he would go, then stretching him just that little bit farther, to his limit and beyond, and let Draco leave him suspended there. Harry allowed himself to feel the pain radiating out from the lack of reprieve from his aching muscles.
Harry let Draco examine his pain from all angles, let him hold the test tubes below to catch the blood that drips, watched from the place where he'd been pierced in all four corner and strung up as Draco hummed pensively and scribbled on clipboards.
He let Draco see the humiliation and the shame, let him see Harry whine and writhe - his pain becoming a new discovery to be studied.
He let Draco see it all, and then watched as Draco left once he grew bored of tugging and prodding at Harry's heart.
Falling out of love is hard, Harry had done that with Ginny and barely survived. Falling for betrayal, however, is worse. Harry doesn't think he's surviving this.
He's survived a war before, but that was won with weapons, not bleeding hearts. And this time nobody died, and yet somehow that's worse. Because that means it's a choice. That means Draco chose to leave.
Nobody warned you of this, nobody told you that even though you're still breathing, you'll wish you weren't.
Nobody told him of the never-ending mantra: I want to be dead instead of this, I want to be dead, I want to be dead, I want to be-
That's the only thing Harry wants, now. But it's less of a gripping desire, and more of a rib-splitting desperation, like a wounded animal dragging itself away from its heard to find somewhere to die, to starve to death, to waste into nothing and take its turn as a carcass for vultures to pick over.
Harry is wounded.
Pain like this kills people. Pain like this destroys people.
That unrelenting pressure on his chest. I can't breathe. I can't breathe. No, I can, but it hurts to. I am breathing in razor blades, and every exhale tears me apart. Help me. Help me, please, it hurts. It's not supposed to feel like this.
That low pit in his stomach. I am empty. Something has been carved out of me. We must eat so we can feed our soul, but I am no longer hungry. I will pick at my food and dig through this world just to find you. I'm starved of you. I'm starving. Please. Please grant me generosity. Please find a shred of human decency. I'm starving.
That itch under his skin. The echo of your touch is a rash. I can feel you there. I can't feel you anywhere. I do not know which is worse. Your hand upon me, and I ache to shed my skin like a snake, hang it up like a trophy to see the marks your fingerprints left behind. I can't stand to replace them. You make me burn. I will be ash soon.
That absence. Where are you? Why did you leave? Come back. Please come back, Draco. Come back, come back, come back. Please, please, please. Darling, I'm so alone.
Harry makes a small sound in the back of his throat, the wounded animal recognising its fate, left to a slow, painful death of starvation. The herd moves on and leaves it there to die. No predators to come by and end it before it happens naturally. Just the vultures circling. Waiting.
And so he is here, left alone with the mockery of his memories, wounded by his own mistake, burdened by the symptoms of his shame.
Harry gags on his tears. Wounded, wounded, wounded. He will die here, and the monster in his memories will love him here, and Harry will love that monster just the same.
Just alone.