Disclaimer: The wonderfully colorful Potterverse does not belong to me (unfortunately) and I claim no rights to it. It belongs to JK Rowling, her various publishers, and Warner Bros. Productions. I'm just rather fond of torturing her characters.

Author's Note: Not a happy tale, folks, with a most unhappy ending. You have been warned. May I suggest tissues? Is SLASH! No like? No read. Simple, isn't it? I'd like to extend my sincerest thanks to my beta, Katy, for lending a helping hand where she could. Love you, hun!

Beta's note: Sniffs, this story is sooooo sad, but good! It was Never Enough

A Short Fan Fiction

By: Menecarkawan


Harry sat complacently, staring out of the window and fiddling with a button on his long formal robe. The robe was stained from too much wear, and had rips and tears in it where Harry had tugged at the fabric absently, as he was doing with the button now. Outside, snow was falling, turning his little corner of the world into a postcard. Harry sighed. Under his breath, he began to sing.

As the soft song drifted from his chapped lips, memory flitted past in seeming slow motion, tears welling in his eyes and slowly spilling over the lids to trace wet paths down his pale cheeks. He sighed, the song he'd been singing forgotten. "How I love you," he whispered brokenly, tugging at the button more harshly, causing some of the threads to break free. He barely noticed the damage to his wedding robe, which had never been worn at its intended occasion. That would have been difficult, seeing as the wedding never took place.


"Harry, you're being stupid about this whole thing," his intended muttered irritably.

"It's our wedding, damn it!" Harry exclaimed. "I want it to be beautiful, not just thrown together without a care!"

"What does it matter how it looks?" the young man asked, leveling Harry with an icy glare that was all too common. "It's over in twenty minutes and the money will have been wasted on ridiculous sentimentality. I won't have my husband just wasting Galleons like that. How will we live if you just go about throwing money away all the time?"

Harry stared incredulously at his lover, wondering where this had come from. "Throwing – have you gone mad? I never spend money on myself! This is the one thing I've ever wanted to be extravagant, and you're saying no! Everyone dreams of having an extravagant wedding!"

"Not so, I," his lover responded levelly. "I want a small affair, with as few guests as possible, a reasonably sized cake and little to no fan fair. As long as it's over quickly and inexpensive, I'm happy."


Harry had agreed in the end, of course. He'd always agreed to his lover's demands, hoping to keep him happy. In the end, it had been good that the wedding had barely anything thrown into it. The most expensive thing purchased for the affair was Harry's oft worn and much abused dress robe. Harry sniffled lightly, absently wiping away the tears with the hand that wasn't busy adding another flaw to the garment. He started singing again, as the memories continued their onslaught.


"What are you doing?" Harry asked, eyeing his lover warily. The blonde was sitting in one of the expensive armchairs he'd purchased for their flat, three suitcases poised next to him.

"It took you bloody long enough to get home," he said in response.

"What are you doing?" Harry asked again, taking a small step forward and fearing the answer.

"As the gentleman said in that horrid Muggle film you forced me to watch, 'I'm leaving you, my dear,' " his lover replied with an unpleasant sneer.

"Why?" Harry whispered, horrified at how broken his voice seemed.

The sneer intensified, turning the young man's usually pleasant features rather ugly. "Gods, you're such a little bitch, aren't you," he muttered. "All you ever do is bitch and moan, bitch and moan! I'm sick of listening to you!" His voice altered to a high-pitched, very cruel imitation of Harry's dulcet tones. "'Watch this stupid Muggle film with me, please!' 'I want to spend all of your money on the wedding, please!' 'Please, may I lick your toes?' You're pathetic! Why would I ever want to spend my life with a pathetic excuse for a wizard like you?"

Harry, who was valiantly holding in a flood of tears, couldn't reply.

"Look at you!" his lover raged, not getting up from the chair. "You can't even speak up for yourself! You're relatives were always right about you. You are a pathetic little freak. Why would anyone love you?"

"I – I only wanted to make you happy," Harry muttered quietly, lowering his eyes so his fia – ex- fiancé wouldn't see the shame in them. Harry had always known these things; had asked himself these same questions a thousand times. His lover knew his worst fears, and he knew how to injure him.

"Gods, I even have to spell it out now, don't I?" his lover asked, rising from the chair and gathering his bags. "I'm leaving because you. Are. Not. Worthy." He Disapparated without another word.

Harry fell to the ground in tears, hugging himself around the middle tightly.


A choked sob emerged from Harry, cutting off his song again. He lent his head against the cool glass of the window, his busy fingers separating the button from its resting place completely.

"I'm sorry I wasn't good enough," he whispered now, his voice broken and ashamed. "I tried, really I did. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. I'm sorry." He slipped from the window seat, making his way over to the divan, where a small vial was lying carelessly on one of the black cushions. He sat next to it, lifted it into his hand and popped the cork sealing it. He made a toast: "To you, my love, wherever you may be. I hope that you find someone worthy." He downed the contents of the vial in one swift gulp.


The young man stood at the fresh grave the day after the funeral. He hadn't been allowed to attend the actual event, Harry's friends and family forbidding him entrance. He couldn't blame them; he'd done what the greatest dark wizard of all time had been unable to do. He'd broken Harry Potter's spirit.

He sighed heavily, swiping his long fringe out of his eyes. "You stupid old sod," he said to the ornate grave marker. "You were supposed to get angry. You were supposed to realize what a mistake I would have been and moved on with your life. What in bloody hell were you thinking, pining after me like that?"

He remembered that day that seemed so long ago, but in truth had only been five months ago, when he'd left Harry for good. Harry had always been strong, willful, and he had loved Harry for that. Harry had only wanted to be happy. The blonde had seen the way Harry had bent to his will to keep him happy. He'd seen the way Harry would beam with joy whenever he earned his lover's approval. He'd seen that he was stripping away everything that made Harry who he was. He hadn't meant for it to end this way. He hadn't expected Harry to love him so thoroughly. He'd been counting on the fickleness of human nature to carry his love to a place where he'd be happy at last. He hadn't expected this. He'd never expected this. He'd never wanted this. A tear slipped from his eye and he swiped it away angrily.

"Do you see?" he yelled then, his voice coming out hoarse through his tears. "Are you happy now?" He fell to his knees, his voice softening to a whisper. "I left because I loved you. Why couldn't you see that? Why could everyone see how wonderful you were, but you couldn't? Didn't you know how much I loved you?"

He knelt there for a long time, feeling the cool breeze tickle through his fine hair. After a time, he got up, dusted himself off and turned away from the grave. He thought, as he walked away, How much I love you. But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. With that thought in mind, Draco Malfoy walked out of the graveyard in Godric's Hollow, thinking that perhaps his beautiful Harry would be happy now. He was with his parents and godfather again. Surely they were better company than the Ice Prince of Slytherin. This time, when the tears began, he didn't notice them.