The Edge of Something Unspoken
Harry’s POV
Draco Malfoy was slipping away.
And Harry wasn’t going to let him.
Malfoy had walked away.
Again.
But this time, Harry didn’t let him.
Because Malfoy was lying to himself.
Because Malfoy was terrified.
Because Malfoy was dying in silence.
And Harry—Harry couldn’t fucking stand it.
So, he followed.
Because that’s what Harry did.
He ran after people.
Through battlefields. Through war. Through fire and death and all the things that tried to take the people he cared about away from him.
And now—Malfoy was one of those people.
So, Harry chased him.
And this time, he wasn’t going to let him go.
Harry caught up to him just before the Astronomy Tower.
Malfoy was moving too slowly.
His steps were unsteady.
His fingers trembled at his sides.
And Harry saw it—saw the way he staggered slightly, saw the way his breath hitched as if just existing hurt.
Something in Harry twisted painfully.
“Malfoy.”
Malfoy stopped.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t look at him.
But he didn’t keep walking, either.
And that?
That was enough.
Harry moved forward.
Not too close. Not yet.
Not until Malfoy was ready.
(If he ever would be.)
“Let me help,” Harry said again.
Malfoy let out a soft, humorless laugh.
“Still on that, are you?”
Harry clenched his fists.
“I’m not going to stop.”
A pause.
Then—“You should.”
Harry exhaled.
“I don’t want to.”
Another pause.
Then, finally—Malfoy turned.
And fuck.
Harry wasn’t ready for this.
Because Malfoy looked hollow.
His skin was too pale, his eyes too tired, his posture too weak, like he was barely holding himself together.
And the worst part?
The way he was looking at Harry.
Like Harry was something untouchable.
Like Harry was something he could never have.
Like Harry was already gone.
Harry’s chest ached.
Because Malfoy had already decided.
Malfoy had already accepted this.
And Harry—Harry refused to.
“Tell me who it is,” Harry said.
Malfoy’s eyes flashed.
“What?”
Harry stepped closer.
“The person you love,” he said. “Tell me who it is.”
Malfoy flinched.
And for a second—just a second—Harry thought he might actually say it.
But then—
“No.”
Harry frowned.
“Malfoy—”
“I said no,” Malfoy snapped, voice sharp like glass.
Harry took a breath. Tried to keep his voice even.
“If I know who it is, maybe—”
Malfoy laughed.
A harsh, broken sound.
And then—he looked at Harry like he was the dumbest person alive.
“Oh, you absolute idiot,” he whispered.
And for the first time—Harry felt it.
The weight of something he should have figured out a long time ago.
The reason Malfoy wouldn’t say.
The reason Malfoy was still pushing him away.
Because the person he loved—
Was standing right in front of him.
Harry’s breath caught.
Everything clicked at once.
Malfoy’s silence.
Malfoy’s fear.
Malfoy’s hopelessness.
Because this wasn’t just unrequited love.
This was a death sentence.
And Harry was the cause.
Malfoy was dying over him.
And suddenly—nothing made sense anymore.
Harry felt like the ground had been ripped from under him, like the world had just told him a secret he wasn’t ready to hear.
Malfoy loved him.
Malfoy loved him.
And he was dying because of it.
Harry took a step back.
Malfoy noticed.
And something in his face broke completely.
And then, in the quietest voice Harry had ever heard—
“Now do you get it?”
Harry’s chest was screaming.
Because he did.
He finally, finally did.
And he had no idea what to do with it.