Chapter 5
Draco was too forgiving.
That was the worst part.
Harry had expected anger—had braced himself for it, even welcomed it. He deserved it. He had hurt Draco, ignored his pain, treated him like something to be claimed rather than someone to be cherished.
But instead of fury, Draco gave him quiet acceptance.
He never lashed out, never pushed Harry away. He simply carried on as if nothing had changed, as if Harry hadn’t failed him in the worst way possible.
And it made Harry feel even worse.
Because Draco had every right to hate him.
Instead, he let Harry take care of him.
When Harry hesitated to touch him, Draco only sighed and leaned into his touch. When Harry awkwardly brought him food, unsure if it would be accepted, Draco took it without complaint. And when Harry mumbled another apology, trying to put into words just how much he hated himself for what he had done, Draco only said, “I know.”
That was it. No blame, no resentment. Just quiet understanding.
And it crushed Harry.
Because Draco shouldn’t have to be this forgiving.
He deserved more than a husband who only realized too late how much he had hurt him. He deserved love, care, and protection. And Harry—Harry didn’t know if he could ever give him enough to make up for what he had done.
So he did the only thing he could.
He stayed.
He helped Draco when he was too tired to get out of bed. He listened—really listened—when Draco spoke. He paid attention, noticing the little things he had ignored before. The way Draco’s hands trembled when he was overwhelmed. The way he hesitated before answering certain questions, as if afraid to say the wrong thing.
And most of all, Harry watched.
He watched Draco, and for the first time, he truly saw him.
Not as the boy he had once hated.
Not as the husband he had taken for granted.
But as someone who had suffered in silence for far too long.
And Harry swore—no matter what it took, no matter how long it took—he would prove to Draco that he didn’t have to endure anymore.