Chapter 4
Draco broke.
It wasn’t a sudden, dramatic collapse. No, it happened slowly—too slowly for Harry to notice right away.
At first, Draco could still manage the smiles, the kisses, the routine of their life together. He still made breakfast, still helped the children with their homework, still greeted Harry at the door with the same warmth he always had.
But inside, he was unraveling.
His hands shook more frequently. His thoughts blurred together, exhaustion clouding his mind. He forgot things—important things, like the twins’ school projects or the fact that Orion had a fever one night. He had meant to tell Harry, but the words slipped from his grasp like sand through his fingers.
And then, one morning, he collapsed.
It happened in the kitchen. He had been making breakfast when the world suddenly spun around him. His vision darkened at the edges, and the next thing he knew, he was on the floor. The sound of the plate shattering barely registered in his ears.
"Papa?" Scorpius’s small voice was full of fear. "Papa, are you okay?"
Draco tried to answer, but his mouth wouldn’t form the words. His body felt weak, too heavy to move. The sound of running footsteps filled the house, and then Harry was there, kneeling beside him, hands gripping Draco’s face.
"Draco," Harry breathed, panic clear in his voice. "Draco, what’s wrong? Talk to me, love."
But Draco couldn’t. His body wouldn’t listen to him anymore.
The last thing he saw before everything faded was Harry’s terrified expression as he lifted him up.
—
Draco woke up in St. Mungo’s.
His mother was sitting beside his bed, her pale hands clasped tightly together. Pansy stood nearby, arms crossed, her sharp eyes furious.
"Darling," Narcissa whispered, brushing Draco’s hair back. "You gave us quite a scare."
Draco blinked, his throat dry, his body aching. He tried to sit up, but Narcissa stopped him with a firm hand.
"Lie still," she ordered.
Draco swallowed hard, his mind foggy. "The children…?"
"They're fine," Pansy answered, her voice clipped. "Your husband took them home for the night. After I told him exactly what I think of him."
At the mention of Harry, something inside Draco twisted painfully. His eyes burned, but no tears came. He had nothing left to cry.
Narcissa’s expression hardened. "I cannot believe I let you waste your life for that man."
Draco’s breath hitched. "Mother—"
"Don’t you dare defend him." Her voice was sharp, but beneath it was something fragile—fear, anger, heartbreak. "I knew you loved him too much. I saw it from the beginning. And what did he do with that love, Draco? He threw it away."
Pansy scoffed. "Playing house with some other woman like you aren’t the one who gave him everything."
Draco squeezed his eyes shut. "Stop," he whispered. He didn’t want to hear it—not from them, not from anyone.
But Narcissa didn’t stop. "You nearly died, Draco," she said, her voice trembling. "You have been breaking apart in front of him, and he didn’t even see it. He let this happen."
Draco shook his head weakly. "Harry… he’s a good man."
"Is he?" Pansy snapped. "Because to me, a good man doesn’t make his husband collapse from exhaustion while he plays the perfect father to someone else’s child."
Draco flinched.
Pansy exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You love him too much," she muttered. "That’s the problem."
Draco turned his head away. He didn’t want to hear this.
He wanted Harry.
Even now, even after everything, he still wanted him.
And that was the most painful part of all.