Chapter 7
Draco wanted to hate him.
He wanted to hold onto the fury, the heartbreak, the betrayal. It would have been easier that way.
But the moment he saw the way their children clung to Harry—the way Orion reached for him with tiny fingers, the way Scorpius wiped his tears when Harry hugged him—Draco knew he couldn’t just tear their family apart.
So he made a decision.
He took the children and moved back to Malfoy Manor.
Harry didn’t fight him on it. If anything, he let Draco go, but not because he was giving up.
"I’ll earn my place back," Harry had said, voice hoarse with determination. "I swear it."
Draco had only nodded, turning away before Harry could see the way his hands trembled.
—
Life at the manor was… different.
The children adjusted quickly. They adored their grandparents, and Narcissa doted on them as if she could somehow shield them from the pain brewing between their parents.
Draco, however, felt like he was walking through a dream.
He kept the same routines. He woke up early, made sure the children were fed, read them bedtime stories, kissed their foreheads goodnight.
But when he climbed into bed alone, the silence was unbearable.
The space beside him was cold. Empty. And no matter how much he told himself that this was his choice, that Harry deserved this, he still caught himself reaching for a warmth that wasn’t there.
—
Harry didn’t stay away.
He visited the children every day, arriving in the afternoons like clockwork. He played with them in the gardens, helped Scorpius with his schoolwork, carried Orion on his shoulders until the baby giggled himself into exhaustion.
And he never, ever let a day pass without looking at Draco like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.
It was infuriating.
Because Draco didn’t know how to deal with it.
He had expected Harry to grovel. To beg. To throw himself at Draco’s feet and plead for forgiveness.
But instead, Harry just… waited.
He showed up. He was there, steady and unshakable, proving in a thousand little ways that he wasn’t going anywhere.
—
One evening, after the children had gone to bed, Draco found himself standing at the balcony, staring out at the moonlit gardens.
He heard the footsteps before he saw him.
"I didn’t think you’d still be here," Draco murmured, not turning around.
Harry exhaled a quiet laugh. "You should know better than anyone—I’m stubborn."
Draco closed his eyes briefly. "I don’t know what to do with you."
"Let me prove myself to you," Harry said softly. "Let me fix this."
Draco’s throat tightened. "It’s not that simple."
"I know." Harry stepped closer, his warmth just within reach. "But I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I love you."
Draco’s fingers curled around the railing. "Love isn’t always enough."
Harry hesitated. Then, quietly, he said, "It has to be."
Draco let out a slow breath, staring at the stars.
For the first time since this nightmare began, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was still a future for them after all.