Chapter 8
Draco wasn’t sure when he started letting Harry in again.
It was small things at first. Lingering conversations after the children went to bed. Allowing Harry to stay for dinner instead of leaving after playtime. Letting himself watch as Harry read bedtime stories, the children curled up against him, safe and content.
Draco wanted to believe him.
He wanted to believe that love could be enough.
But then—everything shattered again.
—
It started with a letter.
Draco found it on his desk one morning, sealed with no crest, no name. Just a simple, elegant fold of parchment that sent a chill down his spine before he even touched it.
Inside, only a few words were written:
"You don’t know everything."
That was it.
No signature. No explanation.
Draco’s fingers clenched around the note. A cruel joke, perhaps? A meaningless attempt to stir doubt?
He nearly tossed it into the fire.
But something in his gut twisted—something dark and familiar.
You don’t know everything.
The words echoed in his mind all day, even as he tried to ignore them.
He almost convinced himself to let it go.
Until the second letter arrived.
—
This time, there was a photograph inside.
Draco stared at it, his breath catching in his throat.
It was Harry—standing outside a house Draco didn’t recognize. And in front of him stood her.
The woman. The mother of Harry’s child.
In the picture, she was clutching Harry’s wrist, her expression distressed.
And Harry—Harry was looking at her the same way he had once looked at Draco.
Soft. Torn. Familiar.
Draco’s entire body went numb.
The words written beneath the photo burned into his mind like fire:
"Are you sure he only loves you?"
—
Draco tried to be rational.
He tried to remind himself that Harry had sworn she meant nothing. That he had begged Draco to believe him.
But the doubt was there now, growing like poison.
And he couldn’t stop himself from wondering—
What if he had been wrong to give Harry another chance?
What if Harry had never truly let her go?