Chapter 13
Harry was losing.
He could feel it—slipping through his fingers like sand, no matter how desperately he tried to hold on.
Draco wasn’t waiting for him anymore.
And Charlie was taking his place.
—
The worst part?
The children adored him.
It was infuriating.
Harry had expected some resistance, maybe even outright hostility. But no—Scorpius practically worshipped Charlie, hanging onto his every word whenever he told them stories about dragons. Orion loved being carried around on Charlie’s shoulders, giggling like he didn’t have a care in the world. Even the twins, usually wary of strangers, had warmed up to him far too quickly.
And Draco?
Draco was glowing.
Laughing, teasing, looking at Charlie in a way that made Harry’s stomach churn with jealousy and regret.
—
"You’re brooding," Pansy noted, swirling her wine lazily.
Harry scowled. "I’m not brooding."
She smirked. "You so are."
They were at a high-end wizarding lounge, one that Pansy had insisted on dragging him to. She had made it her mission to “fix his tragic excuse of a life,” as she put it, which mostly involved drinking and watching Draco flirt with Charlie from across the room.
Harry was not enjoying it.
"Why are you even helping him?" Harry snapped, glaring at Pansy. "I thought you hated the Weasleys."
Pansy sipped her wine, looking far too pleased with herself. "Oh, I do." Then she smirked. "But I hate you more right now."
Harry clenched his jaw. "Pansy—"
"Draco deserves someone who actually chooses him," she cut in, her voice sharper now. "Not someone who only realizes what he had after he’s lost it."
Harry exhaled through his nose, gripping his drink so hard his knuckles turned white. "I never stopped choosing him."
Pansy raised an eyebrow. "Then prove it."
—
Harry did.
Over the next few weeks, he fought.
He showed up, uninvited but determined. He took Draco’s favorite pastries to the Manor, made time for the kids, and spent every moment trying to remind Draco what they had built together.
He pulled out old memories, whispered inside jokes, touched Draco in the smallest, subtlest ways—fingers grazing when passing a cup, a hand on his lower back, a lingering glance across the room.
Draco noticed.
But he didn’t give in.
Because Charlie was there, too.
And Charlie was good for him.
—
"Why are you doing this?" Draco asked one night, when Harry showed up at the Manor yet again.
Harry looked at him, really looked at him, and said, "Because I love you. And I’m not giving up on us."
Draco’s breath caught.
But before he could respond, a voice interrupted—warm, deep, and steady.
"Everything alright, Draco?"
Charlie.
Harry’s eyes darkened as the redhead stepped into the doorway, completely at ease, completely welcome in a way Harry wasn’t anymore.
Draco turned away from Harry, offering Charlie a small, grateful smile. "Yeah. Everything’s fine."
And just like that, Harry felt something break.
Because for the first time, he realized—
He might actually lose him.