Chapter 16
Harry had been patient. He had begged, apologized, fought—but none of it had been enough.
Draco was slipping away.
And Harry refused to let that happen.
So he did the only thing left.
Something drastic.
—
The Grand Gesture
The Malfoy Manor ballroom hadn’t been used in years.
Draco had once told him—late at night, curled up together in bed—that it was his favorite room in the whole house. "It’s where my parents used to dance when they were young," he had whispered. "Before the war. Before everything changed."
So Harry had it restored.
Every chandelier polished, every enchanted candle lit, every piece of marble gleaming. A full string quartet waited in the corner, ready to play. A table was set with Draco’s favorite wine, his favorite meal, his favorite everything.
And in the very center—
Harry stood waiting.
—
Draco’s Arrival
"Harry, what the hell is this?" Draco’s voice was sharp as he entered the room, his eyes flickering with suspicion.
Harry turned to face him, his heart hammering. "A reminder."
Draco frowned. "Of what?"
"Of us."
Draco inhaled sharply.
"Harry—"
"Dance with me," Harry interrupted, stepping forward. "Just once."
Draco hesitated. "You can’t fix this with—"
"I know." Harry’s voice softened. "But let me try."
For a long moment, Draco just stood there, his emotions warring in his silver eyes.
Then, slowly—hesitantly—he stepped forward.
And placed his hand in Harry’s.
—
The Dance
The music swelled.
Harry pulled Draco in, his touch reverent, his grip certain. Their bodies moved together instinctively, like they had done this a thousand times before—because they had.
Years of memories rushed back.
Late-night waltzes in their kitchen. Draco laughing as Harry stumbled over his feet. Whispered promises. Stolen kisses.
Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper. "I love you."
Draco’s breath hitched.
"Harry—"
"I was an idiot," Harry cut in. "I let you believe that you weren’t my whole world. But you are." His grip tightened. "And I won’t stop fighting for you."
Draco swallowed hard, his eyes suspiciously bright. "You should have done this sooner."
Harry let out a shaky laugh. "I know."
The song ended.
And for the first time in months, Draco didn’t pull away.
—
The Aftermath
Charlie found Draco the next morning, standing on the balcony, lost in thought.
"You still love him," Charlie murmured.
Draco closed his eyes. "I never stopped."
Charlie exhaled, nodding. "Then go to him."
Draco turned. "Charlie—"
"No," Charlie interrupted gently. "Don’t apologize. I knew it from the start, didn’t I?" He offered a small, bittersweet smile. "I was just hoping you’d choose me anyway."
Draco’s chest ached. "I do care about you."
"But you love him." Charlie sighed, ruffling his hair. "Go, Draco. Before he does something even more reckless."
—
The Ending—or the Beginning
Harry nearly collapsed with relief when Draco showed up at his door.
"You win," Draco murmured. "You always do."
Harry cupped his face, his voice raw. "This was never about winning, Draco." He leaned in. "This was about us."
And when Draco kissed him—desperate, certain, home—Harry knew.
They were finally where they belonged.
—
The End.