Chasing the Spotlight

— one month later —

Ron pushed open the door to their cozy apartment, the familiar scent of freshly brewed tea and the faint warmth of Draco’s perfume filling the air. The space was small but comfortable—soft, neutral tones and mismatched furniture that gave the place a lived-in, homey feel. Draco was sitting on the couch, flipping through a book, his legs stretched out, the soft glow of the lamplight casting gentle shadows on his face.
Ron smiled to himself, feeling a warmth in his chest at the sight of Draco—so normal, so them.
"Hey, love," Ron greeted, stepping inside and carefully placing the large, wrapped box on the coffee table.
Draco looked up, raising an eyebrow. "What’s all this?"
Ron walked over, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "A little something for you. I thought you could use a little... upgrade."
Draco’s brow furrowed, but he put the book down, sitting up as he eyed the box. He didn’t know what to expect anymore from Ron—he’d been coming home with new “gifts” every day lately. But this one looked different.
He tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a polished, deep mahogany box with gold accents. His mouth parted slightly in surprise.
"You didn’t..." Draco trailed off, his voice uncertain, though he couldn’t deny the curiosity burning in him.
"I did," Ron said, kneeling beside him. "Go ahead. Open it."
Draco lifted the lid, revealing a sleek silver wristwatch, encrusted with diamonds that sparkled even in the dim light of the room. It was an expensive brand—one Draco had seen his father wear all the time. He couldn’t breathe for a moment, the weight of the gift sinking in.
"I thought it was time I gave you something nice," Ron continued, his voice almost too casual, as if giving away such a lavish gift was nothing. "You deserve the best, Draco. This—this is just a start."
Draco’s fingers grazed the watch, his mind spinning. He didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he wanted to appreciate the gesture, to thank Ron for thinking of him. But on the other, something about it felt off. The watch was stunning, no doubt, but it was too much.
"Ron," Draco started carefully, meeting his eyes. "I don’t—"
Ron leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. "You don’t like it?"
Draco shook his head, his mouth going dry. "It’s…. not that. It’s just... we don’t need things like this. We’re fine."
Ron frowned, the warmth in his expression fading. "But we can have more. We deserve more. I want you to have everything you’ve ever dreamed of, Draco."
Draco’s chest tightened as he watched Ron’s eager face, the excitement in his eyes. But something felt wrong. This wasn’t the man he fell in love with—the man who once cherished the simple things, who wanted to be real.
He took the watch and set it back in the box, suddenly feeling a coldness creep in. "I appreciate it, Ron. But I don’t need a watch to feel loved."
Ron’s smile faltered, but he quickly recovered, standing up and brushing off the awkward silence. "Of course. It’s just... well, it’s just the beginning, alright? I want us to have it all. To show the world who we really are."
Draco swallowed hard, a knot forming in his stomach. Is this really what we’re becoming?
"Maybe we already have it all," Draco whispered, his voice barely audible.
Ron didn’t hear him. He was already lost in his own thoughts, thinking about the next thing he could buy, the next party to host. He was chasing something—a life, a status, a dream—and Draco wasn’t sure anymore if it was a dream they both shared.

— 5 months later —

Ron could barely contain his excitement as he led Draco up the grand stone steps of their new house. A house—no, a manor—that stood tall and gleaming, its pristine marble facade catching the afternoon light. The gates had swung open to reveal an immaculately trimmed garden, the hedges sculpted to perfection, the fountain in the courtyard bubbling softly. It was exactly the kind of place Draco had grown up in, exactly the kind of place Ron had dreamed of giving him.
He turned to Draco, grinning. "What do you think?"
Draco hesitated for only a moment, then forced a smile. "It’s… impressive."
Ron beamed, missing the flicker of unease in Draco’s eyes as he opened the door with a dramatic flourish.
Inside, the space stretched endlessly. A grand chandelier hung above them, its golden glow reflecting off polished marble floors. The furniture was all brand new—leather sofas, sleek dark wood, velvet chairs that had likely never been touched. Everything matched. Everything was perfect.
Draco’s stomach twisted.
It was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t home. Their cozy apartment, with its mismatched furniture, its scuffed wooden floors, and the overstuffed couch where they had spent countless nights curled up together, was home. This place felt cold. Empty.
Ron was already leading him through the halls, pointing out every lavish detail. "There’s a study, a massive kitchen—I know you love cooking—and wait until you see the bedroom."
Draco followed in silence, nodding at the appropriate moments. The bedroom was massive, the bed grand and covered in crisp white linens. It looked like it belonged in a magazine. Draco ran his fingers over the bedding, missing the softness of their worn comforter back at the apartment.
"I got us all new furniture too!" Ron continued, his excitement unwavering. "No more secondhand stuff. This is all custom-made, top-of-the-line."
Draco swallowed. "It looks… nice."
Ron turned to him then, his expression softening. "I did this for us, love. I wanted to give you everything."
Draco forced himself to nod. "I know."
But he didn't know. He didn’t understand why Ron was doing all of this, Draco didn’t need this. He didn’t need a house on the same street as his parents didn’t need crystal chandeliers or marble floors. He needed warmth. He needed their little apartment, their threadbare couch, and the scent of his homemade bread filling the air.
But he said nothing. He just smiled and let Ron pull him into a kiss, tasting the excitement on his lips.

– five hours later ---

As the day stretched on, Draco tried to adjust to the house that didn’t feel like home. Every room was grand, meticulously designed, yet utterly foreign. He wandered through the halls, feeling like a guest in someone else’s life, not his own.
Ron, on the other hand, seemed to glow with excitement. He moved from room to room, pointing out the intricate details Draco hadn’t even noticed.
“Look at this, love,” Ron called from the study, gesturing proudly toward the mahogany desk in the center of the room. “Custom built. The bloke at the shop said it’s the best craftsmanship money can buy.”
Draco stepped inside, taking in the bookshelves lining the walls, and the polished finish of the desk that gleamed under the chandelier’s light. It was beautiful—too beautiful.
Ron wrapped an arm around his waist, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Go on, sit in the chair. It’s charmed to be perfectly comfortable no matter how long you’re working.”
Draco sat the chair molding to him effortlessly. He should’ve smiled, should’ve said something to match Ron’s enthusiasm, but all he could think about was their tiny apartment—where the desk had been scratched from years of use, where the books had been stacked haphazardly because there weren’t enough shelves. Where everything had felt real.
He glanced at Ron, searching for the right words. But before he could speak, Ron clapped his hands together. “Oh! Almost forgot to tell you—I handled everything with the apartment.”
Draco frowned. “What do you mean?”
Ron beamed. “I sold it. Got a decent price for it too, considering its size.”
Draco’s breath hitched. “You sold it?”
Ron nodded, oblivious to the way Draco’s fingers tightened around the armrests. “Yeah! I mean, we don’t need it anymore, right? We’ve got this now.” He gestured around them as if the sheer luxury of their new house was reason enough. “It was time to move on, Draco.”
Draco swallowed, his heart thudding heavily in his chest. He had known, logically, that they wouldn’t be keeping the apartment forever. But selling it—cutting ties completely—felt like losing something irreplaceable.
It was their first home together. The place where Ron had kissed him breathless against the kitchen counter, where they had spent stormy nights tangled under too-thin blankets, where they had built a life from nothing but love and determination.
And now it was gone.
Draco forced a nod, though his throat felt tight. “Right. That makes sense.”
Ron grinned, pressing another kiss to Draco’s cheek. “I knew you’d understand.”
Draco didn’t understand. Not at all. But he smiled anyway, letting Ron lead him through the house, listening as he spoke about everything they were gaining.
All Draco could think about was everything they had lost.

— three days later ---

Malfoy Manor loomed against the gray sky as Draco stepped out of the limo. It looked the same as it always had—cold, unmovable, untouchable. The kind of place that never changed, even when everything inside it did.
He hesitated on the front steps, exhaling sharply. He hadn’t meant to come here. He’d left the new house hours ago, meaning only to take a walk, to clear his head. But somehow, his feet had carried him here instead.
Home. Or at least, what used to be.
The door creaked open before he could reach for the handle, and a familiar figure bowed low. “Master Draco,” said Tibbs, the family’s oldest house-elf. “Your mother is expecting you.”
Draco frowned. “Is she?”
Tibbs only nodded, stepping aside to let him in.
Of course, she was.
He found Narcissa in the sitting room, reclining on a velvet settee, her long fingers poised elegantly around the edges of a book. She looked up as he entered, her piercing blue gaze sweeping over him.
“You look exhausted,” she remarked. No greeting. No pleasantries. Just her sharp observation, cutting straight to the truth.
Draco sighed, dragging a hand through his hair as he sank into the chair across from her. “I feel exhausted.”
Narcissa studied him, then reached for the teapot beside her, pouring two cups with the same practiced grace she did everything else. She slid one toward him, and only when he wrapped his hands around the warm porcelain did she speak again.
“Tell me.”
It wasn’t a question. It was an expectation.
Draco let out a slow breath. “Ron bought a house.”
A slight tilt of her head. “So I’ve heard.”
Of course, she had. Lucius probably knew too. Draco suspected that was half the reason Ron had done it.
Draco swallowed, looking down at his tea. “It’s a manor,” he admitted, voice tight. “It’s huge. It’s—it’s too much.”
Narcissa hummed an unreadable sound. “Is it?”
“Yes,” Draco snapped, then took a steadying breath. “He keeps talking about how we don’t have to ‘make do’ anymore. That he can finally give me the life I deserve. But it’s not our life. It’s something else entirely.” He hesitated. “He sold our apartment, Mother. Our furniture. Everything we built together. And I—” He broke off, clenching his jaw.
Narcissa didn’t react right away. She simply lifted her tea, taking a slow sip before setting it down again. “And you?” she prompted.
Draco exhaled sharply. “And I hate it.”
His voice cracked, and the words came tumbling out before he could stop them.
“I hate waking up in that house. I hate that every room is too big, too empty. I hate that it’s not ours. I try to tell him, but he doesn’t hear me. He thinks I need this, but I don’t. I never did.” His hands curled around the teacup, grip tightening. “I just wanted him. I wanted us.”
Silence.
Draco exhaled shakily, slumping back against the chair. His mother still hadn’t spoken, but he could feel her watching him.
Then, finally—
“He’s trying to prove himself.”
Draco’s fingers clenched. “I know that.”
“But not to you.”
Draco’s stomach twisted.
Narcissa met his gaze evenly. “He is trying to prove himself to your father.”
The words landed like a stone in Draco’s chest.
He swallowed hard, looking away. “I never asked him to.”
“No,” Narcissa agreed. “But he believes he must.”
Draco let out a bitter laugh. “And the worst part? Father will never actually approve of him. No matter what Ron does, it won’t matter. It’s a fight he’ll never win.”
Narcissa’s lips pressed together, something flickering in her expression—understanding, perhaps. Or maybe something softer.
“He thinks this is what you need,” she said finally. “Because it is what he believes will make him enough.”
Draco flinched.
Narcissa sighed, setting her tea aside. “You and I both know what it is to live in a house that looks perfect but feels like nothing.”
Draco’s stomach lurched.
“I was fortunate,” Narcissa continued, her voice quieter now. “Your father was the match I was meant to make, but he also happened to be the man I loved.” She looked out the window, her expression unreadable. “But there were years, Draco, where even love was not enough to make our home feel warm.”
Draco didn’t know what to say to that.
His mother rarely spoke of such things. Of what her life had been behind these walls.
She turned back to him, voice gentle but firm. “Ron loves you. That much is clear. But his love is tangled with something else—his need to be worthy of you. And as long as he is fighting for approval that is not yours, he will not see what is right in front of him.”
Draco’s throat burned. “I’ve tried telling him.”
“And yet he does not hear you.”
Draco closed his eyes, swallowing hard. “No.”
Narcissa was silent for a long moment. Then she reached out, placing a light hand over his.
“Draco,” she murmured, her voice unbearably soft, “you must ask yourself how long you are willing to wait for him to listen.”
Draco’s breath caught.
He didn’t want to answer that.
Because right now, even after everything, he still wasn’t ready to walk away.
Narcissa didn’t push. She only withdrew her hand, studying him with quiet understanding. Then, as if sensing the weight of the moment, she simply reached for the teapot again, pouring him another cup.
And for a little while longer, Draco let himself sit there,

-– 4 days later —

As the days passed, Draco tried to adjust to the new house, but it never quite felt like home. The walls, though beautiful, felt too smooth, too polished, as if they were waiting for someone to step in and stain them with memories. The furniture was sleek and expensive, but it lacked the comfort he was used to. It was more a collection of items for show than things meant to be lived in. The dining room table, for instance, was far too large for just the two of them, and the chairs, despite their fine craftsmanship, were stiff and unfamiliar. The grand fireplace, while impressive in scale, lacked the cozy warmth of their old, slightly crooked hearth. That hearth had seen countless quiet nights spent curled up together, its flames flickering lazily as they talked about everything and nothing.
Ron, however, was thriving—or at least, that’s how it seemed. He hosted dinner parties with bottles of expensive wine, invited colleagues over to admire the house, and spoke about their new life as if it were a dream come true. It was almost as if he believed this was the finish line, the place they had been striving for all along. Draco wanted to believe it was, for Ron’s sake. He really did. But there was a gnawing unease in his chest that refused to quit. The house felt more like a showpiece than a home, and that unsettling feeling lingered.
One evening, as Draco prepared tea in the kitchen—though even calling it a kitchen felt strange when it looked more like something out of a high-end catalog—he heard Ron’s voice carrying from the living room. He paused, stirring the tea absently, a small frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Yeah, mate, it’s incredible! You should see the office I set up—floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the whole works. And the bathtub? Massive! Draco loves it."
Draco’s brow furrowed as he placed the spoon down on the counter, letting the sound of Ron’s words hang in the air. The bathtub? He hadn’t even used it yet. They had been here for weeks, but there had been no time, no need for the grand tub. Just another thing that seemed out of place in this house that felt less like a home and more like a museum of success. The way Ron spoke about it made Draco feel even more distant from it all—like an observer of a life that didn’t quite fit him anymore.
Ron laughed at something Harry had said on the other end of the line, his voice full of pride, and Draco could practically hear the grin spreading across his face. "No more struggling, no more barely scraping by. I finally did it. I made it."
Draco’s grip tightened on the edge of the counter. The words landed heavy, like stones in his stomach. Made it? Hadn’t they already made it when they were curled up on their tiny couch, eating takeaway straight from the boxes and laughing at the simplest of things? When they spent lazy Sunday mornings in bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms, no worries about anything beyond the moment they were sharing? When had their life together become something Ron needed to prove? What had changed?
The question hung in the air, unanswered, and Draco pushed it away, forcing himself to focus on the present. It wasn’t fair to let the creeping doubts cloud everything. They were here now, weren’t they? They had a future ahead of them, even if it felt strange and out of place. With a deep breath, Draco exhaled slowly, setting the thought aside for the time being.
He carried the tea into the living room, the scent of the leaves filling his senses as he approached the pair of new, perfectly firm couches. Ron was sprawled across one, the phone still pressed to his ear, but he grinned when he saw Draco. His arm wrapped around Draco’s shoulders as he settled beside him, pulling him close in a move that, for all its comfort, felt a little too rehearsed.
"Who was that?" Draco asked lightly, though a part of him didn’t really want to know.
Ron grinned, his voice still full of excitement. "Harry. He wanted to check in and hear about the new place."
Draco hummed, sipping his tea. The warmth did little to chase away the cold creeping into his bones. He could tell Ron was happy, and he wanted to be happy for him. But it was hard. Harder than it should have been.
A few moments passed in silence before Ron spoke again, his smile lingering even as he looked down at the mug in Draco’s hands. "Oh, Harry and Hermione said they’ll stop by this evening, by the way. They’re curious to see the place."
Draco’s eyes flickered up, a flash of tension crossing his face. He didn’t mind seeing Harry and Hermione, but the idea of entertaining them in this house—of putting on a show—made his stomach turn. He hadn’t been ready for this, not like this.
"Right," Draco said, trying to keep his tone neutral. "I’ll be sure to make it feel... welcoming." His voice dropped slightly. "It’s just... it’s hard to get used to all of this."
Ron’s arm tightened around him, the gesture both comforting and strangely possessive. "I know, but we’re doing this together. We’re moving forward, Draco. This is what we wanted, right?"
Draco’s eyes drifted to the marble floors and the pristine walls, feeling the weight of it all settle deeper in his chest. It wasn’t what he had wanted, not really. Not in this way.
"Hmm," Draco said softly, it lingered in the air between them. Draco leaned down and kissed his hairline before he walked to the kitchen to clean up not that there was anything to clean in the first place.

— Two hours later —

The manor was immaculate, every surface polished to perfection, every detail exuding wealth and status. The sitting room alone looked as though it had been lifted from the pages of an interior design magazine—rich mahogany furniture, gleaming chandeliers, and walls lined with expensive artwork that Ron had proudly pointed out one by one.
Harry and Hermione had barely stepped through the grand double doors before Ron was beaming, already launching into a tour. “Isn’t it amazing?” he said, gesturing toward the massive fireplace, the ornate sconces casting a soft golden light. “This place has everything. A library, a study, a bloody ballroom—we haven’t even gotten through half of it yet.”
Hermione smiled politely. “It’s very… grand.”
Harry nodded, adjusting his glasses as he took in the towering ceiling and pristine decor. “Didn’t think you’d ever want to live in a place this big, mate.”
Ron laughed, slinging an arm around Draco’s waist. “Yeah, well, I figured it was time for an upgrade. Draco and I love it here.” He gave Draco’s side a little squeeze. “Right, love?”
Draco froze under the weight of their guests’ eyes. He felt Harry and Hermione watching, waiting for his answer. He forced a smile, nodding stiffly. “Yes. It’s… beautiful.”
The words felt like chalk in his mouth.
Hermione let out a low whistle. “Wow, Ron. This is… something else.”
“Isn’t it incredible?” Ron beamed, spinning on his heel to face them. “I mean, look at this place! It’s perfect for us, right, Draco?”
Draco forced a smile. “It’s… really something.”
Ron didn’t seem to catch the hesitation in his voice. He was already moving through the house, gesturing animatedly. “So over here’s the sitting room—fireplace, massive windows, and did you see the crown molding? I mean, I didn’t even know what that was, but the estate agent kept going on about it, so it must be good. And the dining room? Wait until you see the table—I mean, we could host dinners, fancy ones,”
Draco followed, his steps slower, his hands clasped behind his back as Ron continued the tour. The study was lined with mahogany bookshelves, the kitchen had marble counters and a wine fridge stocked with bottles Ron had never touched before. It was all so… polished. So unlike them.
Ron stopped in the doorway of the main bedroom, grinning. “And this—this is our room. Look at it! The bed’s massive, and the view—, come look at this view.”
Draco walked over stiffly, staring out of the oversized window. The city stretched out below them, lights twinkling like stars, and yet it felt cold. Familiar.
Ron turned to him, eyes bright with excitement. “The house is amazing, isn’t it, baby?”
Draco hesitated, forcing another smile as he looked away. “...Of course.”
Ron grinned, clearly too caught up in the moment to notice anything was wrong. “I knew you loved it. Just wait until we’re completely settled in. It’s gonna be perfect.”
A few minutes later, they were all in the living room, Ron still buzzing as he talked about the space, about how much he loved it, about all the plans he had.
Draco sat stiffly on the pristine white couch, his hands pressed together in his lap. The walls felt like they were closing in, the chandelier above them casting too much light, making the space feel almost artificial. He could hear Ron’s voice, hear Hermione’s occasional responses, but it was all background noise, muffled under the weight pressing against his chest.
He needed air.
“I—I’m going to make some tea,” Draco muttered, pushing himself up before anyone could stop him.
Harry glanced up, frowning slightly as he watched Draco disappear down the hallway. He waited a beat before standing. “I’ll go with him. Want to check out the kitchen, you know?”
“Ah, yeah, mate! It’s beautiful,” Ron called over his shoulder, still caught up in his conversation.
Harry followed the quiet footsteps, stepping into the pristine kitchen—far too perfect, far too staged. And there, hunched over the counter, was Draco. His shoulders shook, silent tears slipping down his face.
Harry exhaled, walking up beside him. “Thought I’d find you like this…”
Draco inhaled sharply, straightening up, but he didn’t turn to face Harry. His fingers clenched around the edge of the counter as if grounding himself. “…It’s too much, Harry,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together. “This isn’t us. This isn’t home.”
Harry leaned against the counter, watching him. “Then you need to tell him that before he loses himself in all of this.”
Draco swallowed hard. He knew Harry was right. But how could he tell Ron that the very thing making him so happy was making Draco feel like a stranger in his own life?
Draco’s breath hitched, his chest tightening as he finally turned to face Harry, the words spilling out before he could stop them. “I… I’ve tried to tell him,” he choked, his voice breaking under the weight of everything he had been holding back. “I tried, Harry. I’ve tried so many times, but… but he doesn’t listen.”
He turned away from Harry, his fingers trembling as they gripped the edge of the counter, struggling to keep his composure. “I don’t want this. I don’t want… all this.” He waved his hand vaguely toward the house, toward everything that felt so foreign to him. “This isn’t us. This isn’t how we lived before. He… he sold the apartment, Harry. He sold all our things.”
Harry’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, but Draco shook his head, taking a shaky step back. “He sold everything. Our furniture, all of it—everything we had that made it ours. It was… it was just stuff, I know, but it was ours, Harry. It was home.” His voice cracked, the tears threatening again, and Draco struggled to keep himself from breaking completely.
“I don’t know how to keep living like this,” Draco whispered, his hands tightening into fists, though he wasn’t sure what he was holding back anymore. “I can’t just… keep pretending everything’s fine when I feel so damn alone.”
Harry watched him quietly, his voice soft but firm. “Ron’s not seeing it, Draco. He’s caught up in this idea of proving something, trying to be something for you, for his family. But he can’t give you something you don’t want.”
Draco’s heart hammered in his chest. “I don’t want this life, Harry,” he admitted, his voice raw. “I don’t want to be swept into this world of… things. I don’t care about marble floors, or chandeliers, or whatever ridiculous thing he buys next. I just want…” His throat closed, the words heavy, stuck, unwilling to leave his lips. “I just want him to see me. To see us. To see how much I need him, but not like this. Not like... this.”
Harry’s eyes softened, and he moved closer to Draco, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Draco, you can’t keep carrying this on your own. You can’t keep swallowing it, hoping it will change on its own. You need to tell him—really tell him. You need to make him see that none of this—” Harry gestured to the vast kitchen and the empty space around them “—none of it matters if you’re not happy.”
Draco’s breath trembled as he looked at Harry, his eyes filled with unshed tears, the weight of everything coming crashing down at once. “I’ve tried, Harry. Every time I’ve told him I don’t want this, he just... he brushes it off like it doesn’t matter. Like my feelings don’t matter.” His voice broke, and for the first time, he let himself lean into Harry’s comforting presence, his body trembling with the force of it.
“Maybe he just doesn’t know what you need from him,” Harry murmured. “But you can’t be afraid to tell him. You can’t let him keep thinking this is enough.”
Draco closed his eyes, swallowing hard. “I don’t know if I can anymore. I don’t know if he’ll ever understand.”
“You have to try,” Harry urged gently, his voice warm with understanding. “Because if you don’t, this will just keep eating at you. And it’ll keep eating at him, too. Ron doesn’t want to lose you, but he’s lost in all of this. You need to remind him of what really matters.”
Draco nodded slowly, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. He let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything. He wasn’t sure if he could do it—if he could face Ron and tell him how much he was hurting. But Harry was right.
“I’ll talk to him,” Draco said, his voice quieter now, tinged with exhaustion. “I just don’t know what will happen after. I don’t know if I can keep pretending it’s okay.”
Harry gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Whatever happens, you won’t be alone. But you need to be honest with him, Draco. You deserve to be happy. You deserve more than this.”
Draco took another breath, steadying himself. He didn’t know what the future would hold, but one thing was certain—he couldn’t keep living like this. He had to tell Ron, even if it broke him.

– one hour later —

The door clicked shut behind Harry and Hermione, their goodbyes still hanging in the air. The house fell into an almost eerie silence, the grand chandeliers casting a golden glow over the pristine marble floors. It was too perfect, too polished—like a place meant to be admired, not lived in.
Draco stood frozen, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He could still feel Harry’s concerned gaze lingering on him before he left like he knew this conversation was coming.
Ron turned to him with that same excited grin he’d had all evening, eyes shining. “That went well, yeah? They loved the place.” He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I mean, Hermione was actually impressed. You know that means we did something right.”
Draco swallowed, his throat dry. “Yeah. They did.”
Ron didn’t seem to notice the strain in his voice. He gestured around them with an almost giddy energy. “Can you believe this is ours? It still doesn’t feel real. I mean, I used to dream about having something like this—something better than what I grew up with. And now… now I can finally give you this, Draco. A life you deserve.”
Draco’s chest tightened. “Ron…”
But Ron wasn’t listening. His gaze swept over the room, as if he still couldn’t believe it belonged to him. “You never have to live in some cramped flat again, never have to worry about broken furniture or leaky pipes. No more patching things up because we have to, no more making do with secondhand things.” He turned back to Draco, smiling so earnestly it made Draco’s stomach twist. “You don’t have to settle anymore.”
“I wasn’t settling,” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ron blinked. “What?”
Draco took a deep breath, forcing himself to meet Ron’s gaze. “I was happy in that flat. With you. With our old couch and our tiny kitchen and the mismatched plates.” His voice wavered, but he pressed on. “I didn’t need this, Ron. I never did.”
Ron frowned, like the words didn’t quite make sense. “Draco, come on. You grew up in a manor. You had everything. I know you missed it, even if you never said it.”
Draco let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “You’re not listening to me. I didn’t miss the house, or the wealth, or the ridiculous dinners with my parents where no one actually spoke to each other. I missed feeling safe. I missed belonging somewhere. And I had that—with you.”
Ron’s jaw tensed, his arms crossing over his chest. “So what? You want to go back to struggling? You want to go back to that tiny apartment where nothing ever really fit?”
Draco’s hands curled into fists. “It fit us.”
Ron let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Draco, you don’t get it. You think that was enough, but it wasn’t. I wasn’t enough. Not like that.”
Draco felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs. “Not enough for who?”
Ron hesitated for half a second—just long enough for Draco to see the answer in his eyes before he even said it.
“Lucius.”
The name landed like a stone between them.
Draco let out a hollow laugh, stepping back. “You’re doing this for him?”
Ron’s shoulders squared. “I’m doing this for us. So that when he looks at me, he sees someone worthy of you. So that he can’t sneer at me like I’m some charity case you settled for.”
Draco’s hands trembled at his sides. “You think this house changes anything? You think a bigger dining room or a nicer view is going to make him approve of you?” His voice cracked, raw with disbelief. “Ron, he will never approve of you. Not because you’re not good enough, but because he doesn’t want to. You could buy the biggest manor in England, and he’d still look down on you, because that’s who he is.”
Ron’s face hardened, his jaw clenched tight. “Maybe. But at least I’ll know I did everything I could.”
Draco let out a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a second. He wanted to scream, to shake Ron and make him see what was happening, make him listen. But Ron was still looking at him like he had to do this. Like proving himself to Lucius was more important than listening to Draco standing right in front of him, begging him to understand.
Draco’s voice was quiet when he spoke again. “You sold the apartment.”
Ron faltered, just for a second. “…Yeah.”
“Our furniture. Our things.”
Ron shifted uncomfortably. “Draco, we couldn’t keep them. They wouldn’t fit here.”
Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. “They fit us.”
Silence stretched between them.
Draco finally exhaled, his whole body heavy with exhaustion. He wanted to fight, wanted to make Ron see—but he couldn’t force him to understand. Not yet.
He ran a hand through his hair, voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t keep living like this, Ron.”
For the first time, real fear flickered in Ron’s expression. “Draco—”
“I’m not leaving,” Draco cut in quickly, and he saw Ron’s shoulders relax just slightly. But the fear was still there, lingering under the surface. “But I need you to hear me. I don’t need this house. I don’t need your money. I don’t need his approval. I just… need you.”
Ron stared at him, like he wanted to believe him but couldn’t quite let go of the fear gripping him tight.
Draco sighed, stepping back. “I’m going to bed.” His voice was quiet, exhausted. “We can talk about this when you’re ready to listen.”
And with that, he turned, heading toward the grand staircase—one that felt too big, too empty, too wrong.
Ron stood in the middle of the gleaming marble floor, staring after him, hands clenched at his sides.
And even as Draco walked away, Ron still didn’t understand.