Chapter 4
*The Garden, Malfoy Manor, A Week Later**
*The sun had finally emerged from behind the rainclouds, casting a warm golden light over the Malfoy Manor grounds. It was a quiet afternoon, and Harry found himself walking beside Draco as they made their way toward the garden. The air was fresh, the scent of wet earth lingering, but there was an unexpected ease between them now.*
Draco, for once, didn’t seem to be putting up a front. His usual sharpness had faded slightly, replaced with a more relaxed air as he talked about something trivial—probably a memory from his childhood, though Harry wasn’t entirely listening. His attention was diverted elsewhere.
There, standing by the fountain, was a young man Harry didn’t recognize. He was tall, with dark, wavy hair, and an easy smile that seemed to be aimed entirely at Draco. Harry watched as the man took a step toward Draco, complimenting him on something—his looks, most likely. Draco, in return, smiled in that way that made Harry’s stomach twist.
Harry’s jaw tightened. There was something about the way the man was looking at Draco that made him feel... unsettled. Jealous, even. He hated it.
“Draco,” Harry said, his voice a little sharper than he intended, “who’s that?”
Draco followed his gaze, his lips curling into a small, almost amused smile. “Oh, just some charming young man from one of the neighboring estates. He’s been lingering around the manor for a few days now.”
The man laughed at something Draco had said, his hand brushing against Draco’s arm in a way that Harry couldn’t ignore. The movement was subtle, but it was enough to make Harry’s chest tighten with frustration.
"Right." Harry tried to sound casual, but the words were forced. “I didn’t realize you had a fan club.”
Draco glanced at Harry, an eyebrow raised, but he didn’t seem bothered by Harry’s tone. "He's harmless, Potter. Just someone who thinks I’m more interesting than I really am."
But Harry couldn’t stop watching. He hated how easily the guy made Draco smile, how Draco leaned into the attention. He hated that he was standing there, feeling a possessiveness he’d never felt before, an ache that gnawed at him as if someone else was claiming something that was *his.*
As the man continued to chat with Draco, Harry felt his anger simmer beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much. They weren’t even in a relationship. Hell, they were barely friends. But the thought of Draco, of anyone, looking at him the way Harry had only just begun to look at Draco—no, it wasn’t right.
When the man leaned in closer to Draco, a flirty grin on his face, Harry couldn’t take it anymore. He turned sharply, walking away from them without a word.
Draco, noticing the sudden shift, called out, “Potter? What’s wrong with you?”
But Harry didn’t stop. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite process. He made his way into the house, barely aware of where he was going. The anger, the jealousy—everything was clouding his mind, and he needed space to breathe.
He didn’t realize he had stopped in front of the study until the door opened, and James Potter stepped out, looking at him with a raised brow.
“Harry?” James asked, his voice full of curiosity. “You okay?”
Harry didn’t want to talk to him. He didn’t want to explain the strange, confusing emotions that were running through him. Instead, he only gave a curt nod and pushed past him, heading toward the back of the house.
---
**Later That Evening, The Sitting Room**
*Harry sat in front of the fire, his mind racing. The image of Draco laughing with that man kept replaying in his mind, over and over. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something he didn’t want to acknowledge.*
A soft knock on the door broke his reverie, and when he didn’t respond, the door creaked open. Draco stepped inside, his posture casual but his eyes searching, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips.
“What’s going on with you?” Draco asked, voice gentle but laced with concern.
Harry swallowed, trying to steady himself. “I’m fine,” he muttered, avoiding Draco’s gaze. “Just... tired.”
“Right,” Draco said skeptically, walking further into the room. “Tired. And here I thought you’d be thrilled that I’ve got admirers.” His voice was a little teasing, but Harry could hear the underlying tension in it.
“I don’t care about your admirers,” Harry snapped, more harshly than he intended. “But maybe you should stop leading them on. You know... giving them the wrong idea.”
Draco stopped in his tracks, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Leading them on?” he repeated, his voice soft but sharp. “You’re upset about some random bloke giving me a compliment?”
Harry stood up suddenly, his breath quickening as the jealousy and frustration bubbled over. “I don’t like seeing you smile at someone else like that,” he admitted, voice quieter but filled with intensity. “Like you’re enjoying the attention. Like you’re—” He cut himself off, his pulse pounding in his ears. "I just don't like it, alright?"
Draco’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his gaze gentle. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then, slowly, Draco placed a hand on Harry’s arm, his touch cool against Harry’s heated skin.
“Potter,” Draco said quietly, “are you... jealous?”
Harry couldn’t meet Draco’s eyes. His heart was racing, and the heat in his face was undeniable. "Maybe," he muttered, feeling a lump form in his throat.
For a long moment, Draco was silent. Then, with surprising gentleness, he cupped Harry’s chin, tilting his face so their eyes met. “I don’t want anyone else, Harry. Not the way I—” He hesitated, then continued, voice barely a whisper, “Not the way I want you.”
The words hung in the air, and for the first time, Harry saw it. The vulnerability in Draco’s eyes, the sincerity of his touch. It was all there—the connection they had been slowly building, now clear in the way Draco was looking at him.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat as his own feelings flooded to the surface. He wasn’t sure how it had happened—how this shift in their relationship had turned into something so raw and real—but he knew one thing: he didn’t want to lose it.
“I—” Harry started, but words failed him.
Draco didn’t wait for him to finish. He leaned in, closing the gap between them, and kissed him softly, slowly, as though testing the waters. Harry froze for a split second, but then, without thinking, he kissed Draco back, the heat between them undeniable.
And in that moment, everything else—every argument, every resentment, every moment of jealousy—faded away. It was just them, standing in the quiet of the room, finally allowing themselves to feel something real, something unspoken but undeniable.
---
*The fire crackled softly, and the rest of the world felt distant. For the first time, Harry and Draco allowed themselves to acknowledge what had been building between them, the tension of rivalry now transformed into something deeper, more tender. The jealousy, the fear—it would all take time to work through. But in that moment, it didn’t matter.*