Chapter 5
It started subtly—so subtly that even Harry couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when things began to unravel. On the surface, everything was perfect. He had Draco, their little family with James, and a second baby on the way. Draco had given up everything—his career aspirations, his pride, and even parts of himself—to be the perfect partner and parent. And Harry loved him for it. He really, truly did.
But perfection was a heavy weight to bear.
The truth was, Harry had been struggling for years. The pressure of being “The Chosen One,” the expectations of the wizarding world, and his own internal demons were burdens he didn’t know how to share. He never told Draco about the nightmares that still plagued him, or how sometimes he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of their seemingly flawless life.
Draco, for his part, was so focused on the children and keeping the household running that he didn’t notice how distant Harry was becoming. And Harry, being Harry, didn’t want to burden Draco with his problems. He told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that he just needed to be stronger.
And then there was Emily.
She wasn’t anyone special—not really. Just a fellow Auror Harry worked with, someone who laughed at his jokes and made him feel normal. At first, it was innocent. They’d talk during breaks, grab a quick butterbeer after a long shift, and share stories about the absurdities of their jobs. Emily was easy to talk to, and Harry found himself drawn to her warmth and her ability to make him forget, even if only for a moment, the weight of his own life.
It wasn’t love. It wasn’t even planned. One night, after a particularly grueling mission, they found themselves alone in a quiet corner of the Leaky Cauldron. Emily touched his hand, a small, comforting gesture, and Harry didn’t pull away. He let himself lean into the moment, craving the simplicity of it—the absence of responsibility, of expectations.
It was a mistake, one that spiraled out of control faster than Harry could stop it.
Every time it happened, guilt clawed at him. He’d come home to Draco, who was glowing with the joy of their growing family, and Harry would feel like the worst person alive. He told himself he’d stop, that it would never happen again, but he was weak. And with every lie he told Draco, with every excuse for coming home late, he felt himself falling further and further away from the life they’d built together.
Harry didn’t cheat because he stopped loving Draco. If anything, it was the opposite—he loved Draco so much that he didn’t know how to be vulnerable with him. Draco had always been the strong one, the one who held their family together, and Harry didn’t know how to admit that he was falling apart.
But Draco wasn’t blind. He noticed the changes in Harry—the way he avoided eye contact, the way he flinched at simple questions, the way he stopped reaching for Draco’s hand.
One night, as they sat in the living room after putting James to bed, Draco finally asked, “Harry, is there someone else?”
Harry froze, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to lie, to deny everything, but he couldn’t bring himself to look Draco in the eyes. And in that silence, Draco had his answer.
“How could you?” Draco whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “I gave up everything for us, Harry. For you. And this is how you repay me?”
“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Harry said, his voice cracking. “I—I didn’t know how to tell you I was struggling. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
“And yet you did,” Draco said coldly, tears streaming down his face. “You didn’t just hurt me, Harry. You destroyed me.”
Harry tried to apologize, to explain, but there were no words that could undo the damage. Draco stood, his hands trembling as he placed them protectively over his growing belly. “I loved you,” he said softly. “I would’ve done anything for you. But I won’t stay and let you keep breaking me.”
Draco left that night, taking James with him. Harry was left in an empty house, haunted by the weight of his choices. He realized, too late, that the perfection he had felt suffocated by was the very thing that made his life worth living.
Harry would spend the rest of his life regretting what he’d done, but some mistakes couldn’t be undone. And some hearts, once broken, could never be mended.