Love on the Line

Draco Malfoy prided himself on his ability to keep his composure. He had learned, after years of public scrutiny and private pain, how to hold himself with an elegance that belied the storms raging within. But tonight, as he sat curled up in the corner of Andromeda’s cozy sitting room, his book lay forgotten in his lap, and his thoughts spiraled in directions he had sworn to avoid.

Harry hadn’t called.

Draco traced his finger absentmindedly along the gilded edge of the book, his pale hands trembling slightly. The last few times Harry had gone on a date, Draco had been his safety net. Without fail, a message would arrive, laced with Harry’s clumsy humor: “Save me, Malfoy. This one thinks dragon dung is a potion ingredient.” Or, “You’d think liking Quidditch would make someone tolerable. Wrong again.”

And then Draco would call, his voice an even keel as Harry pretended some fabricated emergency had come up. Afterward, they’d laugh about it over tea at Andromeda’s, Teddy clambering into Harry’s lap, and Draco would tell himself it was enough. Enough to be needed, enough to be near Harry, even if it was only as a lifeline from his disastrous dating life.

But this time, nothing.

Draco shifted uncomfortably on the couch, tucking his legs beneath him. The soft cashmere of his cardigan brushed against his fingers, the delicate pearl buttons cool against his skin. He fiddled with one absentmindedly, his perfectly manicured nails catching the lamplight.

The silence from Harry wasn’t just unusual; it was deafening. Had the date gone... well? The thought curled in Draco’s chest like a serpent, its fangs sinking deep into his heart. Harry deserved happiness—of course he did. But the idea of him finding it with someone else, someone who wasn’t Draco, left him feeling hollow.

The clock on the mantel ticked on, its rhythm taunting him. He glanced toward the door, as if expecting Harry to burst in with a sheepish grin and some ridiculous story about how the date had been a nightmare after all. But the door stayed shut, and the room grew colder.

"Draco, darling, you’ve been staring at the same page for half an hour," Andromeda’s voice cut through the stillness, warm and tinged with concern. She sat across from him, her knitting needles clicking softly as she worked on a scarf for Teddy.

Draco blinked, his gaze snapping back to the book. "Just lost in thought," he murmured, his voice as smooth as ever, though it lacked its usual sharp edge.

Andromeda raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. She had grown used to Draco’s moods, knowing when to push and when to let him be. Tonight, she seemed to sense that this particular storm was one he needed to weather alone.

When Teddy barreled into the room moments later, chattering excitedly about his new set of enchanted building blocks, Draco seized the distraction, scooping the boy up and letting his laughter mask the ache inside.

------------------------

By the time Draco retired to his room, the house was quiet, the soft hum of nighttime settling over it like a blanket. He sat at his vanity, brushing out his platinum hair, each stroke of the brush a mechanical motion. His reflection stared back at him, pale and composed, the sharp angles of his face softened by the faint glow of the moonlight streaming through the window.

His mind, however, was anything but composed. It kept circling back to Harry, to the idea of him laughing with someone else, sharing his crooked smiles and soft touches with someone who wasn’t Draco. It shouldn’t matter, Draco told himself. Harry was just a friend. A friend who relied on him, who trusted him.

A friend Draco had fallen hopelessly in love with.

He set the brush down with a shaky breath, his reflection blurring as tears threatened to spill. He hated himself for feeling this way, for letting Harry’s absence unravel him. But he couldn’t shake the image of Harry sitting across from someone, smiling in that way that made his green eyes light up, that made him look like he carried the sun inside him.

Draco climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, and stared at the ceiling. His heart ached with a longing he couldn’t express, a silent plea that hung in the air between him and the one person who would never hear it.

Wherever Harry was, Draco hoped he was happy. And yet, selfishly, he couldn’t help but wish Harry was here. With him.

As sleep finally claimed him, his last thought was a quiet, desperate whisper: Don’t let this be the end of us.

------------------------

Draco stood in the garden of Andromeda’s home, the cool breeze tugging at the loose strands of his silvery-blond hair. His pale fingers delicately traced the edge of a budding rose, though his mind was far from the flowers. He was waiting, though he’d never admit it—not even to himself. Waiting for Harry to appear in the doorway, to bring that warmth and chaos that always accompanied him.

When Harry finally arrived, Draco straightened, his heart leaping in a way he loathed. He tucked a strand of hair behind his ear and adjusted the soft lace collar of his blouse, the delicate fabric brushing against his skin as if reminding him to stay composed.

“Draco,” Harry called out, his voice carrying that unmistakable mix of cheer and exhaustion. He strode toward Draco, broad-shouldered and confident, a stark contrast to Draco’s more delicate frame. As always, Harry’s presence seemed to fill the space, even the vast garden feeling smaller with him in it.

Draco offered a faint smile, his hands clasped loosely in front of him. “Potter,” he greeted, his tone light, though it took effort to keep it steady.

“I’ve got to tell you about the date,” Harry said, his face lighting up as he leaned against the garden fence. “It was amazing, Draco. We went to this little café in Diagon Alley—she’s a potioneer, really brilliant—and then we walked along the river. She’s... well, she’s something special.”

Draco’s stomach twisted painfully. He nodded, his face carefully neutral, though he could feel the sting behind his eyes. “Sounds... lovely,” he murmured, his voice quieter than usual.
“It was,” Harry said, oblivious to the turmoil in Draco’s chest. “I think I’ll see her again.”

Draco felt as though the ground had shifted beneath him. He forced a smile and looked away, his gaze landing on the roses again. “Well, good for you, Potter,” he said, the words bitter on his tongue despite the sweetness he tried to lace them with.

Before Harry could notice the crack in his demeanor, Draco turned on his heel and walked briskly back toward the house. His throat felt tight, and he could feel the weight of Harry’s gaze on his back. But he didn’t look back.

Once inside, Draco sought out Teddy. The little boy was sprawled on the living room rug, building towers with enchanted blocks. As soon as Draco knelt beside him, Teddy grinned up at him, his hair flashing a cheerful turquoise.
“Draco!” Teddy squealed, clambering onto his lap. “Help me build a castle!”

Draco let out a soft laugh, the sound more fragile than he intended. “A castle, is it? Then we’ll need a moat and a dragon,” he said, his voice soothing as he ran his fingers through Teddy’s hair.

For the next hour, Draco poured his focus into Teddy, letting the boy’s laughter drown out the ache in his chest. Teddy’s little hands tugged at his, his bright eyes full of wonder, and for a while, Draco could pretend that nothing else mattered.

But as the months passed, Harry came by less and less.

At first, it was subtle—an occasional missed dinner, an apology scrawled in a hurried note. Then the gaps grew wider. The evenings Draco spent with Teddy became quieter, the space where Harry should have been stretching into a chasm.

Draco tried not to let it show. He continued to play the part of the doting godbrother, filling his days with Andromeda’s errands and Teddy’s boundless energy. But when the house was silent, and the night crept in, Draco would sit by the window, staring out into the darkness, his delicate hands clutching a mug of tea that had long since gone cold.

He hated how much he missed Harry. Hated the way his heart ached every time the door didn’t open, every time Harry’s laugh didn’t echo through the halls. He told himself he was being foolish, that Harry’s life was moving forward as it should.

And yet, the absence was unbearable.

Draco’s reflection in the window stared back at him, pale and fragile. The soft, feminine features that had always set him apart now seemed to mock him. He had never been the kind of person Harry would choose—never strong enough, never good enough.

Teddy’s footsteps pattered softly down the hall, and Draco turned, a small smile forced onto his face. The boy climbed into his lap without a word, curling against him as if sensing his sadness. Draco pressed a kiss to Teddy’s hair, holding him close.

He didn’t need Harry, Draco told himself. He had Teddy, Andromeda, and this quiet life they had built together.

But as the house settled into its nighttime stillness, Draco couldn’t help but glance toward the door, hoping, even if he knew better, that Harry would walk through it.

------------------------

Draco didn’t think he’d see Harry again so soon. After weeks of sparse letters and Harry’s growing absence, Draco had resigned himself to the idea that his place in Harry’s life was fading into the background. He told himself it was for the best—that it was inevitable. But when Andromeda announced over breakfast that Harry was stopping by for tea and bringing his girlfriend, Draco felt his chest tighten like a vice.

“Oh,” Draco said softly, setting down his teacup with practiced grace. “That’s... unexpected.”

Andromeda raised an eyebrow, her sharp eyes missing nothing. “It’s good for Harry. He deserves some happiness.”

Draco nodded, forcing a smile. “Of course. It’ll be nice to meet her.”

The hours leading up to their arrival were agonizing. Draco busied himself with small tasks—tidying up the living room, rearranging books on the shelf, and checking on Teddy more times than necessary. All the while, his thoughts churned with images of a woman he hadn’t met yet, someone who had managed to capture Harry’s heart in a way he never could.

When the knock finally came, Draco smoothed down his shirt, ensuring every button was perfectly aligned. He ran a hand through his silvery hair, tucking a loose strand behind his ear before he opened the door.

There stood Harry, as broad and ruggedly handsome as ever, with that effortless charm that made Draco’s stomach flip. Beside him was a woman. She was petite, with warm hazel eyes and a radiant smile that immediately filled the doorway with light.

“Draco,” Harry greeted, his voice cheerful. “This is Maya.”

Maya stepped forward, extending her hand. “It’s so lovely to meet you. Harry’s told me so much about you.”

Draco shook her hand, his grip delicate but firm. “All good things, I hope,” he said, his voice smooth and even, betraying none of the storm inside him.
Maya laughed softly. “All wonderful things.”

As they settled in the living room, Draco watched the way Harry looked at her, his green eyes soft and unguarded in a way Draco had rarely seen. It hurt more than he cared to admit.

Maya, to Draco’s dismay, was impossibly kind. She had a warmth about her that filled the room, and she spoke to Andromeda and Teddy with genuine affection. She even complimented Draco on his attire, calling his soft chunky sweater and tailored trousers "absolutely stunning."

“You must be the most elegant person I’ve ever met,” Maya said with a grin.

Draco’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he managed a polite laugh. “You’re too kind.”

As the afternoon wore on, Draco found it impossible to dislike her. She was thoughtful, asking after Andromeda’s health and listening intently as Teddy rambled about his latest adventures. She laughed at Harry’s jokes, the sound light and musical, and Draco hated how well she fit into the little family they’d built.

Still, every smile she shared with Harry felt like a dagger to Draco’s chest.

When Maya excused herself to help Andromeda in the kitchen, Draco found himself alone with Harry for the first time in weeks. The silence between them was heavy, and Draco struggled to find the right words.
“She’s lovely,” Draco finally said, his voice quiet.

Harry smiled, his expression soft. “She is, isn’t she? I think you’d really like her if you got to know her.”

Draco swallowed hard, forcing a faint smile. “I’m sure I would.”

But the truth was, Draco didn’t want to get to know her. He didn’t want to sit across from Harry and watch as someone else held his attention. He didn’t want to feel this gnawing ache in his chest every time Harry smiled at someone else the way Draco wished he’d smile at him.

When Maya and Andromeda returned, Draco excused himself under the pretense of checking on Teddy. He found the little boy playing with his enchanted blocks in the nursery, and Draco sank onto the floor beside him, his elegant frame folding gracefully as he reached for a block.

“Teddy,” Draco murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, “do you think it’s possible to feel happy and sad at the same time?”

Teddy looked up at him, his hair shifting to a soft silver that matched Draco’s own. “Like when you want chocolate pudding but you’re too full to eat it?”

Draco let out a soft laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. “Something like that.”

The rest of the visit passed in a blur. Draco managed to keep his composure, smiling and nodding in all the right places, but his heart felt like it was splintering with every passing moment.

As Harry and Maya prepared to leave, Draco stood by the door, his hands clasped tightly in front of him.

“It was so nice meeting you, Draco,” Maya said, her smile as warm as ever.

“Likewise,” Draco replied, his voice steady, though it took all his strength to keep it that way.

------------------------

Harry had planned to leave with Maya, but something about the way Draco avoided his gaze all afternoon made him linger. It wasn’t anything overt—Draco had been his usual polished self, smiling at all the right moments, his voice smooth and melodic—but Harry knew him well enough to see the cracks beneath the surface. And for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, the thought of leaving things like this made his chest feel tight.

“I think I’ll stay for dinner,” Harry said, as Maya pressed a soft kiss to his cheek by the door.

Maya smiled. “I’ll see you later, then,” she said, her voice warm but not prying. She waved at Andromeda and Teddy, and with a final glance back, she was gone.

When Harry turned back into the house, Draco was nowhere to be seen.

------------------------

Dinner had been an exercise in restraint for Draco. Every smile felt forced, every polite nod rehearsed, and every glance toward Harry was like a knife twisting deeper into his chest. Watching him at the table, laughing and reminiscing with Andromeda, while Draco sat there stewing in his own despair, had been almost unbearable.

Maya’s absence after she left should have brought relief, but it didn’t. Harry’s decision to stay only intensified the suffocating pressure that had been building for weeks.

Now, Draco stood in the sitting room, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring out the window at the night sky. He could feel Harry behind him, his presence warm and intrusive, lingering like a question Draco didn’t want to answer.
“Draco,” Harry began, his voice soft and tentative.

Draco didn’t turn. “You should have left with her,” he said, his tone as brittle as glass.

“What? Why?”

The incredulity in Harry’s voice made something inside Draco snap. He turned abruptly, his silver eyes blazing with anger and unshed tears.

“Because that’s where you belong!” Draco spat. “With her. With your perfect, sweet, normal Maya!”

Harry frowned, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. “Draco, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know!” Draco snapped, his voice rising. “You’ve been avoiding this house for weeks. Teddy asks about you constantly, and I’m left to come up with excuses. And when you finally do come around, you bring her. Like it’s nothing. Like it doesn’t matter. Like I don’t—”

Draco’s voice broke, and he turned back toward the window, his delicate hands gripping the windowsill so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“Like you don’t what?” Harry pressed, stepping closer. His voice softened. “Draco, if something’s wrong, just tell me.”

Draco let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “What’s the point? You don’t listen. You never have.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry shot back, his tone sharper now. “I’ve been busy, yes, but you know how much Teddy and Andromeda mean to me. You mean—”

“Don’t,” Draco interrupted, whirling around again. “Don’t you dare say I mean something to you. Not when your actions say the opposite.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. “What do you want from me, Draco?”

“I want you to see me!” Draco shouted, his voice cracking. Tears welled in his eyes, spilling over and streaking down his pale cheeks. “I want you to stop acting like I’m just some convenient friend you can toss aside whenever something—or someone—better comes along.”

Harry stepped closer, his hands outstretched as if to calm him. “You’re not—”

“I am!” Draco cut him off, his voice trembling. “Do you have any idea how humiliating it is? To sit here and watch you parade her around like she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, while I—”

He stopped, his breath hitching as he fought to keep himself together. But the floodgates had already opened, and the words came tumbling out before he could stop them.

“While I sit here, trying to pretend I’m not in love with you.”

The room fell into a suffocating silence. Harry froze, his green eyes wide with shock.

“Draco,” he said softly, his voice laced with disbelief.

Draco shook his head, tears streaming freely now. “Don’t,” he whispered, backing away as Harry reached for him. “Just... don’t. I can’t do this anymore.”

Harry’s heart twisted painfully in his chest. “Draco, please. I didn’t know—”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Draco said bitterly, his voice thick with tears. “Because you never look. You’re too busy being everyone’s savior to notice when someone actually needs you.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry said, his voice rising defensively. “I’ve been here for you. I’ve—”

“When?” Draco demanded, his voice breaking again. “When have you ever been here for me, Harry? Really been here? Because all I see is someone who drops in when it’s convenient, who smiles and pretends like everything is fine, and then leaves without a second thought.”

“That’s not true,” Harry argued, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

Draco let out a shaky breath, his shoulders slumping as the fight drained out of him. “It doesn’t matter,” he said quietly, wrapping his arms around himself. “You’ve made your choice. And it’s not me.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but the words died in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, how to fix the mess that lay between them.

“Just go,” Draco said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Draco—”

“Go,” Draco repeated, his tone firmer this time.

Harry hesitated, his heart aching as he watched Draco turn away from him, his delicate frame trembling with suppressed sobs. But he knew there was nothing he could say that would make this better. Not now.

So, with a heavy heart, he turned and left, the sound of Draco’s quiet cries haunting him long after he stepped out into the night.