Chapter Text
You climbed down the ladder slowly, hand trailing along the spine of the book you didn’t take. When your feet hit the floor, you didn’t look at him right away.
Draco stood near the door, one hand braced against the frame like he wasn’t sure if he should stay.
You turned to face him fully.
The room smelled of old parchment and rain-soaked wood.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” you say, not accusatory—just true.
“So have you,” he says quietly .
Touché.
The silence swelled again, thick and damp and full of things that hadn’t been said for too long.
You cross your arms. “You should’ve told me.”
“I know.”
You look away. “I was starting to feel safe here. With you.”
His breath caught. “I didn’t mean to take that from you.”
“But you did.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes lowering to the floor. “I wanted to tell you. I nearly did. So many times. But every time I looked at you…” His voice faltered. “You didn’t look at me like everyone else did. You weren’t scared of me. Or disgusted. Or waiting for me to fail. You looked at me like I was someone new. And I couldn’t bear the thought of ruining that.”
You let that sit there. Let it ache.
“Do you know what it’s like,” you say, “to picture your parents burning to death every night when you close your eyes?”
He flinched.
“I didn’t even have a body to bury,” you whisper. “I have nothing. And I’ve been trying so hard to just exist in the same world as the people who took everything from me.”
“I didn’t know it was your home,” he said. “I didn’t know it was you.”
“But you still stood there. You still watched.”
“I know.”
“And then you let me move into your house. Live with you. Sleep under your roof like nothing had ever happened.”
“I know,” he said, louder now, but not angry. Desperate.
Your arms drop to your sides. “So why did you let me get close?”
Your voice was barely above a whisper, yet in the hushed stillness of the Malfoy Manor library it rang out clearly. You stood a few paces from Draco between towering shelves of ancient books, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if that could hold in the hurt. Ever since the night your magic had exploded in a storm of grief, shattering a chandelier and blackening the walls of the west parlor, you and Draco had circled each other in careful avoidance. Now that fragile distance had shattered too, leaving you face to face amid the dust and silence, your question hung in the air between you: heavy, aching, demanding.
Draco didn’t answer at once. He had gone still at your question, as if the words themselves were a blow he’d been bracing for. In the low lamplight his face was drawn and pale, shadows carving hollows beneath his storm-gray eyes. Those eyes flickered with uncertainty; he glanced down, unable or unwilling to meet your gaze straight on.
His throat worked, an audible swallow in the quiet. The only sound was the faint crackle from the fireplace at the far end of the room and the soft hitch in your breathing as you waited. The silence pressed on you, weighty and thick with all the unsaid truths.
Finally, Draco drew a slow breath. "I..." he began, voice rough and low. He lifted his eyes to yours at last, and the naked regret you saw there made your chest tighten. "I'm sorry," he whispered, the words cracking slightly. "I know I have no right— no right to ask you to understand."
He paused, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as though steadying himself. A faint tremor passed through him. "But I let you get close because I’m a coward." The word fell bitter and self-loathing from his tongue. "Because I was selfish."
You flinch, your hurt sharpening, nails biting into the fabric of your sleeves where you hugged yourself. "Selfish," your repeated quietly, bitterness ghosting over the single word.
"Was any of it real then? Or just…you trying to make yourself feel better?" Your question came out trembling despite your effort to sound composed. You hated that your eyes were burning, a sheen of unwanted tears threatening to reveal just how broken you felt.
At your words, Draco’s composure fractured further. He took an impulsive half-step forward before catching himself. The warm glow of the lamp between them cast light on the anguish etched on his features. "It was real," he said urgently, his voice still hushed but fierce with feeling.
"Please believe me, it was all real to me. I never faked a single moment with you." His eyes searched yours desperately, silver pleading with you to see the truth. "Letting you in— having you near—" He broke off and ran a hand through his pale hair, exhaling shakily. "It was the only thing that felt real in a world I’d nearly destroyed. With you... I could breathe."
You stood unmoving, but your guarded expression faltered as his words washed over you. There was a raw honesty in his tone that you wasn’t prepared for. You could see the sheen in his eyes now; in the trembling light, it almost looked like tears. Draco Malfoy, fighting back tears — the sight sent a jolt of confused emotion through you, throat tightening.
"You lied to me, Draco," you said, and this time your voice was not cold or accusing, just pained and very quiet. "You were part of... of that night. Of everything that happened to my family. And you never told me."
A single tear escaped down your cheek before you could stop it and you swipe it away angrily, as if to erase the evidence of your hurt. "I trusted you," you whispered, voice breaking, gaze falling to the floor between you, “maybe I was the dumb one for that.”
"I know." His reply came soft and immediate. Draco’s own eyes were shining now. He hesitated, then took a tentative step closer, closing a bit of the distance between them. When you didn’t back away, he pressed on. "I know I lied by keeping it from you. And I know I can’t ever make that right." His breath shuddered. "You have every right to hate me." Each word cost him; you could see how tightly he was gripping the back of a nearby armchair, his knuckles white.
"But I was afraid," he continued in a ragged whisper. "Afraid of losing you." He let out a hollow, soft laugh at himself, devoid of humor. "The moment I realized what you’d come to mean to me... I knew I should have told you everything or walked away. But I couldn’t. I was too scared." He forced himself to meet your gaze, and this time he did not look away. "Losing you terrified me more than anything else. So I let myself... I let myself pretend I could keep you, even if I didn’t deserve you."
Your heart lurched painfully at his confession. You lift your eyes to his face again, studying every line of regret and fear there. In all the time you’d been at the Manor, You had never seen Draco look so openly vulnerable. It made your anger waver, cracked your resolve to remain aloof.
"I'm not something for you to keep," you say, the words coming out faintly. There was a lingering edge of hurt, but no real heat behind it now. Another tear slipped from your lashes, trailing slowly down to your chin. "I’m not— I’m not yours." The last word trembled in the air, and an ache followed it, as though neither of you were certain if it was true anymore.
A breath of silence. Draco’s eyes closed for a moment at your statement, and he bowed his head. "I know," he murmured. "I had no right to even hope... for anything." He drew a shaky breath and straightened, and there was a new bleakness in his expression, as if your words had cut him deeply. "You’re not mine. I know that." His voice caught, and for a second he couldn’t continue. He looked away, blinking rapidly.
When he spoke again, each word was deliberate and hushed. "But you need to know, it wasn’t a game to me. Having you here, having you care even a little... it meant everything. You mean... so much. More than I can ever tell you."
He stopped, chest heaving with emotion held tightly in check. "That’s why I let you get close. Because even though I knew I was risking exactly this" — he gestured weakly at the space between them, the chasm of hurt and betrayal “I couldn’t push you away. I should have. But I couldn’t."
You realized you were holding your breath. The library felt terribly still around you, as if the very house was listening. Your heartbeat thudded in your ears. Draco’s confession hung in the air, and you were struggling to process the whirlwind of feelings it stirred. Anger, sorrow, longing, and a fragile, unwanted hope warred within you.
You wanted to stay furious, to hold onto the righteous outrage that had fueled your outburst days ago. That would be simpler than facing the aching vulnerability in his eyes and in your own heart. But as you looked at him, truly looked at him, at the tears he refused to let fall and the defeated slump of his shoulders, you couldn’t find that pure anger anymore. In its place was something far more uncertain and far more terrifying: the part of you that still cared for him, that maybe always would.
Slowly, you unclenched your arms from around yourself. Your fingers tingled, blood rushing back into places you hadn’t realized were numb. You took an unsteady breath.
"I don’t know what you expect me to say," you admitted quietly. Your voice softer now, though thick with emotion. "You hurt me, Draco. You... you broke everything."
He opened his mouth as if to speak, anguish flaring in his eyes at your words, but you continued before he could. "And yet, here I am. I can’t just turn it off, whatever it is I felt.. I feel, for you." The admission slipped out trembling and unguarded, and you quickly averted your gaze, staring down at the pattern of the carpet. A shaky sigh escaped, "I want to believe you. Part of me... does."
His breath caught audibly at that, and you dared to glance up. Draco was watching you with an expression of cautious hope woven through remorse. He took one more step closer, slow and measured, as if approaching a skittish doe. Now only an arm’s length separated you.
You could see him more clearly in the lamplight: the glassiness of his eyes, the fine tremor in his jaw. He raised a hand slightly, then hesitated. His fingers hovered in the air, longing to touch your cheek or wipe away your tears, but he didn’t quite dare. At last he let it fall back, his hand curling into a fist by his side. The space between them felt charged, a bare few feet filled with years of pain and the fragile spark of something that had not been completely extinguished.
"I’m so sorry," Draco whispered, and it sounded like a plea. "For all of it. If I could take it back... if I could trade places and bear it all myself, I would." His voice shook, and in his eyes you saw the glimmer of tears again. "I don’t expect you to forgive me. Maybe you never will. I just — I needed you to know. You were the only good thing I had, and I’m sorrier than I can say that I tainted that. That I hurt you."
A tear slid down your face, and this time you didn’t wipe it away, you let it fall, hot and silent, as you regarded the broken man before you. In that moment, wrapped in the quiet gloom of the library, you saw not the arrogant boy you once knew, nor the traitor you had feared, but a young man consumed by regret and grief, just as lost in this war-torn aftermath as you were. Your anger had been sharp and bright, but it was fading now, dulled by exhaustion and the painful clarity of his remorse.
The silence that settled between you now was different from before, not as heavy with accusation, but still fraught and fragile. At some point, your eyes had found his again. You stared at each other, both with tears quietly slipping free. There were no more words left to bridge the remaining distance; only the soft crackle of the fire and your unsteady breaths filled the space.
Draco didn’t move, and neither did you. But something had shifted in that stillness. You could feel it , an almost imperceptible thinning of the wall between them. His guilt and your hurt were still there, real and raw, but now there was something else, too: a tentative understanding, a flicker of trust — not reborn, but perhaps not entirely lost.
You draw in a trembling breath and wipe your damp cheek with the back of your hand. He watched the movement, his eyes softening with a concern he didn’t dare voice. For a long moment, you simply stood there in the low light, two weary souls bound by the same pain. His hand twitched at his side, as if he might reach for you, but he held back.
When you finally break the silence, your voice was gentler than before, gentler than you expected, "I won’t pretend everything is okay," you say slowly. "It’s not. I’m still... angry. And hurt."
Draco nodded faintly, swallowing; his face fell a little at your words even though he had expected them. You inhaled and continued, "But I needed to hear what you said. I needed to know it mattered to you... that I mattered to you."
"It does," he said immediately, the two short words cracking under the weight of all he felt. "You matter. You matter to me." The fervor in his whisper sent a warmth through your chest you tried not to acknowledge.
You managed a tiny, sad smile. It was the first hint of softness you had shown him in weeks, and you saw how it made Draco’s breath hitch. "I shouldn’t," you murmured. "Not after what happened. But... thank you for telling me the truth." You bit her lip and glanced away, surprised at yourself. Thanking him felt strange in this context, but it was honest. Despite everything, part of her was relieved to know she hadn’t been just a fool, that what they’d shared had been real for him too.
Draco’s shoulders sagged a fraction, as if a great weight had shifted, if not fully lifted. He didn’t speak, perhaps afraid any further words might shatter whatever fragile peace lay between them. The quiet returned, but now it felt delicate, not suffocating.
After a moment, you took a small step back, eyes drifting toward the door. A wave of exhaustion hit you; the emotional storm leaving you drained and unsteady. "I should go," you whispered, though your feet didn’t move yet. You remain where you are, looking at Draco uncertainly. In his eyes you see a flash of panic at the thought of you leaving, and maybe that was what kept you there a moment longer.
He nodded slowly, forcing himself to accept it. "Alright," he managed softly. His voice was meant to sound neutral, but the pain in his gaze gave him away. "Will you... be okay?"
"I don’t know", your answer was as honest as it was painful. You weren’t okay, not yet. Neither was he. But maybe, with time... you swallow hard and finally turn toward the door. Draco steps aside automatically, giving you a clear path.
As you slip past him you pause, close enough to feel the faint warmth radiating from his body. Your heart panged with the memory of gentler moments, memories of him nearly smiling on rare quiet afternoons, or of his hand brushing yours in passing. You draw a shaky breath. "Draco." His name came out softly, almost an intimacy in itself.
He looked at you, a spark of hope lighting in his eyes at the way you said his name. "Yes?"
Your throat worked. There was so much hurt still tangled between you, and yet so much left unsaid. "This... hurt. More than anything ever has," you whisper.
You see him flinch as if struck; his eyes squeezed shut, a tear finally escaping to trace down his cheek. Your own vision blurred. "But maybe... maybe one day it won’t hurt anymore." It was the closest you could come to forgiving him, the smallest glimmer of hope you could offer.
A tremulous breath left Draco’s lips. "I’ll wait," he whispered, voice hoarse with emotion. "For as long as it takes... I’ll wait." In his eyes, you see remorse, a promise unspoken, and something else, like a quiet devotion.
You give him one last searching look, trying to convey everything you cant bring yourself to say aloud. Then you incline your head in a faint nod. It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was not a goodbye either.
Quietly, quietly you turned and pulled the heavy library door open. Stepping out into the dim corridor, you pause and glance back. Draco stood where you left him, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight and lingering shadows. His shoulders were slumped, his face wet with tears he no longer tried to hide. He looked so lost and so hopeful all at once that it made your chest ache.
Your eyes meet one final time. In his gaze you see a plea and a promise — a silent vow to make this right, no matter how long it took. You wondered if he could see what lay in your own: the sorrow, the longing, and the faintest spark of something that might one day become forgiveness.
You offered him a ghost of a sad smile, a silent acknowledgement of that unspoken promise between you. Then you let the door fall shut, leaving him alone in the hush of the library.
Draco remained staring at the closed door, the echo of your presence curling in the air. He exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Something had changed between them tonight, a tiny fissure in the wall separating them, a fragile beginning. It wasn’t resolution, not by any means. But for now, in the quiet of the aftermath, it was enough.