𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐭 & 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 | drarry

22

It did not get better after that.

The days blurred together, each a painful reminder of the vast rift that had opened between them. Harry's attempts at reconciliation were met with silence, and Draco's walls were erected higher than ever before, impermeable and unyielding.

Their routines devolved into awkward, strained encounters. Meals were eaten in silence, their conversations stilted and painfully polite. The tension between them had become an almost palpable entity, a living, breathing presence that seemed to grow more oppressive with each passing day.

Harry's regret festered, corroding his confidence. He withdrew into himself, lost in a perpetual loop of self-recrimination. The memory of Draco's anguished face haunted him-the deep hurt he had inflicted on the person he loved most. His once steadfast assurance had crumbled, replaced by a debilitating self-pity.

Draco, meanwhile, retreated deeper behind his mask of indifference. He moved through the halls of Hogwarts like a specter, his presence faded to near invisibility. The sharp wit that had once defined him was dulled, his usual biting sarcasm replaced by a hollow, haunted expression. He avoided Harry's gaze, kept his head down, and forced himself to adopt an indifferent façade-one that crumbled in the dark, quiet hours of the night when no one was watching.

Draco's thoughts grew increasingly bleak, his self-doubt an unrelenting companion. He couldn't rid himself of the feeling that Harry's words had unearthed a profound, deep-seated truth-that he was, indeed, unworthy of love. That he was fundamentally bad, beyond the possibility of redemption, too damaged to ever deserve happiness. He had fought so hard to change, to become better, but now it felt as though none of it mattered.

One night, when the weight of it all became unbearable, Draco finally spoke. It was late, the castle shrouded in silence. Harry had just returned to their shared quarters, harboring the faint hope of yet another attempt to bridge the widening gap between them.

Draco was sitting by the window, the moonlight casting a cold glow across his features. His expression was blank, his eyes distant as they stared out over the darkened grounds. He did not look at Harry as he spoke, his voice even and detached, as though delivering a verdict he had rehearsed countless times.

"We can't keep doing this," Draco said, his tone devoid of any warmth. "This... whatever this is, it isn't working."

Harry's chest tightened, a knot forming in his throat. He stepped closer, desperation clawing at him. "Draco, please. I know I've messed up, but we can fix this. We can-"

Draco cut him off, his voice rising just enough to stop Harry in his tracks. "No. You can't fix this, Ha-Potter." He finally turned to face him, his eyes cold, but Harry could see the cracks beneath the surface-the fear, the pain, the vulnerability Draco was trying so desperately to conceal. "I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of pretending that this is going to work."

Harry's heart ached, the words hitting him like a physical blow. He took another step forward, his voice trembling. "Don't say that. I-I love you, Draco. I... I can't lose you."

Draco's lips twisted into something that might have been a smile, but it lacked any semblance of warmth-only sadness. "Love isn't enough. Not for someone like me. I'm not... I'm not who you want me to be. I tried to be better, to change, but maybe... maybe I'm just not meant for this."

Harry shook his head, tears blurring his vision. He reached out, his fingers brushing against Draco's arm, but Draco pulled away, his expression hardening. "Please," Harry whispered, his voice breaking. "Don't do this."

Draco met his gaze, his eyes steady, though they glistened with unshed tears. "I have to," he said, his voice barely audible. "I can't keep pretending. I can't keep hoping that one day I'll be enough for you. Deserving of you. You don't understand-it's killing me."