The edge of forever

The following summer stretched long and quiet at Linwood Manor. The estate, vast and grand, seemed even more immense in the solitude of the months without the usual bustle of guests or servants. Jonathan spent his days roaming the grounds, his feet finding the familiar, worn paths through the gardens, the towering hedges, and the overgrown sections of the estate he had never quite explored in his childhood.

He still hadn’t spoken to his father since that day—the day his mother’s death had forever changed the nature of their relationship. It didn’t matter. Jonathan had long since come to terms with the distance between them. The silence, though deafening, was something he was accustomed to. There was no expectation from Victor, no demand to perform or prove his worth. And so, he wandered alone, content in his own company.

The manor itself was an imposing structure, with high ceilings and dim hallways, its walls lined with portraits of long-dead ancestors who stared at him with cold, distant eyes. He had no interest in the grandeur of it all anymore. It felt like a tomb. The garden, however, was different.

The garden was his refuge.

He wandered through the paths, the scent of earth and fresh blooms filling the air. There were old, twisted trees that had grown to strange shapes over the years, their roots thick and gnarled. In the farthest corner of the garden, Jonathan found the place he had always loved: a small pond surrounded by low stone walls, hidden behind thick ivy. It was here that his mother had spent countless hours, tending to the flowers and plants with a quiet joy that Jonathan had always admired but never fully understood.

Now, it was just him. The leaves rustled gently in the breeze as he knelt by the pond, his fingers brushing the surface of the water. It was strange, how time could pass so quickly, and yet so slowly. So much had changed in the years since his mother’s death, but in the stillness of this place, the weight of his loss felt lighter.

He had no desire to return to the house, to face the coldness of Victor Linwood’s existence. His father had never been the father Jonathan had hoped for. Victor remained as detached as ever, locked away in his study or out on business, and Jonathan didn’t mind. It was easier this way. The absence was something he had learned to live with.

Instead, he spent his time in the garden, finding a kind of peace in the solitude. There, he could lose himself in the quiet hum of nature, surrounded by the life that continued despite everything. He had always been a quiet boy, withdrawn, and the stillness of the garden suited him perfectly.

Even though his father was just on the other side of the manor’s thick stone walls, Jonathan felt no urge to break the silence between them. Victor had never known how to connect, never knew how to offer the comfort a child needed, and Jonathan had learned to live without it.

In the garden, Jonathan was free from the expectations, free from the shadows of Linwood Manor.

The steady hum of the Hogwarts Express felt familiar as Jonathan Linwood settled into an empty compartment, the rhythmic sound of the train’s wheels on the tracks lulling him into a comfortable stillness. He pulled out a well-worn book from his bag, its pages yellowed with age, and began to read, losing himself in the intricate details of ancient spells. The steady movement of the train felt almost meditative, and for a moment, Jonathan was content with the quiet solitude.

He barely noticed when the door slid open, but his attention was drawn away from the pages by the sound of footsteps. Lucius Malfoy stepped inside, his tall frame filling the doorway. Jonathan blinked in surprise, his gaze flicking up from his book.

Lucius had changed.

His hair, once neatly trimmed, now cascaded to his shoulders in smooth, pale waves, the silver strands catching the light as he moved. He had grown several inches over the summer, his posture straighter, more confident. His build was broader now, a subtle layer of muscle defining the lines of his chest and arms, which made him look older, more mature than the Lucius Jonathan remembered from the last term.

For a moment, Jonathan was struck by something unspoken, a shift in how he saw his friend. It was subtle, but undeniable—a sudden awareness that hadn’t been there before.

Lucius gave him a smirk, his eyes gleaming with that same confident glint. "I was beginning to think you wouldn’t recognize me,"  he said, leaning against the doorframe.

Jonathan blinked again, shaking himself out of his reverie. "You… look different," he said, his voice betraying a slight hesitation. He hadn’t meant to sound so uncertain, but the truth was, he wasn’t sure how to respond to the sudden change in Lucius.

Lucius chuckled, stepping fully into the compartment and sitting across from Jonathan, leaning back in the seat with ease. "I suppose I have. A little growth spurt and a few extra hours outside, and suddenly I’m unrecognizable.'

Jonathan wasn’t sure if it was just the unfamiliarity of the change or something else, but he found himself acutely aware of how Lucius filled the space. The way he moved, the way his presence seemed to command attention even without trying—it all felt different, as if the version of Lucius he had known had somehow shifted into something else entirely.

"You look…" Jonathan trailed off, then cleared his throat. "You look good." The words felt strange coming out of his mouth, but he didn’t regret them.

Lucius raised an eyebrow, a slow smile curling at the corner of his lips. "I knew you’d come around eventually and compliment me." He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You spent the summer at Linwood Manor, right? How was it?"

The question brought Jonathan back to the present, and he felt the weight of the conversation shift. He closed his book, leaning back slightly in his seat, but he couldn’t help but notice how his gaze lingered just a bit too long on Lucius’s broader shoulders, the way his sharp features seemed more defined, the subtle yet undeniable maturity in his expression.

"It was… quiet," Jonathan replied, swallowing the sudden dryness in his throat. He didn’t know why, but the conversation suddenly felt different. Lucius’s presence, his proximity, everything about him seemed amplified. He found himself unable to tear his eyes away for a brief moment, a fleeting thought crossing his mind before he pushed it aside.

Lucius tilted his head, studying him. "You don’t have to stay in that mansion forever, you know," he said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "You don’t have to be trapped by what your father expects."

Jonathan met his gaze, and for a second, the world outside the train compartment seemed to blur. There was something in Lucius’s eyes—something unspoken—that Jonathan couldn’t quite decipher, but it made the air between them feel charged, thick with the weight of their shared history.

"I know," Jonathan said softly, his voice betraying the vulnerability that had always been just beneath the surface. "But it’s… complicated."

Lucius didn’t respond right away. He just watched Jonathan with an intensity that felt a little too sharp, a little too intimate for what had once been a friendship built on teasing and casual remarks.

For a long moment, they simply sat in silence, the rhythm of the train the only sound between them. Jonathan could feel the tension lingering in the air, his mind racing as he tried to reconcile the changes he was noticing in Lucius—and the changes he was noticing in himself.

He couldn’t ignore the subtle pull he felt whenever Lucius was near, the way his heart seemed to beat just a little faster when their eyes met. He had always respected Lucius, but now… there was something more. Something Jonathan couldn’t quite place, but that he felt in his chest.

Finally, Lucius broke the silence, his voice low and teasing once more. "So, are you planning on getting any sleep on this train ride, or are you just going to sit there and stare at me all day?"

Jonathan’s heart skipped a beat, and he quickly looked away, his face flushing. "I wasn’t staring," he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if it was entirely true.

Lucius smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on Jonathan. "Sure, you weren’t." He sat back with a relaxed grin, clearly more comfortable in his own skin than ever before.

Jonathan cleared his throat and returned to his book, though his thoughts were anything but on the pages in front of him. There was something new between them now—something that neither of them had expected.

And as the train rattled on toward Hogwarts, Jonathan couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, this year was going to be different.

As the months passed, Jonathan found himself drawn to Lucius in ways he couldn’t quite explain. It was subtle at first—a quiet pull, an unspoken awareness that settled into his thoughts without him noticing.

He had always preferred solitude, had always been comfortable in his own company, but with Lucius, things were different. He wanted to be near him, to hear his voice, to sit beside him even when no words were exchanged. It wasn’t just companionship; it was something deeper, something unnamed.

It became apparent in the little things.

In Potions, when Lucius sat beside him, Jonathan would catch himself leaning slightly in his direction, as if drawn by some unseen force. During meals, he would seek Lucius out in the Great Hall, his usual preference for quiet corners forgotten. Even in the library, where he had always valued silence above all else, he found himself welcoming Lucius’s presence, the sound of his voice a steady rhythm against the backdrop of turning pages.

At first, he dismissed it as familiarity, as the natural result of spending time with someone who understood him in a way others did. But there were moments—fleeting, disorienting—where the feeling became something else entirely.

Sitting in the library one evening, Lucius across from him as they both worked through their respective assignments, Jonathan’s eyes kept drifting up from his parchment. Lucius’s quill moved smoothly over the page, his long, pale fingers elegant even in such a mundane task. His silver-blond hair, now reaching his shoulders, caught the flickering light of the lanterns, and Jonathan had to force himself to look away.

"Are you even paying attention?" Lucius asked suddenly, his voice pulling Jonathan from his thoughts.

Jonathan blinked, startled. "What?"

Lucius smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I’ve been talking about Slughorn’s lecture for the past five minutes, and you’ve barely said a word. Something on your mind?"

Jonathan’s cheeks flushed, and he shook his head quickly. "No, just… tired," he lied, though the heat creeping up his neck betrayed him.

Lucius raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but he didn’t press. Instead, he stretched his arms behind his head, his movements lazy and confident. Jonathan’s gaze flicked to the way his shirt pulled taut across his chest, and he quickly looked down at his parchment, gripping his quill a little too tightly.

It was always like this now. In classes, in the Great Hall, even in the quiet moments they shared in the common spaces of the castle, Jonathan felt a pull he couldn’t explain. It was as if he were hyper-aware of Lucius’s every movement, every word. He noticed things he hadn’t before—the way Lucius’s smile could shift from teasing to genuine in an instant, the way his laugh was rare but warm, the way his presence could fill a room without even trying.

It was unnerving.

And yet, Jonathan found himself craving it. He looked forward to their shared moments, sought them out even when he tried to convince himself he didn’t. Being near Lucius felt… comfortable, but also electrifying, like standing too close to a thunderstorm.

One afternoon, as they walked together through the castle corridors on their way to Charms, Jonathan found himself deliberately slowing his pace just so they could walk side by side a little longer.

"You’re quiet today," Lucius remarked, glancing over at him.

Jonathan shrugged, his hands shoved into his pockets. "Just thinking."

Lucius grinned, his sharp features softening. "When are you not thinking? One of these days, Linwood, you’re going to have to stop brooding and enjoy yourself."

Jonathan rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into the faintest smile. "Maybe I’ll start taking advice from you when you stop preening in front of every mirror you pass."

Lucius laughed, the sound rich and easy, and Jonathan felt his chest tighten in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

That night, lying in bed in the Ravenclaw dormitory, Jonathan stared up at the canopy of his four-poster bed, his thoughts circling like restless birds. He couldn’t quite name what he was feeling—this strange mix of admiration, longing, and something else he didn’t dare examine too closely.

All he knew was that being near Lucius felt different now, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to stop himself from wanting more.

The chill of winter had settled over Hogwarts, snow blanketing the grounds and frost creeping along the windows of the castle. For the third year in a row, Jonathan Linwood stayed behind over the break, once again joined by Lucius Malfoy. By now, their routine had become second nature: quiet mornings in the library, afternoons spent exploring the frosted grounds, and evenings filled with conversation that had grown increasingly personal.

Jonathan had changed over the months. He was more outgoing now, no longer the boy who kept his head down and avoided eye contact. He laughed more, spoke more freely in class, and even joined in on discussions with his peers—though he was still selective about who he truly let in. But it was Lucius who remained his anchor, the one constant in his life that seemed to keep him grounded.

One evening, as they sat by the fire in the nearly deserted  Ravenclaw common room, Lucius leaned back in his chair, swirling a goblet of pumpkin juice in his hand. "You know," he began casually, though his tone carried a weight that suggested he’d been thinking about this for a while, "I’ve been meaning to say something."

Jonathan, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a book open in his lap, glanced up. "About what?"

Lucius studied him, his sharp gray eyes flickering in the firelight. "Your father."

Jonathan tensed, his fingers tightening around the edge of the book. "What about him?"

Lucius sighed, setting his goblet down on the table. "The way he treats you. Or, more accurately, the way he doesn’t treat you. It’s not right, Jonathan. You know that."

Jonathan’s jaw tightened, his gaze dropping back to his book, though he wasn’t really reading the words. "It doesn’t matter," he muttered. "He’s always been like that. It’s just the way things are."

Lucius leaned forward, his voice firm but not unkind. "That doesn’t mean you have to accept it. You deserve better than being ignored, than being treated like… like some burden he has to endure."

Jonathan didn’t respond right away. The fire crackled in the silence, and for a moment, the only sound was the wind howling faintly outside the castle walls.

"I wouldn’t even know where to start," Jonathan admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Start by telling him how you feel. Tell him what you’ve been carrying all these years. You’re stronger than you think, Jonathan. And if he doesn’t listen…" Lucius’s lips curled into a slight smirk. "Well, let’s just say he’ll have to deal with me next."

Despite himself, Jonathan let out a small laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "You’re insufferable, you know that?"

"I've been told," Lucius said with a grin, leaning back in his chair. "But I’m also right."

Jonathan didn’t argue. Deep down, he knew Lucius was right. The idea of confronting his father was terrifying, but for the first time, it felt… possible.

Over the course of the break, their conversations grew even more open. Jonathan found himself sharing things he had never spoken aloud before—memories of his mother, his frustrations with his father, even his fears about never being enough. And Lucius listened, truly listened, offering his unwavering support without judgment.

But as much as Jonathan had grown emotionally, his focus on Lucius had begun to take its toll on his academics. While his marks were still respectable, they weren’t as pristine as they had been the previous year. He had spent so much time talking with Lucius, exploring the castle, and even helping him with his own assignments, that his own studies had taken a back seat.

It was a realization that hit him one evening when he glanced at his latest Transfiguration essay, the ink smudged and the arguments less coherent than usual.

"You’re slipping, Linwood," Lucius teased from across the table, noticing the frown on Jonathan’s face as he stared at the parchment.

Jonathan sighed, rubbing his temples. "I just haven’t been as focused lately."

Lucius smirked. "Let me guess—too busy basking in my brilliance?"

Jonathan rolled his eyes, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "Something like that."

"Don’t worry," Lucius said, his tone softer now. "You’re still the smartest person I know. You’ll pull it together."

Jonathan glanced at him, a warmth spreading in his chest that had nothing to do with the firelight. "Thanks," he said quietly.

By the time the winter break ended, Jonathan felt like a different person. He wasn’t just the quiet, studious boy who had arrived at Hogwarts two years ago. He was someone who had learned to open up, to trust, and to let someone in.

And as he and Lucius sat together in the Great Hall on the first night of the new term, Jonathan found himself thinking that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, he wouldn’t have to face them alone.

The air inside Linwood Manor was thick with silence, the kind that pressed against Jonathan’s skin like a heavy cloak. He had spent years drifting through these halls like a ghost, unnoticed, unacknowledged. But not tonight.

Tonight, he would speak.

Jonathan stood outside his father’s office, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His heart pounded against his ribs, but he forced himself to breathe, to steady himself. He could still hear Lucius’s voice in his head—Tell him how you feel. Stop letting him decide who you are.

He knocked.

A pause. Then, from within, Victor Linwood’s cold voice rang out. "Enter."

Jonathan stepped inside. The office was dimly lit, lined with shelves of books and artifacts that spoke of the Linwood legacy—centuries of power, prestige, and unyielding expectation. His father sat behind an enormous mahogany desk, his expression unreadable as he glanced up from a parchment he had been reviewing.

Jonathan swallowed, locking his shoulders in place. "I want to talk to you."

Victor raised an eyebrow, setting his quill down with deliberate slowness. "Do you?"

Jonathan nodded, his pulse roaring in his ears. "Yes. About… about everything. About how you’ve treated me."

His father exhaled sharply through his nose, as if the very idea of this conversation was an inconvenience. "If you have something to say, say it."

Jonathan forced himself to hold his father’s gaze. "You’ve ignored me my whole life. You blame me for something I couldn’t control. I lost her too, but instead of being a father, you—" His voice wavered, but he refused to let himself falter. "You left me alone."

Victor’s expression darkened. He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "And what, exactly, do you want? An apology?"

Jonathan flinched but pushed forward. "I want to understand. I want to know why."

His father scoffed, shaking his head. "You sound pathetic."

Jonathan’s stomach twisted. He opened his mouth to argue, but Victor stood, towering over him in an instant.

"You think you’re the victim here?" His voice was low, dangerous."You are a Linwood. Do you even understand what that means?" He gestured sharply to the grand crest carved into the wall behind him. "It means power. Strength. Control. And you—" His lip curled in disdain. “You are weak."

Jonathan’s breath hitched.

Victor took a step closer, his presence suffocating. "I’ve watched you. You’ve let yourself slip. You let yourself be distracted—by that Malfoy boy, by frivolous things." His voice dripped with disgust. "Your grades should be flawless. Your reputation untouchable. Instead, you waste your time playing the lost little boy."

Jonathan clenched his fists. "Lucius—"

"Lucius what?" Victor interrupted, his tone mocking. "Is he your friend now? Does he hold your hand and tell you everything will be alright?" He sneered. "Pathetic."

Jonathan’s throat burned. He wanted to fight back, to say something, but the words stuck.

And then—

The back of Victor’s hand struck his face.

The world blurred for a moment, the sharp sting blooming across his cheek. He stumbled back, his breath catching in his throat, eyes wide with shock.

His father looked down at him with nothing but contempt. "You will do better."

Jonathan pressed a hand to his stinging skin, his eyes burning.

Victor’s gaze hardened. "Look at you," he muttered. "Crying over something so insignificant. You are a disgrace."

Jonathan bit his lip, but a broken sound still escaped him.

Victor’s expression twisted with disgust. "Get out of my sight."

Jonathan didn’t move fast enough.

His father grabbed his arm, dragging him out of the office, down the darkened corridor. Jonathan’s stomach dropped as he realized where they were going.

His room.

The door swung open, and before he could react, Victor shoved him inside.

The lock clicked into place.

Jonathan rushed forward, his hands pressing against the heavy wood. "Wait—" His voice cracked, panic clawing at his chest. "You can’t—"

"I can," Victor said from the other side. "And I will."

Jonathan heard his footsteps retreating, leaving him in suffocating silence.

He sank to the floor, his breath uneven, his fingers trembling.

For the next week, the door didn’t open except for a single glass of water left outside his room each day. No food. No company. Just silence and the cold embrace of isolation.

By the time he was let out, his limbs felt weak, his stomach hollow. But none of that mattered. The only thing he could think about—the only thing that kept him from breaking completely—was that soon, he would be back at Hogwarts.

Soon, he would see Lucius again.

And maybe then, just maybe, he wouldn’t feel so alone.

The Hogwarts Express loomed ahead, its crimson form stark against the dull gray sky. The station buzzed with the usual chaos of students and parents, but Jonathan Linwood barely registered any of it. He moved through the crowd like a ghost, his grip tight around the handle of his trunk, his body still aching from a week of neglect.

The moment he stepped onto the train, he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He was here. Away from him.

His feet carried him down the corridor with practiced ease, searching. And then, through the frosted glass of a compartment door, he saw him.

Lucius Malfoy sat inside, elegant as ever, reclining in his seat with his long blond hair framing his face. The sight of him sent an unexpected wave of relief through Jonathan’s chest.

He knocked once, pushing the door open without waiting for a response.

Lucius looked up, and a smirk immediately crossed his lips. "And here I thought you might’ve died over the summer." His voice was light, teasing, but Jonathan could see the flicker of genuine relief in his storm-gray eyes.

Jonathan forced a small smile and sat down across from him, setting his bag down beside him.

Lucius wasted no time launching into conversation. "You missed so much. My father took me to France—again, obviously—but this time, we attended some ridiculous gala full of pompous old men who spent the entire evening discussing bloodline politics. Riveting, really." He rolled his eyes, stretching his arms out lazily. "Then, of course, my mother insisted on some dreadful etiquette lessons. Honestly, you’d think she’d accept that I already am perfect."

Jonathan listened in silence, his hands resting in his lap, the familiar cadence of Lucius’s voice grounding him.

Lucius eyed him after a moment, tilting his head. "You’re quiet."

Jonathan’s fingers twitched, but he simply shrugged. "I always am."

Lucius studied him for a second longer before huffing. "I suppose that’s true." He leaned forward slightly, a playful glint in his eye. "You look terrible, by the way."

Jonathan arched an eyebrow, but his lips twitched upward just slightly. "Thanks."

Lucius grinned, satisfied with the reaction, before launching into another story about a particularly dreadful tutor his father had hired for him.

Jonathan let himself sink into the moment. He didn’t have to speak. Didn’t have to explain. Lucius was here, talking, filling the space with his usual effortless charm, and that was enough and Jonathan finally felt like he could breathe again.

The familiar stone walls of Hogwarts were a welcome sight, but for Jonathan Linwood, they represented more than just an escape from Linwood Manor. They were a place where he could prove himself. Where he could drown out the voice of his father, echoing in his mind: 'You’re pathetic. You need to do better.'

The moment he set his trunk down in the Ravenclaw common room, Jonathan pulled out his books. There was no time to waste.

The library became his sanctuary once again. Jonathan spent hours at the long wooden tables, his quill scratching furiously against parchment, surrounded by stacks of textbooks and notes. His face remained focused, determined, but his shoulders were tense, his jaw clenched. Every assignment, every piece of information, had to be perfect.

Lucius, on the other hand, was less than pleased.

"You’re going to burn out," Lucius said one evening, leaning against the doorframe of the library. His tone was light, but there was a frown on his face. "You’ve barely looked up from that book since we got back."

Jonathan didn’t respond, his quill still moving steadily across the page.

With a dramatic sigh, Lucius crossed the room and slid into the chair beside him. "Come on, Linwood. Just one evening. Take a break."

Jonathan shook his head, his eyes still on the text in front of him. "I can’t. I have to—" He cut himself off, his voice tight. "I have to do this."

Lucius watched him for a moment, his expression softening. "You’ve always been brilliant. You know that, right? You don’t have to prove it to anyone."

Jonathan’s grip on the quill tightened, but he didn’t look up. "I do."

Lucius didn’t argue. Instead, he stood and left the room. Jonathan thought that was the end of it—until, fifteen minutes later, Lucius returned with a steaming cup of coffee.

"Here," he said, setting it down beside Jonathan’s stack of notes. "If you’re going to be this insufferable, you might as well stay awake for it."

Jonathan glanced at him, a flicker of gratitude in his eyes, before returning to his work.

Over the next few weeks, Lucius made a habit of intruding on Jonathan’s study sessions. He never tried to pull him away again—Jonathan’s stubbornness was something even he couldn’t fight—but he refused to let him sit in silence.

One evening, as Jonathan poured over a particularly dense Potions text, Lucius appeared behind him and began massaging his shoulders.

Jonathan stiffened. "What are you doing?"

"Helping you relax," Lucius replied, his hands kneading gently. "You’re so tense I’m surprised you haven’t snapped in half."

Jonathan huffed, but he didn’t push him away.

On another night, when Jonathan was seated in an armchair by the fire in the common room, Lucius slid into the seat beside him. Without a word, he rested his head on Jonathan’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

"Lucius," Jonathan said quietly, not looking up from his notes.

"Hmm?"

"You’re distracting."

Lucius smirked but didn’t move. "Good."

Jonathan sighed, but he didn’t tell him to leave.

Sometimes, when Lucius was particularly bored, he would sit across from Jonathan at the library table, twirling a strand of Jonathan’s dark hair between his fingers. He didn’t say anything, just watched him with an amused expression.

Jonathan would glance at him occasionally, his focus never straying for long.

"You’re relentless," Jonathan said one day, his tone exasperated.

Lucius grinned. "And you love it."

Jonathan didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Though he buried himself in his studies, Jonathan found himself growing more accustomed to Lucius’s presence. The gentle touches, the quiet companionship—it was grounding, even if he didn’t acknowledge it out loud.

And while his father’s voice still haunted him, Lucius’s unwavering support was a reminder that not everyone saw him as weak. Not everyone thought he was pathetic.

In Lucius’s eyes, he was enough.

The corridor was bustling with students, their voices echoing off the stone walls as they moved between classes. Jonathan walked alone, clutching his books tightly to his chest, his gaze fixed ahead. He had perfected the art of ignoring the whispers and stares that followed him—ignoring was safer. Easier.

But not everyone was content to let him pass unbothered.

"Linwood," a sharp voice called out.

Jonathan tensed but kept walking.

"Too good to answer, huh?" another voice sneered. "What are you, scared?"

The taunts grew louder, but Jonathan didn’t break his stride.

Until a hand shoved his shoulder.

Jonathan stumbled, barely catching himself before his books slipped from his grasp. He turned slowly, his face calm, but his chest tight with anger and humiliation.

Three Gryffindor boys stood there, grinning like wolves.

"What’s wrong, Linwood?" one of them said, his tone mockingly sweet. "Cat got your tongue?"

Jonathan’s voice was steady. "I don’t have time for this."

He turned to walk away, but another shove sent him into the wall. His books tumbled to the floor, the pages fluttering as they scattered.

The boys laughed, one of them stepping forward as if to push him again—

And then, suddenly, they weren’t laughing anymore.

Lucius Malfoy appeared, his long blond hair catching the light as he strode toward them. His expression was dark, his gray eyes glinting with barely contained fury.

"What do you think you’re doing?" Lucius’s voice was cold, cutting through the air like a blade.

One of the Gryffindor boys sneered. "Just having a bit of fun. What’s it to you, Malfoy?"

Lucius didn’t answer.

He punched the boy square in the face.

The sound echoed in the corridor, drawing gasps and whispers from nearby students. Before the others could react, Lucius turned on them, his movements swift and precise. Another punch, another cry of pain.

The third boy backed up, raising his hands. "We were just—"

"Shut. Up." Lucius’s voice was low, deadly. He advanced, grabbing the boy by the collar. "If I ever see you lay a finger on him again, you’ll wish you were never born. Is that clear?"

The boy nodded frantically, his face pale.

Lucius shoved him back, watching as the three of them scrambled away, clutching their bruises and muttering under their breath.

When they were gone, Lucius turned to Jonathan, his expression softening as he knelt to pick up the fallen books. "Idiots," he muttered, handing them back.

Jonathan took them, his hands trembling slightly. "You didn’t have to—"

"Yes, I did," Lucius interrupted, his tone firm. "They had no right."

Jonathan looked at him then, really looked at him—the way his jaw was set with determination, the way his hair framed his face, the way he was still standing close, as if ready to shield him from anyone else who dared approach.

Something shifted inside Jonathan, a warmth blooming in his chest. It was overwhelming, sudden, and undeniable.

He was in love with him.

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt, leaving him momentarily speechless.

Lucius tilted his head, concern flickering in his eyes. "Are you alright?"

Jonathan nodded quickly, clutching his books tighter. "I’m fine," he said softly.

Lucius studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "Good. Let’s get to class before we’re late."

Jonathan followed him, his heart pounding in a way it never had before. He didn’t know what to do with this new feeling—this intense, aching need to be near Lucius.

But he knew one thing for certain.

Lucius Malfoy had become far more than just a friend.

The castle was quiet. The halls, usually filled with students bustling between classes, now stood empty, their only company the occasional flicker of enchanted torches. Snow blanketed the grounds outside, and the distant sound of the wind howling against the stone walls only added to the stillness.

Jonathan Linwood didn’t mind the quiet. He preferred it, in fact. But this year, as always, he wasn’t entirely alone.

Lucius had stayed behind.

They spent most of their days in Jonathan’s dormitory, where the fire crackled softly in the hearth. His Ravenclaw roommates had all left for the holidays, leaving the space entirely to them. Books and half-eaten sweets littered the bedside table, remnants of a long evening spent in comfortable conversation.

Lucius sat cross-legged on Jonathan’s bed, breaking a chocolate frog in half and tossing a piece into his mouth. "You know, this is better than all the ridiculous Christmas galas I’d have to endure at home," he mused, his voice slightly muffled. "No old men talking politics, no endless expectations. Just you. And sugar."

Jonathan sat beside him, one leg tucked beneath himself, his own chocolate frog untouched in his hand. "Sounds dreadful," he said, but there was a slight teasing edge to his tone.

Lucius smirked. "Oh, it is. But my mother would have an aneurysm if she knew I was spending the holidays holed up in Ravenclaw Tower of all places."

Jonathan let out a quiet chuckle.

They talked for hours, about nothing and everything—about classes, about the professors, about things Lucius would never admit to caring about in front of anyone else. As the night stretched on, their words grew quieter, the warmth of the fire making their eyelids heavier.

At some point, Lucius had stopped talking altogether.

Jonathan glanced over and found him asleep, his blond hair splayed across the pillow, his breathing soft and even. He had curled toward Jonathan instinctively, one arm draped lazily across his side.

Jonathan should have moved. Should have woken him up.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stayed still, watching the gentle rise and fall of Lucius’s chest, feeling the warmth of his body so close to his own. He let himself sink into the moment, into the quiet comfort of this—of them.

And when the next night came, Lucius didn’t bother pretending it was an accident.

He climbed into Jonathan’s bed as if it was the most natural thing in the world, pulling the blankets over both of them without a word. Jonathan hesitated for only a moment before allowing himself to relax, feeling the warmth of Lucius’s body pressing against his own.

Their limbs tangled together effortlessly.

Lucius rested his head against Jonathan’s shoulder, one arm wrapped around his waist. Jonathan let out a slow breath, his fingers brushing against Lucius’s wrist, the weight of him solid and steady beside him.

They didn’t put a name to it.

They didn’t need to.

For the rest of the winter break, every night ended the same way. Wrapped in each other’s warmth, away from the rest of the world.

The days seemed to blur together as the term wore on. Jonathan buried himself in his studies, his usual silence wrapping around him like a cloak. The library became his refuge once again. Yet, despite his devotion to his books, Lucius never truly let him escape.

He didn’t mind.

Lucius would sit nearby, as always, his presence a constant comfort. Jonathan could feel him before he even saw him—a quiet energy that seemed to fill the space with an unspoken understanding. Lucius didn’t demand his attention, never pressed him to stop studying or to talk. He simply watched.

On one of those afternoons, Jonathan sat at the table, a stack of notes spread in front of him. He was so absorbed in the complex formulae for a Charms revision that he hardly noticed Lucius slip into the chair beside him. It wasn’t unusual. Lucius had made a habit of appearing at his side during study sessions, always sitting close but never interrupting.

But today, Jonathan felt something new.

Lucius’s knee brushed against his under the table, and for a brief moment, Jonathan’s heart stuttered. He tried to ignore it, refocusing on the page in front of him.

Another small contact—a shift, a subtle nudge of their feet beneath the table. The motion slow, deliberate, like a secret only the two of them shared. Jonathan’s breath caught, but he didn’t look up. Instead, he adjusted his position just slightly, trying to maintain his focus.

Lucius didn’t seem to mind. He sat there, his gaze never leaving Jonathan, his eyes sharp and intense as they followed every movement Jonathan made. He wasn’t speaking, wasn’t pulling Jonathan’s attention away from his work. Instead, he watched him as if Jonathan were the most fascinating thing in the world.

Jonathan felt his pulse quicken.

His hand, resting on the table, was dangerously close to Lucius’s. Without thinking, Jonathan’s fingers twitched. Just a brush, the smallest touch.

Lucius’s hand didn’t move away. It stayed there, warm and steady, as if it was waiting for him.

For a moment, everything was still. Jonathan’s eyes flickered to Lucius’s face—his usual smirk softened, replaced by something unreadable. Jonathan swallowed hard, feeling a strange tension build between them, but he couldn’t look away.

Lucius didn’t pull back. His hand shifted slightly, his fingers lightly grazing Jonathan’s. The contact was slow, almost tentative, as if Lucius was testing the waters. Jonathan’s heart raced, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

Instead, he returned his attention to his notes, his focus wavering but unwilling to break. He let Lucius’s presence anchor him, allowed it to fill the empty spaces between the words on the page.

Under the table, their feet brushed again, this time a little more intentionally. A soft, fleeting touch, as if Lucius was seeking contact, seeking some kind of connection. Jonathan felt a warmth rise in his chest, and without thinking, his foot shifted, matching Lucius’s rhythm.

It was easy.

So easy to fall into this unspoken rhythm with him—the quiet touches, the subtle proximity. It wasn’t disruptive. It wasn’t distracting. It was just... natural.

Lucius stayed like that for hours, never pushing, never demanding, just existing beside him. His gaze remained fixed on Jonathan, a steady, comforting presence. Occasionally, Jonathan would feel Lucius’s foot gently tap against his, or his hand would brush his as they both reached for the same book, the closeness never breaking.

And Jonathan found it strangely soothing, even as his focus on his studies sharpened.

There was something about the way Lucius stayed close, unspoken, as though he understood Jonathan without needing to say a word. The constant, steady pressure of Lucius’s presence was like a steady anchor, a grounding force in the chaos of his own thoughts.

In the midst of his studies, Jonathan didn’t feel alone. He didn’t feel the weight of his past, nor the pressure of his father’s distant voice. He just... felt.

And when he looked up from his notes, he would find Lucius still watching him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips—his fingers resting just inches away from Jonathan’s, as though they both knew the truth, but neither had the words to speak it.

So, Jonathan continued to study, and Lucius continued to watch. And for the first time in a long while, Jonathan didn’t feel the need to run.

The end of the term arrived in a blur, the days running into one another until it was time to board the Hogwarts Express once more. Jonathan packed his things with a certain sense of anticipation, the usual quiet excitement bubbling up inside him. He had spent the last few months wrapped in the warmth of Lucius’s presence, and for once, the thought of returning home didn’t weigh him down as it usually did.

Lucius had been by his side throughout, watching him study, walking with him to meals, staying up late into the night talking about everything and nothing. Their connection had deepened, even if neither of them had put words to it. And as the train pulled into the station, Lucius caught Jonathan’s arm, drawing him to a stop in the bustling crowd of students.

"Promise me," Lucius said quietly, his voice low, yet urgent. "Promise you’ll write to me when you get home. Every week. Even if it's just a note."

Jonathan looked up at him, his heart racing at the thought. A promise—one he would never break.

"I promise," Jonathan replied, his voice soft but steady.

Lucius held his gaze for a moment longer, his usual smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, but his eyes were serious. "Good. You better keep it."

Jonathan nodded, a small smile creeping across his face. "I will."

They stood there for a moment longer, the noise of the station fading around them, before Lucius stepped back, offering Jonathan a final glance before he disappeared into the crowd. Jonathan stayed there for a while, watching the others leave, his heart still pounding in his chest.

He couldn’t wait to get home. To write to Lucius, to tell him about everything. To keep their connection alive, even when they were miles apart. This year had been perfect. Just him and Lucius. His Lucius.

But when Jonathan entered the Linwood manor, that same sense of comfort and anticipation quickly vanished.

His father’s cold eyes met his as he entered the grand foyer, and for a brief moment, Jonathan thought maybe it would be different. Maybe his father would acknowledge him, say something that wasn’t laced with contempt.

But Victor Linwood said nothing. His gaze was as cold as it had always been.

Jonathan hesitated, his suitcase still in his hand. "Father," he began, his voice careful, but something in the air shifted, the tension in the room palpable.

Without a word, Victor’s hand shot out, gripping Jonathan’s arm with surprising force, and in an instant, Jonathan was being dragged through the halls of the manor.

"What—?"

"Shut up," his father snapped.

Jonathan stumbled as he was pulled down into the dungeons. The darkness of the stone walls felt suffocating, and the cold air cut into him like a knife. He tried to pull away, tried to make sense of the situation, but his father was too strong.

Victor didn’t stop until they reached the cold, damp stone cell at the farthest corner of the dungeon. The door was opened with a flick of his wand, and Jonathan was shoved inside.

"Father—what’s going on?" Jonathan’s voice was shaky now, his heart hammering in his chest.

Victor’s expression was as cold as ever. "You’ve been weak, Jonathan," he spat, his voice low and venomous. "All this time, you’ve been weak. You think you can be a man? You think you can stand on your own?"

Jonathan stood there, trembling, his back against the cold wall of the cell. His mind raced, but nothing made sense.

"You will learn what it means to be a Linwood," Victor hissed. He raised his wand.

Jonathan’s heart dropped.

"Crucio."

The curse hit him like a tidal wave, and the world exploded into pain. His muscles locked up, his bones felt as if they were being crushed from the inside out, his screams echoing off the stone walls as he crumpled to the floor. It felt like hours, his body writhing in agony, but it was only minutes before Victor released the curse.

Jonathan collapsed, gasping for breath, his vision swimming. His father stood over him, cold as ever.

"This is what it takes to become strong," Victor said, his voice devoid of any emotion. "You need to be hard. Strong. A real man. Not some weak, pathetic boy who can’t even handle himself."

Jonathan could barely comprehend his words through the ringing in his ears, but the meaning was clear. Victor wasn’t going to let him leave. He wasn’t going to let him escape his cruelty.

As the days passed, Jonathan’s world became nothing but pain. His father’s cruel lessons continued without mercy, each day a relentless barrage of curses and training, forcing Jonathan to become stronger—harder—until he could barely feel anything anymore.

The Cruciatus curse became a regular part of his life, each day a struggle to survive. Victor forced him to train, to push his body and mind to the limit. He locked him in the dungeon every night, never allowing him out, never letting him breathe. Jonathan’s body became a canvas of bruises, his spirit breaking bit by bit.

And all the while, the thought of Lucius—his Lucius—was the only thing that kept him going, a faint, flickering light in the midst of the darkness. He couldn’t forget the promise he made, the words they shared. But in the depths of his pain, he couldn’t help but wonder if Lucius would ever know what he was enduring, or if he would just fade into a memory, too distant and too painful to reach.

The summer stretched on, endless and torturous. And Jonathan’s heart felt the weight of it all, knowing that this was not the end. Not yet.

Jonathan had never felt more like a stranger in his own body than when his father finally unlocked the door to the dungeon. After weeks—maybe months—of agony, Victor Linwood had finally deemed it time to let his son leave. The heavy, oppressive silence that had swallowed the space around Jonathan for so long seemed to follow him as he stepped out into the light of the Linwood manor, the air fresh yet cruelly unfamiliar. His body ached with every movement, but he said nothing. There was no use in complaining; he was used to the silence by now.

His father barely acknowledged him as they walked through the manor, and Jonathan didn’t care. His mind was already far away, racing towards one place: Hogwarts.

He couldn’t wait to leave.

Once he was on the train, the familiar hum of the Hogwarts Express and the bustle of students filled the air, but Jonathan felt detached from it all. His skin seemed too tight, his limbs too heavy. It was all a blur until he found an empty compartment and slipped inside.

Lucius was already there.

At first, Jonathan barely noticed the tension in the air. He was too focused on the pounding in his chest and the overwhelming need to shut himself down again, to retreat from the world that suddenly felt too loud. But when Lucius glanced up, his expression hardened, and Jonathan froze.

"Did you…?" Lucius’s voice cracked as he looked Jonathan over. His words were sharp, but they didn’t hide the pain that simmered just below the surface. "You promised you'd write, Jonathan."

Jonathan could see the hurt in Lucius’s eyes, the unspoken disappointment that cut through him more than anything his father had ever said. His mouth went dry, and for a moment, he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

"Lucius," he whispered, barely a breath.

The moment the name left his lips, everything shattered. He had promised. He had promised, and he had failed. The weight of it all hit him like a tidal wave, and before he could stop it, the dam inside him broke.

In an instant, he collapsed forward, the flood of emotions overtaking him. His body shook with the effort of holding it all in, but now it all came spilling out in front of Lucius. Desperation. Pain. Loneliness. Fear. He didn’t know where one feeling ended and the other began.

Jonathan’s knees hit the floor, and he buried his face in his hands, unable to stop the tears that poured down his face. He couldn’t even find the strength to hold himself together.

Lucius didn’t hesitate. He was out of his seat in an instant, his arms pulling Jonathan close, guiding him onto his lap without a second thought. He was warm—so warm—and Jonathan clung to him, his body trembling, his hands shaking as he wrapped his arms around Lucius’s legs.

Lucius didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t need to. His arms were a solid wall around Jonathan, holding him in place, offering something that Jonathan hadn’t realized he’d been craving: comfort.

"It was my father… I couldn’t," Jonathan choked on his words, his voice cracking under the weight of everything he had kept inside for so long. "He—he locked me in the dungeon. I—he—he kept using the Cruciatus curse on me. Every day. For weeks. He said I needed to become stronger. Harder." Jonathan’s breath came in shaky gasps. "He wanted me to be a man—to stop being pathetic. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t take it, Lucius. I was so—so broken."

Lucius’s arms tightened around him. He didn’t speak right away, his fingers brushing through Jonathan’s hair in a calming motion, but Jonathan could feel the rage boiling inside of him, the fury just beneath the surface.

"I’m sorry… I didn’t write to you. I couldn’t… . I just wanted to get out. To leave all of it behind," Jonathan continued, his voice barely a whisper. "I just wanted to be with you, Lucius. Just you."

Lucius’s breath was ragged, his chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. When he spoke, his voice was low, filled with an unmistakable edge. "Your father…" he growled, and Jonathan could hear the fury in his words. "What he did to you…" He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, but Jonathan could feel his anger, burning just beneath his touch.

Jonathan pulled himself even closer, burying his face against Lucius’s chest, needing him to understand. "I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to stop feeling like this."

Lucius’s hands moved over Jonathan’s back, soothing and slow. "You don’t have to stop feeling, Jonathan. Not with me. Not ever."

But Jonathan didn’t know if he believed him. The pain of everything that had happened—the isolation, the abuse, the years of living under Victor Linwood’s shadow—was suffocating him. And yet, in Lucius’s arms, he found a fleeting sense of peace, even as the truth of what had happened burned through him like a brand.

Lucius’s voice was softer now, though there was still an undeniable edge of fury there. "I’m so sorry, Jonathan," he murmured, his words a quiet promise, a vow to protect him, to never let his father hurt him again. "He’ll pay for this. I swear it."

Jonathan’s heart clenched at the intensity of Lucius’s words. But he didn’t want vengeance—not now. Not when he was finally in Lucius’s arms, where it felt safe for the first time in so long.

"I just… need you," Jonathan whispered, his voice broken, his tears still falling softly. “I need you."

Lucius's grip tightened, as if he was trying to hold the world together for them both. "I’m here. I’m always here, Jonathan. Always."

And for the first time in months, Jonathan allowed himself to believe it.

The weeks following the start of term were quieter than usual for Jonathan Linwood. He had always been reserved, content to bury himself in his studies or the comfort of his own thoughts, but this silence was different. It wasn’t the calm, contemplative quiet he was used to—it was heavy, an oppressive stillness that lingered in the air around him like a shadow.

The trauma of the summer weighed on him, manifesting in ways he couldn’t fully control. His appetite diminished, and his focus in class was sharper, almost obsessively so. He poured himself into his studies with single-minded determination, hoping the distraction would drown out the echoes of his father’s words and the pain of the Cruciatus curse.

Lucius, as always, was a constant presence. He still watched Jonathan as he studied, still brushed their knees together under the table, still brought him coffee or snuck into the library to sit beside him. But something had shifted.

It wasn’t Lucius’s fault—Jonathan knew that. But it was hard to ignore the pang of something unspoken that bloomed in his chest when he saw Lucius with Narcissa Black.

At first, it was nothing. Narcissa was poised and beautiful, her sharp wit and calm demeanor making her a magnet for attention among her peers. Jonathan had seen her talking to Lucius before, always with that same air of effortless grace, her soft, melodic voice weaving through conversations like silk.

But now, as the weeks stretched on, it seemed that Lucius sought her out more often. They spoke in the corridors between classes, their heads tilted toward each other in hushed conversation. They laughed at jokes that Jonathan wasn’t a part of. And when Jonathan caught Lucius glancing at her in the Great Hall, something in his chest twisted painfully.

He didn’t understand it at first. It wasn’t anger, not exactly. It was something deeper, sharper—a quiet, gnawing ache that left him restless and uneasy. It wasn’t as though Lucius had abandoned him; Lucius was still there, still walking with him to class, still leaning close to him during late-night study sessions. But those moments felt different now, tinged with a strange tension that Jonathan couldn’t shake.

The jealousy crept in slowly, insidiously, before Jonathan even realized what it was.

One afternoon, as Jonathan sat in the library, his quill scratching over parchment, Lucius appeared beside him, his familiar smirk firmly in place. He dropped into the seat across from Jonathan, his silver hair catching the light.

"You’ve been awfully quiet lately," Lucius remarked, his voice light but probing.

Jonathan didn’t look up. "Just studying," he murmured, keeping his tone neutral.

Lucius tilted his head, his piercing gray eyes narrowing slightly. "Is that all?"

Jonathan’s quill paused, the faintest hesitation in his movement betraying him. He could feel Lucius watching him, waiting for an answer, but he didn’t trust himself to speak.

"Jonathan," Lucius said, leaning forward, his voice softening. "You know you can talk to me, don’t you?"

Jonathan finally glanced up, meeting Lucius’s gaze. For a moment, the words hovered on the tip of his tongue, the truth pressing against his lips. He wanted to ask—What about Narcissa? Do you like her more than me? Are you going to leave me?

But he couldn’t say it. The thought felt selfish and childish, and the vulnerability it would reveal terrified him.

Instead, he offered a small, hollow smile. "I’m fine."

Lucius didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. "If you say so," he said, though there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

As Lucius turned his attention to his own notes, Jonathan’s gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. The ache in his chest tightened, but he forced himself to look away, burying himself once more in his work.

He didn’t know what to do with this new feeling, this strange sense of possessiveness that made him want to pull Lucius away from Narcissa and keep him close, keep him his.

But for now, Jonathan said nothing. He kept his silence, as he always did, even as his heart waged a quiet war against itself.

The Christmas break brought a quiet stillness to Hogwarts, the castle blanketed in snow and the usual chaos of the school reduced to a faint hum. Jonathan had once looked forward to this time of year—a reprieve from his father and the pressures of being a Linwood. But this year was different.

The memories of the summer lingered, clinging to him like a second skin. He could feel them in every quiet moment, in the stillness of his dormitory, in the empty hallways, in the flicker of shadows cast by the fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room.

Lucius stayed, as he always did. Jonathan knew he could have gone home, could have spent the break with his family, but he didn’t. Instead, he stayed with Jonathan, refusing to leave him alone.

At first, Jonathan tried to keep his distance. He told himself it was better that way, that he could handle it on his own. But the nightmares started almost immediately, dragging him out of sleep in a cold sweat, his breath ragged and his heart pounding. The images were vivid—his father’s face twisted in anger, the flash of light as the Cruciatus curse hit him, the sharp, unrelenting pain that seemed to echo in his very bones.

Lucius found him on the first night, curled up on the floor beside his bed, shaking and silent.

"Jonathan," Lucius said softly, kneeling beside him. His voice was calm, but there was a thread of worry running through it. "What’s going on?"

Jonathan couldn’t bring himself to answer. He didn’t have the words to explain the panic that clawed at his chest, the way his body seemed to rebel against him, as though it were still trapped in the dungeon.

Lucius didn’t press him. Instead, he helped Jonathan back into bed, sitting beside him and running a hand through his hair in a soothing motion. "I’m not going anywhere," he said firmly, his voice a quiet promise.

That became their routine.

Every night, Lucius stayed with Jonathan. When the nightmares came—and they always did—Lucius was there to pull him back, to anchor him. He would talk softly, his voice steady and calming, sometimes telling stories from his childhood, other times simply reminding Jonathan to breathe.

"It’s not real," Lucius would say, his hand resting on Jonathan’s shoulder or brushing through his hair. "You’re safe. I’m here."

The words didn’t erase the memories, but they made the nights bearable.

During the day, they spent their time together as they always had, though Jonathan was quieter than usual. They sat by the fire in the common room, Lucius sprawled comfortably in a chair while Jonathan curled up with a book, or walked through the snowy grounds, their breath visible in the cold air. Lucius didn’t push him to talk, but when Jonathan did open up, he listened intently, his expression serious.

"Why do I still feel like this?" Jonathan asked one afternoon, his voice barely above a whisper. They were sitting on a bench near the frozen lake, the snow falling softly around them. "It’s over. I’m not there anymore. But it’s like… it’s still happening."

Lucius frowned, his hands clenched into fists as he listened. He hated seeing Jonathan like this, hated knowing what had been done to him. But he kept his voice calm. "It’s not your fault," he said firmly. "What your father did—it was cruel. You’re not weak for struggling with it."

Jonathan looked down at his hands, his breath visible in the cold air. "I feel weak," he admitted.

"You’re not," Lucius said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You’re one of the strongest people I know, Jonathan. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still here. That’s strength."

Jonathan didn’t respond, but the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

By the time the break ended, the nightmares hadn’t disappeared, but they had lessened. Jonathan still carried the weight of his trauma, but it felt lighter with Lucius by his side.

As they stood on the platform, waiting for the rest of the students to return, Jonathan glanced at Lucius. "Thank you," he said quietly.

Lucius raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For staying. For everything," Jonathan said, his voice soft but sincere.

Lucius smirked, but there was warmth in his eyes. "You don’t have to thank me, Jonathan. You’re stuck with me, remember?"

Jonathan nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. For the first time in months, he felt like maybe, just maybe, things could get better.

Jonathan Linwood had always been a solitary figure, and after the break, his isolation deepened. He kept to himself, moving through the halls of Hogwarts like a ghost, speaking only when absolutely necessary. The only exception was Lucius.

Lucius was a constant presence, a steady anchor in Jonathan’s turbulent world. At meals, Jonathan would sit at the Slytherin table, always beside Lucius. The other Slytherins had grown used to his quiet presence, though they never truly accepted him. He didn’t care. As long as Lucius was there, the whispers and occasional glances didn’t matter.

Jonathan ate little, his appetite dulled by the weight of his thoughts and the lingering shadows of his trauma. Lucius noticed, of course—he noticed everything when it came to Jonathan.

Under the table, Lucius would reach for Jonathan’s hand, his fingers brushing against his in a gentle reassurance. Sometimes, he would hold it, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on the back of Jonathan’s hand. Other times, his hand would rest on Jonathan’s thigh, warm and grounding. It was a silent gesture, one that spoke louder than words ever could.

Lucius never pushed him, never asked for more than Jonathan was willing to give. He seemed to understand that touch, for Jonathan, was both a comfort and a challenge—a delicate balance that only he was allowed to navigate.

When Lucius’s friends laughed and joked, Jonathan would sit quietly, letting their chatter wash over him without really engaging. Occasionally, one of them would try to draw him into the conversation, but Lucius would deflect with a quick remark or a subtle shift in attention. He always seemed to know when Jonathan needed space and when he needed reassurance.

The days bled into weeks, and Jonathan found himself relying more and more on Lucius’s quiet presence. In the evenings, they would sit together in the library or the common room, Jonathan with a book and Lucius with his usual air of casual confidence. Sometimes, they didn’t speak at all, the silence between them comfortable and unbroken.

The world outside their small bubble felt distant, irrelevant. Jonathan didn’t care about the whispers of his classmates or the curious glances from the Ravenclaws who wondered why he never sat at their table anymore. He didn’t care about the professors who praised his academic prowess or the Gryffindors who still sneered at him in the corridors.

All that mattered was Lucius.

Lucius, who always seemed to know what he needed without him having to say a word. Lucius, whose touch didn’t feel invasive or threatening but safe, grounding him when the world felt too overwhelming.

Jonathan didn’t have the words to express how much it meant to him. He didn’t know if Lucius even realized the full extent of his gratitude, his dependence. But as they sat together in the Great Hall, Lucius’s hand resting lightly on his thigh, Jonathan allowed himself a small, fleeting moment of peace.

For now, this was enough.

The end of the term arrived too quickly, and the air at King’s Cross Station buzzed with the chaotic energy of students reuniting with their families. Jonathan stood near the edge of the platform, his trunk beside him, waiting for the inevitable departure back to Linwood Manor.

Lucius lingered close, his usual confident demeanor replaced by a subtle but unmistakable worry. His gray eyes scanned Jonathan’s face, searching for something—an answer, perhaps, to a question he hadn’t yet asked aloud.

"You don’t have to go back there, you know," Lucius said quietly, his voice low enough that only Jonathan could hear over the din of the crowd.

Jonathan’s gaze remained steady, his blue eyes calm but unreadable. "I do," he replied simply.

Lucius’s jaw tightened, frustration flickering across his features. "You don’t," he repeated, his voice firmer now. "You could come with me. My family—"

"Lucius," Jonathan interrupted, his tone soft but resolute. "I have to go back."

For a moment, they stood in silence, the noise of the platform fading into the background. Jonathan could see the conflict in Lucius’s eyes, the way he wanted to argue, to insist that Jonathan didn’t have to face his father alone. But Jonathan knew that Lucius wouldn’t push him, not when he had made up his mind.

"I’ll be fine," Jonathan said, though they both knew it was a lie. He reached out, placing a hand on Lucius’s arm. "I’ll write to you this time. I promise."

Lucius’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he nodded reluctantly. "You’d better," he muttered, his tone half-teasing but laced with genuine concern.

And then, before Jonathan could overthink it, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around Lucius.

It wasn’t the tentative, hesitant embrace of someone unused to physical affection—it was full, deliberate, a wordless expression of everything Jonathan couldn’t say out loud. His arms tightened around Lucius’s shoulders, his face burying into the crook of his neck as if trying to hold onto this moment for as long as possible.

For a heartbeat, Lucius froze, clearly taken aback by the sudden display of emotion. But then his arms came up, wrapping around Jonathan just as tightly. He didn’t care about the other students or the professors bustling around them, the curious stares or the whispers.

They stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, neither of them willing to let go.

"You’re stronger than you think, Jonathan," Lucius murmured, his voice steady despite the slight tremor of emotion beneath it. "Remember that."

Jonathan nodded against his shoulder, unwilling to pull away just yet.

Finally, the sound of the train whistle broke through the moment, and Jonathan forced himself to step back. He looked up at Lucius, his expression soft but determined. "Take care of yourself," he said, his voice barely audible over the noise of the station.

"You too," Lucius replied, his tone heavy with meaning.

And then Jonathan turned, picking up his trunk and disappearing into the crowd.

Lucius stood there for a long moment, watching until Jonathan was no longer visible. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his jaw set in a mixture of frustration and helplessness.

As the station began to empty, he finally turned away, vowing silently to be there for Jonathan, no matter what.