In Two Minds

The weekend arrived, bringing with it an expanse of empty hours Draco had no real plan for.

He allowed himself the rare indulgence of sleeping in on Saturday morning, the sunlight already streaming pale and warm through the blinds by the time he finally stirred. With nowhere to be, he pulled on his running shoes and went for a long, steady jog through Hyde Park, letting the rhythmic pounding of his feet against the dirt trails dull his thoughts. The park was full of joggers, dog walkers, and couples strolling hand in hand but Draco barely registered them. His focus was on the burn in his calves, the stretch of his lungs, and the temporary relief from thinking.

By the time he returned to his apartment, the afternoon was already halfway gone. The late-autumn sun was slanting low through the windows, turning the wooden floors golden. He shrugged off his jacket and loosened his tie as he stepped inside. But as he crossed the threshold, he heard faint clattering coming from the direction of his kitchen.

He stilled.

In a single, fluid motion, his hand flew to his wand, instincts sharpened by years of self-preservation. He gripped it tightly, the tips of his fingers slightly damp with sudden adrenaline. His breath slowed, moving carefully, silently, toward the kitchen door.

He swung it open.

Pansy was standing in front of his open fridge, her head tilted slightly as she scanned its contents with clear disappointment. She barely glanced at him over her shoulder.

“How do you not have any bloody ice?” she asked flatly, pulling her head from the fridge and turning to him with an arched brow, holding up an empty ice tray like it personally offended her.

Draco exhaled sharply, lowering his wand.

“Pansy,” he muttered, his hand running through his hair in exasperation as he stepped further into the kitchen. His wand was still in his grip, though it now hung limply at his side. He couldn’t help but feel an immediate sense of irritation that Pansy was standing there, as casual as ever, as if it were completely normal for her to invade his personal space without so much as a warning. “What the hell are you doing in my flat?”

She looked over her shoulder, a raised eyebrow punctuating her indifference as she turned back to rummage through his fridge, completely unfazed by his entrance. After a brief moment, she shrugged, as though his question was entirely irrelevant to her plans.

“Oh, so now I need a reason to visit my oldest friend?” she asked, a playful edge to her voice that Draco knew all too well. She grabbed a bottle of water from his fridge and unscrewed the cap with a flick of her wrist, her eyes never leaving the shelves. “I figured you wouldn’t mind a little company.”

Draco’s jaw tightened, and he let out a sharp sigh. “Asking if I was free might have been nice,” he said dryly, irritation lining his words. “But no, I guess you’re just going to waltz in here and help yourself to whatever you please.”

Pansy gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief, turning to face him fully now with a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Draco, are you free?” she asked, the sarcasm practically dripping from her voice. Her lips curled upward into a knowing, almost mischievous smile as she took a long swig of her water, her gaze unrelenting.

He narrowed his eyes at her, still trying to process how she had gotten so comfortable in his apartment without so much as an owl, let alone a formal invitation. He knew better than to let his guard down around her, but something about Pansy’s casual familiarity always grated on his nerves.

“Seriously, Pansy,” Draco continued, the exasperation creeping into his voice as he watched her casually lean against the counter, completely unbothered. “This isn’t one of your bloody social calls. You can’t just come in, no warning, and start treating my place like it’s some kind of shared space.”

He couldn’t help but notice how easily she slid into his apartment, making herself comfortable without any regard for boundaries. It was a habit he’d never quite gotten used to, though part of him almost admired her for it. Almost.

Pansy didn’t flinch at his frustration. Instead, she straightened up, crossing her arms in a defiant gesture. "Oh, calm down, Draco," she said with a roll of her eyes. Her tone, though casual, carried an edge, the kind of edge that Draco knew meant she was dead serious, no matter how lighthearted she sounded. "I’m not asking for a bloody thing. After seeing you on Wednesday, I had an epiphany. I’m not going to let you just slowly retreat out of our lives."

Draco blinked, taken aback for a moment by her words. He could feel his chest tighten as he tried to process what she’d just said. "Retreat out of our lives?" he echoed, the question slipping out before he could stop himself. "What the hell are you talking about, Pansy?"

Pansy’s gaze softened just the slightest bit, though there was still a firmness in her expression, like she wasn’t about to let him off the hook so easily. She took a slow step closer to him, her voice quieter but no less insistent. "You’ve been pulling away for months, Draco, years even. You think we haven’t noticed?"

Draco’s stomach churned at her words. She wasn’t wrong. He had distanced himself from everyone—the old group, the people who knew him best, who had seen him at his worst and still stuck by him. "I’m fine," he muttered, as if saying it would make it true. But even as the words left his mouth, he knew it was a lie. A tired, worn-out lie that didn’t fool anyone, least of all Pansy.

She snorted at his attempt to brush it off. "Fine? Is that what you’re calling it now?" Her voice was tinged with bitterness, but there was something more—a deep, unspoken concern that pushed her forward. "You’ve been keeping everyone at arm’s length, Draco. You’re shutting us out."

Draco shifted uncomfortably, glancing away for a brief second, unable to meet her eyes. The weight of her words pressed down on him, and for a moment, the facade of his carefully curated life—the one where he was the distant, well-put-together manager of a high-stakes team—began to crumble.

Pansy saw it. She always did.

"We’re not all like you, Draco," she continued, her voice softening just enough to show the vulnerability beneath the tough exterior. "You don’t get to just isolate yourself from everyone you care about. You don’t get to pretend everything’s fine when we all know it’s not."

The words hit harder than she probably realised. Draco opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He had built up such walls, convincing himself that this cold detachment was what he needed—what he deserved. But now, standing in his own kitchen, the reality of Pansy’s words made him feel exposed in a way he hadn’t in years.

"I’m not here to make you feel guilty," Pansy added, breaking the silence. "I’m here because you’re my friend, Draco. And I’m not going to just sit back and watch you bury yourself under all this crap. If I have to keep showing up uninvited to remind you that we still care, then fine. I’ll do it."

There was silence between them now, the tension hanging thick in the air. Draco wasn’t sure what to say, so he simply nodded, though it was more of a reluctant gesture than anything. He couldn’t exactly put into words how much it meant to him—how strange and overwhelming it was to have someone still care enough to call him out, to still want to be part of his life after everything he’d pushed away.

"Okay, Pansy," he muttered after a long pause, finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. "I get it. I’ll... try."

Pansy gave him a satisfied nod, her arms uncrossing as she finally set the bottle of water down on the counter. She reached out, giving him a quick, almost affectionate punch on the arm. "Good. Don’t make me do this again."

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that, the tension between them finally easing. "You’re unbelievable," he muttered, but there was a hint of warmth in his voice now, something that hadn’t been there when she first walked in. "But thanks. Seriously."

She smiled, her expression softening as she took in his words. "Just don’t make me regret it, Malfoy."

Draco leaned against the counter, one hand gripping the edge while the other rubbed the back of his neck. He let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling Pansy’s words had left him with. He was still processing everything—how easily she’d cut through the walls he’d spent months building up. It felt almost too much to bear, but part of him appreciated it. She cared enough to call him out on his behavior, and despite how he hated being vulnerable, that was something he hadn’t realised he missed.

"I won’t," Draco said, his voice a little quieter now, though there was an edge of uncertainty in his words. He wasn’t entirely sure if he meant it, but it was the best he could do for now. "But, for the record, if you ever break into my place again without warning, I might just hex you."

Pansy, ever the picture of unbothered confidence, rolled her eyes with a dramatic flair but couldn’t stop the genuine smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. "Deal," she said, nodding as if she had just made an agreement with a child. "Now, about something much more important..."

Draco raised an eyebrow, still trying to recover from the emotional whirlpool Pansy had dragged him through. "What now?" he asked, though his tone was tinged with humour.

Pansy didn’t waste a second, launching into her next request with a sense of urgency. "I need to pick up the wedding invitations from Diagon Alley. Blaise is away all weekend, and I’m stuck doing it alone." She gave him a pointed look, as if she expected him to jump into action. "Will you please be a good best man and come with me?"

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle, despite himself. "I’m Blaise’s best man, not yours." He grinned, trying to keep the mood light, though he had a sinking feeling that she wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily.

Pansy let out a long-suffering sigh, the kind that suggested she’d heard that same line one too many times. "Sure," she said with an eye roll, clearly unfazed. "But you’re still coming with me." She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Will you please put on some clothes and come with me before they close?"

Draco looked down at his outfit, still clad in his running gear—sweatpants and a moisture-wicking T-shirt that had long since lost its original crispness. "I’m wearing clothes," he said with a hint of defensiveness, though his eyes twinkled with amusement.

Pansy scoffed and raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a half-smile. "Don’t make me laugh." She waved a dismissive hand at his attire, as though he had shown up in nothing but a towel. "You have ten minutes, get a move on."

Draco let out a long, dramatic sigh, but it wasn’t out of annoyance—it was the kind of exasperation he’d reserved for Pansy’s constant bossiness. Still, despite himself, he was already moving toward his bedroom, knowing full well that arguing would be futile. "Fine, fine," he muttered, half to himself and half to Pansy, as he pulled open a drawer to grab a shirt. "You’re insufferable, you know that?"

"I know," she replied, her voice too chipper, as if she were relishing in his frustration. 

Draco didn’t respond, his thoughts already drifting to what he would wear. It wasn’t like he had anything against going to Diagon Alley—he didn’t mind the walk or the quick errand. It was just the principle of being dragged into it when he was perfectly content with doing nothing all afternoon. And yet, despite his reluctance, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this, more than anything, was normal—a reminder of the old days when he didn’t have to be so damn careful with every step he took.

As he rummaged through his wardrobe, grabbing a crisp button-down shirt and a pair of trousers, Draco found himself grudgingly grateful. Maybe he did need this—to get out, to not just hole up in his flat and stew in his own head.

By the time he emerged, freshly dressed and tugging at his sleeves, Pansy was standing by the door, tapping her foot impatiently. "Finally," she said with an exaggerated sigh, though her expression softened once she saw he had, indeed, made the effort. "You clean up well."

Draco gave her a wry smile, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about being compared to a “cleaned up” version of himself. "I know," he said dryly, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Now, let’s go before you decide to drag me to another ‘unexpected’ mission."

Pansy smirked, clearly relishing the back-and-forth as she raised an eyebrow. "Let’s go. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner you can get back to pretending you don’t need human interaction." She gave him a playful shove, nudging him out of his bedroom door as they made their way to his fireplace. Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t resist, stepping toward the familiar green flames of the Floo Network.

With a flick of her wrist, Pansy activated the Floo powder, and within moments, they were spinning through the network, the twisting journey ending in Diagon Alley. As they stepped out of the fireplace, the bustling street greeted them with its usual chaotic energy—witches and wizards weaving through each other, colourful shop signs hanging from the buildings, and the distant clang of metal from a blacksmith’s shop. Draco couldn’t help but feel a twinge of discomfort. He hadn’t been to Diagon Alley in months, avoiding it whenever he could. The crowds and the noise reminded him of a life he was trying to forget.

Pansy, however, seemed right at home, unfazed by the bustle. She threaded her arm through his with a confident smile, effortlessly pulling him into the flow of the crowd as they began walking down the cobbled street. "So, how’s work?" she asked casually, her eyes scanning the various shop windows as they passed by.

"How would I know?" Draco joked, his voice light, though there was a hint of bitterness underneath. He hadn’t exactly figured out what he was supposed to be doing at the Ministry, let alone how he was meant to feel about it.

"You’re funny," she replied with a sarcastic tone. "I forgot how funny you are."

Draco rolled his eyes, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Well, someone’s gotta keep things interesting." He hesitated for a moment before adding, "I got a promotion."

Pansy paused in her stride, her head turning toward him with an exaggerated look of shock. "Draco," she scolded lightly, giving his arm a playful tap, "Why didn’t you tell us?"

He shrugged, his expression unreadable. "Because there’s nothing to tell."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, a smirk forming on her face. "More money?" she asked, a teasing note in her voice.

"Yeah," he replied with a dry chuckle. "A whole lot more."

Pansy raised an eyebrow, letting out a low whistle. "You’ll make a pretty little gold digger very happy one day."

He laughed, shaking his head. "I’m sure I’ll be a hit at the next Slytherin reunion."

The banter came easily, but as they continued walking, Draco found himself slipping into a more serious mood. Pansy, ever the perceptive one, picked up on the shift.

"So, you still don’t know what you actually do, who you work with, or anything?" She asked, her tone light but probing.

"No, Pansy," Draco said, his voice almost bored, "That’s sort of the idea."

She gave him a sidelong glance, considering him for a moment. "What if you snuck yourself a note?" she asked, her voice lowered in mock conspiracy.

"You can’t sneak notes," he replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It’s not like I’m in some kind of spy novel, Pansy."

She smirked, clearly enjoying the idea. "Sooo…" she dragged the word out, as if contemplating something ridiculous. "You could have a girlfriend at work..."

Draco shot her a warning look. "Pansy…"

But she wasn’t finished, her voice filled with mischief as she continued, "And you wouldn’t even know it."

He raised an eyebrow, almost ready to argue, but she wasn’t done yet.

"And if you met someone out here," she continued, her tone turning more serious, "You wouldn’t know it in there. You’d be completely disconnected."

Draco sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, a habit he’d picked up whenever he was feeling out of his depth. "Yeah, I suppose…" His voice trailed off, unsure how to explain the strange sense of isolation that he’d been feeling lately.

Pansy didn’t let up, her eyes wide with a new realisation. "Oh my god," she interrupted again, her voice taking on a tone of mock horror. "You could get married out here, have kids, and then just forget they exist for eight hours a day. Does that not mess with your head?"

Draco stopped in his tracks, his gaze shifting from the cobblestones beneath his feet to her face, his expression unreadable for a long moment. It was an uncomfortable thought, one he hadn’t really allowed himself to entertain before. It did mess with his head, more than he cared to admit.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than before. "I think for some people, that’s the point."

Pansy’s eyes softened for just a moment, but the sharp edge of her next words cut through the silence. "I guess so. But it doesn’t make it any easier, does it?"

Draco didn’t answer right away, the weight of Pansy’s words still lingering in the air between them. They walked in silence for a few moments, both lost in their own thoughts. 

As they reached the corner of the street, Draco’s attention was drawn to a small group of wizards and witches clustered together, holding brightly coloured placards and handing out leaflets to passersby. The sound of their raised voices reached Draco’s ears, and he couldn’t help but overhear a snippet of their conversation.

“Excuse me, do you have a moment for children’s brain health?” one of the protesters called out, holding up a pamphlet.

“And legalised severance in the workplace?” another added, their tone equally as enthusiastic.

Draco raised an eyebrow, glancing over at Pansy, who seemed unbothered by the noise. With a small smirk, he leaned in closer to her.

“Oh, lovely. The WMC’s out and about,” Draco muttered, his voice low enough for only Pansy to hear.

“The who?” Pansy asked, clearly puzzled.

Draco couldn’t help but chuckle at Pansy’s confusion. “The Whole Mind Collective,” he said, his tone dripping with irony.

Before she could respond, Draco seized the moment. Without warning, he grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the protestors. Pansy stumbled slightly but quickly regained her balance, shooting him a playful shove as they walked closer. She shot him a half-hearted glare, clearly entertained, but also wary of what he was up to now.

“Excuse me, sir,” a protestor called out to Draco, his voice loud and eager. “Did you know that most severed workers don’t see the sun their whole lives?” The man thrust a leaflet at Draco with enthusiasm, clearly expecting a reaction.

Draco took the leaflet, inspecting it with mock interest. “Really?” he asked.

The protestor, not missing a beat, leaned in closer. “We’re trying to get a document in front of the Wizengamot to stop them from continuing to force legalised severance on workers. It’s inhumane.”

Draco feigned shock, eyes widening dramatically. “They’re forcing it now?” he asked, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The protestor nodded earnestly, completely unaware of Draco’s sarcasm. “That’s what they’re pushing for behind the scenes. And don’t get me started on Dolores Umbridge. She’s actually trying to sever kids.”

Draco paused for a moment, letting the absurdity of the situation sink in before responding. “Okay, well, what about the self-mutilating types who do it willingly?” he asked, his voice casual. “I mean, I heard some of them are so deluded they don’t even know they’re victims.”

The protestor’s face reddened, but he held his ground. “Look, if you wanna benefit from forced labour, that’s on you,” he said, clearly frustrated.

“Forced labour?” Draco’s voice hardened, his temper rising. “Fucking really? Forced labour? Are you seriously going to use that as an argument?” He could feel the heat of anger creeping up, but Pansy quickly stepped in.

“Draco, just leave it,” Pansy muttered, her voice low as she attempted to pull him away. “This is not worth it.”

But Draco wasn’t finished. “Are you captive right now?” he shot back at the protestor. “No, seriously. Because your past self chose to walk you down here to be an infantilising prick to people. Do you think that makes you some kind of hero?” He couldn’t help the snide edge creeping into his words.

The protestor, clearly no stranger to confrontation, glared back. “Severance is wrong, asshole,” he shot back, his words biting.

Draco let out a short laugh. “Oh, oh, that's nice language for a—what? Twelve-year-old? Are you twelve years old? Are you even old enough to be at Hogwarts yet?” His voice dripped with Draco stood there, his arms crossed tightly across his chest, eyes narrowed in a mix of annoyance and disdain. His posture was rigid, his body language an open display of defiance and mockery, as if daring anyone to challenge him. It was clear he was enjoying the sparring, but it wasn’t about the cause anymore—it was about showing off for the protestors, about asserting his superiority in the moment.

But Pansy had had enough. She could feel the heat of his anger radiating from him, and it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon if she didn’t intervene. Without a word, she stepped in front of him, positioning herself between him and the protestors, placing her hands firmly on his chest to give him a gentle but deliberate shove.

“We’re walking away now,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension. There was no room for debate in her tone; it was decisive, final. Her hands lingered on him for a second longer, as if to reinforce the point that she wasn’t going to let him keep going.

Draco opened his mouth, likely to fire back with some sarcastic remark, but Pansy didn’t give him the chance. She quickly turned to the protestors, offering a brief, sheepish smile as she attempted to smooth over the situation. “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice light but tinged with embarrassment. Then, without looking back, she grabbed his arm and pulled him along, guiding him down the street.

Draco’s footsteps were slow, his body stiff as he let her lead him away, but the scowl on his face didn’t fade. It never did, not when he was this irritated. He was still simmering with frustration, his mouth twitching as if he wanted to say something cutting, but he held it in, for now.

Pansy, on the other hand, wasn’t about to let him stew in silence. “What is wrong with you?” she asked, her voice low, but her patience wearing thin.

Draco didn’t respond immediately, clearly not interested in opening up. He huffed, shrugging off the question as if it were beneath him, but the anger in his voice betrayed him. “What do you mean? They were being insufferable, Pansy. It’s not like I was going to stand there and let them keep spouting nonsense.”

She sighed heavily, rolling her eyes. “You don’t have to make a spectacle out of yourself. You act like you want to change the world, but all you do is push people away and make a scene.”

He glanced at her, his jaw tightening. “I don’t need to change the world. I just don’t have time for idiots who want to pretend they’re saving it.”

Pansy let out a frustrated laugh, not in the least bit surprised. “That’s your problem, Draco. You never give anyone a chance to make their point before you shut them down. You’re so wrapped up in this self-important, arrogant bubble you’ve built for yourself that you can’t see anything outside of it.”

Draco stopped in his tracks, his eyes flashing with a sharpness that caught Pansy off guard. “I’m not the one who doesn’t get it, Pansy. They’re all out there, acting like they’re the only ones with the right answers. But when it comes down to it, they have no idea what they’re even talking about. It’s just noise.”

Pansy stared at him, her patience thinning. “And that’s the difference between you and everyone else. You think you have all the answers, and you’re so convinced of it that you don’t even try to listen. Maybe if you spent more time listening to people, you’d stop seeing them as enemies and start seeing them as equals.”

Draco’s gaze softened for just a moment, but only for a fleeting second. He turned away, his eyes scanning the busy street, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

Pansy stepped closer, her voice quieter now, less confrontational. “I’m not giving you pity, Draco. I’m trying to get you to see that you don’t have to do everything alone. You don’t have to push people away just because you’re afraid they might actually understand you.”

There was silence between them for a moment. Draco didn’t reply. Pansy could tell he was processing her words, but whether or not he’d take them to heart was another matter entirely.

She exhaled slowly, softening her stance. “Look, I don’t expect you to change overnight. But maybe—just maybe—you could stop making everything harder than it needs to be.” She gave him a pointed look, one that made it clear she was done with the pointless confrontation. “Let’s just get the damn invitations, okay? We’ll argue later.”

Draco’s eyes flicked back to hers, and for once, there was no retort. Just a moment of silence. He nodded, begrudgingly. “Fine,” he muttered.

They started walking again, the tension between them easing slightly as they made their way through the crowded streets of Diagon Alley. But deep down, Pansy couldn’t shake the feeling that Draco’s walls were still just as high as ever.

__________________

When Draco finally made it back to his apartment, he was ready to shut the door on the world for a while. His limbs were heavy with the kind of exhaustion that wasn’t just physical—it was the bone-deep fatigue of having had far too much social interaction for one day. He let out a long breath, eager for the solitude of his flat, and started up the stairs.

He was only a few steps up when the sound of a door creaking open caught his attention. He glanced over his shoulder and saw his landlady, Miss Weaver, leaning out of her apartment, peering at him with her usual nosy but well-meaning curiosity. She was dressed in a shapeless cardigan, her wiry grey hair pinned in its usual loose bun, and her eyes crinkled warmly behind oversized glasses.

“Draco, dear?” she called after him, her voice soft but insistent.

He stifled a sigh, forcing himself to turn back. “Yes, Miss Weaver?” he asked politely, though he could already feel the familiar tug of impatience in his chest. He knew she liked to chat, and he was in no mood for small talk.

She pursed her lips slightly, tilting her head. “There was a young lady here for you…” she began, her voice carrying the distinct lilt of concern.

Draco’s brow furrowed slightly, and he forced a thin smile, assuming she was referring to Pansy’s earlier visit. “Oh, I know, Miss Weaver.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Thank you, though.” He turned back toward the stairs, eager to escape.

But Miss Weaver wasn’t finished. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay,” she pressed, her voice more deliberate this time. “She seemed ever so upset.”

Draco stopped mid-step, his hand gripping the banister. He glanced back at her, confusion knitting his brow. “Upset?” he asked, the word pulling him fully back around to face her. “Pansy?”

Miss Weaver’s face scrunched in mild confusion, and she gave a light chuckle. “Who, dear?” she asked, shaking her head. “I can’t keep track of all of your lady friends’ names.” She gave him a playful wink, as if to tease him, but Draco barely registered it.

“Pansy Parkinson,” he clarified, his tone firmer now. “Dark hair, red lipstick, about this tall?” He held his hand just below his chin to demonstrate.

But Miss Weaver shook her head again, more adamantly this time. “Oh, goodness no, dear. This girl was as blonde as you,” she said, her eyes widening slightly, as if she were suddenly remembering more details. “Quite tall, too. Looked like she’d been crying.”

Draco’s stomach gave a subtle, unexpected twist. “Blonde?” he repeated slowly, the word catching oddly in his throat.

Miss Weaver nodded. “Yes, yes. Poor thing. I told her you weren’t home, but she insisted on waiting. Seemed determined. Couldn’t have been more than half an hour ago.” She paused, frowning slightly, as if trying to remember. “I don’t recall if she left. Might still be about somewhere.”

For a moment, Draco said nothing. His grip tightened on the banister, his knuckles subtly whitening. Blonde. Tall. Crying. His mind turned over the details, replaying them in fragments as if trying to find a match in his memory, but nothing clicked.

“Right,” he said finally, his voice low and clipped. “Thank you, Miss Weaver.”

Draco gave Miss Weaver a fleeting, distracted nod before turning sharply toward the stairs. His feet moved faster now, the weariness that had weighed him down just moments ago evaporating in an instant.

By the time he reached his floor, his breath was slightly uneven, though not from exertion. His eyes swept the hallway with a sharpness that hadn’t been there before, and there—right in front of his apartment door—was the girl.

She was slumped on the floor, knees drawn tightly to her chest, arms loosely wrapped around them. Her head was bowed slightly, a curtain of pale blonde hair falling forward to partially obscure her face. Miss Weaver had been right—she’d clearly been crying for some time. Her cheeks were blotchy, and dark streaks of mascara stained her skin in uneven trails. Her eyes, puffy and red-rimmed, flicked up at the sound of his footsteps.

And then he saw her properly.

His steps faltered slightly as recognition hit him. “Daphne?” he said, his voice low and disbelieving.

She blinked at him, looking almost dazed for a moment, as if unsure whether he was really there or just some cruel trick her tired mind was playing on her. But when she spoke, her voice cracked with unmistakable desperation.

“Draco…” she breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper.

For a split second, he stood there, staring down at her, momentarily frozen by the sheer unexpectedness of her presence. 

Draco slowly crouched down in front of her, lowering himself to her level. Up close, she looked even worse—her eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with swollen lids, and her hands were trembling slightly where they clutched at the fabric of her pale jumper.

“Hey,” he said softly, a cautious note in his voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out at first. Her throat bobbed in a hard swallow, and she lifted one hand weakly, as if she wanted to reach for him but couldn’t quite make herself do it.

“I—I didn’t know where else to go,” she rasped finally, her voice frayed at the edges. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have just—just shown up like this, I just—” She broke off, her voice cracking into silence.

Her breathing quickened suddenly, her fingers digging into her knees, and Draco could see it—the panic blooming behind her eyes. She was unraveling right in front of him. Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand over hers, stilling her trembling fingers.

“Hey. Hey, it’s alright,” he murmured, squeezing her hand gently. His voice was softer now, the sharp edge of confusion dulling into something gentler. “You’re okay. It’s alright. Just—just breathe, alright?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, a shuddering breath escaping her lips. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were the faint hitch in her breathing and the distant creak of the old building settling.

Finally, Draco glanced over his shoulder, checking the hallway. It was still empty, but he suddenly felt exposed with her sitting there, broken and fragile, in plain view of anyone who might pass by.

He gave her hand a firmer squeeze. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get you inside, yeah?”

Daphne didn’t respond, but she let him help her up. She swayed slightly when she got to her feet, as if she wasn’t entirely steady, and without thinking, Draco slipped his arm around her waist, anchoring her against him. She leaned into him without hesitation, and he could feel how small she felt against his side.

He unlocked the door and guided her inside. The moment they crossed the threshold, she sagged slightly, her weight pressing against him. He led her to the sofa and eased her down onto it. She hugged her knees to her chest again, curling in on herself as though trying to take up as little space as possible.

Draco crossed the room and grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen, his hands working automatically. When he returned, he crouched in front of her again, offering her the glass.

“Here,” he said quietly. “Drink.”

She took it with shaking hands and pressed it to her lips. She only managed a small sip before her hands started to tremble too violently. The water sloshed slightly, spilling over the rim. Draco gently steadied her grip with his hands over hers until she set the glass down with a shaky breath.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. He simply sat there on the floor, his hands still lightly covering hers, letting her breathing slow.

Finally, she looked at him, her eyes glassy and rimmed with fresh tears. “I—I didn’t know where else to go,” she whispered again, her voice trembling. “I’m sorry, I just—I didn’t know what to do.”

Draco shook his head slightly, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to be sorry, Daph.”

Her lip quivered slightly, and the moment he said her name, a fresh wave of tears filled her eyes. She bit down on her bottom lip hard, as if trying to keep them at bay, but it was no use. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and then another.

Without thinking, Draco lifted his hand and brushed the tear away with the pad of his thumb. “It’s alright,” he murmured softly. “You’re safe. You’re here now.”

Daphne didn’t say anything, but her grip on Draco’s hand tightened, her slender fingers curling around his with a kind of quiet desperation. She clung to him as though he were the only thing keeping her from unraveling entirely, and for a moment, he let her. He didn’t move, didn’t speak—just stayed still, anchoring her to the present.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice low and careful. “What’s going on, Daph?”

Her eyes flicked up to his, glassy with unshed tears. She parted her lips, but the words seemed caught in her throat. She drew in a shaky breath, her hands trembling slightly against his.

“This is going to sound crazy,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But… we work together. At the Ministry.”

For a moment, Draco blinked, convinced he must have misheard her. “What?” he asked, brows furrowing slightly.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, as though forcing herself to say it out loud. “You’re…” he started, the pieces falling into place in his mind.

“Severed,” she finished for him, her voice flat, almost hollow. She released a small, humorless laugh that held no trace of mirth. “Just like you.”

Draco stared at her, thrown entirely off balance. His lips parted slightly, but he found himself unable to form any words.

“I didn’t realise you were severed as well until Wednesday,” she continued quickly, the words spilling out as though she were afraid she’d lose her nerve if she didn’t say them fast enough. “At Pansy’s. But… I didn’t say anything. I—I wanted to, but I couldn’t.”

Her eyes dropped again, guilt flashing across her face. She shook her head slightly, as though ashamed of her own cowardice.

Draco’s jaw clenched, but he forced himself to breathe evenly, his voice calm and steady despite the sudden, heavy weight in his chest. “How long have you…?”

“About a year,” she said softly, almost apologetically. Her hands were still trembling faintly in his, and he gave them a reassuring squeeze.

Her eyes met his again, wide and imploring. “But I’ve been struggling for a while,” she admitted. “At first, it wasn’t so bad. I could ignore the weirdness. But… lately, it’s been getting worse.”

She exhaled sharply, her voice trembling with barely restrained emotion. “The last few months, I’ve been losing time.”

Draco’s grip on her hand tightened slightly. “What do you mean?”

Her breath hitched slightly, and she shook her head, as if unable to believe her own words. “I—I started waking up in the bath with no memory of getting in,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Or I’d find food on the counter that I didn’t remember making. Marcus would be furious about arguments I—I swear I never had. I’d be holding things I didn’t remember picking up.”

She glanced at him, her eyes desperate for understanding. “I just—I needed to ask you. Has it been happening to you too?”

Her voice was so fragile, so raw with vulnerability, that for a split second, Draco almost lied. Almost told her yes—just to offer her some kind of comfort, some proof that she wasn’t alone in this. But he couldn’t.

He shook his head slightly. “No,” he admitted, his voice soft but firm. “Not that I’m aware of.”

The hope in her eyes dimmed immediately, and she let out a shaky breath, nodding faintly. She dropped her gaze, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. “Oh,” she murmured, her voice barely audible. “Okay.”

She sounded so small in that moment, so thoroughly broken, that something inside Draco tightened painfully.

After a brief pause, she exhaled sharply through her nose, as though bracing herself for the next part. She rubbed her hands together absently, as though trying to warm them, though Draco knew it had nothing to do with the temperature.

“It got bad last week,” she admitted, her voice trembling. She dragged in a shaky breath. “After the dinner party.”

Draco’s brows drew together slightly, confusion flickering across his face.

“The dinner party?” he echoed.

She nodded faintly, not meeting his eyes. “I left early,” she reminded him, her voice barely more than a whisper. “After Astoria wouldn’t stop pushing you about severing.”

Her fingers flexed slightly where they rested in her lap, her knuckles white from the tension in her grip. “I—I was upset. I didn’t want to go home with Marcus, so I stayed at my flat alone. Marcus went back to his.”

Her voice lowered then, barely above a breath. “And… I blacked out.”

She let out a trembling breath, blinking hard as her eyes filled again. She didn’t look at him when she spoke the next part. “When I came to, it was two hours later.” Her voice cracked slightly. “And I was on the roof of my building.”

Draco’s stomach twisted sharply.

Her eyes lifted then, watery and wide, and he saw the terror lingering behind them—the bone-deep fear she hadn’t been able to shake. “I was standing at the edge.”

For a moment, Draco could only stare at her, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. The words echoed in his ears—standing at the edge—and he suddenly felt cold.

Daphne’s voice wavered slightly, but she pushed on, forcing the words out. “I don’t remember getting up there, Draco.” Her voice broke slightly. “I—I didn’t even have my wand. I was in my nightdress. And my feet were freezing because I wasn’t wearing shoes.”

Her voice faltered, but she swallowed thickly, forcing herself to finish. “If my neighbor hadn’t come up there for a smoke, I—I don’t know if I’d have…” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to.

Draco’s chest tightened painfully, his breath suddenly shallow.

Without thinking, he reached out and cupped her face gently with both hands, brushing his thumbs over her damp cheeks. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. “You’re here. You’re alright.”

Her lips quivered slightly, and when she tried to say something, her voice caught on a sob. She let out a trembling breath, her hands gripping his wrists, holding onto him as though terrified he might let go.

He shook his head slightly, his voice soft but steady. “You’re safe, Daph. You’re safe.”

Daphne didn’t say another word, but she didn’t need to. She pressed herself against him, burying her face into his chest, her fingers fisting into the fabric of his shirt as though it were the only thing keeping her from falling apart entirely. She clung to him with a desperate kind of strength—her slender frame trembling slightly against his—as if she could somehow anchor herself to him and be safe from whatever storm was raging inside her.

And Draco let her. He held her as tightly as he dared, his arms locked protectively around her, his hand slipping up to cradle the back of her head. He could feel the faint hitch in her breath against his chest, the uneven rise and fall of her shoulders, and the slight tremor in her fingers where they clutched at him.

He shut his eyes and tightened his hold, as though by sheer force of will, he could somehow keep all the darkness at bay—the terror in her eyes, the uncertainty in her voice, the weight of everything she had just confessed. He held her like he could shield her from it, but deep down, he knew he couldn’t.

After a while, her breathing slowed slightly, her shallow, panicked gasps gradually giving way to longer, steadier breaths. She loosened her grip just enough to speak, though her hands remained curled into the fabric of his shirt.

Her voice was soft and hoarse when she finally broke the silence. “I—I asked work on Thursday morning if something had gone wrong with my severing.”

Her words were slightly muffled against him, but he heard the rawness in her voice—the quiet, fractured vulnerability beneath them.

She sniffed, pulling in a shaky breath. “They promised me it was nothing to do with them,” she continued bitterly. “They said I was fine. That everything was fine.”

Her fingers flexed slightly against him, tightening involuntarily, as though remembering the conversation made her grip reality harder. “They told me to see how the weekend went,” she added, her voice dripping with disbelief. “And to ask again on Monday if I was still worried.”

Draco’s jaw clenched slightly, his arms tightening protectively around her.

Her voice dropped, trembling slightly. “But, Draco… it’s getting worse.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her tear-filled eyes locking with his. Her lower lip quivered faintly, and her voice came out as a broken whisper. “It’s happening more and more.”

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed hard, her breath shaky and uneven. She lifted a trembling hand and clutched at his wrist, as if afraid he might let go.

“And I don’t want to be alone.”

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, and something inside Draco did too.

For a moment, he could only stare at her, his breath caught in his throat. Her eyes were wide and pleading, raw with vulnerability—a stark contrast to the cool, composed girl he had known years ago. She looked utterly stripped bare, her carefully composed exterior fractured beyond repair, and there was no pride left in her expression—no bravado or pretense—just the simple, terrified honesty of someone afraid of being swallowed whole by her own mind.

Without a word, Draco slowly lifted his hand, brushing his knuckles lightly along her cheek. She blinked hard, another tear slipping free, and he caught it with the pad of his thumb, brushing it gently away.

“You’re not going to be alone,” he said softly, his voice low but steady.

Her breath hitched faintly, her eyes still wide and glistening.

He shook his head slightly, as if to underscore the promise. “I’m here. I’m staying.”

Her lips parted slightly, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she simply stared at him, her expression shifting—softening with something halfway between disbelief and relief.

And then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned into him again, curling against his chest with a faint, shuddering breath. She slipped her arms around his waist and held on, her hands clutching at the fabric of his shirt once more, as though afraid he might somehow vanish.

Draco didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her again, holding her tightly against him, one hand threading gently through her hair while the other stroked slow, soothing circles against her back.

“I’m here,” he murmured softly against the crown of her head, his voice steady and low. “I’m right here.”

And though she didn’t say another word, her fingers loosened slightly, her grip still firm but no longer frantic. Her breathing slowed against him, her shallow gasps gradually giving way to longer, steadier exhales.

She didn’t let go. And neither did he.