Chamber of Slytherin

The morning after the world cup, she knew she had one thing to do, buy Fred and George’s silence. It wasn’t going to be easy, they thrived on causing chaos. So, she cornered them in their bedroom as soon as she had the chance. Fred and George didn’t even look surprised when she barged in.

"Lydia!" George greeted, flopping onto his bed with an easy grin. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

She crossed her arms. "I’m here to make sure you two keep your mouths shut."

Fred sighed dramatically. "Ah, so this is about Malfoy."

"Look, we don’t mind a bit of scandal—" George started.

Lydia exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Just tell me what you want."

Fred and George exchanged a delighted look.

"Oh, we have ideas," George mused, tapping his chin.

"Many ideas," Fred agreed.

Lydia sighed. "Get to the point."

Fred leaned forward, grinning. "We want access to the Slytherin common room."

Lydia’s eyes widened. "Absolutely not." 

"Oh, come on, cousin. Think of the possibilities."

Lydia groaned. "What do you even plan to do?"

George shrugged. "Nothing too drastic."

"Just a few well-placed pranks," Fred said innocently. "Maybe an enchanted banner or two."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "If I do this—"

"When," George corrected.

"If," she snapped, "then you two don’t go near my dorm, my stuff, or anything that will lead back to me. No mentioning my name. No getting me involved. And if I ever hear the words ‘Lydia let us in,’ I will hex you into next week."

Fred grinned. "Brilliant. Deal."

George extended a hand. "Shake on it?"

Lydia scowled but clasped his hand anyway. "Fine."

George squeezed her fingers. "Pleasure doing business with you, dear cousin."

They were insane. How could she have possibly agreed to this?

—

That evening, she found Bill sitting on the porch, looking at the stars. She approached him carefully, but with ease. “Hey,” she said. “Can I tell you something?”

“What's up? Another life changing secret you have to share?”

She huffed, “I wouldn’t say completely life changing, only a little bit. Or maybe a lot. I’m dating Draco Malfoy.” She looked up at him hesitantly, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Are you now? I thought there was nothing going on.”

“Well there wasn’t when I last talked to you,” she sighed. “I’ve been visiting him. Sort of.”

“You’ve been sneaking out?” He arched a brow.

“No.”

He looked at her curiously, “then how have you been ‘visiting’ him?”

“I’ve been doing some meditating—and I learned to visit people in their dreams. It’s like real life, like you’re actually there. And both of us remember everything afterwards. I was able to do it back at Hogwarts with him. It took me a while to be able to do it from long distances. But it finally worked and I’ve been meeting with him almost every night for the past month.”

Astonished, he snapped his head toward her, making direct eye contact. “How the bloody hell did you manage that?”

She shrugged, “I learned it in the chamber.”

“The chamber.”

“Yes,” she said flat out. “And—I didn’t sit with Pansy at the cup.”

“You sat with him.”

“I met his parents, they seemed to like me, as much as I could expect.”

“You met Lucius Malfoy?” He asked with apprehension in his tone.

“Yes.”

“Lydia,” he said seriously, “did he have anything to do with what happened?”

She debated telling him about Draco’s warning. Deciding against it, she lied. It wasn’t her place to air out his family’s secrets. “I don’t think so.” She hoped Bill believed her.

“Are you serious about him? Draco?”

“It’s the most real thing I’ve ever felt. It’s not like it was with Harry—a schoolyard romance. It’s serious. I want to be with him… I want to be with him forever.”

—

Draco

Draco knew better than anyone that timing was everything. He had debated asking his mother first. He had debated pulling his father aside when the moment felt right. But in the end, this had to be done all at once. His father demanded authority, his mother commanded understanding, and if he was going to make this request, he needed them both to hear it together. So, when he stepped into the Malfoy drawing room, where both of his parents sat—his mother gracefully poised with a teacup in her hand, his father flipping lazily through the daily prophet—he knew this was the moment. His heartbeat was steady, his face carefully composed as he shut the doors behind him.

Lucius barely looked up. "You're hovering, Draco."

Draco ignored the jab, stepping forward. He had never been nervous about anything in his life. Still, he forced himself to be direct. Unwavering.

"I wish to court Lydia Prewett." His words dropped like a stone into the quiet room.

Lucius froze, the parchment in his hands stilling mid-turn. His mother’s teacup halted just before reaching her lips. Neither of them spoke at first. Lucius set the parchment down, finally looking at him, his gaze sharp and assessing. Narcissa, on the other hand, merely blinked, tilting her head slightly, as though processing.

"You what?" Lucius said, his voice smooth, but edged with something dangerous.

Draco did not falter. "I want to formally court Lydia."

Lucius leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers against the armrest. The action was calculated, a quiet display of dominance. "You must know how ridiculous that sounds."

Draco set his jaw. "It's not ridiculous. It's my decision."

His mother’s gaze flickered between them, her expression unreadable. But Draco knew she was studying him, assessing how serious he was.

Lucius, however, was not amused. "You mean to tell me that after years of careful grooming, after all the connections I have built for you, you intend to throw it away for some—"

Draco’s eyes darkened. "Careful."

Lucius narrowed his eyes slightly, but Narcissa spoke first. "You are serious about this."

It wasn’t a question.

Draco turned to her, exhaling. "Yes."

She studied him for a long moment, then set her teacup down, folding her hands in her lap. "And does she know?" 

Draco hesitated—just for a second. "Not yet."

That answer seemed to interest her. Lucius scoffed, standing now, moving to the fireplace. "And what exactly do you expect from this, Draco? A Prewett. A girl raised in that household—"

Draco cut him off. "She is not a Weasley. She is not a fool. She is ambitious, intelligent, and she understands our world better than most."

Lucius turned, watching him carefully. "And what do you expect this to lead to?"

Draco knew exactly what he was asking. Pureblood courtship was not a casual affair. It was the precursor to marriage. It was a statement of intent, not just a fleeting romance.

"If she accepts, then I intend to see it through."

Lucius went silent. Narcissa, however, simply exhaled, looking away briefly before turning back to him. "You are aware of what people will say?"

"Let them talk."

Lucius let out a short, humorless laugh. "You say that now."

Draco took a step forward. "You told me a Malfoy is meant to choose wisely. That a Malfoy is meant to make alliances that will strengthen us." He lifted his chin slightly. "This is my choice."

Lucius studied him, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long silence, his father exhaled sharply, turning back toward the fireplace. "Do as you will. But if you are to do this, do it properly."

Draco exhaled.

Narcissa spoke next, her voice softer. "And when do you intend to ask her?"

His throat felt tight, but his response was certain. "At the Yule Ball."

His mother’s lips twitched slightly—not quite a smile, but close.

Lucius merely swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze flickering toward Draco for a moment before he murmured, "Then don’t make a fool of yourself."

Draco didn’t respond. He simply nodded once, then turned and left the room. His heart was pounding. But it was done.

—

Bill

A letter arrived at his London flat, sealed with the unmistakable wax crest of the Malfoy family. He sat at his small kitchen table for a full minute, staring at it. He turned the envelope over in his hands, frowning. It was thick parchment, expensive, the edges charmed to stay crisp. He exhaled sharply, breaking the seal with his thumb. The script inside was precise, elegant, and unmistakably Narcissa Malfoy’s.

Mr. Weasley,

I trust this letter finds you well. I would like to extend an invitation for tea at Malfoy Manor, at your earliest convenience.

There are matters of mutual interest I believe we should discuss.

Please send your reply with the enclosed owl.

Warm regards,
Narcissa Malfoy

Bill ran a hand through his hair, tossing the letter onto the table with a scoff. Mutual interest? That could only mean one thing. Lydia. His little cousin, who had just confessed that she was sneaking into Draco Malfoy’s dreams, had met his family at the World Cup, and had fallen hard—so hard she was talking about forever. Bill swore under his breath. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the letter as if it would offer more answers. The fact that Narcissa was the one inviting him instead of Lucius was interesting. Lucius Malfoy didn’t invite Weasleys over for tea—he considered them barely above livestock. And if Lucius had wanted to deliver a warning, he would have sent something far more cutting than a polite invitation. So what did they want? Bill sighed, standing up. He grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill, scribbling out a short, neutral response.

Mrs. Malfoy,

I appreciate the invitation. I am available this Friday at noon.

Sincerely,
Bill Weasley

He attached the letter to the owl’s leg, watching as it took off into the sky, disappearing into the summer clouds. Then he exhaled, rubbing his temples.

Bill adjusted his sleeves as he stepped through the grand entrance of Malfoy Manor, following the silent but sharp-eyed house-elf who had greeted him at the door. He had been to many elegant estates in his work as a curse-breaker, but there was something uniquely unsettling about this place. Everything was pristine, cold, and too controlled. The drawing room had dark green velvet curtains, polished black marble floors, and elegant silver filigree on every surface. The Malfoy crest was proudly displayed above the grand fireplace. Seated near the fireplace at a dark mahogany tea table was Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. Across from them, perched with perfect posture, was Draco.

"Mr. Weasley," Lucius greeted smoothly, standing as Bill approached. His voice was laced with calculated politeness. "How kind of you to accept our invitation."

Bill gave him a nod, keeping his expression neutral. "It was certainly unexpected," he admitted, his eyes flicking briefly to Draco, who met his gaze evenly.

Narcissa gestured to the empty chair beside Draco. "Please, sit. Would you care for tea?"

Bill hesitated for only a fraction of a second before settling into the chair. "Sure."

A silver tray hovered gracefully toward him, carrying an immaculately arranged tea set. A house-elf poured his tea with deliberate care. For a few minutes, the conversation was polite, carefully toeing the line between pleasant and strategic. Narcissa spoke of the World Cup—intentionally avoiding the less polite matters—and the state of Gringotts’ latest policies. Lucius inquired about Bill’s work as a curse-breaker, nodding in feigned interest at his responses. Draco remained silent, waiting. Bill, however, could see the underlying tension. This wasn’t a social call. There was a reason he was here, and they were all dancing around it. Finally, after taking a slow sip of his tea, Lucius set down his cup with a quiet clink and leaned back. His sharp eyes settled on Bill. "I believe my son has something he wishes to discuss with you."

Draco straightened, smoothing a hand over his robes. His movements were precise, measured—pure Malfoy. But Bill could see it. A flicker of tension. A restrained anticipation.

Draco met his gaze directly. "Mr. Weasley, I requested this meeting because I wish to formally ask your permission to court Lydia Prewett."

Bill studied Draco carefully, watching for any trace of the usual arrogance that always accompanied his last name. But Draco’s expression was steady, unwavering, entirely composed. This was no impulsive declaration—this was carefully planned, rehearsed, and deeply meant.

"You believe you need my permission?" Bill finally asked, leaning back in his chair.

Draco nodded once, sharply. "Yes. A formal courtship among old wizarding families requires the approval of a chosen guardian or eldest male relative if the witch in question is not yet of age."

"And you care about that?"

Draco did not waver. "Yes. Lydia deserves proper courtship, not secrecy or half-measures. I will not insult her by doing this any other way."

Bill exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking to Lucius and Narcissa. Narcissa was watching her son with an unreadable expression, though Bill could see something almost proud flickering in her icy blue eyes. Lucius, however, was far less entertained. He was watching Bill closely, waiting to see how he would respond.

"You do understand what courtship means, right?" Bill said after a beat. "This isn’t just… dating. It’s a formal commitment. It means that, eventually, you’re looking at marriage."

Draco didn’t flinch. "I am aware. And I have never been more certain of anything. I know exactly how I’ll ask her." Draco’s lips twitched slightly.

Bill narrowed his eyes. "And how do you intend to do that?"

Draco reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. He placed it on the table and slid it toward Bill.

"Open it."

Bill eyed him before flipping open the lid.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, inlaid with emeralds and subtle rune engravings along the band. It was a Malfoy courting bracelet, a formal magical marker of betrothal customs, something only exchanged when a relationship was moving toward something serious.

Draco inclined his head. "When she accepts, the runes will adjust to reflect our bond. It’s entirely tailored to her—my mother and I spent weeks deciding on the engravings. The charms woven into it will strengthen her protection against certain hexes, enhance magical awareness—nothing binding, nothing restrictive." He paused, expression sharpening. "She can remove it at any time."

Bill let out a slow breath. "You’re really serious about this."

"I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t," Draco said simply.

Bill watched him. There was something there, something rarely seen in Malfoys. Sincerity. Devotion. A level of restraint and patience that most boys his age—hell, most men—didn’t possess.

"Fine," he said. "You have my permission."

Draco’s shoulders relaxed just slightly, though his face remained composed. "Thank you," he said formally.

—

The first few weeks passed in a blur of new classes and Triwizard hype. The moment everyone found out there would be a Ball, the entire school seemed to implode in a frenzy of rumor, date drama, and fashion speculation.

Lydia had bigger things on her mind. For one, Occlumency. She had snatched up the advanced texts from the Chamber of Slytherin’s library, but her nightly practice was grueling. Draco would join her—less to learn the mind arts and more because he simply liked being wherever she was. It felt… grounding, having him silently read or practice shield charms while she tried to reinforce the barriers in her mind.

Every so often, a pang of guilt would stab through her when she remembered the way she had completely shut Harry out of all this knowledge. But then she’d recall him ignoring her all summer, the cold set of his mouth whenever he saw her in the halls. She was tired of hurting herself trying to fix that. It was time to put up her walls and remove him from her conscience.

One late afternoon, she found herself in an empty classroom, practicing wandless transfiguration on a quill. She made it sprout tiny, ivy-like vines—then changed it back. Over and over, she repeated the process until sweat beaded at her temples. She was just about to attempt a more complex transformation when the door banged open.

She whipped around, her heart jumping. Standing there was Hermione Granger, her expression hard.

“Lydia,” Hermione said, shutting the door behind her. “I need to talk to you.”

Lydia forced her features into calm neutrality. “Alright,” she said. “You’ve got me. Talk.”

Hermione crossed her arms, chin lifting in that stubborn way that reminded Lydia so much of her friendless first year—when everyone underestimated Hermione’s spirit and determination. “I’ve spent months respecting Harry’s wishes not to ask you about what happened. But I’m starting to think none of us got the truth.”

Lydia’s jaw clenched. “You think I owe you or Harry an explanation?”

Hermione’s eyes blazed. “I think you owe him something, yes. He trusted you. One day, you were everything to him, and then slowly you just pulled away and vanished all the time. It doesn’t help that it was Malfoy you were sneaking around with.”

A part of Lydia wanted to snap back, to tell Hermione she didn’t understand anything. But she remembered the countless times they’d studied side by side when Lydia used to hang around with the Gryffindors. Hermione was still, at her core, a good person. She just wanted to protect Harry.

So she tried honesty—or at least the safer edges of it. “Hermione,” she said, voice quieter, “it’s not what you think. Yes, Draco and I were spending time together last year” Understatement. “No, we weren’t sneaking around behind Harry’s back the way you all think.”

“Then what was it? Why did you hide?”

“It’s complicated,” Lydia murmured.

Hermione studied her. “I hope you’ll clear the air someday. Because Harry’s… hurt. He won’t say it, but he is.”

Lydia swallowed, wanting to argue. But no words came out.

“I’m not here to cause problems,” Hermione went on, her tone gentler now. “I just… I miss having you in Gryffindor Tower. With us. And he misses you more than he’ll ever admit.”

For a moment, Lydia almost softened.

Hermione sighed. “If you need someone… remember you can talk to me. We may not be close, but I’m here. And at least you seem to be keeping your distance from Malfoy this year.”

Then she turned and left, leaving Lydia standing there with her wandless-transfigured quill and a weight in her chest she couldn’t quite name.

—

Lydia had noticed that Draco had been acting strange all day. Not in a bad way—just… different. Blaise, Theo, and Pansy had also been acting too smug, like they knew something she didn’t. She ignored them. That evening, after dinner, a note appeared on her desk. A simple, elegant parchment, folded with precision. Just four words, written in his distinctive script: "Meet me. The courtyard." Lydia frowned slightly, but she wasn’t suspicious. She knew exactly who it was from. So, after slipping on her cloak, she made her way toward the quiet stone archways at the edge of the castle, where the enchanted courtyard lay under the silver glow of the moon. The sight before her stopped her breath. Candles floated in the air, casting soft golden light around the fountain. The trees were draped in twinkling fairy lights, glowing faintly against the night. And standing in the center, hands clasped behind his back, was Draco. Waiting. His platinum hair shimmered in the dim light, and he was dressed impeccably, his usual confidence softened by something… deeper. Something sincere. Lydia’s heart skipped a beat.

"You’re dramatic," she murmured as she approached.

Draco smirked slightly. "You like it."

She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. "Alright, Malfoy. What’s this about?"

Draco took a step closer. Then another. Close enough that the warmth of him cut through the crisp night air. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, dark green box. Lydia inhaled sharply as he opened it, revealing an exquisite silver necklace. A delicate emerald pendant, shaped like a serpent coiled around a small diamond. It was stunning. Elegant. And absurdly expensive.

Her eyes flicked to his. "Draco…"

He tilted his head slightly. "Say yes."

She arched a brow. "To what?"

His smirk was slow, but his voice was softer than usual. "Be my date to the Yule Ball."

Her breath caught in her throat. He was going all out. Of course, she already knew her answer.

"Obviously," she said, lifting her chin slightly. "Did you really think I’d say no?"

His smirk deepened. "I like to hear you say it."

She shook her head fondly. "Give me that," she said, reaching for the necklace.

Draco chuckled but stepped behind her, brushing her hair aside. His fingers ghosted against the back of her neck as he clasped it. Lydia exhaled slowly, unable to ignore the way her skin tingled where he had touched her.

"There," he murmured. "Perfect." He leaned into her ear and whispered, "I love you Lydia Prewett.”

Her heart stopped, he was finally saying those words, the three words that she knew in her heart she felt as well.

“I love you too Draco Malfoy.”

—

“Lyd, could you pass me that gloss?” Daphne asked, pointing to a small jar on Lydia’s nightstand. Lydia handed it over, watching as Daphne dabbed a hint of shimmer across her lips.

Pansy stood back and surveyed the three of them with a satisfied grin. “Well, we look amazing,” she proclaimed, tapping her wand on the glass perfume bottle she was about to spritz. “Poor Hogwarts. They have no idea what’s about to hit them.”

Daphne laughed softly. “Let’s hope the boys can keep up. Blaise nearly had a panic attack trying to decide which tie to wear.”

Lydia smiled at them, then turned back to the mirror to check if her hair clips were straight. Just as she was about to say something, Pansy sidled closer, lips pursed in curiosity.

“Alright, Lyd,” Pansy started, sliding an arm around Lydia’s shoulders, “spill. I’m done waiting.”

Daphne, catching the look on Pansy’s face, raised an eyebrow. “Oh? The Malfoy situation?”

Pansy nodded firmly. “Yes. The Malfoy situation.” She angled her head to look at Lydia. “You two have been dancing around each other for ages. I know you’re meeting him downstairs tonight, and I know something started way before this term.”

Lydia hesitated—she trusted them, of course, but she also recognized how fast Slytherin gossip could fly. Yet, these two were the closest friends she had in the house. They’d already guessed so much…

She exhaled and turned to face them fully, taking in the sight of her best friends in all their finery. “Alright. Fine,” she said quietly. “We started… dating… over the summer.”

Daphne’s eyes widened in delight. “I knew it.”

Pansy gave a triumphant grin. “I’m so glad you finally admitted it. I was about five seconds away from hexing either you or Draco to make it official.”

Lydia let out a soft laugh, though her cheeks tinged pink at the memory. “It was complicated, okay? With the whole Harry thing, and my family not really understanding—well, you know.”

Pansy squeezed Lydia’s shoulder. “We get it. But you don’t have to hide that from us. Besides”—she leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially—“it’s obvious you’re happier when he’s around.”

Daphne laughed softly, adjusting an earring. “And he’s definitely happier when you’re around. Have you seen him lately? He actually smiles now.”

Lydia tried to roll her eyes, but a bashful smile crept onto her face. “He’s sweet. In his own overconfident, pureblood-heir kind of way.”

Pansy snorted. “That’s putting it mildly.”

Daphne hopped off the trunk, smoothing the front of her ice-blue dress. “Well, I, for one, am thrilled. Tonight is going to be amazing—for all of us.”

Pansy flicked her wand, sending a soft wave of jasmine-scented perfume into the air. “Agreed. Now come on, we can’t keep the rest of the world waiting.”

Lydia took one final glance in the mirror, smoothing down the skirt of her gown—a gift from Draco. It was a deep, lustrous emerald green that captured every flicker of candlelight, with delicate silver embroidery winding around the sleeves. The neckline dipped modestly into a V, and the back curved just low enough to give a hint of skin—tasteful, but undeniably striking. Her dark hair fell loose around her shoulders, silky and smooth. She had her two best friends by her side, a beautiful dress, and Draco Malfoy—waiting downstairs to take her arm. The nerves fluttered in her stomach, but excitement outweighed the worry.

“Ready?” she asked, meeting Pansy and Daphne’s gazes.

They both nodded. “Ready.”

When they descended into the common room, the soft glow of lantern light revealed an assortment of elegantly dressed students, all murmuring in hushed excitement. Pansy and Daphne branched off, spotting their dates across the room. Before Lydia could follow, a warm hand gently caught her elbow.

She turned to find Draco standing there, dressed in immaculate black, silver embroidery tracing the cuffs of his jacket. He gave her a small, almost hesitant smile. “May I talk to you before we head out?”

Her heartbeat picked up, but she simply nodded, allowing him to guide her away from the hustle and chatter to a quieter corner by the common room fireplace.

Draco’s posture was unusually tense, as though he was bracing himself for something monumental. Without a word, he pulled a slim, dark-wood box from inside his jacket and held it out to her.

“Open it,” he said softly.

Lydia lifted the lid. Nestled on black velvet was a delicate silver bracelet, inlaid with tiny emeralds and intricately engraved runes that glimmered in the firelight. She sucked in a breath, her gaze snapping from the bracelet to Draco.

He spoke carefully, his voice low and earnest. “It’s a Malfoy courting bracelet—a formal magical marker of betrothal customs in old pureblood families. I know it sounds serious,” he added, a brief flicker of nervousness in his grey eyes, “because it is. It’s something only exchanged when a relationship moves toward…more.”

Lydia’s heart thudded as she lifted the bracelet between her fingers. The runes were exquisite, each line and curve placed with meticulous care. “Draco,” she whispered, at a loss.

“My mother and I spent weeks perfecting those engravings,” he continued, inhaling quietly before meeting her eyes again. “They’ll adjust to reflect our bond if you accept. The charms woven inside will strengthen your defenses against hexes and enhance your magical awareness. Nothing binding, nothing restrictive—just an extra layer of protection and a symbol of…what you mean to me.”

Lydia stared at the gleaming silver. With every beat of her heart, she felt the gravity of what Draco was asking—and the tenderness behind it. Cautiously, she slid the bracelet around her wrist, the clasp sealing with a soft click.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, lifting her gaze to his. “You’re sure about this?”

His lips curved into a slight smile, equal parts confident and vulnerable. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

For a moment, she simply admired the bracelet’s glow against her skin. Then she looked up, eyes shining with emotion. “Then yes. I accept.”

Relief and something like joy lit Draco’s face. He stepped forward, capturing her free hand. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I promise you won’t regret it.”

Their fingers tangled as Lydia absorbed the warmth of his reassurance. She raised her hand slightly, marveling at how perfectly the bracelet fit, how it seemed to hum with quiet, powerful magic.

Draco leaned in, his voice just above a whisper. “Ready to go, my lady?”

She managed a grin, pulse still racing. “With you? Always.”

Pansy’s voice broke the hush first. “Oi, lovebirds!” she called, lifting a hand in a wave. Her long black dress caught the greenish glow of the lanterns. Daphne walked beside her, the ice-blue gown and shimmering hair ornaments showcasing her usual understated elegance. Behind them, Theo and Blaise followed, each sporting sharp dress robes in dark tones.

“We were wondering if you’d—” Theo began, then halted, eyes flicking between Lydia’s face and Draco’s. “Er, did we interrupt something?”

A smirk tugged at Draco’s mouth, though a hint of color still warmed his cheeks. “Not at all,” he drawled, turning slightly so Lydia’s bracelet was visible in the firelight.

Daphne took one look at Lydia’s wrist and gasped, pressing her hands to her mouth. “Oh. Is that…?”

Pansy leaned in immediately, eyes going wide as she spotted the ornate silver band. “A courting bracelet! Merlin’s beard, Draco—you just asked her, didn’t you?”

Lydia nodded, her breath hitching as she remembered how Draco had explained the runes, the protective charms, the depth of what it meant. “He did,” she said, voice slightly unsteady, though her smile was unwavering. “And I accepted.”

Pansy and Daphne exchanged a look, then practically squealed in delight. Pansy reached for Lydia’s hand, carefully turning it to admire the fine emeralds gleaming in the metal. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

Daphne brushed a piece of hair behind her ear. “A formal betrothal custom.” She flicked her gaze to Draco, arching a blonde brow. “You’re really serious.”

Draco cleared his throat, trying to appear composed amidst the girls’ excitement. “I don’t do anything halfway, Greengrass.” There was a note of fond exasperation in his tone, but the corners of his lips curved. He turned to Lydia, voice quiet enough that only she could hear. “I told you this was important to me.”

Theo, having let Pansy and Daphne gush first, strode forward with a theatrical groan. “All right, all right, we’re all thrilled for the new power couple. But can we also remember there’s a ball we’re supposed to attend?”

Blaise, leaning in the archway by the corridor, chuckled. “I, for one, am impressed, Draco. Thought you’d keep it under wraps a bit longer.”

Draco merely shrugged, a hint of a proud smirk returning. “I don’t see any reason to hide it,” he said, letting his hand drift to Lydia’s lower back. “Besides, I needed to give her the bracelet before everyone else tried to monopolize her time tonight.”

At that, Lydia felt her cheeks flush again. She gently disentangled herself from Pansy’s grip. “We should probably get going before we miss all the dancing.”

Pansy flashed a wry grin. “Right. Don’t want the others to steal the show before we arrive.”

Daphne smoothed the shimmering fabric of her gown, then tucked her arm through Blaise’s. “Though I suspect Lydia and Draco have already done that.”

As the group walked toward the exit, the chatter brimming with jokes, teasing, and occasional squeals from Pansy, Lydia couldn’t help but admire how the bracelet shone against her emerald dress. Every step reminded her of Draco’s words: that it was crafted with her protection and their bond in mind. Glancing up at him, she found the same mix of devotion and confidence in his gaze.

He leaned in slightly. “Ready?” he asked, voice low.

She returned a smile, heart fluttering in her chest. “Absolutely.”

And with that, the six of them stepped out of the Slytherin common room, off to the Yule Ball—Lydia’s bracelet glinting with magic and promise, and the delighted chatter of her friends echoing in the corridor behind them.

Glistening icicles and enchanted snowflakes hung suspended in midair, reflecting the soft glow of countless floating candles. Long tables had been swept to the sides, leaving a grand space for dancing at the center. In one corner, a small stage accommodated a wizarding band, whose instruments levitated and played a lively waltz. Everywhere Lydia looked, students were decked out in their finest attire, swirling across the polished floor or chatting animatedly beneath snow-dusted garlands.

Pansy inhaled sharply, eyes wide with delight. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, momentarily forgetting her usual sardonic tone. She glowed with excitement as she scanned the crowded hall.

“Remind me to praise whoever handled the decor,” Daphne murmured, chin tilted up to admire the enchanted icicles sparkling overhead.

Blaise offered her his arm with a knowing half-smile. “I believe that’s Professor Flitwick’s masterpiece. We can send him a nice note later.”

“Shall we?” Theo quipped, gesturing to the bustling crowd on the dance floor.

They moved further into the hall, weaving around other elegantly dressed students. The music seemed to settle over them like a gentle current, nudging them to step onto the dance floor.

A few heads turned, of course. It wasn’t every day Lydia Prewett made an entrance on the arm of Draco Malfoy, especially with the new silver bracelet catching the flicker of the candlelight. Lydia heard hushed murmurs from some onlookers—surprise, curiosity, even envy—but she forced herself to keep her head high. Let them talk, she thought. This is our night.

Pansy and Daphne took in the stares with practiced indifference, busy discussing the music or tossing casual smiles at acquaintances. Theo, meanwhile, leaned in to Lydia conspiratorially.

“You do realize every person in this room is dying to know how you two ended up together,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Where’s the grand reveal? Or shall I give a speech?”

Lydia smirked, rolling her eyes. “If you’re itching for attention, go dance like a lunatic. That should do it.”

“Tempting, truly.”

Blaise merely chuckled, steering Daphne away toward the refreshment table, while Pansy linked arms with Theo to follow them. That left Draco and Lydia briefly on their own, near the periphery of the dancers.

For a moment, they stood there in the gentle glow of the Hall’s decorations. The music swirled around them, couples spun and dipped, and the backdrop of merriment lent the air a sort of fairy-tale quality.

“You alright, love?” Draco asked quietly, noting how Lydia’s fingers still toyed nervously with the bracelet.

She nodded, swallowing around the flutter in her chest. “Just… everything feels so surreal. This time yesterday, I wasn’t sure how tonight would go.”

He nodded, a gentle curve to his lips. “Whatever happens, you’re not facing it alone.”

Lydia caught his gaze—steady, protective, proud—and felt a tiny smile spread on her face. She slid her hand into his. “Come on. Let’s dance before Theo starts drawing even more attention.”

Draco’s grey eyes sparkled in agreement. “Your wish is my command.” He led her toward the dance floor, where they joined a swirl of gowns and robes.

As the waltz concluded in a flourish, Lydia and Draco came to a stop by the edge of the dance floor. Around them, couples applauded the band before dispersing for drinks and conversation. It didn’t take long for their friends to reconvene.

Pansy arrived first, with Theo in tow. She all but beamed. “You two looked amazing out there. Everyone’s talking—some of the Durmstrang girls are eyeing you jealously, Lydia.”

“They’ll have to get in line,” Theo teased, earning him a swat from Pansy. “Kidding, only kidding!”

Daphne and Blaise joined seconds later, carrying cups of sparkling punch. Daphne handed one to Lydia, a knowing smile on her face. “You seem more relaxed now. I take it the first dance helped?”

Lydia brushed a bit of glittering frost charm from her shoulder. “It did, thanks.”

Blaise’s gaze flicked to the gleaming silver band on Lydia’s wrist. “Is it just me, or is the runic pattern changing?” he observed, leaning in.

Sure enough, the runes on Lydia’s bracelet shimmered faintly, like they were in motion. She glanced over at Draco with a questioning look.

He nodded, quietly proud. “I told you—the engravings will adapt to reflect our bond.”

Pansy’s eyes lit up once more, and even Daphne gave a small, delighted laugh. Their excitement, along with the hum of the Great Hall, made Lydia’s cheeks flush warm.

Blaise discreetly pulled out a flask from the hidden pocket in his robes. Not discreetly enough—Theo snatched it and took a swig without hesitation.

“Thanks, mate.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and snatched it back. He drank deep before handing it to Draco, who took an even longer pull. Then he offered it to Lydia. She brought it to her mouth and felt the familiar burn of Firewhiskey slide down her throat. She winced and coughed.

Draco laughed quietly and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re beautiful, love. Even when you look like you’re about to vomit.”

“Ha-ha,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him—but she couldn’t stop the smile that followed.

The six of them spent the next hour dancing, laughing, and passing the flask between them. The Firewhiskey, charmed to never empty, kept flowing. By the time Ron and Harry pushed their way through the crowd toward them, Lydia was very much drunk—clinging to Draco, flushed, and radiant.

“There you are,” Ron snarled, eyes blazing. “What the hell is this?”

“A ball,” she said airily, blinking slowly. She tried to keep her balance. “Did you not get the invitation?”

Draco’s voice was calm, taunting. “I knew you were slow, Weasel, but this level of stupidity is impressive—even for you.”

Ron’s fists clenched at his sides. “You’re here with Malfoy??? I know you were sneaking around with him last year but I thought that was over. You two haven’t even spoken this year.”

“Obviously we’ve spoken, Ronald,” she laughed, stumbling into Draco. “He’s my bloody boyfriend.”

“Correction love, I’m your betrothed.” Draco smirked, making eye contact with Harry.

“Betrothed? What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, warily glancing back and forth between them, obviously noticing Lydia’s inebriated state.

“BETROTHED!!! YOU’RE COURTING A MALFOY—A FUCKING MALFOY??” Ron yelled so loudly that those around their group looked at them.

Lydia giggled, leaning harder into Draco.“Yes I am, not that it’s any of your concern.”

Harry’s expression shifted into something sharp—worried, maybe even hurt. “Lydia… are you drunk?”

She stumbled into Draco again and he held her tighter, his hands gripping her waist. She put a finger to her lips and looked up thoughtfully. “Define drunk”

“Lydia, you need to come with us,” Harry said, stepping forward. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Don’t fucking touch her,” Draco growled, pulling her back.

Ron’s voice was rising again. “He’s got you under some kind of spell, doesn’t he? That’s the only explanation. You would never—”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Lydia snapped, loud enough that her voice carried. “It’s not a spell, Ron. It’s called love. And if I want him to touch me, to kiss me, to marry me, that’s my decision. Not yours.”

Draco smirked as she spoke, but there was something darker in his eyes—possessive, dangerous.

Pansy walked over with Theo, also slightly inebriated, and attempted to whisper. “Let’s get out of here, Blaise and Daphne are about to tear each other's clothes off.”

The group looked over and saw Blaise and Daphne snogging ferociously off to the far side of the hall.

Draco tried to hold in a laugh but failed while Lydia burst into uncontrollable laughter. “You’re right, Pans. Harry, Ronald, enjoy your evening, I’m sure mine will have much more excitement than yours.”

Harry reached out to grab her arm, but Draco pulled her away. “Get your hands off her scar head, she doesn’t want you.”

Ron’s and Harry’s faces turned red. “Oh fuck you—you ferret—“ Said Ron.

“What’s going on here?” Hermione said pointedly as she approached the group. “Lydia? You’re—you’re here with Malfoy?”

“Yes I am. Merlin, why is everyone so interested in my fucking love life.”

“Maybe because Malfoy is practically assulting you. And he’s given you some type of love potion,” Ron said.

Draco stiffened behind her, his hands not moving from her waist. Lydia cut in before he could say something, “it’s not assault if I want him to do it, and he hasn’t given me any love potions you idiot. I’m courting him because I’m in love and want to spend the rest of my life with him.”

“Sweet Salazar, do I love you,” he murmured, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her mouth. When he pulled back, her cheeks were flushed and her lips parted.

 “Does that clear it up for you?” Lydia asked them.

They stared at her, open-mouthed. Pansy and Theo smirked at their stunned reactions.

Draco chuckled. Lydia gave a sloppy little curtsy in his arms. “If you’ll excuse us, I believe we were in the middle of getting thoroughly sloshed.”

Draco scooped her up, bridal style. She squealed, laughing.

“Off to the dungeons, my lady,” he murmured.

As they disappeared into the crowd, Hermione and Harry stood still—staring after them, the noise of the party fading around them.

Draco carried Lydia down into the dungeons, her arms wrapped loosely around his neck, head resting against his shoulder. Her giggles had faded. The alcohol was settling into a heavy warmth, softening her sharp edges.

He nudged open the door to the empty Slytherin common room with his foot, stepping inside.

“Your throne awaits,” he murmured, lowering her carefully onto the green velvet couch near the fire.

She melted into it with a dramatic sigh, flopping back with her arms sprawled wide and her hair spilling over the cushions like she owned the place—which, in some ways, she did. Not officially, but it sure as hell felt like it.

Draco stayed standing for a moment, watching her with a faint smile. His tie was undone, his hair slightly mussed from her fingers. He looked gloriously disheveled.

“Do you think they’re still upstairs talking about us?” she asked, voice syrupy, eyes half-lidded with sleep and whiskey.

“Without question,” he said, sliding down onto the couch beside her. “We’re probably ruining Potter’s night.”

She grinned and turned onto her side, propping her head up on her hand. “Good.”

He looked over at her, eyes tracing her features—her flushed cheeks, her smudged lipstick, the lazy curl of her smile.

“I fucking love you.”

She blinked at him for a second, and then she burst into laughter. “You’ve already said that twice tonight, Malfoy.”

He leaned closer, voice low and warm. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”

She reached out and hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt. “Say it again.”

“I love you,” he whispered. “I love you so much it makes me insane.”

She pulled him into a kiss, hot and messy and imperfect, like neither of them could be bothered with being careful anymore. When she pulled back, she was breathless.

“I don’t care what any of them think,” she said. “Not Harry. Not Ron. Not Hermione. Not anyone. They don’t know me. Not really.”

“They don’t know us,” Draco said. “They never will.”

She nodded, her hand still gripping the front of his shirt. “They think I’m making some massive mistake. Like I’m throwing everything away.”

“Let them,” he said.

“I’d do it again,” she whispered. “A thousand times over. For you.”

Draco rested his forehead against hers. “You didn’t throw anything away. You chose better.”

“Damn right I did,” she muttered, tugging him closer.

He laughed against her lips. “They hate us.”

“I hope they lose sleep over it.”

He laughed again, louder this time, and then flopped back against the cushions, pulling her with him. She curled into his side, tangled up in limbs and silk and smugness.

The fire crackled softly beside them.

“I want to marry you someday,” Lydia said suddenly, her voice quiet but clear.

Draco didn’t even hesitate. “You will.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “Really?”

“I gave you the bracelet, didn’t I?” he said. “That wasn’t for show, love. I don’t give things I don’t mean.”

She stared at him for a long moment, then whispered, “We’re going to terrify the world, aren’t we?”

Draco smirked. “Yes.”

She nestled her head against his chest, one arm slung across his stomach, utterly content.

And as the fire flickered low in the common room and the rest of the castle gossiped, judged, and speculated—

Draco Malfoy and Lydia Prewett didn't give a fuck. Because they had each other. And they were in love. Completely. Recklessly. Unapologetically.