Chamber of Slytherin

The next morning, Lydia woke slowly, stretching lazily beneath the emerald silk sheets of her four-poster bed. Her head ached gently from the lingering effects of the Firewhiskey, but the memories of the previous night brought a warm smile to her lips. She sat up, startled slightly when she noticed an array of carefully wrapped boxes arranged neatly at the foot of her bed. Silver paper, emerald ribbons, each tied meticulously—unmistakably Draco’s doing. Curious and delighted, she reached for the first box, pulling loose the ribbon with anticipation. Inside lay an exquisite dark velvet cloak.

A note fell from the cloak as she lifted it:

“To keep you warm when I’m not around. D. ”

Her cheeks flushed, and she eagerly reached for the next gift—a slender package that revealed itself as a delicate silver dagger, the hilt adorned with emeralds. 

“Protection for the girl who never needs it, but deserves it nonetheless. ”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. Only Draco could give a blade as casually as flowers.

The third box was heavier, lined with deep velvet. Inside lay a stunning necklace—a delicate chain of pure silver supporting a pendant, an emerald carved in the intricate form of a serpent, its eyes glittering with tiny diamonds.

“For no reason other than it suits you. ”

She sighed dreamily, her fingertips tracing the elegant curves of the pendant. A final, smaller box waited quietly. Inside, she found an ornate quill crafted from dark, polished mahogany with a silver nib engraved with her initials entwined elegantly with his.

“For all the letters you will write me when we’re apart. ”

Lydia’s heart softened, warmth blooming through her chest. He had thought of everything—practical, beautiful, protective, and deeply sentimental. Each gift felt like another promise, another quiet declaration of his love and commitment. By the time she descended into the Slytherin common room, she was draped proudly in her new cloak, the dagger tucked subtly at her hip. Draco sat near the fireplace, smirking gently as he took in the sight of her.

“You spoil me terribly, Draco Malfoy,” she said, approaching him and sinking onto the sofa beside him.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, his eyes glittering with satisfaction. “Good. I intend to make spoiling you my life's work.”

She laughed softly, giving him a kiss. “You’ll ruin me for anyone else, you know.”

Draco’s smirk deepened into something possessive, unapologetic. “No one else will ever have you. I’ll make sure of that.”

—

Draco and Lydia walked quietly together to the Great Hall for a light breakfast, as she wasn’t sure how much she could with the hangover she was nursing.

They sat comfortably at the Slytherin table, largely ignoring the curious glances and whispers from other houses. Theo sat on her other side, sunglasses on, looking utterly defeated. 

An owl swooped low, and Lydia instinctively leaned back as it dropped a vivid red envelope directly onto her plate. Her stomach instantly sank.

Draco paused mid-sip of his coffee, eyes narrowing at the letter.

“It’s a Howler,” Theo noted dryly.

“No shit,” Lydia sniped back.

Lydia’s cheeks flushed as dread pooled in her chest. Draco’s posture went rigid, his jaw clenching. He shot a scathing glance toward the Gryffindor table, where Ron was openly watching, a spiteful glint in his eyes.

“That arsehole,” Lydia shook her head in irritation.

“You might as well open it,” Draco said coolly, though she could see he was tense.

Lydia took a shaky breath, bracing herself, and reluctantly broke the seal.

The envelope rose into the air, trembling violently, then burst open, unleashing Molly Weasley’s voice—amplified so loudly the entire hall fell instantly silent.

“LYDIA PREWETT! I AM ABSOLUTELY BESIDE MYSELF! COURTING DRACO MALFOY? A MALFOY, LYDIA? AND TO FIND OUT FROM RONALD—OF ALL PEOPLE! DID YOU NOT THINK WE SHOULD HAVE BEEN TOLD BEFORE YOU PARADED AROUND PUBLICLY WITH THAT—WITH THAT BOY?”

Lydia flinched at the anger and hurt in Molly’s tone. Her face burned as every eye in the hall settled firmly upon her.

“HAVE YOU LOST ALL SENSE OF WHAT IS PROPER? YOUR FAMILY DESERVES BETTER! THIS IS NOT HOW WE RAISED YOU! IF THIS IS TRUE, I EXPECT AN IMMEDIATE LETTER OF EXPLANATION! AND YOU—MALFOY—” Molly’s voice trembled slightly, filled with maternal fury. “YOU STAY AWAY FROM MY NIECE!”

The envelope tore itself apart, fluttering to the table in smoking shreds. Silence filled the hall like thick fog.

Lydia sat frozen, her heart hammering painfully. She felt sick.

Draco was perfectly still beside her, his face pale but composed, though fury flashed in his grey eyes. Theo lowered his sunglasses and chuckled, while Pansy and Daphne exchanged startled looks. Even Blaise looked uncomfortable, which was saying something.

The silence broke first at the Gryffindor table, where Ron looked sharply satisfied, though Hermione seemed mortified, and Harry wouldn’t even look in their direction. Slowly, the murmuring resumed around the hall, a rising tide of whispers.

Draco reached out quietly, his fingers brushing Lydia’s hand beneath the table. “Are you alright?”

She swallowed hard, her cheeks still flaming, and managed a tight nod. “Yeah, whatever. I don’t care.”

He squeezed her hand gently, voice low but firm. “It’s okay sweetheart.”

Lydia kept her expression carefully blank, forcing herself to remain composed despite the hundreds of eyes trained directly on her. At her side, Draco sat perfectly still, his features cool and unaffected, his grey eyes narrowed only slightly as he stared pointedly ahead.

At the staff table, every professor watched closely. McGonagall’s thin lips were pressed into a severe line of displeasure, while Snape regarded them with an inscrutable expression—one that gave away neither sympathy nor surprise. Even Dumbledore was observing Lydia carefully, blue eyes sharp behind his half-moon spectacles, as though searching her face for any hint of emotion.

But Lydia gave them nothing. Her barriers were up, her mind tightly sealed behind practiced Occlumency. Beside her, she felt Draco’s presence—steady, calm, controlled.

“I’m done here,” Lydia murmured quietly, her voice calm enough to surprise even herself.

Draco glanced over at her, arching a pale eyebrow, then nodded. “Okay.”

She stood up smoothly from the bench, acting unbothered, refusing to acknowledge any of the whispers or stares. She extended her hand deliberately toward Draco, silently waiting.

Draco paused only for a fraction of a second before taking her hand firmly in his, rising beside her. Without hesitation or hurry, they turned toward the entrance doors of the Great Hall, ignoring the renewed rush of hushed voices from every table. As they passed, Lydia didn’t spare a single glance for Ron’s triumphant scowl or Hermione’s worried frown.

Only once they had cleared the hall, the heavy doors closing firmly behind them, did Lydia speak again.

“We’re going to the Chamber,” she said decisively, tightening her grip on Draco’s hand.

He looked over at her, grey eyes searching hers for a moment, then nodded silently, his fingers squeezing hers in quiet agreement. They moved swiftly down the corridor, robes sweeping silently behind them, their footsteps perfectly synchronized.

They didn't look back—not at the students whispering behind their backs, not at the professors whose judgment felt heavy on their shoulders. Lydia felt steadier now, her heart rate slowing to match Draco’s confident stride. He calmed her, soothed her, a midnight sonnet of strength and silence.

They stepped silently into the familiar elegance of the Chamber’s library. The heavy doors shut softly behind them, sealing out the rest of Hogwarts and leaving only the muted, comforting crackle of the enchanted fireplace. Lydia released Draco’s hand and walked straight to the ornate bar in the drawing room. Without hesitating, she selected a crystal decanter filled with dark amber liquid and poured herself a generous drink. Draco watched her, leaning against the mantle, arms crossed over his chest, observing quietly. He didn’t say a word when she took a deep sip, eyes fluttering shut briefly as the burn traveled down her throat. Only when she exhaled slowly did he finally speak.

“It’s barely nine in the morning, you know.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of her glass. “Yes, and?”

A slight smirk curled his lips. “Nothing. Just an observation.”

“Do you want one?” she asked dryly, already reaching for a second glass.

He shrugged lightly. “Might as well.”

She poured him a matching measure and crossed the room, handing it to him. Draco took it smoothly, studying her carefully as he lifted the glass to his lips. He drank slowly, thoughtfully, his gaze never leaving hers.

“Are you alright?” he finally asked, quietly.

Lydia sat down gracefully on the velvet sofa, letting out a slow breath. “I’m fine. I just didn’t expect Aunt Molly to react that badly.”

Draco gave a humorless chuckle. “Didn’t you? She’s Molly Weasley.”

Lydia scowled slightly, then softened. “I suppose. But I thought… I don’t know. Maybe I hoped she’d be a bit more reasonable.”

Draco sat beside her, stretching an arm across the back of the couch. “No one’s going to be reasonable about us, Lydia. Least of all her.”

She swirled the drink in her glass, eyes fixed on the flickering fire. “I don’t regret choosing you, Draco. Not for a moment. It’s just—”

“Difficult,” he finished quietly.

She nodded slowly. “More than I thought it would be.”

Draco reached out, brushing his fingers gently across her cheek, turning her face towards him. His expression was calm, steady—completely certain.

“We’re stronger than their judgments,” he murmured. “Stronger than Molly Weasley’s disapproval or Weasel's childish anger. Stronger than anyone. None of them understand us, and they don’t need to. All we need is each other.” He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles.

Lydia’s lips curled softly at his words, her gaze steadying beneath his quiet confidence. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes darling, you tell me everyday.”

She sighed softly, setting her glass aside and shifting closer to him, resting her head against his shoulder. His arm curled around her waist immediately, pulling her close. For a long moment, neither spoke, the comforting silence filling the space between them. He kissed the top of her head gently. She let herself lean deeper into Draco’s side, closing her eyes and savoring the warmth of his embrace. Draco’s fingers gently traced the curve of her waist, soft and steady, making her breath hitch slightly. Slowly, she tilted her head up toward him, eyes half-lidded. He looked down, his gaze growing darker, more intense. Without a word, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a slow, deliberate kiss.

It wasn’t like the kisses before—this one was deeper, heavier. Draco’s hand slipped to her hip, his fingertips caressing her. Lydia let out a quiet sigh against his mouth, her own fingers tangling gently in his pale hair.

As the kiss deepened, the hesitation and stress of the morning melted away. Nothing existed outside of them. Draco’s lips traveled slowly along her jaw, feather-light kisses tracing down her neck, making her shiver softly in response. Her pulse quickened under his touch, a warmth blooming low in her stomach.

Lydia’s breathing grew uneven as Draco’s hand moved carefully from her waist to her thigh, fingers gently gripping her through the fabric of her clothes, testing boundaries they hadn’t crossed yet. She gasped softly, tightening her hold on his hair.

“Draco—” she murmured breathlessly, unsure whether she was asking him to slow down or continue.

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his own gaze smoldering with restrained desire. “We can stop.”

“No,” she whispered quickly, cheeks flushed, heart racing. “Don’t stop.”

His lips curved into a slow, pleased smirk, and he gently laid her back on the plush velvet of the sofa, carefully shifting his weight above her. Lydia’s breath caught at the feeling of him pressed fully against her, his body warm and solid, anchoring her completely. She felt the careful brush of his fingertips grazing up her sides, slipping underneath her shirt.

“Is this alright?” he murmured against her mouth, his voice quiet but husky with emotion.

She nodded quickly, pulling him closer in silent confirmation. “Yes. Please.”

Draco kissed her again, more deeply this time, the rhythm becoming slower, hungrier. Her fingers moved carefully over his chest, feeling the strong muscles beneath the smooth fabric of his shirt. With a surge of confidence, she let her hands slide upwards, removing his tie and gently undoing the buttons of his shirt one by one.

He pulled back just enough to watch her, grey eyes darkening with desire as she carefully parted the fabric, exposing his lean, toned chest. Lydia’s pulse raced as her fingertips brushed lightly over his bare skin, tracing the subtle lines of his muscles, fascinated by the way he shivered slightly beneath her touch.

Draco’s breathing grew uneven, his eyes flickering up to meet hers, the intensity making Lydia’s chest tighten. Wordlessly, he reached for the edge of her shirt, pausing briefly for her consent. She lifted herself slightly, letting him pull it carefully over her head and toss it aside.

He stared down at her, eyes drinking in every detail—the delicate curve of her collarbone, the pale skin of her shoulders, her laced black bra, the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Lydia’s cheeks flushed beneath his appreciative gaze.

“You’re beautiful,” Draco murmured softly, his voice rough.

Her lips curled into a shy, pleased smile. “So are you.”

He smirked faintly, leaning back down to press a line of soft kisses along her jaw and down her throat, lingering at the sensitive spot just above her collarbone. Lydia gasped softly, her hands threading gently through his pale hair as his kisses trailed lower, across her chest, warm lips brushing gently against her bare skin. He freed her breast from the confines of her bra and cradled her hardened nipple with his mouth. She moaned, feeling a tingling sensation in her clit. Her breathing became shallow and uneven, heartbeat roaring in her ears. His hands gently explored her exposed waist, fingers trailing carefully along her ribs, testing each new boundary. Lydia’s nails grazed down his back, pulling him closer, craving more of him—his warmth, his closeness, his touch.

“Draco…” she whispered, breathless and uncertain, yet wholly trusting him with her vulnerability.

He lifted his head to meet her gaze, eyes searching hers carefully, filled with tenderness as much as desire. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling against hers. 

“We won’t go further—not today,” he whispered gently, brushing her hair away from her face. “But Merlin knows I want to.”

Lydia nodded, breathing deeply to calm her racing pulse. She smiled softly, touching his cheek. “I know. Me too.”

Draco settled beside her, pulling her close against him, their bare skin pressed warmly together. Lydia rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

After laying together for the better part of an hour, Lydia eventually sat up, reluctantly pulling herself from Draco’s embrace. She smiled gently, reaching for her discarded clothing.

“As much as I’d love to stay here all day, we should probably do something productive,” she murmured.

Draco gave a lazy, satisfied sigh, stretching out across the velvet sofa. He watched her button her shirt back up with a playful smirk. “Define productive.”

Lydia rolled her eyes, laughing softly. “Practice something. Spells. Occlumency. Apparition, maybe?”

Draco groaned faintly but sat up, stretching. “If I splinch myself, I’m blaming you.”

“You’ve been getting close for weeks,” Lydia reminded him, standing and smoothing her robes. “You just haven’t done it yet because you overthink every step.”

“I do not —”

She gave him a sharp look.

“Fine,” he muttered. “Maybe a little.”

They walked into the wide, stone-floored training hall deep in the Chamber. There were apparition practice rings set up for them to practice.

Draco stepped into the ring and rolled his shoulders, jaw tight. Lydia watched him with her arms crossed, leaning against the cold stone wall, silent but present.

He took a breath. Then another.

“You’re not going to break in half,” she said calmly. “You just need to trust your magic.”

He glanced at her. “That’s easy for you to say. You’ve been Apparating since last year.”

Lydia tilted her head. “Because I practiced. Relentlessly.”

“I am practicing.”

“You’re hesitating.”

Draco huffed, refocused, and closed his eyes. He pictured the mark across the chamber—the far circle, no more than fifteen feet away. His grip tightened around his wand.

Destination. Determination. Deliberation.

He twisted sharply on his heel.

CRACK.

A rush of air followed, and then silence.

Lydia blinked.

Draco stood across the room, perfectly intact, looking stunned for a split second—before a wide, rare grin broke across his face.

He looked down at himself, patting his chest dramatically. “No blood. No missing limbs. All my hair still present—”

“You did it,” Lydia said, pushing off the wall, her voice full of pride.

Draco’s grin stayed as she crossed the room toward him. “I did it.”

“You finally did it.”

“I told you I could.” He reached for her hand as she approached. “You doubted me?”

“I live with your dramatics,” she teased. “But no. I knew you could.”

He pulled her closer by the wrist, smirking. “Say it again.”

“You did it, Draco,” she said, a little breathless now that they were toe to toe, the hum of victory buzzing around them. “You apparated.”

He leaned in, voice low. “You’re proud of me.”

She smiled. “Of course I am.”

Draco kissed her before she could say anything else—quick at first, then slower, warmer. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, grounding them both in the thrill of it all.

He pulled back, just enough to whisper against her lips, “Next time, I’ll take us both.”

After Draco’s successful Apparition, the air in the Chamber practically buzzed with energy. Lydia had barely stopped smiling, and Draco—still flush with pride—looked like he could duel the entire staff at Hogwarts and win.

She leaned against one of the carved serpent pillars in the center of the training room, watching him stretch out his wand hand.

“You want to duel?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

Draco glanced back at her, lips quirking. “Obviously.”

Lydia pulled her wand from her sleeve and pushed off the pillar. “Alright. Let’s enchant the room first.”

Together, they turned toward the stone rune plates embedded in the walls. Lydia tapped the first one with her wand. “ protego permanente .”

Draco followed at the second, tracing his wand in a precise arc. “ praesidium ab noxa .”

The spells flared gold for a brief moment, washing over the dueling ring with a shimmer of soft protective magic. Any offensive spells that could cause serious harm that landed would lose their edge—no blood, no bruises, just a slight push of the spell.

“Wards are up,” Lydia confirmed, stepping into the center of the ring.

Draco joined her, wand in hand, expression shifting into something sharper. Confident. Focused.

“You sure you want to do this, Prewett?” he asked, smirking.

“I always want to do this,” she shot back, spinning her wand in her fingers.

They circled each other slowly, the flickering greenish glow from the serpent sconces casting dramatic shadows across the stone floor. Their eyes never left one another.

Draco made the first move.

“Expelliarmus !”

Lydia dodged easily, the red light shooting past her shoulder and fizzing harmlessly against the barrier.

“Slow,” she taunted, flicking her wand. “ Confringo .”

Draco twisted out of the way just in time, the blast hitting the wall behind him with a harmless pulse of light.

“Fancy spells already?” he grinned. “We’re doing that?”

“I always do that.”

He lunged forward with a sharp slash of his wand. “ Petrificus Totalus !”

Lydia countered with a flick. “ Protego !”

The spell rebounded off her shield and dissipated against the warded floor. She struck back instantly with “ Depulso !” and Draco staggered, laughing as he slid back a few feet—not hurt, but clearly impressed.

“You’ve been practicing.”

“I live in the Chamber,” she said, smirking.

They moved faster now. Spell after spell danced between them—some loud, some silent. Sparks flashed, wards flared, and their magic shimmered around them in twin currents, meeting mid-air in a clashing rhythm.

Draco circled wide, trying to throw her off with footwork. “You’re holding back.”

“Am I?” Lydia flicked her wand sharply. “ Levicorpus .”

Draco yelped as he was yanked off the ground by one ankle, flipping upside down mid-spin.

Lydia tilted her head, grinning as she stalked toward him, wand still aimed.

“That’s a bit cruel, love,” he said, his shirt sliding down slightly from the shift in gravity.

“You’re cute when you’re floating,” she replied sweetly.

She flicked her wand again and released him. He dropped gracefully—well, almost—landing in a crouch, robes billowing around him like a dramatic villain in a dueling story.

Draco rose, eyes gleaming. “Your turn.”

Before she could blink, he cast “ Incarcerous ,” and ropes shot out of thin air, winding fast toward her.

Lydia raised her wand mid-turn. “ Evanesco .” The ropes vanished into mist.

Draco looked pleased.

—

In the week following the Howler incident, life at Hogwarts settled into something resembling normalcy—though "normal" was still laced with lingering glances, whispers, and sidelong looks. Lydia didn’t care. She and Draco moved openly together through the castle halls, no longer bothering to pretend indifference, their relationship strengthened by defiance. They were striking together, impossible not to notice. Lydia’s beauty was dark and sharp, with long raven-black hair that spilled down her back like ink and eyes so deep a brown they were nearly black—unreadable, magnetic. Her skin was pale, but not the same kind of pale as Draco’s—it had warmth to it, a richness, as if her blood ran hotter beneath the surface. There was something dangerous in the way she held herself, like she could turn on a heel and destroy someone with a word. Draco, by contrast, was ice. All sharp lines and elegance, with silver-blond hair that caught the light like frost and grey eyes that could go from glinting steel to frozen mist in an instant. His features were aristocratic, perfectly symmetrical, but there was always a flicker of something colder behind his expression—something calculating. When he stood beside Lydia, they looked like opposite forces made flesh: fire and ice, shadow and light.

Classes resumed, and Lydia fell easily back into the academic routine, grateful for the distraction it provided.

Monday morning began early with double Potions. Snape continued to blatantly favor her and Draco, casting withering glances at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. She kept her head down, worked methodically beside Draco, and ignored Ron’s sullen glare and Harry’s stubborn refusal to even acknowledge her presence.

After Potions was Transfiguration with McGonagall. Draco was exceptionally careful there—calm, courteous, and polite—earning himself a small nod of approval from McGonagall. Lydia felt some tension lift; McGonagall had always been fair with her, though lately she’d noticed a new sternness behind her eyes.

Lunch in the Great Hall was spent at the Slytherin table with Draco, Blaise, Pansy, Theo, and Daphne—chatting about assignments, the triwizard tournament, or Theo’s latest disastrous antics. Lydia began to relax in their familiar rhythm, the protective wall of her housemates keeping the gossip comfortably at bay.

Afternoon was Charms, which passed quickly and uneventfully. Flitwick remained cheerfully oblivious to any tensions among students, cheerfully praising Lydia’s flawless wandwork.

Evenings were for the Chamber. Lydia spent hours with Draco, practicing dueling, nonverbal magic, Occlumency, and Apparition, or simply curled up together, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. It became their sanctuary—the only place they felt truly free.

—

The classroom was tense and utterly silent as Professor Moody paced slowly before them, his wooden leg clunking heavily against the stone floor. Lydia sat beside Draco, who looked equally wary, his posture stiff. At their side, Pansy shifted uneasily, and even Blaise’s normally relaxed demeanor had turned watchful. Moody’s magical eye spun unsettlingly in its socket as he surveyed the class, his voice low and gravelly.

"You’ve learned defensive spells and counter-curses, but none of that'll do much good unless you understand what you're up against. You must know what you face if you’re ever going to fight it. The class looked around warily, as if a boggart was going to pop out and attack them.

“Today," Moody growled, eye twitching, "I’m going to show you exactly what the Dark Arts look like. The Unforgivable Curses."

A collective hush fell over the room. Lydia felt a sharp jolt of curiosity course through her chest, and she leaned forward slightly without realizing it. Moody moved toward a row of covered glass jars at the front. He yanked the cloth from the first jar, revealing a large, skittering spider.

He flicked his wand and the spider flew onto his desk. "Pay attention. Because I’m not here to repeat myself." His voice became a harsh growl as he raised his wand. "Imperio."

The spider instantly became calm, compliant. Moody directed it around his desk, causing the class to whisper nervously. Lydia tilted her head slightly, intrigued by how thoroughly the curse subdued the spider’s natural instincts.

“Complete and total control,” Moody said darkly. “It can make you betray everything you believe in, everything you stand for. It can make you harm your friends, your family—or yourself.”

He ended the spell and uncovered another jar. The second spider scurried frantically across the desk. Moody’s expression hardened even further, and he aimed his wand once more. "Crucio."

The spider’s tiny body instantly contorted, twitching violently. Lydia watched, fascinated despite herself, at the brutal precision of the curse. Her heart quickened at the raw, sheer power of it. Beside her, Draco’s breathing had slowed, eyes fixed intensely on the demonstration.

Moody finally lowered his wand. The spider lay curled and twitching weakly on the table.

"The Cruciatus Curse,” he growled quietly. "Pure torture. Unrelenting pain. The victim will beg for mercy they know won’t come. You don’t get used to it. You don’t learn to bear it."

He turned abruptly, pulling the third cloth off, revealing yet another spider. The room held its breath.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of vivid green light erupted from Moody’s wand, swift and merciless. The spider dropped instantly, lifeless.

Moody looked slowly across the class, voice dangerously low. "The Killing Curse. No countercurse. No blocking it. A flash of green, and you’re dead. End of story."

Lydia’s heart pounded fiercely. Her fingers tightened on her wand. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Moody, her curiosity intense. These curses were forbidden, dark—and yet, she felt drawn to their power. It intrigued her deeply, to see firsthand the purest form of dark magic she’d ever encountered.

“Using any one of these on another human being will land you a life sentence in Azkaban,” Moody snarled. “But make no mistake: there are wizards out there who wouldn’t hesitate for even one heartbeat.”

His magical eye swiveled suddenly toward Lydia, fixing sharply on her face, as though he sensed the intense curiosity within her. He studied her, and for just a split second Lydia felt her Occlumency shields harden defensively.

But Moody said nothing, simply turning away and continuing his lesson.

Draco leaned toward her slightly, voice quiet in her ear. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

Lydia exhaled softly, meeting his eyes. “Fascinating.”

And as Moody continued pacing at the front, outlining the consequences and grim details of the curses, Lydia let her curiosity grow. These curses, dark and dangerous as they were, held an undeniable allure—and she knew without question that she wanted to understand them completely.

Beside her, Draco looked equally thoughtful, grey eyes intent. Lydia knew without speaking that they’d revisit this lesson again—privately, together, in the hidden rooms of the Chamber of Slytherin.

Moody paced back and forth before the class, his wooden leg echoing ominously against the stone floor. The students watched silently, tense, wary, unsure of what to expect next.

"You've seen the Imperius Curse," Moody growled roughly. "But seeing it isn't feeling it. You need to learn to fight. I'll cast it upon each of you, one by one. Let's see who's strong enough to resist."

Uneasy murmurs swept the room. Lydia felt her pulse quicken, curiosity edging out any fear.

Dean Thomas hopped three times around the room, singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown imitated a squirrel. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it.

"Potter," Moody snapped sharply. 

Harry stepped forward reluctantly, shoulders rigid. Moody raised his wand. " Imperio ."

Harry's eyes glazed over slightly as Moody's voice echoed commandingly through the room.

For a few seconds Harry swayed, clearly fighting the internal compulsion, face twisted in confusion. He had both jumped and tried to stop himself from jumping at the same time. He smashed into the desk, knocking it over.

"Not easy, is it, Potter?" Moody growled, his magical eye swiveling intensely. "But you fought. Good."

Harry nodded shakily and returned to his seat, avoiding everyone's eyes, breathing heavily.

"Malfoy," Moody called next, his voice harsh.

Draco stood, stepping forward, jaw set, prepared. Moody wasted no time, aiming his wand directly at Draco.

"Imperio ."

Draco's expression instantly softened into a vacant stare. His shoulders tensed visibly as he fought internally. His body swayed as he struggled against the pull, fighting to maintain control. After a few agonizing moments, Draco's foot lifted, his face twisting with effort as he finally threw off the curse. He staggered slightly, face pale, breathing uneven.

Moody nodded, faintly impressed. “Stronger than your father, so they say.”

Draco scowled and returned silently to his seat beside Lydia, expression tight with lingering frustration. His father had pleaded to only doing the bidding of You-Know-Who under the compulsion of the Imperius curse. They both knew that was a lie. Apparently Moody did as well.

The next few students fared worse, obeying Moody's commands almost immediately, completely at the mercy of the curse. Ron hopped around the room obediently, Hermione managed some initial resistance before reluctantly obeying the instruction to bow low to the class.

Finally, Moody’s gaze settled sharply on Lydia. "Prewett."

Lydia rose calmly from her seat, taking her place in front of Moody with quiet confidence. She held his gaze unflinchingly.

"Imperio ."

She felt the curse settle over her mind, wonderful and happy.

"Raise your hand," Moody's voice whispered smoothly, coaxingly.

She almost obliged, but recognized the soft pressure—so similar to what she and Draco practiced nightly in Occlumency. She remained utterly still, mind calmly sealed behind impenetrable mental barriers, letting the curse glide harmlessly across her thoughts.

Moody’s brow furrowed deeply, clearly surprised. He intensified the curse, repeating sharply, "Raise your hand!"

She remained perfectly still, eyes steady and indifferent.

A shocked silence filled the classroom. Moody slowly lowered his wand, eyeing Lydia with undisguised respect.

"Excellent, Prewett," Moody growled approvingly. "Textbook resistance. Take note, the rest of you—that’s how it’s done."

Lydia returned to her seat smirking with pride, not bothering to acknowledge the stunned looks around her. Draco regarded her with a mixture of pride and awe.

As Moody turned away, Draco leaned closer, whispering softly into her ear, "Show-off."

She whispered back, "Maybe you just need more practice."

Draco’s lips curled into a small smile, his eyes glinting playfully. "Good thing I’ve got you, then."

And as Moody continued testing students around them, Lydia allowed herself a small, secret smile, satisfied that her training in the Chamber was paying off more than ever before.

Lydia and Draco returned to the chamber that night and sat close, side by side at the ancient table in the library, surrounded by stacks of old tomes and parchment scrolls. Their eyes skimmed carefully through pages filled with faded script and rune diagrams.

Lydia traced her fingers slowly down one aged parchment, her heart quickening slightly at the text she discovered. “Wait—I think I found something.”

Draco leaned closer, intrigued. “What is it?”

“It’s a ritual. A protective enchantment,” Lydia said softly, eyes darting rapidly across the page. “It creates a permanent shield against mental compulsion—specifically, the Imperius Curse. It makes you immune.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, leaning in to see for himself. He studied the parchment thoughtfully, interest sharpening his gaze.

“It says here the mind will become impenetrable. Any attempt at control will slide off without effect.”

Draco’s fingers tapped thoughtfully on the table. “Does it require anything dangerous?”

She hesitated, scanning further down. “Nothing particularly risky, but there’s a small blood sacrifice involved—a few drops. Just enough to bind your magic to the enchantment. The rest looks fairly straightforward.”

Draco’s grey eyes gleamed with sudden determination. “We should do this. Both of us.”

Lydia glanced at him, lips curving faintly in agreement. “It’s like you can read my mind.”

He gave a half-smirk, gaze unwavering. “Can you imagine the advantage? Imperius would never be a threat again. Moody wouldn’t even be able to touch us.”

“Or anyone else,” Lydia murmured thoughtfully. “This could give us the upper hand—permanently.” She exhaled softly, excitement and determination thrumming in her chest. “Tomorrow night?”

He smiled, his hand holding hers. “Perfect.”

And as they returned to their reading, carefully memorizing the steps, Lydia felt a quiet sense of satisfaction. This was exactly what they needed—something that would put them firmly beyond reach, beyond control. Although there was no immediate threat, one never knew what could happen, especially with what happened at the world cup.

The next evening, they descended quietly into the depths of the Chamber, moving purposefully until they reached the circular altar room.

Lydia stepped forward first, glancing calmly toward Draco. “I’ll go first.”

Draco nodded once, trusting her implicitly. He moved quietly to stand near the wall, giving her space, but remaining close enough to offer reassurance.

With slow, deliberate movements, She drew her wand and carefully traced the protective runes onto the stone around her in a perfect circle, murmuring each incantation clearly. Her voice resonated gently off the chamber walls, the magic recognizing her intention and answering immediately.

The room seemed to pulse softly with power, responding eagerly to her commands. She knelt gracefully at the center of the circle, took a steady breath, and pricked her fingertip lightly with a sharp silver dagger. A few drops of her blood fell silently onto the carved stone runes beneath her.

“Iunctum Mentis Protego ,” Lydia whispered firmly.

A wave of warmth rushed over her instantly. Her heart raced briefly, her breath quickening as the magic settled deeply into her core. She felt it bind itself seamlessly to her essence, creating an unbreakable barrier in her mind. It was exhilarating, protective, and powerful.

Draco watched her closely from across the chamber, eyes full of anticipation. “Did it work?”

“Yes,” she said softly, voice steady and confident. “I can feel it.”

Draco stepped forward immediately, determination etched across his features. “My turn.”

Lydia moved aside, watching with quiet pride as Draco carefully replicated the ritual—tracing each rune meticulously, speaking the incantations.

Lydia stepped forward, softly touching his hand. “How do you feel?”

“Stronger,” he murmured quietly, fingers interlacing gently with hers. “Free.”

Lydia smiled warmly, squeezing his hand firmly.

Together they stood silently in the quiet glow of the Chamber, feeling invincible, protected—and, more than anything else, ready for whatever lay ahead.

The following week found the fourth-year students back in Moody’s classroom, sitting quietly, tense, yet far more prepared than before. Moody paced in front of them, his wooden leg clunking steadily against the floor. His magical eye spun erratically as he fixed the students with a stern look.

“Last week, you all learned just how difficult it is to throw off the Imperius Curse,” Moody growled roughly. “This week, you’ll try again. Let’s see who practiced.”

Lydia glanced calmly at Draco, who met her eyes with a knowing smirk. They sat confidently side-by-side, completely prepared.

“Potter,” Moody barked. “Up first.”

Harry stepped forward hesitantly, clearly nervous, though more determined than last time. Moody aimed his wand and cast without hesitation.

“Imperio .”

Harry’s eyes immediately glazed over. Harry took a small step forward, then stumbled slightly. He shook his head forcefully, breaking free with visible effort, breathing heavily as he stepped back, slightly rattled.

Moody nodded briefly. “Better, Potter. Almost there.”

One by one, the class was subjected to the curse again.

Moody finally turned sharply toward Draco. “Malfoy.”

Draco rose calmly, shoulders squared, face composed. Moody’s magical eye narrowed thoughtfully as he raised his wand.

“Imperio .”

Draco’s face remained utterly blank, unaffected, his grey eyes calm and steady. 

Draco simply stood there, unmoving, expression utterly indifferent. Lydia could see Moody frown deeply in surprise, intensifying the curse again. Still, Draco gave no indication he even felt it, standing perfectly composed and unaffected.

After a tense moment, Moody lowered his wand. “Impressive, Malfoy,” he muttered grudgingly, clearly astonished despite himself. “Very impressive.”

Draco gave a polite nod, turning smoothly to return to his seat. As he sat down beside Lydia, he glanced at her, his eyes bright with quiet triumph.

“Prewett,” Moody snapped, voice tense, curiosity clear on his scarred face.

Lydia rose, stepping forward, meeting Moody’s stare without flinching.

“Imperio .”

The familiar, gentle warmth of the curse brushed harmlessly against her mental defenses, sliding away instantly. Moody’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp and insistent: “Raise your wand.”

Lydia didn’t so much as blink. The spell washed right out of her, unable to reach her mind. Moody’s frown deepened even further, and he intensified the spell once more.

“Raise your wand!”

After several long seconds, Moody finally relented, lowering his wand with undisguised admiration. “Remarkable, Prewett,” he growled quietly. “Outstanding control. That’s exactly how it should be done.”

Lydia inclined her head respectfully and returned to her seat. Draco turned toward her, lips curled into a faint smirk of pride.

“Told you it would be worth it,” Draco murmured softly.

—

Lydia sat curled against Draco on the sofa in the drawing room, nestled comfortably into his side as they shared the quiet solitude of their hidden sanctuary. He absently stroked her dark hair, fingers gently tracing along her shoulder and down her arm. The touch was soothing, warm, affectionate. They’d long since abandoned books and practice—tonight, they simply wanted each other’s company.

“It’s strange,” Lydia murmured softly, breaking the comfortable silence. “This room feels more like home than anywhere else.”

Draco’s lips curved into a gentle smile, voice quiet but certain. “That’s because we made it ours.”

She tilted her face upwards, meeting his calm grey gaze. “Is that why it feels so safe?”

He brushed his thumb lightly against her cheek, expression softening. “Yes.”

Lydia sighed contentedly, tracing her fingertips lightly over his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm. She found comfort in that simple reassurance—Draco was here, solid, real, and completely hers.

His hand gently tilted her chin upwards, guiding her lips toward his. They kissed slowly, deeply, savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment. His touch was tender, deliberate, each kiss a silent promise. Lydia melted further against him, her fingers threading carefully through his platinum hair.

He pulled back slightly, voice warm and low. “I’ve never felt like this before you.”

“Like what?” she whispered, heart quickening.

“Safe,” he admitted softly. “Happy. Complete.”

Lydia smiled, touched by the sincerity in his voice. “Neither have I. Not until now.”

Draco’s eyes traced her features, quietly reverent. “I love you, Lydia.”

“I love you, too,” she said gently. “More than anything.”

They kissed again, sharing secrets without words, surrounded by the warmth of flickering firelight. As they eventually settled back against the cushions, tangled together in a comfortable embrace, Lydia knew she’d found something utterly rare—a love worth every whisper, every scandal, every risk.