Chapter 15
I’d survived a war. I had built the foundations of magical law from the ground up. I had discovered spells long forgotten by even the most ancient wizards.
But none of my extensive research had prepared me for this.
I slammed my quill down, rubbing my temples and scowling at the open book in front of me. The sheer volume of utter nonsense written about making men like you was astounding.
Ten Ways to Capture His Heart!
The Art of Flirting: Make Him Want More!
Be His Desire: Potions, Perfumes, and Power
I scowled at the flowery language and rolled my eyes. It was infuriating—as if men were some enigmatic puzzle that could only be solved with the right tilt of the head and flutter of the eyelashes. Draco Malfoy wasn’t the type to fall for batting eyelashes.
Even so, I felt compelled to try something. If I didn’t, Solara would fade. And the thought of losing her gnawed at me, making my stomach turn. There was no room for error; the magical ritual that connected Solara’s essence to our world relied on a powerful emotional catalyst that could only come from an unlikely union. And it appeared that fate had chosen Draco Malfoy as the catalyst.
Okay, fine.
If making Draco Malfoy like me was the key to resolving this ridiculous situation, I would figure out how.
I would begin with the most logical approach: food.
It had taken several hours. I had meticulously researched wizarding cuisine, concluding that both elegance and substance were required to compete with Malfoy’s standards and impress someone whose pride was as formidable as his reputation. I had scoured ancient cookbooks, studied enchanted recipes, and even consulted a couple of reformed house-elves—each step a small rebellion against the rigid rules that had once governed magic itself.
What was the result? An ideal three-course meal.
Roasted duck with a Merlot reduction, served with enchanted rosemary potatoes that stayed warm throughout the meal. For dessert, make a decadent chocolate mousse with a hint of firewhisky for added complexity. Every dish sparkled with subtle enchantments, each plate a silent testament to a future based on transformation rather than tradition.
I set everything up in the grand dining hall, candles flickering, silverware polished to a mirror shine, and plates immaculately arranged—a scene out of a fanciful restaurant rather than the austere halls of Malfoy Manor. I took one last step back to admire my work, my heart pounding in my ears as I remembered the stakes: this wasn’t just about culinary prowess, but also about binding magic to emotion and saving Solara—the luminous spirit who had been my guiding light through the darkest days of conflict.
The door creaked open, and Draco walked in, his pale eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. He paused, his eyes sweeping over the spread with a mixture of suspicion and hesitant curiosity.
“Are we expecting company?” He drawled, tugging on the sleeve of his robes as if the act itself were a challenge.
I inhaled deeply. Remain calm. “No. “I made dinner.
His eyes shifted from the array of enchanted dishes to me, and the corners of his mouth twitched into a sardonic smile. “You made this?” he inquired, as if the concept was beyond his comprehension.
“Yes, Malfoy,” I responded, crossing my arms. “I do know how to cook.”
He smirked. “Did you threaten the house-elves into helping you?”
My jaw clenched. “No. I did it myself.” The words came out sharper than I intended, but I couldn’t let him think I was incapable. Not when each moment of inaction threatened Solara’s disappearance.
Draco pulled out a chair, clearly skeptical, and sat. I placed the first course in front of him: a beautifully plated dish of roasted duck with a delicate drizzle of Merlot reduction. I watched him take a slow, measured bite. For a long, agonizing moment, silence reigned. Every tick of the enchanted clock seemed to match the rhythm of my heart.
Then— “This is… edible,” he said, as if bestowing upon me a rare honor, with an amused tone.
I almost threw my fork at him. “Edible?” I retaliated, a spark of rage igniting in my chest. “I expected something beyond mere sustenance.”
“What exactly are you up to?” he inquired with a teasing tone.
The question was simple and direct, with no implication that I was attempting to win his favor. Instead, it hinted at a challenge: to figure out my intentions without the usual flowery distractions.
I met his gaze evenly. “I’m trying to make things a little easier for us both,” I said coolly, careful not to let any warmth of sentiment betray my true intention. It was a pragmatic statement, acknowledging that our current situation required cooperation rather than courtship.
Draco’s eyes narrowed slightly, and a half-smile spread across his lips, as if he found my candor both refreshing and infuriating. “Are you saying it’s easier? And what could that entail? You’ve transformed the dining hall into some kind of—what—diplomatic truce dinner? His tone was light, but beneath it was a clear challenge.
I raised an eyebrow. “Diplomacy, Mr. Malfoy, is frequently misunderstood for grand gestures and empty words. Tonight is just an attempt to cut through the usual complications. There are no elaborate flirtations or pretenses of affection. Just a meal to remind us that even the most entrenched conflicts can be softened with a little common sense—and a well-prepared dish.”
He looked at the meticulously arranged plates. “Common sense, you say?” I’ve always thought common sense was overrated in our circles.” His voice was amused, and I could see a glimmer of admiration—or was it a challenge?—in his eyes.
“Perhaps,” I admitted, “but sometimes the simplest solutions are the most effective.” You and I both understand that holding onto old grudges and rigid traditions only makes the future more complicated. If we are to preserve what remains of magic’s promise, we must be willing to let go of the past and embrace practical change.
Draco paused, his expression changing from playful incredulity to contemplative. “And what exactly is your plan?” he inquired, his tone remaining light but tinged with genuine interest. “I don’t suppose you expect me to perform miracles with a side of duck and potatoes?”
I let out a short laugh, which echoed off the high arched ceiling. “No miracles, Draco. A little re-calibration, if you will. I’m attempting a novel type of synergy—a balance that can only be achieved when two opposing forces are allowed to interact without the usual constraints. Consider this an experiment in efficiency.”
He arched his brow, his eyes brimming with skepticism and curiosity. “Effectiveness in daily activities? That sounds suspiciously like an admission of desperation. His tone was playful and challenging, causing my heart to race even as I maintained my composed demeanor.
“Desperation?” I repeated, feigning surprise. “I like to call it pragmatism. We need to eliminate the unnecessary and concentrate on what truly matters.” I pointed to the elegant spread before us. “Take this meal as an example: every ingredient, every spice, every enchantment was chosen for its ability to blend seamlessly without overwhelming the senses.”
Draco’s expression softened for a moment, his usual sardonic mask giving way to something resembling respect. “You always had a knack for getting to the point. And yet, here you are, planning an elaborate dinner as if you expect me to give up my natural… obstinacy for the sake of your grand design.”
I smiled, but only slightly. “Obstinacy can be beneficial when used correctly, Malfoy. But consider this: the less we allow ourselves to be weighed down by outdated notions of pride and decorum, the more we may be able to accomplish.”
He leaned back in his chair, and the tension between us dissipated into playful banter that filled the space. “Do you believe that agreeing to the dinner experiment will make our lives easier?” And what exactly do I receive in return?”
I lightly tapped my fingers on the table, taking a measured pause that appeared to extend into the space between us. “In exchange, you may discover that practicality can be far more appealing than the pomp and circumstance of high society. We both have burdens to bear, Draco, and if we can lighten even a fraction of that load, we may be able to redirect our efforts toward rebuilding something better.”
His eyes twinkled mischievously as he took another bite of the roasted duck, the flavors mingling with the subtle enchantments I had incorporated into the dish. “I must admit, I never expected to be involved in a debate about dinner courses. Yet here we are.”
I gave myself a small, satisfied smile. “Life is full of surprises, don’t you agree? And sometimes the best surprises come disguised as challenges.”
He took a long look at me before letting out a low, amused sigh. “You always had a knack for understatement. Okay, then. I will participate in your efficiency experiment. However, do not mistake my participation for a personal endorsement of your methods.
I smiled, feeling the tension ease into a comfortable banter that was both challenging and reassuring. “Draco, I wouldn’t dream of it. Your involvement is purely utilitarian. Let us see if practicality can be more persuasive than sentiment.
For the rest of the meal, our conversation alternated between practical matters and the weight of our shared history. We debated the benefits of tradition versus innovation, the need for structure in a chaotic world, and the possibility of change even in the most unlikely partnerships. Draco’s incisive remarks and playful jabs kept me on my toes, and I responded with equal parts logic and quiet determination.
Draco’s hand brushed against mine briefly, speaking volumes without saying anything. He drew back slightly, his eyes sparkling with a combination of amusement and something else—softer. “You do have a way of making things… uncomplicated,” he said dryly, his tone teasing but genuine. “Perhaps even admirable.”
I tilted my head, my expression unreadable. “Admirable or merely effective? I do not care about accolades. I only want to remove the unnecessary obstacles that stand in our way.”
Draco let out a low laugh, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “Always very practical. It’s infuriating—but I can’t help but admire the efficiency of it all.” His smile widened, a rare, genuine curve that softened the harsh lines on his face.
The moment hung between us: a brief pause in our verbal sparring, a shared recognition of the absurdity and brilliance of our situation.
As we exited the dining hall and the candlelight dimmed, the lingering warmth clung to us. We walked back through the manor’s quiet corridors, each step a testament to our newfound, albeit reluctant, cooperation. Draco’s earlier teasing and the ensuing debate had not only lightened the mood, but had also formed a bond based on mutual respect and a shared desire to change.
In the cool night air, beneath a sky studded with stars that bore witness to ancient magic, I reflected on the events of the evening. I hadn’t tried to win Draco Malfoy’s heart or bend his will to mine. I simply wanted to cut through the clutter of outdated conventions and make things easier for both of us in a rapidly changing world. And in that, I found a quiet satisfaction—a reminder that sometimes the most effective magic is born of pragmatic resolve rather than sentimental longing.
Draco looked over his shoulder, his voice soft but tinged with his signature sardonic humor. “Next time, invite me for a simple cup of tea rather than an elaborate dinner. I might actually have time to enjoy it without feeling like I’m being tested.”
I responded with a small, wry smile. “Do you miss the pleasure of your witty repartee?” “I do not think so.” His warm and genuine laughter echoed softly in the night as we parted ways, with me going to bed and him going somewhere else.
I had set out on this journey with one clear goal in mind: to entice him to like—if not love—me so that the magic between us could continue. I took that first decisive step without pretending to be only looking for hearts or adoration. My path is now marked by passionate debates, subtle compromises, and those rare, fleeting smiles that suggest transformation is possible even in the most unlikely of alliances.