Ghosts
The warehouse was dark and musty, its air thick with the tang of saltwater and decay. The only illumination came from faint beams of moonlight slipping through cracks in the rotting wooden walls. Draco and Orion moved cautiously through the cluttered space, their wands drawn and senses sharp.
Their mission: disrupt a meeting of dark wizards suspected of trafficking dangerous magical artifacts.
Draco scanned the room ahead, his sharp eyes picking out the faint flicker of movement near a stack of crates. He gestured silently to Orion, who nodded, his glowing purple eyes narrowing as he moved to flank the unseen figures.
The sudden snap of wood underfoot shattered the quiet.
“Who’s there?!” a voice barked from the shadows, followed by the flash of wands being drawn.
“Ministry!” Orion called out, his voice echoing through the warehouse. “Drop your wands, and no one gets hurt!”
Instead of surrendering, a flurry of spells erupted from the darkness. The room exploded into chaos, curses ricocheting off walls and crates as the pair dove for cover.
Draco fired off a stunning spell, catching one of the dark wizards off guard, while Orion moved with precision, disarming another with a flick of his wand.
But then Draco’s saw it, saw a wizard emerge from the shadows, his wand aimed directly at Orion’s back. The man’s lips curled into a snarl as he shouted the incantation for a spell Draco knew all too well—a vicious, slicing hex designed to maim.
There wasn’t time to think.
“Veyne, down!” Draco shouted, but Orion didn’t hear him over the cacophony of spells.
Instinct taking over, Draco lunged forward, shoving Orion out of the way. The spell hurtled past, missing its mark, but Draco wasn’t fast enough to dodge entirely. The edge of the hex grazed his arm, and a searing pain shot through him as blood began to stain his sleeve.
Orion spun around just in time to see the assailant, his glowing eyes flaring dangerously. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he disarmed the wizard and sent him flying into a stack of crates with a nonverbal spell.
The warehouse fell silent, the last of the dark wizards either unconscious or bound by magical ropes.
Draco leaned against a crate, clutching his injured arm as he tried to catch his breath.
“Malfoy,” Orion said, his voice tight as he approached. “What the hell were you thinking?”
Draco glared at him, his pale features strained. “I was thinking you were about to get sliced in half, and I couldn’t very well let that happen, could I?”
Orion’s jaw tightened, his eyes glowing brighter for a moment before dimming. “You’re bleeding.”
“Brilliant deduction,” Draco muttered, wincing as Orion gently pried his hand away to inspect the wound.
“You’re lucky it wasn’t worse,” Orion said, his tone softer now. He waved his wand over the injury, muttering a healing charm. The bleeding slowed, and the pain dulled, though the cut remained raw.
Draco let out a breath, his voice laced with sarcasm. “And here I thought you were the reckless one.”
Orion smirked faintly, but his usual playful demeanor was replaced by something more serious. “I don’t make a habit of needing saving.”
“Well, you needed it tonight,” Draco shot back, his tone edged with frustration. Though, part of him was happy he had this. Orion was a powerful man but to need a bit of help from Draco of all people. It made him seem more human, “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Orion met his gaze, something unreadable flickering in his glowing eyes. “I owe you one, Malfoy.”
Draco waved him off, standing up straighter despite the lingering ache in his arm. “You can start by not getting yourself killed on my watch. I don’t fancy writing that report.”
Orion chuckled softly, his smirk returning. “Deal. But don’t make a habit of this heroics thing. You’re too snarky to pull it off convincingly.”
Draco rolled his eyes but found himself smirking despite the pain. “Let’s just get out of here before reinforcements show up.”
As they left the warehouse, Draco couldn’t help but notice the way Orion stayed closer to his side than usual, his sharp gaze scanning the shadows as though ensuring Draco wouldn’t need to save him again.
~
Draco pushed open the door to his modest flat, his free hand fumbling for the light switch. The soft glow of the lights flickered to life, illuminating the carefully curated space—a balance of sleek modernity and lingering hints of Malfoy elegance. His left arm rested in a sling, the bandage beneath it still fresh from the mediwitch’s care.
“Cozy,” came Orion’s voice from behind him.
Draco turned sharply, wincing as the movement tugged at his injured arm. Orion stood in the doorway, his tall frame taking up far too much space, one hand resting casually on the doorframe as if he had every right to be there.
“What are you doing here, Veyne?” Draco asked, his tone exasperated.
Orion stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, his glowing purple eyes sweeping the room with amused curiosity. “Making sure you’re not doing something stupid, like working instead of resting.” He glanced at the bookshelves lining the far wall. “Though I’m guessing ‘resting’ isn’t in your vocabulary.”
Draco huffed, kicking the door shut with his foot. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Clearly you do,” Orion replied, dropping onto Draco’s pristine leather couch as though it were his own. He sprawled lazily, his long legs stretching out, and shot Draco a smug grin. “You’ve got that stubborn, ‘I’ll do everything myself’ look. I’m here to make sure you don’t keel over trying to reorganize your potions cabinet.”
Draco muttered something under his breath and moved into the kitchen, ignoring the way Orion made himself at home. The clang of a teapot and the rush of water filled the silence as Draco busied himself with preparing tea, though his one-handed efforts were clumsy.
“You know,” Orion called out, his voice carrying easily, “I could help with that. I do have two functioning arms.”
“I’d rather spill boiling water on myself,” Draco retorted.
“Suit yourself,” Orion replied, chuckling.
When Draco finally returned to the living room, a cup of tea balanced precariously in his good hand, Orion was inspecting a framed photograph on the side table. It was a candid shot of Draco with his mother, taken sometime after the war.
“You and your mum?” Orion asked, setting the photo back down carefully.
Draco nodded, lowering himself into an armchair with a wince. “She’s the only family I have left worth speaking to.”
Orion’s expression softened, his usual smirk replaced by something quieter. “She must be proud of you.”
Draco raised an eyebrow, his tone skeptical. “For what? Becoming a low-rank Ministry employee and getting hexed on a daily basis?”
“For doing the right thing,” Orion said simply, his glowing eyes meeting Draco’s. “Not everyone would’ve chosen the path you did, especially after… everything.”
Draco blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in Orion’s voice. He looked away, taking a sip of his tea to cover his discomfort.
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Draco muttered, his voice lacking its usual bite.
Orion grinned, leaning back into the couch. “You’ve mentioned. But you didn’t hex me out the door, so I must be doing something right.”
Draco sighed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”
The two lapsed into a companionable silence, the warmth of the room settling over them. Despite his protests, Draco found himself oddly comforted by Orion’s presence. For all his bravado and sharp wit, there was something steady about him—a sense of reliability Draco hadn’t realized he missed.
As the clock ticked on, Draco glanced over to find Orion still sitting there, his posture relaxed, his gaze distant.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Draco asked, though there was no real annoyance in his tone.
Orion smirked, his eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. “Not until I’m sure you’re not going to injure yourself again. Someone’s got to keep you out of trouble, Malfoy.”
Draco huffed a laugh despite himself. “Merlin help me.”
~
Scene: Draco’s Flat, Late Night
Draco stood in the doorway of the spare bedroom, his wand in his good hand as he flicked it toward the bed. The dusty, unused sheets folded themselves neatly into a pile, and fresh linens floated from the wardrobe to replace them. The room smelled faintly of lavender from the sachets Narcissa had insisted he keep in the cupboards, a lingering mark of her influence.
Behind him, Orion leaned casually against the doorframe, watching the proceedings with an amused glint in his glowing purple eyes.
“You don’t have to go to all this trouble, Malfoy,” Orion said, crossing his arms. “I’m perfectly fine on the couch.”
Draco rolled his eyes as he smoothed the duvet over the mattress. “If you’re going to intrude on my personal space, the least I can do is make sure you don’t ruin my couch in the process.”
Orion chuckled. “So this is less about hospitality and more about protecting your furniture?”
“Exactly,” Draco deadpanned, stepping back to inspect his handiwork. The room was plain but functional, a neatly made bed, a small dresser, and a chair by the window.
Orion pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, his tall frame making the modest room feel smaller. He ran a hand over the freshly made bed, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?”
Draco frowned, crossing his arms. “How so?”
Orion glanced at him, his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. “Most people would’ve kicked me out by now. You, on the other hand, set up a guest room.”
Draco snorted. “Don’t get used to it. This is a one-time thing. Next time you show up uninvited, you’re sleeping in the hall.”
“Noted,” Orion replied, grinning. He flopped onto the bed, folding his hands behind his head. “Though I have to say, you’ve got a knack for this. If the Auror thing doesn’t work out, maybe you could open a wizarding inn.”
Draco shot him a withering look. “Hilarious.”
Orion laughed, his voice warm and unguarded. “I’ll behave, I promise.”
Draco lingered in the doorway for a moment, his eyes scanning the room to ensure everything was in place. Satisfied, he nodded curtly. “Goodnight, Veyne.”
As he turned to leave, Orion’s voice stopped him.
“Draco.”
He hesitated, glancing back. Orion’s smirk was gone, replaced by something softer, almost hesitant.
“Thanks,” Orion said simply, his tone sincere. His eyes, soft and comforting.
Draco blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected gratitude. He gave a short nod, not trusting himself to respond, and left the room.
As he closed the door behind him and made his way to his own bedroom, Draco couldn’t help but wonder how his life had taken such a bizarre turn—sharing his flat with an enigmatic, glowing-eyed wizard who seemed to excel at getting under his skin.
And yet, despite the annoyance and the chaos, Draco felt a strange sense of ease, one he hadn’t experienced in years. He shook his head, muttering under his breath as he climbed into bed.
“Merlin, what have I gotten myself into?”
~
Draco stirred awake as his bed gave a faint, rhythmic tremor. At first, he thought he was imagining it, the remnants of a dream mingling with reality. But then it happened again—a subtle, almost imperceptible shaking that sent the glass of water on his bedside table rippling.
He sat up, groggy and frowning, his eyes adjusting to the dim light filtering in through the curtains. The flat was silent except for a low, muffled sound that made his chest tighten: the unmistakable sound of someone groaning in distress.
Instincts alight, Draco threw the covers off, his wand instinctively in his hand as he padded down the hall toward the spare room. It didn’t take him long to find the source. The door was ajar, and a faint, purplish glow seeped through the crack, casting eerie shadows on the walls.
Pushing the door open, Draco found Orion lying in the bed, his lilith frame twisting violently against the sheets. His glowing eyes were shut tight, his face etched with pain as he muttered incoherently. The glow in his eyes pulsed faintly, flickering in time with his laboured breathing.
“Orion,” Draco said, his voice firm but quiet as he approached.
Orion didn’t respond, his hands clenching the sheets as though fighting off some unseen force. The air in the room felt heavy, crackling faintly with magic that prickled at Draco’s skin.
“Veyne,” Draco tried again, louder this time.
Still no response. A surge of magic rippled through the room, making the lamps flicker and the floor tremble beneath Draco’s feet. His instinct to step back warred with his concern.
Without overthinking, Draco leaned closer and placed a hand on Orion’s shoulder.
“Orion,” he said, his voice sharper now. “Wake up!”
Orion’s eyes snapped open, blazing with a brilliant, blinding purple light that made Draco recoil instinctively. The glow dimmed after a moment, and Orion righted himself abruptly, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Orion’s hands trembled as he raked them through his dark hair, his gaze unfocused and distant. Draco stood by the bed, unsure of what to say or do.
“You were having a nightmare,” Draco said finally, his tone quieter now.
Orion blinked, his glowing eyes meeting Draco’s. They were dimmer now, subdued, but the haunted look in them made Draco’s stomach churn.
“Sorry,” Orion muttered, his voice rough. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t wake me,” Draco said, brushing off the lie. He hesitated, then added, “You shook the whole bloody flat.”
Orion let out a hollow chuckle, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah. That happens sometimes.”
Draco crossed his arms, his frown deepening. “This ‘sometimes’ seems like it’s more than just a bad dream.”
Orion looked away, his jaw tightening. “It’s nothing. Just… ghosts.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Literal ones, or metaphorical?”
Orion smirked faintly, though the sadness lingered in his expression. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. He was used to evasion, but this felt different. Orion’s usual confidence, his playful arrogance—it was gone, leaving behind someone raw and unguarded.
“Look,” Draco said, softening his tone. “You don’t have to talk about it. But if this is going to be a regular occurrence, you might want to consider investing in stronger wards. Or soundproofing.”
Orion chuckled, this time with a hint of genuine amusement. “Noted.”
Draco nodded, turning to leave. But as he reached the door, Orion’s voice stopped him.
“Malfoy.”
Draco glanced back.
“Thanks,” Orion said quietly, his glowing eyes meeting Draco’s.
Draco gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. “Get some rest, Veyne. Try not to bring the roof down.”
As he returned to his own room, Draco couldn’t shake the image of Orion’s glowing eyes, or the lingering sense of power and vulnerability that seemed to radiate from him in equal measure.
Draco lay back down, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. For all the mystery Orion carried, one thing was becoming clear: whatever haunted him, it was more than Draco had bargained for.