After
The smell of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Draco leaned against the counter, his injured arm still resting in its sling. He watched Orion, who was seated at the small kitchen table, nursing his own cup. The early morning sunlight streamed through the window, catching the faint purple hue of Orion’s eyes, which seemed more subdued than usual.
Draco sipped his tea in silence, debating whether to bring it up. Orion looked calmer now, but the memory of his nightmare—and the ripple of power that had shaken the flat—lingered in Draco’s mind.
Finally, he broke the silence.
“So,” Draco began, his tone carefully neutral, “do you plan on explaining what last night was about, or should I just assume you have a penchant for dramatic midnight performances?”
Orion’s eyes flicked up to meet his, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Dramatic, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Draco rolled his eyes, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “I’m serious, Veyne. That wasn’t just a nightmare. You were… radiating magic. It felt like the entire flat might implode.”
Orion’s smirk faded, his expression guarded. He stared down at his coffee, swirling it absently. “It’s not exactly something I like to talk about.”
Draco arched an eyebrow. “You’re in my flat, shaking my walls in the middle of the night. I think I’m entitled to at least some explanation.”
Orion sighed, leaning back in his chair. For a moment, he seemed to weigh his options before finally speaking. “It’s… memories,” he said slowly, as though each word cost him something. “From when I was younger. Before I joined the Aurors.”
Draco frowned, pulling out a chair to sit across from him. “Memories of what?”
Orion hesitated, his fingers tightening around his mug. “There was a time when my magic was… unstable. I didn’t have control over it, and certain people decided that made me a weapon rather than a person.”
Draco blinked, his curiosity tempered by a growing sense of unease. “You’re talking about someone using you?” he utters, disbelief and concern filtering into his voice.
“Experimenting on me,” Orion corrected, his voice flat. “Trying to push the limits of my magic. They wanted to see how far I could go before I broke.”
Draco’s stomach twisted. He’d heard stories of rogue wizarding groups dabbling in illegal experimentation, but to see someone who had lived through it—who still carried the scars—was something else entirely.
“How did you get away?” Draco asked softly.
Orion’s gaze turned distant. “Eventually, they pushed too far. My magic… reacted. Let’s just say the place they were keeping me didn’t survive, and neither did most of them.”
Draco didn’t know what to say. He sat there, staring at the man across from him, the easygoing arrogance Orion usually exuded now stripped away to reveal something raw and deeply wounded.
“I don’t blame you for being curious,” Orion said after a moment, his tone lighter but no less honest. “But it’s not exactly breakfast conversation, is it?”
Draco tilted his head. “I’ve had worse breakfasts.”
That earned a chuckle from Orion, low and fleeting, but genuine.
“Look,” Draco continued, his voice gentler now, “if you don’t want to talk about it, fine. But if it’s still haunting you—if it’s affecting you—you should know you don’t have to deal with it alone.”
Orion looked at him, surprise flickering in his glowing eyes. “Didn’t peg you for the compassionate type, Malfoy.”
Draco scoffed, standing and retrieving his tea. “Don’t get used to it. I just don’t fancy having my flat turned into a magical epicenter every time you go to sleep.”
Orion smiled faintly, but there was gratitude in his expression. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As the morning settled into a companionable quiet, Draco couldn’t help but feel that something had shifted between them. Orion’s walls, though not entirely down, had cracked just enough for Draco to see what lay beneath—and it wasn’t at all what he’d expected.