The Pact

“Mother, do I really need to come with you today? I thought this was a business meeting,” I say quietly from our sitting room couch. My mother glares at me.

“I thought I told you when I wrote, they have a boy your age. It would be impolite of us to go to their home without you to keep him occupied,” she replies, nearly spitting.

She did not, in fact, mention that when she wrote. I clench my jaw, trying to stay calm.

“Maybe you’ll make a new friend, darling,” my dad replies from the stairs, trying to cut the tension. He gives me a sympathetic smile while my mothers back is turned, and I match it, appreciating the effort.

My home life has always been… complicated, to say the least. My dad is probably the best father I could’ve ever asked for. He’s gentle with me, always encouraging my hobbies and studies, and wanting me to hang out with friends. My mum, on the other hand, doesn’t care for me to do anything that isn’t productive. In other words, she just wants me to make her look good. I try to, really I do, but it’s never quite enough. She’s always been hard on me, and it makes me wonder how on earth she convinced my father to marry her.

“Alright, then. Let’s go. Best not to be late,” my father insists. He walks us to the center of the room, straightening his jacket and the cuffs of his sleeves. We prefer to apparate when we go to meet important figures. Much less messy than floo powder.

My mum and I each grab one of his arms, planting our feet firmly on the ground. He flicks his wand and we’re pulled and squeezed through what I can only describe as a black void, before we land at the front door of an absolutely gorgeous manor.

“Just on time,” my dad smiles, tapping his watch. He knocks on the door and after a long moment, a tall man opens it. He’s got long blond hair and sharp features, and he carries a walking stick in his free hand.

“Ah, Mrs. Lavigné. So glad you and your family could join us. Do come in.” His tone is as sharp as his gaze, and I put on a polite smile. The man opens the door wider, letting us step inside. Even the entrance is gorgeous, and I can’t help but to look around in awe.

“Your manor is breathtaking, Mr…” I trail off, realizing I don’t know his name. My mother didn’t tell me when she wrote. Per usual.

“Malfoy,” he clarifies, a proud smile playing at his lips. My heart sinks. No. No way.

He notices my shift in demeanor but I quickly tuck it away, going back to my polite smile. I’m desperately hoping there are two wizarding families with the Malfoy name. If not, I know who I’m going to have to deal with all damn night.

“I’m charmed, Mr. Malfoy,” I state, trying to put on a confident mask.

“Likewise, Ms. Lavigné,” he responds, nodding his head. “Castor, Grace, thank you for agreeing to meet with us today.” Lucius holds out a hand and shakes each of ours. I make sure my grip is firm, but only subtly so. “My wife and son are just in the drawing room. Please, follow me.” He keeps an even tone, his face hard to read. He starts to walk down a hallway, leading us to the drawing room.

When I step inside, I have to bite my tongue when I see none other than Draco Malfoy standing there, next to a polished looking woman. Lucius clears his throat to announce our presence, and both of their heads snap in our direction. Draco looks just as surprised as I feel, but a stern look from his father causes him to neutralize his expression.

Lucius walks over to join his wife and son, before the woman reaches a hand out. My father takes it first, then my mother, and lastly I do. Her hand is ice cold, and I notice her well manicured nails.

“Welcome,” she says softly, her lips in a tight smile. “Please, call me Narcissa.”

“Thank you,” my mum says, studying the Malfoy’s with a lingering gaze. “I’m Grace Lavigné. This is Castor, and our daughter Y/n.”

“Ah, yes. Y/n, this is our son, Draco.” Narcissa squeezes Draco’s shoulder and he turns on the charm, looking at my parents with a confident grin. “You two are in the same year at school.”

I give her my best smile, keeping my posture straight. “I do believe we’ve met,” I tell her, eyeing Draco. For a moment his smugness falters, looking at me as though I’m going to spill his secrets right there. I’d love to, of course, but being brash would no doubt upset my parents. First impressions are important to them. “We share some classes,” is all I say, my tone measured and even.

He seems to almost relax, but the frost in his gaze when he looks at me is no less prominent. He, too, shakes my parents hands before taking mine. “It’s a pleasure to meet you two. And it’s good to see you again.” His tone comes out genuine, but I can see straight through it. He takes my hand in his—it’s fairly warm, actually, a stark contrast to his mother’s—and shakes it, his grip more firm than necessary.

I give him a tight smile, making sure not to let the polite mask fall from my face. He takes full advantage of the situation, and starts sucking up to my parents. “May I say, you look lovely tonight, Mrs. Lavigné.” He gives her a charming smile, laying it on thick. My mum gives him an approving nod, saying, “Thank you, dear.”

“Draco,” Lucius commands, his voice sharp, “would you mind showing y/n to the table? I need to discuss something in private with Castor and Grace.”

“Of course, father,” Draco replies, an evil glint in his eyes. “Follow me.”

I shoot a helpless look to my mother, who ices me out. Her face says “go, don’t embarrass me,” so I follow him reluctantly.

Once we’re out of earshot of our parents, Draco whips around, pinning me to a wall with his forearm across my chest. He sneers as he looks at me. “What are you playing at, Lavigné?” he hisses.

“Excuse me?” I narrow my eyes at him, keeping my words just as sharp and hushed as his.

“Why in Merlin’s name are you and your miserable family here?” He leans closer, and I can feel the heat of his breath on my face.

“Ask my parents, Malfoy,” I reply bitterly. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be here.”

He drops his arm, backing up a step to size me up. His eyes are narrow, and his gaze pierces through me. I straighten out my dress, before looking at him harshly. “And why the hell are you sucking up to my parents? ‘Pleased to meet you,’ ‘you look lovely Mrs. Lavigné.’ It’s so out of character for you.”

He leans in closer to me. “As if you know anything about my character. I would never do anything to hurt my father’s business,” he sneers. I roll my eyes at him, shaking my head.

“Look, I have no desire to be here, but I didn’t have a choice in the matter. I don’t even know what kind of deals my mother is planning to make. So please, for the love of everything, don’t fuck with me today. I’ll be out of your hair soon enough.”

He looks me up and down, considering his next words carefully. Eventually he backs up a few steps, groans, and mutters, “Fine. Just don’t say anything you’ll regret. Come on,” and he starts walking again, I’m assuming towards the table for dinner.

I follow him wordlessly, and he leads me to a grand dining room, with a table much too long for a family like his. The Malfoy’s took the liberty of placing name placards on the seats, and I’m sat straight across from Draco. Lovely, I have to stare at him for the whole meal.

A lovely (albeit shaking) little house elf pops into the room, looking at the two of us sat across from one another. “Does master Draco need anything?” he asks. Draco rolls his eyes and replies, “Water, Dobby.”

Dobby looks at me with questioning eyes. “Does young miss Lavigné need anything?” he asks nervously. I look to Draco, who is obviously quite annoyed, and reply, “I’m alright, thank you Dobby.”

Dobby pops out of the room and back in after a few seconds, placing a glass of water in front of Draco. Draco then dismisses him and we’re once again left alone.

I play with the hem of my dress under the table, anxious for something to do with my hands. We both avoid making eye contact with each other and sit in silence for an uncomfortable period of time. Eventually, I hear the clack of high heels on the vinyl floors, and I straighten up. Draco’s shoulders tense up, and we exchange a quick glance, barely a second long, as we watch our parents walk into the room and take their places at the table.

Lucius is sat at one end and my father is on the other, with Draco’s mom on his side across from mine. Lucius calls out for Dobby who pops into the room just as he’d done a few minutes ago, although this time Dobby is much quieter and more hesitant.

“You may begin to arrange the starters for us, Dobby,” Lucius bellows, gesturing at the table. Dobby does as he’s told and our parents take the opportunity to continue their conversation from earlier.

“So, Lucius,” my mother begins, placing her napkin on her lap, “this… opponent we were discussing. In what ways will you be needing Castor and I to contribute to be worthwhile allies to you?”

Lucius smirks ever so slightly, and it reminds me of how Draco looked in the drawing room earlier. The resemblance is certainly uncanny. “Well, we don’t need any financial contributions, that much is clear. But it would be rather useful if you and Castor were to become stronger voices for… our side of the matter.”

I pick at my plate in silence, unsure of what to make of this. What matter? What opponent? My mother hadn’t explained anything to me, but she never does. Honestly, I don’t know how our antique store could be of any interest to the Malfoy’s, or if that’s even what they’re going on about.

“Lucius, dear,” Narcissa chimes in, “why don’t we save this discussion for another time? It’s hardly proper dinner conversation.”

Lucius nods subtly, before conceding. “Of course.”

There is another tense moment of silence before Narcissa cuts through it. “So, Y/n, how are you liking Hogwarts? I know you’ve only recently transferred.”

I lift my eyes to hers, giving her a warm smile, thankful for the change in subject. “It’s lovely so far. I’ve made some friends already, and I’ve been on top of my studies. Hogwarts is rather large though, much bigger than Beauxbatons.”

Draco glares at me from across the table, careful to make sure no one else can see it but me. “Speaking of, did you end up finding your way to your class after potions?” He gives me a smug smile, furrowing his brow.

“Yes, actually. I managed just fine,” I say through clenched teeth, not letting my smile falter. “I had to use a tracking charm to lead me to my dorm mate.”

“A tracking charm?” My father questions, raising an eyebrow.

“Well I had no one to lead me there, so I had to get creative,” I reply, taking a sip of my water and glaring at Draco over the rim of the glass.

“Don’t you have a short break after potions, Draco? Why didn’t you show y/n the way if you knew she was struggling to navigate the school?” Narcissa asks, giving Draco a steady, no-nonsense expression.

“She had to stay after to talk to professor Snape. I was already gone,” he replies with a bite in his tone.

“Around the corner,” I mutter under my breath, taking another sip of my drink.

“What was that?” he shoots back, dropping his fork on his plate. He looks positively pissed, but I keep the same polite smile on my face as always. “Hm? Nothing. You must be hearing things, Draco,” I reply with an innocent tone.

My mom clears her throat, and I feel her stare daggers at me. “Y/n, dear, may I speak to you privately for a moment? Please excuse us.” She gives the Malfoy’s an apologetic nod before giving me a stern look, grabbing my arm and pulling me out into the hall.

Once we’re out of earshot, my mom whisper shouts, “What the bloody hell was that? Are you trying to sour this deal?”

“I’m sorry, mum. I didn’t know we were meeting the Malfoy’s today. Draco is absolutely insufferable,” I reply helplessly, keeping my tone hushed.

“He seems like a perfectly respectful and polite young man to me. It would do you well to try to act more like him.”

“You don’t understand! That’s not how he really is,” I shoot back, desperately hoping she’ll listen. “He’s horrible to other students, and to me! And he—”

I’m cut off by a swift blow to my cheek. I feel my face heat up where the back of her hand hit it, a gash forming from her ring. The blow was hard enough to turn my head, and to my absolute horror, I see Draco standing in the doorway, completely stunned.

“Don’t talk back to me,” my mother hisses. My hand instinctively covers my face where she hit me, and I meet her eyes, my expression subdued and sullen. “You are not going to embarrass me in front of potential business partners. Now go clean up, and you better fix your face before you return to this dining room. Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I mumble, still mostly in shock from what just happened. She straightens up and takes a step back, turning around to walk back to the dining room. When I look up, Draco is… just leaving? Again?

“Oh, pardon me, Mrs. Lavigné,” he says politely. “I’ll be back shortly, just have something to take care of.”

My mother seems caught off guard but quickly recovers. “Of course, no problem, dear.” She then hastens her pace and waltzes back into the dining room, leaving me standing there having to face Draco after what he’d seen.

He glances behind him quickly before making his way over to me. He stops a couple steps away, looking my face over hesitantly. “Are you… okay?” I can’t help but notice he looks genuinely concerned, and it throws me off.

“What? …Oh.” I pull my hand away from my face and see blood on my fingers. I taste copper and salt. Shit, I’m crying.

I wipe my eyes with the back of my wrist before shaking my head, pulling myself out of a daze. “I’m fine. Can you just… where’s your bathroom? I need to…” I trail off, my voice soft and choked, gesturing to my cheek.

“Follow me.”

For the second time tonight, I find myself wordlessly following Draco Malfoy through the halls of his manor. My face is on fire and I know I look a mess, so I’m just hoping he won’t tell anyone. Then again, I’m sure he will. He’s probably loving this right now, seeing me get smacked by my mother. And to make it even better, he got front row seats to the show.

After a minute or two, he leads me up the staircase and opens the door to a bedroom. He ushers me inside, closing the door behind us. “This isn’t—” I begin to say, before he turns to face me. “Sit,” he says, his voice startlingly soft. He points to a chair by the fireplace before disappearing into what looks like an attached bathroom.

As I hear him rummaging through drawers, I take a look around the room. It’s large for a bedroom, probably the size of two masters combined. On the wall across from me is a bed with satiny sheets and a soft looking blanket. The fireplace I’m in front of has another arm chair and a small coffee table in front of it, with an abandoned glass of tea still sitting on it. The other two walls are filled with bookshelves, a desk with parchments strewn about as if someone had left in a hurry, and a picture frame with a family photo in it.

“Here it is,” I hear Draco mutter before he shuts a cabinet and comes back over to me. He’s holding a damp cloth in one hand, and with the other he sets down a small tin on the coffee table before turning his gaze back to my cheek, examining me closely. “May I?” he asks softly.

“Yeah. Thanks,” I mutter, nodding my head and giving him a small, tight smile.

He places a hand under my chin and lifts my face up before gently dabbing at the cut on my face with the cloth. I wince slightly, squeezing my eyes shut. “Sorry,” he mumbles, dabbing at my cheek even softer than he was before, which is nearly impossible.

“It’s alright. Just a bit tender,” I reply, following his hand with my eyes.

“She got you pretty good,” he says, putting a bit of pressure on my cheek to make it stop bleeding. “What was that about? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“She’s just… rough, sometimes. When she’s really stressed,” I reply. “It’s my own fault. I shouldn’t have been sharp-tongued with you.” He pulls his hand away, setting the cloth down and picking up the tin.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, one side of his mouth turning down into a frown. He notices me eyeing the tin suspiciously, then says, “This is a healing salve. Should fix that right up.”

“It’s whatever, I’m used to it. It’s not your fault,” I say quietly, giving him a forced smile. He looks at me thoughtfully before dipping into the tin and warming some of the salve between his fingers. He takes my chin in his free hand again, then lightly swipes the salve over the cut. His hands are warm, his touch incredibly gentle. Why was he being so kind to me?

“My father can gets stressed, too. That’s why I keep the salve in my cabinet.” He smiles sympathetically before letting go of my face. I can’t help but find myself disappointed when he does. No one’s ever been so gentle with me before.

“I’m sorry,” I say, much in the same tone that he had just a minute ago.

After a second, I register what he said. His cabinet. This is his bedroom.

In any other situation I’d be bolting just about now, but for some reason, I stay put. He wipes his fingers off on the cloth before setting it down on the table, avoiding my gaze. I notice a tinge of pink in his cheeks, and I’m sure mine are a matching shade of scarlet right about now.

My cheek starts to tingle, then cools down considerably. When I reach my hand up to touch it, I can feel that the gash is gone. I look up at Draco in awe.

“What? Why so shocked?” he asks, his voice light. Wait, is he… smiling?

“I just…” I trail off, not sure of how to defend myself. “Thank you. I’m sorry for-”

“Don’t mention it,” he cuts me off, walking back into his bathroom to put everything away. Just as fast as that small smile appeared, it was gone again. I hate to admit it, but I much prefer this version of Draco over the one I’ve been getting at school.

The more I mull it over, the more I wonder why he hates me in the first place. I had only just shown up when he and his friends decided to target me. Maybe I was a little brash, sure, but only because they were first. I most certainly wasn’t going to let them walk all over me, Hufflepuff or not.

Then the other question that’s been weighing on my mind for the last few minutes comes back to me. What was he doing when he saw me and my mother in the hallway? He said he just had to take care of something, but whatever it was, he hasn’t mentioned it yet, so it can’t be that important. Unless he was just following me again, trying to dig up some unearthed secrets about me or my family to use against me. But if that was the case, why would he be so gentle now, and tell me about his father? To gain my trust, then use the closeness to his own advantage?

Is that why he brought me to his room? His own bedroom in this huge manor, his personal space, his own private little safe haven. He hadn’t hesitated to bring me straight up here, to patch me up, to give me such careful consideration. Is it all a ploy, trying to manipulate me into thinking he’s a good person, or to owe him something? But even then, there was that… that smile. The light, playful teasing in his voice just a moment ago. That blush in his cheeks after he had been so close to my face.

It doesn’t make any sense.

“Lavigné?”

I look up and see him looking at me with a confused expression. Shit, I was zoned out.

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow before holding out his hand to help me up. “I said we should get back to dinner,” he replies, his voice laced with something I can only describe as worry. “Did you not hear me? Did you hit your head, too?”

“No! Sorry, I was just… thinking,” I blurt out quickly, locking my gaze onto his outstretched hand. I take it gingerly, and he helps me up. It’s warm and soft just as it was when he shook my hand during our introductions earlier.

My eyes travel up to his forearm, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His skin is pale and smooth, matching the moonlight steaming through his window.

He must have caught me staring, because he quickly drops my hand and clears his throat.

“This way,” he says, opening the door for me once more. I follow him for the third time tonight, and it gives me a sense of déjà vu. I walk with my arms crossed over my torso, holding onto my sides for comfort.

The absolute last thing I want to do right now is see my mother again, and to have to stomach her incessant glares at me from across the table. Draco notices my discomfort, I know he does, because his eyes flicker with that same warmth and familiarity from earlier in his room. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to make me feel better, just slows his pace to walk beside me instead of a few steps ahead of me. The heat of his body so close to mine makes me shiver, but I try not to bring attention to it.

He rolls down his sleeves as we walk, no doubt trying to look put together once more for the rest of the dinner we’re about to endure. He buttons his left cuff with his right hand but struggles with the other side. He stops a few steps short of the dining room entrance, trying desperately to get it buttoned.

“Let me,” I say softly, holding out my hand. He meets my eyes for just a moment, then quickly looks away, offering his wrist to me. I gently turn his arm over, button his cuff, then shoot him a small smile. “There, all fixed.”

“Thanks,” he says shortly, pulling his arm back, adjusting his sleeve to be more comfortable.

“Don’t mention it.”

I notice the corner of his mouth twitch, as if he’s fighting a smile while he looks down at the floor. I straighten out my dress, run a hand through my hair, and take a breath. He stiffens up, wipes any expression from his face, then strides into the dining room. I follow him, plaster on a polite smile, and we both take our respective seats across from each other.

The rest of the dinner passes by slowly, neither of us really talking unless we’re asked questions by our parents. I watch him from across the table, noticing the way he deflates when his father speaks, the love in his eyes he has for his mother, and the way he stirs his tea to fidget. Mostly, I notice that when I look away for a moment, he’s always staring at me when I look back.

My mom gives me an ill-disguised questioning look when my cheeks tinge pink after catching him staring at me for the twentieth time. I ignore her. I just look down at my plate, then look back up at Draco, who makes eye contact with me once more.