The Pact

The chatter of finely dressed Ministry officials and social elites fills the ballroom like the hum of bees, polished laughter and the clink of glasses blending seamlessly with the soft melody of the piano. I stand near the refreshments table, balancing a tray of hors d’oeuvres as Draco looms beside me, his expression cool and unreadable. Neither of us has to speak to know we were both counting the minutes until this ordeal was over.

Across the room, I spot my father making his way toward Harry and Ron—disguised as Ministry officials—as they linger near the edge of the gathering. My heart skips a beat.

“Your father’s moving in,” Draco mutters under his breath, catching my gaze.

I nod, keeping my expression neutral. “Just… act normal.”

Draco smirks faintly. “That’s your plan? ‘Actnormal’? Brilliant strategy.”

I ignore him, watching as my father extends a hand to Harry—Ashworth.

“Ah, Mr. Ashworth, was it?” my father asks, his tone polite but edged with subtle curiosity.

Harry straightens, his demeanor effortlessly professional. “Yes, sir. Cornelius Ashworth, Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Thank you for hosting such a splendid evening.”

“And you are…?” my father continues, turning to Ron.

“Victor Halden, sir,” Ron replies, his voice a touch too hearty but still passable.

My father studies them both for a moment, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting at any previous Ministry functions. New transfers, I presume?”

Harry inclines his head smoothly. “Recent assignments, yes. We’re still getting accustomed to the shift.”

My father’s gaze lingers a beat too long, and I feel my stomach tighten.

Thankfully, my mother appears at his elbow, her expression one of carefully veiled irritation. “Darling, the wine selection,” she says, her tone clipped. “You promised you’d assist the servers before the guests noticed.”

My father hesitates but allows himself to be ushered away, throwing one last glance over his shoulder at Harry and Ron.

Draco exhales softly beside me. “That was close.”

“Too close,” I mutter, gripping the edge of my tray tightly.

Minutes later, as I circulate through the room, I catch a glimpse of Harry and Ron slipping out of the ballroom. I tense, my eyes flicking to Draco, who notices as well. Before I can react, a sharp knock echoes through the hall, drawing the attention of several guests.

“Who could that be at this hour?” my mother says, frowning as she hurries toward the door.

I realize with a sinking feeling that Harry and Ron have only just narrowly avoided running into her. They are nowhere in sight now, but I can only hope they’re well out of the way.

My mother opens the door with a gracious smile that falters slightly when she sees who’s standing in the threshold. “Lucius, Narcissa,” she coos, her tone warmer but laced with formality. “How lovely to see you both.”

Lucius steps inside, his polished cane tapping against the floor as Narcissa follows, her cool gaze sweeping the room.

Draco stiffens beside me, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Perfect,” he mutters.

I give him a quick nudge. “Stay focused.”

~

The night wears on, with Draco and me alternating between serving guests and engaging in polite, meaningless conversation. My bracelet stays cool against my wrist, the lack of a signal both a relief and a growing source of tension.

“Do you think they’re actually making progress?” I whisper to Draco as we refill our glasses at the bar.

“If they were caught, we’d know by now,” he replies, though his expression is tight.

Just then, the faintest warmth brushes against my wrist, and I freeze. The red charm.

“They need help,” I murmur.

Draco’s jaw tightens, and he sets down his glass. “Of course they do.”

I look around the room, scanning for a way to divert attention. My eyes land on Lucius, who is speaking with my father near the piano. An idea clicks into place, one I know Draco won’t like.

“You’re on heist duty.”

“Wha—” he begins, but I walk away before I can hear the rest. He gives me an annoyed glare.

I stride towards our fathers, plastering a bright smile on my face. “Mr. Malfoy,” I say smoothly, “your taste in music is legendary. Would you do us the honor of selecting the next song for the dance floor?”

Lucius’s eyes gleam with interest, clearly pleased by the flattery. “I’d be delighted.”

As Lucius moves toward the piano to choose a piece, I catch Draco’s eye and tilt my head toward the exit. He sighs heavily, muttering something under his breath before slipping away to find the boys.

While Draco is gone, I find myself swept onto the dance floor, the lively waltz Lucius had selected drawing most of the guests’ attention. I focus on the steps, keeping my smile in place even as my thoughts remain elsewhere.

I keep a cautious eye on our parents from a distance, making sure they don’t start to wander off in the direction of whatever mishap is going on upstairs.

At some point, I see my father raise an eyebrow near the entrance to the room, looking up at the ceiling. Oh shit. Were the boys being too loud? Did he hear a thump?

Just as he starts to turn to walk out, I excuse myself from the conversation with one of the officials I was talking to. I make my way to my father quickly, smiling brightly.

“Dad!”

He turns to look at me, still seeming distracted. “Hm? Oh, hi, darling. Say, did you hear—”

“Will you dance with me?” I ask innocently, holding out my hand. “Like we used to when I was little. We haven’t had a father-daughter dance in so long.”

He looks surprised for a moment, but the sound he heard quickly slips from his mind as a smile stretches across his face. “You want to dance with your father? Really?”

“Of course. I feel like we don’t get to spend much time together anymore. I miss you.”

I convince myself this is all part of the plan, but deep down I truly do miss spending time with my father. He’s always wrapped up with work or my mom, and I never get to just enjoy being in his company.

His face softens significantly and he takes my hand on his arm, leading me to the dance floor. “I’ve missed this too, dear. I was starting to think you were getting too grown up to want to hang out with your dad anymore.”

I chuckle softly, swaying in time to the music. I can’t help but appreciate this for what it is, even if it was only meant as a distraction.

When Draco finally returns, his expression is a mix of irritation and exhaustion. He lingers near the edge of the dance floor, his sharp eyes finding me almost instantly. For a moment, he seems to forget himself, his usual mask slipping as he watches me move, dancing graced with my father. But the moment passes quickly, and his scowl returns as he steps back into the crowd, blending in seamlessly once again.

When the song ends, I give my dad a playful curtsy and he matches me with a chuckle and a bow. He gives me a hug and excuses himself to go talk to some of the ministry members.

As my father walks away, I take a deep breath, the weight of the room settling back on my shoulders. The momentary warmth from our dance fades, replaced by a warm feeling on my wrist. What now?

I look down discreetly and see the blue bead heat up. Hermione.

I scan the room, trying to spot Draco, but he’s already disappeared into the crowd. I can’t go help her right now, we have to get one of the boys to go save her.

I make my way toward the edge of the dance floor, weaving through clusters of guests. My eyes dart around, searching for that familiar shock of platinum hair. My heart pounds, not just from the effort to appear calm but from the heavy sense that something is about to happen.

Just as I reach the far side, Draco steps out from behind a column, grabbing my arm gently but firmly. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes hold a flicker of urgency.

“We need to talk,” he mutters, pulling me toward a shadowed alcove.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

He glances around, making sure no one is listening. “Your friends—Potter and Weasley—they’ve found something. They’re leaving.”

“What? Already?” My heart sinks. “What did they find?”

He shakes his head. “They wouldn’t tell me. Said you’d understand.” His tone is laced with frustration, and I can tell it’s not just the secrecy that’s bothering him. “They’re going to help Granger.”

My eyes widen. “Both of them? Is she—”

“Safe, for now.” He leans in closer, his voice low. “Only Ron is tending to her. But whatever they found, it’s important enough for them to risk splitting up.”

I nod, my mind racing. “We need to stay here, keep our parents distracted.”

He holds my gaze, a softness breaking through the irritation. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

I square my shoulders, the weight of everything pressing down on me. “We don’t have a choice.”

Draco watches me for a moment longer, then nods. “Let’s finish this dance, then.” He extends his hand, and despite the tension thrumming between us, I take it.

As we step out onto the dance floor, I force a smile, slipping back into the role I need to play. I can feel eyes on us, even the petite woman who was convinced we’re a couple, and I notice her starting to whisper to her colleagues. My face heats up, and I avoid looking at Draco for the fear of revealing what I’m feeling.

I become very aware of how close we are, the familiar scent of his cologne, and the warmth of his body pressing into mine. It’s overwhelming, making it hard to focus.

Draco’s hand settles gently on my waist, his touch both steady and light. His other hand holds mine, his grip firm but not possessive. Every movement, every step, is deliberate, and the tension between us is almost palpable.

“Relax, Lavigné,” he murmurs, his voice low and smooth. “You’re supposed to look like you’re enjoying this.”

I glance up at him, forcing a smile. “Who says I’m not?” The words slip out before I can stop them, and for a moment, I swear his grip tightens just slightly. His eyes search mine, and something flickers in their depths—something I can’t quite place.

“Careful,” he says, his voice dropping even lower. “I might start to think you like me.”

I scoff, trying to regain control of my thoughts. “And you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

His lips curl into a smirk, but there’s something softer behind it. “Maybe.”

I roll my eyes, focusing on the steps of the dance, but it’s impossible to ignore the way his thumb brushes against the back of my hand, or how his breath seems to linger close to my ear. It’s infuriating and… distracting.

“You’re quiet,” he says after a moment, his tone more serious. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

I hesitate, torn between the role I’m playing and the confusing swirl of emotions threatening to surface. “Just… thinking about the plan.”

He tilts his head slightly, studying me. “Liar.”

The word hangs between us, and my heart skips a beat. I look up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, everything else fades away—the music, the guests, the mission. It’s just him, and me, and this unspoken tension that’s becoming harder to ignore.

“I’m not…” I start, but I don’t even know what I’m going to say.

He leans in closer, his voice a soft murmur. “You’re a terrible liar, Lavigné.”

The way he says my name sends a shiver down my spine. I open my mouth to respond, but before I can, he spins me gently, pulling me back in even closer. His hand slides from my waist to the small of my back, and I feel my heart pounding.

“Focus,” he whispers, his breath warm against my ear. “They’re watching.”

I nod, forcing myself to remember why we’re here. But it’s impossible to ignore the mixed signals—the soft looks, the lingering touches, the way his voice wraps around me like a spell.

We move in perfect sync, and for a moment, I almost forget that it’s all an act. Or is it? The line between pretense and reality is blurring, and I don’t know where I stand anymore.

As the song draws to a close, Draco’s eyes lock onto mine once more. He drops my hand, pulling himself away from me rather suddenly. “We’ll get through this,” he says softly, almost as if it’s a promise.

I nod, but I can’t shake the feeling that he’s talking about more than just the mission.

That can’t be it, can it? That’s just the bond. That’s why he’s gentle with me, he’s just being protective… right?

He gives me a curious look, watching my body language. “You know I can feel when something is wrong with you, right? The same way you can with me.”

I freeze. He can feel it? Is that why as the days have passed, I’ve felt random mood swings when we’re apart? I’m just picking up on how he’s feeling?

“Honestly, I’m fine. Stop looking at me like that.”

I’m starting to feel suffocated under his gaze, so piercing and steady. I just pray he can’t really tell what I’m feeling.

“Why are you lying to me?” he asks softly, almost looking at me as if I’ve betrayed him.

“I just… if it’s important, I’ll tell you. But I’m not your responsibility. I don’t want you worrying about me all the time. It’s not fair to you.”

“Lavigné, I—”

He’s cut off by the music winding down, my mother clinking her silverware on her glass. We whip around to face her, just as the rest of the guests do.

“I wanted to thank you all for coming tonight. We’ve had a wonderful time hosting you, and we certainly look forward to more mixers and events in the future. We hope you’ve enjoyed it as much as we have. I bid you all a goodnight.”

Draco and I share a look. It’s over. Finally.

As guests start to say their goodbyes, they pour out of the manor, tipping their hats and shaking hands. I feel a weight lift off of my chest as the last ministry member walks out, our house elf shutting the door behind him.

Draco releases a slow breath beside me, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all night. I feel the same sense of relief, but it’s short-lived. My mother’s voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and direct.

“Y/n. Draco.” Her eyes are fixed on us, an expectant glint in them. “Come. There’s something we need to discuss.”

Lucius Malfoy steps forward, his presence commanding as always. “Yes,” he drawls, his tone deceptively casual. “A matter of great importance.”

Draco’s hand finds my elbow, a subtle, steadying touch. We exchange a glance—silent, wary. Whatever this is, it isn’t good.

“Come sit with us,” Lucius continues, gesturing toward the grand sitting room. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “We won’t keep you long.”

Merlin. Why does he look so smug?