The Pact

Draco and I sit side by side on the sitting room couch, rifling through the books and files with tea in hand. I settled on chamomile with honey. I’m not sure which kind he has, but he added way too much sugar for it to be considered anything other than juice at this point.

As he pops in his fifth spoonful of sugar, he notices me raising an eyebrow at him.

“What? I have a sweet tooth,” he says defensively, still a little under the influence of the veritaserum.

I shrug my shoulders and go back to my book. “I dunno. I just think it’s weird that you put so much sugar in tea when you drink coffee straight.”

“How did you know that?” he asks, a bit startled.

I stifle a smile. “I can smell it on your breath in potions every morning.”

Draco blinks, his hand pausing mid-stir. “You can what?”

I glance at him from the corner of my eye, biting back a grin. “You always smell like coffee and something sharp, like… cedarwood or bergamot.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “It’s just something I noticed.”

He leans back, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. “And here I thought I was the one paying attention to you.”

I feel my face heat up and quickly bury it back in the book in my lap, ignoring the way he chuckles softly to himself. “Focus, Malfoy,” I mutter, flipping a page a little too forcefully.

His amusement lingers, but he seems content to let it go as we both return to our respective books. The quiet between us is filled with the occasional rustle of paper, the crackle of the fire, and the faint clink of his spoon against his teacup.

I’m halfway through skimming a particularly dense chapter on rune-based protections when something odd catches my eye. A corner of parchment is sticking out from between two pages, its edges yellowed with age.

“Wait a second,” I say, sitting up straighter and tugging at the paper.

“What is it?” Draco asks, looking over as I carefully pull the parchment free. It unfolds easily, revealing neat, loopy handwriting that spans the page.

“It’s a letter,” I breathe, holding it up to the light.

Draco leans closer, his tea forgotten on the table. “From who?”

I start to read the letter out loud and Draco listens with bated breath.

“Lucius,

The bond is the only way to ensure our families safety. The war is coming and we cannot afford any more risks. The Diamond I bought will help, as it’s been carefully laced with protective magic. Once it is split into our family heirlooms, they will serve as both a symbol and a shield when used correctly. The magic is temperamental, so I have not yet found how to access the shield yet, but we must keep trying. We can’t take any chances now.

Grace”

I flip through the book pages and several more letters fall, very similar to each other and all carrying the same theme. Draco takes the other book and does the same, revealing more letters neatly tucked away between the pages.

“These are all from your mother,” Draco says, placing them in order by date. I give him mine to add, and we soon find ourselves with a stack of ten.

“The time span isn’t that long,” I add, ruffling through them. “Few months, maybe.”

Draco nods and we read more in silence, trying to pull out any information that isn’t cryptic. Within a few minutes of this, I have a realization.

“Malfoy, hand me my bag,” I say urgently, reaching my hand out.

He gives me a confused look but does as he’s told, watching me rifle through it. “What?”

I sift through it until I pull out a folder and drop it in my lap, setting my bag down on the floor. He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward to look. “Wait, what is that?”

“Everything the boys found at my manor and what Hermione found at our storefront. I stuck it all together in case we needed it. And I’m pretty sure—yeah, here!”

I pull out a small stack of parchments, aged and yellowed from time. His eyes go wide when it clicks into place. “More letters?”

“Yes, but… they’re all from your parents to mine. And there are—” I count them quickly, under my breath, “—10 here! With the same range of dates.”

“We’ve got a complete set,” he replies breathlessly, smiling in disbelief.

With shaky hands I start to sort through them, matching each letter up by the dates that stagger back and forth, until we have a full timeline. We end up moving off the couch and onto the floor to lay them out, like we’re looking at a map to lead us to more answers.

“I guess we start at the beginning, then?” I ask quietly, a bit overwhelmed.

Draco nods, reading off the first letter in the order.

“Grace,

I am unsure if you’ve had the chance to hear the news, but I’m carrying the heir to the Malfoy name as of last week. It is early yet, but I feel in my heart that I will have a son. While I am overjoyed, I’m beginning to grow weary at the state of our political standings. Even Lucius is apprehensive about the next steps to take. This war has consumed us, and I can only hope it doesn’t consume you, too.

Narcissa”

I pick up the next letter, scanning it quietly.

“Cissy,

Despite all of the wicked, congratulations. This world is certainly not the most ideal to raise a child in, but you have my full confidence that you will raise a wonderful boy. I apologize for not responding all these weeks, but I have news of my own. Castor and I are expecting as well, and I will be due surely not much longer after you are. No matter the circumstances, I will rest easy knowing we have your support.

Grace”

Draco and I glance at each other in confusion before continuing on, picking up the next letter of the bunch. After a quick glance we set it aside, since it’s more of the same. The fourth letter, though, piques our interest.

“Lucius,

I write to you with great urgency, so I do implore you to respond promptly. Per our last discussion, I have been worried to death about the prophecy. Our dear ally has given Castor and me a plan to protect my child, but I still feel unstable. If time and resources permit us, it may be time to move forward with our emergency protective plan. I beg of you not to worry Cissy until we have a time and date set. Carrying has been so hard on her and I could not bare to know my misfortunes have caused her more discomfort.

Grace”

Draco lowers the fourth letter slowly, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. “What prophecy?” he asks, his tone sharp but quiet.

I shake my head, equally perplexed. “I don’t know. My parents never mentioned anything like this to me. Did yours?”

“No,” Draco replies, his voice clipped. “But clearly, they were hiding something… again.”

I pull the letter closer, scanning my mother’s words. “Our dear ally has given Castor and me a plan to protect my child.” I glance up at him. “Who’s the ally? And protect me from what?”

Draco leans forward, elbows on his knees as he rubs his temples. “It’s got to be connected to the war. Maybe someone thought one of us would be targeted?”

I nod slowly, but something about the phrasing nags at me. “She sounds scared—not just of the war, but of something specific. And look,” I point to the line, “emergency protective plan. That doesn’t sound like they were just moving homes or keeping a low profile. It sounds… drastic.”

Draco’s jaw tightens as he stares at the parchment. “They were both pregnant when this was written,” he mutters. “So, whatever they were planning had to do with us before we were even born.”

My heart sinks as I glance back at the stack of letters. “Do you think this prophecy—whatever it is—has to do with why they decided to bind themselves together?”

“It seems likely,” Draco admits, his voice heavy. “But what kind of prophecy would make them think that binding themselves would keep us safe?”

I hesitate, my mind racing. “They must’ve thought it would protect us from something… or someone. And why does my mother keep talking about this ‘ally’? Do you think they were working with someone powerful, someone who had inside knowledge?”

Draco narrows his eyes, sifting through the pile of letters. “Whoever it was, they were important enough for your parents to trust them—and important enough to keep a secret from us.” He grabs another letter and begins skimming it, but his shoulders slump when it offers no answers.

“This doesn’t make sense,” I say, leaning back in my chair. “Why all the secrecy? And what’s so important about this prophecy?”

Draco looks at me, his expression dark. “There’s something else bothering me,” he says. “Why did they assume we’d need protecting before we were even born? It’s like they knew something about us—about our future—that we don’t.”

A cold chill runs through me as his words sink in. “Do you think it has to do with Voldemort?” I whisper, the name tasting bitter on my tongue.

Draco’s gaze hardens. “If it does, then whatever this prophecy says, it’s not just about our parents—it’s about us. And we need to figure out what it is.”

I nod, determination stirring beneath the unease. “We’ll keep going through these letters. There has to be something that explains it.”

I settle on one a little down the timeline, after a few letters back and forth.

“Grace,

Although our bond will hold strong, we do not know how the magic will affect our children. Should the war be ongoing, we will need to bind them together as well for their protection. Narcissa and I have spoken at length about when, and we agree that when our heirs reach sixteen years of age, they will be old enough to understand their duties to their families and the binding should then run smoothly. We will reconnect physically then, as proximity should only strengthen the magic of the pact.

Lucius”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, starting to get a headache from all the thinking and reading. I turn to Draco to see him looking equally as frazzled.

“This is mental. So, whatever they were scared of definitely had to do with the war and they were so scared that they were going to bind us to each other when we turned sixteen?”

He rolls his shoulders back, stretching. “They didn’t know we’d inherit the bonds. I’m guessing they were worried their ties to each other wouldn’t include us.”

I nod my head thoughtfully, sifting through more of the letters. Draco does the same and pulls one out to read to me.

“Cissy,

I had a successful and safe birth, but Castor and I were equally shocked to discover we had a girl. My disappointment overwhelms me, and I feel hopeless. The prophecy spoke of a male heir, but my daughter is evidence enough that our once dear ally has betrayed us. Certainly this wasn’t all for nothing, was it? I am filled with both questions and fury, neither of which can be tamed. Despite the prophecy, however, is it safe to return from France? Our correspondence has led me to believe the war is still ongoing, and I cannot risk my husband or child to fall in the line of fire.

Grace”

I stare at him, a flurry of emotions filling my chest. Draco lowers the letter slowly, his expression unreadable. My hands rest motionless on the stack of papers in front of me as the words echo in my mind. My disappointment overwhelms me.

I force out a hollow laugh, but it doesn’t mask the sting in my voice. “Wow. Nice to know my arrival was such a letdown.”

“Lavigné…” Draco says softly, watching me carefully.

I shake my head, swallowing hard. “No, it’s fine. Really. I mean, she wanted a son because of this stupid prophecy, and when I wasn’t one, I guess I was just… useless to her.” I try to keep my tone light, but the weight of it sits heavy in my chest.

Draco frowns, his brows knitting together. “You’re not useless,” he says firmly.

I force a tight smile. “Thanks, but clearly she didn’t see it that way. Guess I should’ve been born with better timing.”

He looks like he wants to say more, but instead, he sifts through the pile of letters again, his jaw clenched. A moment later, he pulls one out, his expression softening slightly as he skims the page.

“Here,” he says, handing it to me. “This one’s from my mother to yours.”

I take the letter hesitantly, reading the familiar slant of Narcissa’s handwriting.

“Grace,

While I understand your disappointment, I must offer you my perspective. A daughter presents new opportunities—ones that perhaps we overlooked in our anticipation of the prophecy. Now that our families share this parallel, our children can bind our legacies in more ways than one. We can move forward with a marriage, binding them together with more than magic.

Though it may not have been what you hoped for, the war will force us to adapt. In the end, this may prove to be more beneficial than we originally imagined. If nothing else, your daughter is a gift, and I am certain she will prove her worth in time.

Congratulations on your baby girl. I can’t wait to meet her.

Cissy”

I let out a small breath, reading and rereading the last few lines. “A gift,” I murmur, my fingers brushing the edges of the parchment.

Draco watches me carefully. “See?” he says after a beat. “Even my mother saw the value in having a daughter. And she’s not exactly known for her… optimism.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, a flicker of warmth pushing back against the sting of Grace’s words. “I don’t know if that’s better or worse,” I admit quietly. “My mother couldn’t even decide for herself that I wasn’t a disappointment—she had to be told.”

“Or,” Draco counters gently, “she needed someone to remind her of what really mattered. It doesn’t mean she didn’t care.”

I glance at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He looks down quickly, sorting through the remaining letters.

“This is stupid,” I say after a moment, trying to refocus. “What prophecy convinced them to bind themselves? And why would they have to bind us, too?”

Draco exhales, leaning back in his chair. “They didn’t know we’d inherit the bonds. I’m guessing they were worried their ties to each other wouldn’t include us. So, they wanted to make sure we were just as connected.”

I nod slowly, running my thumb over the edge of Narcissa’s letter. “But why go so far? I get the whole ‘safety in numbers’ thing, but this… it’s obsessive.”

He shrugs, his eyes scanning the remaining pile of letters. “It’s war. People do insane things when they’re desperate to protect what they care about.”

I meet his gaze, and for the first time, I see a flicker of understanding there—something unspoken passing between us. We may never fully understand our parents’ choices, but in some small, strange way, it feels like we’re starting to unravel the threads together.

I gather the letters together in order, wrapping them in twine before placing them in the folder in my bag.

“I need a break. We should save all of this and show it to the trio on Monday.”

He nods with understanding, probably feeling my growing frustration and resentment towards my parents. He doesn’t push it, just helps me get everything sorted and put away.

Draco settles on the couch next to me, his gaze distant as he stares at the fire. “Yeah. Let’s deal with it then.”

The tension in the room lingers, but after a moment to relax, I catch Draco glancing at me. “So,” he says, his tone lighter but still cautious, “do you want to get back to that game? Or are we going to spend the rest of the night brooding?”

I manage a small smile, grateful for the distraction. “I don’t know. Are you ready to answer more embarrassing questions?”

He smirks faintly, the firelight catching the glint in his eyes. “Always.”

I chuckle lightly, leaning back against the couch. “Alright, then. Let’s see… do you believe in soulmates? Or like soul ties and twin flames?”

Draco raises an eyebrow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “That’s what you want to ask me? Not about my dark, brooding secrets or whether I’ve murdered anyone?”

I grin, shrugging. “I figured I’d give you a break. Besides, it’s not every day I get to ask Draco Malfoy about something as sappy as soulmates.”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, fine. Soulmates… I don’t know.” He pauses, considering. “I guess it’s possible. The idea that there’s someone out there who’s meant to understand you completely? Sounds nice, in theory. But twin flames and all that… it feels too convenient.”

I tilt my head, intrigued. “Convenient how?”

“Like it excuses everything,” he says, his tone quieter now. “As if no matter how much damage someone does, it’s fine because they’re your ‘other half.’ People aren’t puzzle pieces. They don’t just fit together. They choose to stay, or they don’t.”

His words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I’m unsure how to respond. There’s something raw in the way he speaks—something that hints at more than he’s willing to say outright.

“That’s… a surprisingly grounded answer,” I admit softly.

He smirks again, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “What about you? Do you believe in all that soulmate nonsense?”

I hesitate, feeling the weight of the Veritaserum. “I want to,” I admit finally. “But I don’t know if I do. I mean, it sounds wonderful—finding someone who just gets you—but I think people can grow to understand each other. It’s not always instant or perfect.”

Draco nods, his gaze steady on mine. “That’s… a good point.”

“Wow,” I tease, “did you just admit I’m right about something?”

He smirks, leaning back against the couch with mock casualness. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

We lapse into a comfortable silence for a moment, the crackling of the fire filling the space between us.

“Alright, your turn,” I prompt, gesturing for him to ask me something.

He thinks for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, he asks, “If you could relive one moment of your life, what would it be?”

I blink, caught off guard by the question. “Wow, going straight for the deep stuff again, huh?”

“Always,” he says with a faint smirk, but his voice is softer this time. “So? What would it be?”

I think for a long moment, my mind flitting through memories—some painful, some joyful, and some bittersweet. When I finally answer, my voice is quiet. “The first time someone made me feel like I mattered. Like I wasn’t just a… disappointment.”

Draco’s smirk fades, and for a moment, there’s only silence between us. Then he nods, his voice low. “That’s a good one. Care to share?”

There’s no teasing in his voice, just a soft curiosity that wraps around me like a security blanket, making my answer feel less daunting.

“Believe it or not,” I start, a fond smile playing on my lips, “it was the night before we activated the bond. When you had pissed off your father for my sake during his little recital, and when you were warning me about the duel. You said ‘I refuse to cast at you,’ and ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ Then you stood up to your father about it—which was completely reckless by the way—and told him he better not lay a finger on me. You had no reason to do that for me, but you did, and that told me everything I needed to know about you.”

Draco’s eyes widen slightly at my answer, and I catch the faintest hint of color rising in his cheeks. He looks down at his hands, as if searching for something to say, but the silence stretches on for a moment longer than I expect.

When he finally speaks, his voice is quieter than before. “I… didn’t think you’d remember all of that.”

I tilt my head, studying his expression. “Of course I remember. It’s not every day someone stands up for me like that, especially against their own father. You didn’t even hesitate.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Hesitation wouldn’t have helped. My father’s stubborn, but so am I.”

“And you were stubborn for my sake,” I remind him, my tone softer. “You didn’t know me that well back then, but you still decided I was worth protecting.”

Draco looks up at me then, his silver-gray eyes meeting mine. There’s something vulnerable in his gaze, something raw and unguarded that I’ve rarely seen. “I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself if I hadn’t.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, I’m not sure how to respond. But then I smile, warmth spreading through me. “Well, for what it’s worth, you made me feel like I mattered that day. And that’s not something I’ll forget.”

Draco’s lips twitch into a small, almost shy smile. “You give me too much credit.”

“Not nearly enough,” I counter, my voice firm but kind. “You don’t realize how much that moment meant to me. How much you meant to me, even then.”

The fire crackles in the hearth, filling the silence that follows. Draco shifts slightly, his gaze dropping to the teacup in his hands. “You surprise me, you know.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood.

He smirks faintly, finally glancing back at me. “Good. Definitely good.”

I play with the chain of his necklace as I look away for a moment, smiling fondly. After a beat, I look up at him. “My turn. What are your hobbies outside of reading and flying?”

Draco raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small grin. “Are you saying I’m predictable?”

I laugh softly, still fiddling with the chain of his necklace. “Not predictable—just… curated. You don’t give much away.”

He leans back slightly, as if considering his response carefully. “Alright, if I must confess. I read sometimes, but I mostly play piano. It’s something my mother insisted on when I was younger, and I guess it stuck.”

My eyes widen slightly, the image of him at the piano during the recital flashing through my mind. “You’re really good at it, though. It’s not just a hobby—it’s a talent.”

His expression softens, a hint of pride flickering in his gaze. “It’s one of the few things that lets me clear my head. When I’m playing, it’s like the world quiets down for a bit.”

I nod, understanding the sentiment more than he realizes. “I get that. For me, it’s writing. Whenever the world feels too heavy, putting it on paper makes it easier to carry.”

Draco tilts his head, intrigued. “You write?”

“Mm-hmm,” I reply a bit more quickly than I’d like to, nervously tucking my legs beneath me on the couch. “Mostly poetry. Nothing grand, but it helps.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Now this I have to see.”

I can feel my face flush a bit, and suddenly I regret taking the serum at all. “It’s not really good or anything. You probably wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh, come on,” he teases gently, “you can’t just drop that on me and expect me not to be curious.”

“Fine,” I say quietly, reaching into my bag and pulling out the small, worn notebook I’ve kept with me for years. It’s full of scribbles and thoughts, feelings that I’ve only ever put to paper. My hands shake slightly as I hold it out to him. “But you have to promise you won’t make fun of them.”

Draco doesn’t even hesitate. “I promise,” he says, his voice unexpectedly soft, as he takes the notebook from me. He flips it open carefully, scanning the pages.

For a moment, the room falls quiet, and I watch him, half-nervous, half-hoping he’ll see what I see when I read my own work. The words have always been a reflection of who I am, things I can’t quite say aloud.

“What’s this one about?” he asks, turning to a page I’ve never let anyone see. “A silent scream beneath the surface, reaching for a light that doesn’t know me.” He glances up at me, intrigued. “Sounds… deep.”

I shift uncomfortably, embarrassed, but nod. “It’s just… how I feel sometimes. Like I’m trying to reach out, but no one can hear me.”

His expression softens, the teasing nature fading for a moment as he reads more. “I didn’t expect you to be… so raw,” he says quietly, almost in awe. “This is actually really good. You’ve got something here, Lavigné.”

My cheeks turn pink, and I look away, unsure how to respond. I’ve never been complimented on my poetry before—not like this. It’s always been a private thing, a release.

“I don’t know, I murmur, my voice almost a whisper. “I’m not even sure if it makes sense half the time. I just… write it when it feels right.”

Draco continues flipping through the pages, genuinely interested. “It makes sense. You’ve got a way with words.” His eyes meet mine again, something unspoken in his gaze. “I didn’t know you were like this. It’s… different. You’ve got more depth than I gave you credit for,” he admits, glancing up with an odd expression. “I guess I’m… impressed.”

I’m a little taken aback, unsure of how to take the compliment. It’s not what I expected from Draco, but it feels… real.

“Thanks,” I say softly, giving him a small smile. “That actually means a lot.”

He keeps flipping through, reading over each page. I subconsciously scoot a little closer to him, anxious to know which ones he’s reading as I watch his expressions. The proximity makes my heart race, but it’s also… really comforting. And thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice that I’ve gotten close enough to feel his body heat.

He pauses on a page I nearly forgot about, and my breath hitches. Shit.

“Is this… about me?” He asks softly, not looking up from the page.

I play with my hands, studying his face. “I didn’t think you’d ever read it,” I reply earnestly, my heart rate quickening. He starts to read it aloud.

“Behind the mask, a guarded smile/A heart that’s closed, but all the while/I try to reach but can’t break through/What’s hidden in the mind of you?” He looks up at me, his lips curving slightly, like he’s trying to decide whether to tease me about it or not.

“I—well, uh… I was trying to explain how you guard yourself from people, you know? I wrote that a while ago, when you still wouldn’t let me in.”

He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond, just turns the page and finds a few more about himself. There are words crossed out, smudges in the ink, and places where I just started again entirely. They’re the only pages in my notebook where I had to do that because I had such a hard time articulating what I was feeling.

At this point I’m nearly on top of him trying to read along with him, terrified of how he’s going to react. I see the one he’s reading and have to stop myself from hiding my face in his shoulder.

“I am pulled to you by strings unseen, a bond that ties both soft and keen/A force that whispers, a silent plea, that draws me near, again, to thee/An invisible string pulls me close, but connection is what I crave the most/It hates to be so far away, but I just want your warmth to stay/Underneath the pull I feel, a deeper ache that’s just as real/For it’s not just the tie that binds, but your affections that soothe my mind.”

Draco is silent as he reads the last line, furrowing his brow and reading it over and over again. He looks up at me, his eyes meeting mine. There’s a flicker of something there—curiosity? Surprise? I don’t know, but it’s far more vulnerable than almost anything I’ve ever seen from him.

“You—” he swallows, as if he’s unsure how to continue. “You wrote this about me?”

I nod, shifting anxiously beside him. “Well, yeah. But—I don’t know, I just… I needed to write it down.”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just runs his fingers over the edges of the page, studying my words.

“You don’t have to say anything. It’s just how I feel. But, at least now you see it’s not just because of the bond.”

He nods, pointing to one of the lines. “You said… that you crave closeness, but not just because of the bond?”

I wring my hands together in my lap, avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, I do.” I want to shut my mouth, but I feel the leftover traces of the veritaserum pulling me to say more. “It’s not just the bond… I like being close to you. I mean, I’ve always liked being around people, but with you, it’s just different. It’s more than that.”

He narrows his eyes slightly, thinking. “So… when you hugged me at the party,” he starts, his voice laced with a little edge, “was that the bond? Or was that… you?”

I freeze. That feels like it happened forever ago, but it’s still fresh in my mind. How I held on too long, how he melted into me… it just felt so right.

I exhale, still trying not to make eye contact with him. “Both. The bond makes me want to be close to you… but something in me craves it, too. When I’m near you, I feel really comfortable. Like I finally belong somewhere.”

He finally takes notice of our proximity, and I see something like the start of a smile tug at his lips.

“So, I’m guessing you’re just… a naturally touchy person, then?”

My face flushes and I shift away, creating some space between us. I don’t want to make things weird, especially considering how intimate this whole conversation feels.

“I didn’t mean to… sorry,” I murmur. “I guess I got too comfortable.”

He doesn’t move, just watches me with a softened expression. “You don’t have to apologize. I don’t mind. I just… wanted to know why you always seem to want to be so close.”

My heart flutters at his casual dismissal of my anxieties, like me gravitating towards him is the most natural thing in the world.

“It’s not just… I mean, I’m not like this with everyone,” I start, my voice quiet. “With you, its just different. The bond pulls me, but its just… you, I guess.”

He studies my face, his gaze soft. I feel a flickering of understanding pass between us.

“I see,” he murmurs. “Well, if you need space, you can take it. It’s no big deal.” He pauses, mindfully considering his next words. “But I don’t mind you being close. You don’t have to feel like you need to pull away all the time.”

I relax a bit, the tension in my shoulders lessening. I don’t move away any further, I just stay where I am, less than an arm’s length away. Something about it feels symbolic somehow, like we’ve made real progress.

We settle into a comfortable silence, him placing my notebook back in my bag for me before we both settle back into the couch, sipping our tea and listening to the crackle of the fire. We don’t need to say anything, we can just be, and something about it makes my chest warm.

I’m more at ease than I’ve been in a while, but it doesn’t stop the headache from earlier from creeping its way back. I lean back, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples.

Draco notices immediately, giving me a bit of a concerned look. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” I reply, giving him a weak smile. “I’ve just got a headache from earlier. I’ll be alright, though.”

He tilts his head, saying, “Well you’ve had a long week. I can imagine.”

I hum in response, trying to get comfortable, but nothing helps. Even clenching my teeth too hard makes it worse.

“I’m sorry, not to be a buzzkill or anything, but… do you mind if I lay down for a minute?” I look at him apologetically, afraid to ruin the atmosphere. “It’s just… I don’t know, everything feels like a bit much right now.”

He offers me a reassuring smile, a rare sight from the great Draco Malfoy. “You don’t have to ask. You can just lay down if you need to. Here.” He gestures to his lap like it’s not a big deal at all, as natural as breathing.

I pause, giving him a questioning look. Is he asking me to lay on him?

“Go ahead,” he teases, “I won’t bite.”

There’s something soft about the gesture, like he genuinely just wants to comfort me, and it makes my heart race. I smile sheepishly, muttering a soft, “Thanks,” as I settle my head into his lap, getting comfortable.

A warm comfort washes over me, causing me to sigh contentedly—completely unintentionally, I might add. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t poke fun, just picks up a lightweight novel from his side table and starts reading in silence, letting me have a moment to relax.

My eyes flutter closed automatically, and in that moment, everything inside of me just… settles.

The bond is satisfied, my anxiety melts away, and my stress headache starts to disappear. All at once, I feel like everything clicks into place, and I’m right where I’m supposed to be.

After a few of the most comfortable minutes of my life, I feel Draco shift ever so slightly, and he rests a hand on my head, pausing. I can’t help but grin, and he takes it as permission to gently rake his fingers through my hair.

I don’t know how long we stay like that, but I soak up every single second that I can. Occasionally he’ll lift his hand to turn a page, but then he’s right back to playing with my hair, the warmth from his fingertips settling my breathing.

The sound of pages turning grows softer, blending into the crackling fire and the steady cadence of his breathing. Every stroke of his fingers through my hair feels deliberate, unhurried, and grounding in a way I didn’t know I needed.

I fight to stay awake, unwilling to let this rare, tender moment slip away, but the comfort is overwhelming. My eyelids grow heavier until, at some point, I surrender completely, letting sleep claim me.

When I stir next, it’s to the soft pressure of his hand on my shoulder and the quiet murmur of his voice.

“Hey,” he says, his tone impossibly gentle. “You fell asleep.”

I blink up at him, disoriented for a moment, his face soft and shadowed in the firelight. His hand lingers lightly on my arm, steadying me as I sit up.

“Sorry,” I mumble, trying to shake the sleep from my voice. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts, his lips curving into a faint smile. “You looked like you needed it.”

I glance at the clock on the wall, embarrassed to see how long I must have been out. “You should’ve woken me sooner.”

He shrugs, standing and offering me a hand to help me up. “You looked comfortable,” he says simply, as if that’s all the explanation needed. “But we should get you to bed.”

I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet, pouting. “Do I have to?”

“I know, I’m so mean,” he teases, his voice still soft. “Unless you want to sleep on the couch, we’ve got a room that’s way more comfortable.”

I shake my head no, rubbing my eyes. “You’re not mean,” I say quietly, sleep still lacing my voice.

He smiles softly, leading me toward the staircase with a steady hand on my back. “Your room’s just down the hall from mine,” he says, gesturing upstairs. As we reach the landing, he pauses by a door and gestures to another just across the hall.

“That one’s yours,” he says, before holding out a folded set of clothes. I recognize the crisp, expensive fabric instantly—his pajamas.

“You don’t have to—” I start, but he cuts me off with a wave of his hand.

“I know you’ve got your own,” he says, almost dismissively. “But mine are better. Trust me.” He offers a faint smirk, pressing the clothes into my hands. “I’ll leave them here in case you change your mind.”

There’s something lighthearted about the way he says it, but I don’t miss the subtle sincerity beneath it.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, stepping into my room.

He lingers in the doorway for a moment before nodding and disappearing into his own room. As I close the door behind me, I find myself clutching the soft fabric of his clothes, already feeling the pull of exhaustion again.

I shiver from the sudden chill that surrounds me with his body heat no longer close, putting on his pajamas slowly, still sleepy. They smell like him, really smell like him, and I can’t help but wonder if he sprayed his cologne on them for my sake.

Even if he didn’t, I’m grateful for the scent, because it settles my stomach in a way that I can’t deny. It makes me feel closer to him, even without him being near me.

I tuck myself into the silk sheets of one of the most comfortable beds I think I’ve ever laid on, nestling my face into the pillow.

Naturally, I’m out like a light within a minute or two, holding his shirt up against my face.