The Pact

I wake with a start, feeling a pit of dread forming in my stomach, and panic settling into my chest. What’s going on?

I look around me, and it’s still sometime in the middle of the night. For a moment, everything is quiet, but then I hear it.

A muffled sound—low, strained, panicked—filtering through the wall. Something like rustling sheets and heavy breathing.

Draco.

Before I can even comprehend what I’m doing, I jump to my feet, grabbing my wand and running to his door as fast as I can.

“Dray!” I call out, panicked. When I open his door, I see him sitting up in his bed, clutching his chest and shaking.

“Dray, are you okay? What happened?” I ask, already at his side. I place a firm hand on his arm, giving him a reassuring squeeze.

He looks up at me as though he’s barely registering what’s going on, his eyes half glazed over from what I now realize was a night terror.

My breathing steadies a little when I realize there’s no danger, but I’m still just as worried. I place my wand on the bedside table and sit on the edge of the bed next to him, rubbing circles over his back.

He’s soaked with sweat, still shaking a little from whatever he dreamed, but he starts to come down from it. “It’s okay, you’re okay… you’re safe,” I murmur, studying his face. “I’m here. You’re safe, I promise.”

Slowly, very slowly, he comes back to reality. He’s still tense, but his breathing slows, and he seems to wake up enough to register that I’m here and it wasn’t real.

He wipes a hand over his face, all the while I’m still rubbing his back, trying to ground him. He pulls his knees up to his chest and rests his head on them, turning to look at me.

“You… called me Dray,” he says softly, his expression a mixture of vulnerability and realization.

I pause for a moment out of shock, but go back to rubbing his back in a steady rhythm. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, “It just slipped. I was just worried—”

“Don’t apologize,” he replies, his voice hoarse but no less earnest. “I was just… surprised.”

“It just felt right,” I add quietly, trying for no real reason to justify myself. “I’m sorry if it upset you.”

He closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again to meet my gaze. “It didn’t.”

I sigh in relief, and we just sit there for a moment until he’s relaxed enough to put his legs back down, stretching them out, and rolling his neck back and forth a few times.

I can tell he wants to brush it all off, instinctually wanting to push me away, but I decide to stop him before he gets the chance.

“Can I stay with you for a while? Until you fall back asleep?” I ask quietly, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

He looks surprised at the question, though not opposed. “You don’t have to,” he says softly, his voice strained.

“Please?” I plead, brushing a strand of his hair back from his eyes. “I’ll feel better knowing you’re okay.”

He studies me for a moment, his guarded expression softening, and then he nods. “Alright,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

I smile gently and shift to sit on the bed next to him, leaning against the headboard. He hesitates for a second before lying back down, his head just barely brushing my thigh.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice rough but tentative.

“It’s perfect,” I say softly, and I reach out without thinking, my fingers threading through his hair.

He tenses briefly at the contact but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he closes his eyes, his breathing evening out as I continue to gently rake my fingers through the soft strands. The tension in his shoulders gradually melts away, and for the first time since I entered the room, he looks at peace.

The motion is soothing for me just as much as it is for him, and I’m hit with the realization that he probably played with my hair earlier to steady his own nerves. He’s not as calm and collected as he seems, and now I’m just enjoying the thought that he felt comfortable enough to soothe himself by being affectionate with me.

The minutes pass in comfortable silence. Every so often, he stirs slightly, his eyes fluttering open just enough to glance at me, as if to make sure I’m still there. Each time, I meet his gaze with a reassuring smile, my hand never leaving his hair.

The third time he wakes, his voice is groggy but carries a faint hint of amusement. “You’re wearing my clothes.”

I glance down at the oversized shirt and loose pants he left for me earlier, my cheeks warming just a little. “They’re just more comfortable.”

A ghost of a smirk tugs at his lips, and he shifts just enough to rest more comfortably against me. “I know,” he murmurs, his tone teasing but soft. “Keep them. They look better on you than they do on me anyway.”

I roll my eyes, though I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me. “You must be really tired if you’re complimenting me and giving me gifts.”

He doesn’t respond, just hums in response—the sound low and content—and his eyes drift shut again. His breathing evens out quickly this time, his exhaustion catching up to him.

I stay there, my hand idly playing with his hair as the room falls quiet again. The weight of the moment settles over me, and I realize just how much I want to protect this—protect him.

Even if he’ll never admit it, I know he feels safer with me here. And truthfully, I feel safer, too.

I’m not sure how much time passes—could be anywhere from an hour to three. But I don’t move, don’t leave. I just stay with him, running my fingers through his soft blond hair, admiring how peaceful he looks in his sleep.

Eventually his breathing gets deeper and even, and I’m sure he’s settled. I brush the hair off his forehead, wrestling with myself internally. The sappy side of me wins and—on a whim—I gently brush his temple with my lips, kissing him goodnight just like my father used to do for me. He doesn’t stir, so I take it as a sign that he’s out.

I gently get off the bed, not wanting to disturb him, walking to the door. I’m only halfway there when I hear him mutter, “Just a little longer?” in the cutest little sleepy voice I’ve ever heard.

I chuckle softly, completely unable to resist the little pout he gives me. “Of course,” I whisper, settling back in next to him.

Honestly, I can totally understand why he grew up so spoiled. It’s hard to say no to that. I make a mental note to give Narcissa props for dealing with him all these years.

I’m too tired to keep sitting straight up, so I lie down carefully, trying not to jostle him too much. He instinctively shifts toward me, resting his head on my shoulder as his arm curls loosely around my waist. The gesture is so natural, so tender, it makes my heart ache in the sweetest way.

I let out a quiet sigh, feeling a warmth settle over me as I rest my cheek against the top of his head. His hair smells faintly of pine and something clean—something uniquely him.

As the minutes tick by, my own exhaustion begins to catch up with me. My eyelids grow heavier, and my breathing syncs with his. Just as I’m on the verge of drifting off, I feel him move again, nuzzling closer to me in his sleep. His nose brushes against my neck, and his grip around my waist tightens ever so slightly, as if he’s afraid I’ll leave.

The sweetness of it all nearly overwhelms me. I can’t help but smile softly to myself, my hand instinctively finding his hair again, fingers threading through it one last time before my own exhaustion wins out.

As I finally close my eyes, the bond hums with quiet satisfaction. For the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels perfectly, blissfully still.

He doesn’t wake again through the night, and neither do I. Somehow, his presence holds me down to earth, erasing any nightmare my subconscious could come up with—and I think my presence does the same for him.

~

I open my eyes groggily, and although I can hear the birds outside telling me it’s morning, my vision is met with darkness.

I blink a few times, my senses slowly catching up to me. It takes a moment for my mind to catch up, sleep still tugging at the edges of my awareness. The warmth pressed against me, the steady rhythm of a heartbeat under my ear—it all feels surreal. My vision adjusts slowly, and I realize I’m laying against Draco’s chest, his arms wrapped securely around me, holding me close as if I might disappear.

Panic bubbles up in my chest, not because I’m uncomfortable, but because I’m way too comfortable. His scent surrounds me—clean linen, faint traces of pine, mixed with the natural scent of his skin—and I can’t help but notice how perfectly we seem to fit together.

This is fine. Totally fine. Normal, even. Just two friends sleeping. Except friends don’t usually… cuddle like this?

My thoughts spiral as I carefully shift, hoping to untangle myself without waking him. Before I can make my escape, though, I feel him stir slightly. His arms loosen for a fleeting moment, and I think I’m in the clear—until he pulls me in tighter, burying his face against my hair.

My heart races so fast it’s a miracle it doesn’t wake him. Or maybe it does, because his grip around me tightens ever so slightly, as if he’s silently telling me not to move.

Oh Merlin. Is this really happening?

I freeze, every nerve ending in my body suddenly hyper-aware of his presence, his warmth, the way his heartbeat seems to echo in my ears.

Do I say something? Pretend I just woke up too? Or maybe I should pretend to still be asleep… yeah, that’s probably safer.

But even as I try to calm myself, a giddy, fluttering sensation grows in my chest. Despite the chaos in my head, there’s a small, unshakable part of me that doesn’t want this moment to end.

Don’t overthink it, I scold myself silently. It’s just… comforting for him. That’s all this is. Nothing more. Just comfort.

And yet, as his breath evens out again and I catch the faintest murmured sigh of contentment from him, I can’t help but feel like I’ve stepped into a dream I never want to wake from.

Just as I’m convincing myself to stay perfectly still, I feel it—his fingers, light as a whisper, trailing down my spine. The sensation sends a shiver through me, though I do everything in my power to keep my breathing steady, hoping he doesn’t notice.

Does he know I’m awake?

The touch is so gentle, so deliberate, that it feels like he’s memorizing every curve and line. My heart hammers in my chest, my mind racing to keep up with what’s happening.

And then, as if this moment couldn’t get any more surreal, I hear him mutter softly, his voice low and almost too quiet to catch.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

He says it more to himself than to me, making it even more intimate, and I nearly forget how to breathe.

What did he just say? Did I hear that right?

Before I can process it, he shifts again, loosening his arms from around me. I feel the mattress dip as he moves to sit up, and I fight the urge to reach out, to pull him back and ask him what he meant. But I stay frozen, my heart pounding too loudly to think straight.

He lets out a quiet sigh, running a hand through his hair, and for a brief moment, I feel the absence of his warmth like a physical loss.

But his words linger in the air, and no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, the soft, vulnerable tone of his voice replays in my mind, over and over again.

As he stands, the warmth of his arms is replaced by the soft weight of the blanket he drapes over me. The gesture is so gentle, so him in these rare, unguarded moments, that my chest aches with something I can’t quite name.

I keep my eyes shut, not trusting myself to stay calm if he catches me awake. But curiosity wins, and I risk cracking my eyes open just enough to see him through the mirror on the wall.

He’s at the doorway now, his hand resting on the frame as if he’s debating whether to leave. I take note of his hair, all messed up from sleep and my playing with it all night. Something about seeing him in this state feels so vulnerable, so intense. And then, as if sensing my hidden gaze, he turns back to look at me.

That smile—soft, almost wistful—makes my breath catch. It’s not the smug smirk he wears at school or the forced grin he puts on for his parents. It’s real, and it’s just for me.

I quickly shut my eyes again, my heart thundering in my chest as he lingers for a moment longer. Finally, I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall, leaving me alone with the ghost of his smile etched into my memory.

I pull the blanket tighter around me, the warmth of it a poor substitute for the feeling of his arms. I instinctively move to the side he slept on, where the sheets are still warm from his body heat.

Honestly, if I died right now, I think I’d be okay with it.

I don’t mean to fall asleep again, but the lingering warmth of the bed and the soft cocoon of the blanket pull me under before I can fight it. It’s not a deep sleep—more of a hazy, comfortable drift—but it’s enough to keep me there for another hour.

When I finally stir, the sun is brighter, streaming through the cracks in the curtains. I stretch lazily, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and letting out a soft yawn. The house is quiet, save for the faint sounds of movement downstairs.

The smell of coffee draws me toward the sitting room, the faint crackle of pages turning breaking the morning quiet. When I peek in, Draco is lounging in one of the armchairs near the window, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand and an open book resting on his lap. The sunlight filtering in catches the sharp lines of his face, softening them in a way that makes my breath hitch.

He looks up when I shuffle into the room, the blanket still draped over my shoulders. His expression softens, and a faint smile tugs at his lips. “Morning,” he says, his voice low and warm.

I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Morning. Sorry I slept so long. I didn’t mean to—”

He cuts me off with a shake of his head, taking another sip of his coffee before responding. “Don’t apologize. You looked like you needed it.”

“Still,” I murmur, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “You should’ve woken me up. You didn’t have to wait around for me.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable before he shrugs. “I couldn’t wake you. You looked so peaceful, and…” He pauses, his gaze dropping to the book in his lap. “You deserved the rest.”

The warmth in his tone makes my cheeks heat up, and I quickly divert my attention to the coffee mug in his hand. “Is that breakfast?” I tease lightly, nodding toward it.

He smirks, setting the book aside. “No, Dobby’s handling breakfast. Should be ready soon.”

“Ah,” I say, sinking into the chair across from him.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks suddenly, the curiosity in his tone betraying his cool demeanor.

I readjust the blanket to throw it over myself, giving me something to do with my hands. “Better than I have probably all year.”

Draco’s smirk softens, and he leans back in his chair, idly swirling the coffee in his mug. “I’m glad,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative.

I glance at him, a little caught off guard by his sincerity. “Thanks for letting me crash in your room,” I add sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep there.”

He waves a hand dismissively, as though it’s no big deal. “It was fine. I didn’t mind.”

There’s a beat of silence as I fidget with the edge of the blanket, the memory of waking up in his arms flashing unbidden in my mind. I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the warmth in my face isn’t as obvious as it feels.

“I mean it, though,” I continue, trying to fill the quiet. “You didn’t have to let me stay.”

Draco looks at me over the rim of his mug, his gaze steady and uncharacteristically soft. “You act like you weren’t the one doing me a favor.”

My breath catches, and I look away, focusing on the blanket pooled in my lap. “Still,” I mumble, not sure what else to say.

He lets out a low hum of acknowledgment before setting his mug down on the side table. “You’ve got nothing to apologize for. But if you’re feeling guilty, I’m sure Dobby wouldn’t mind if you helped with breakfast.”

I roll my eyes at his teasing tone, finally glancing up at him again. “You just want me out of your hair, don’t you?”

“Caught me,” he says with a faint grin, though the lightness in his voice tells me he doesn’t mean it.

The playful back-and-forth eases the tension lingering in my chest, and I find myself relaxing further into the chair. There’s something about this morning—about him—that feels… easy. Comfortable in a way I hadn’t expected.

Before I can say anything else, the faint sound of footsteps echoes down the hall, followed by Dobby’s cheerful voice announcing that breakfast is ready. Draco rises smoothly from his chair, glancing back at me as he stretches.

“Shall we?” he asks, offering me a hand.

I take it, letting him pull me up from my seat, the blanket still wrapped snugly around my shoulders. “Lead the way, Malfoy.”

He doesn’t let go of my hand right away, and the warmth of it lingers even after he does. But I can’t help but notice the way his eyes flicker when I call him “Malfoy,” as if I haven’t been doing it since we met.

We make our way to the dining room, where Dobby has laid out an impressive spread of breakfast dishes: eggs, toast, pastries, fruit, and even a small stack of pancakes. It’s simple compared to the lavish meals I’ve seen the Malfoys host, but it feels oddly intimate—like this is more for us than for any appearance.

Draco motions for me to sit, and I slide into the same seat I occupied the first time I was here. As I glance across the table at him, memories from that day resurface. It’s strange—sitting here now feels like an echo of that moment, but the air between us is different. Softer.

I remember how cold and guarded he was then, his eyes filled with suspicion and judgment. Now, those same eyes look calm, almost serene, as he sips his coffee and picks at a pastry. There’s a warmth in his presence that wasn’t there before, and it makes the vast dining room feel less daunting.

“Do you always wake up this late?” he teases lightly, pulling me from my thoughts.

I smirk, reaching for a slice of toast. “Do you always drink coffee like it’s a personality trait?”

Draco raises an eyebrow but doesn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Touché.”

We settle into easy conversation, something I never would’ve thought possible with him months ago. He asks me about my favorite breakfast foods, mocking my love for overly sweetened tea, and I retort by questioning the absurd amount of caffeine he consumes. It’s light, comfortable, and I can’t help but marvel at how natural it feels.

Still, the memory of last night lingers in the back of my mind, and eventually, I set my fork down, the weight of my thoughts creeping in. “Draco?” I ask softly, the name clumsy as it falls from my lips.

He pauses, glancing at me as if hearing his first name from me is something new and unexpected. But then, his lips curve into a small, almost shy smile. “Hm?”

I hesitate, unsure how to phrase it without pushing too hard. “About last night… your nightmare…”

His expression shifts slightly, the lightness dimming just a fraction. I brace myself for him to shut me down, to brush it off with a biting remark, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he leans back in his chair, tracing the rim of his coffee mug with his finger. “What about it?” he asks, his voice measured.

“I just…” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I wanted to say you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but… if you do, I’m here.”

Draco’s gaze flickers, and for a moment, I think I’ve crossed a line. But then he exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he looks down at his coffee.

“It wasn’t just a nightmare,” he says quietly. “It’s a memory.”

My stomach tightens at the weight in his voice, but I force myself to stay quiet, letting him speak on his own terms.

“It’s always the same,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “Darkness. Voices. There’s blood on my hands—on the floor—and someone’s crying in the distance. I… I try to help, but it’s like I’m stuck, watching it all happen.”

A chill runs down my spine at his words, but I stay focused on him, nodding to show I’m listening.

“And then,” he continues, his tone sharper now, “they show up. My parents, the Dark Lord… they’re watching me, waiting for me to finish what they started. But I can’t. I never can. And that’s when the… screams start.”

My heart aches at the vulnerability in his tone, and I don’t know how to comfort him in this moment. “Draco…”

He flinches slightly, looking away, but he doesn’t shut down entirely. “It’s stupid, really,” he adds, a faint bitterness creeping into his voice. “It’s not like they don’t expect me to fail anyway.”

“It’s not stupid,” I say gently, meeting his gaze. “That’s a lot to carry. More than anyone should have to.”

Draco holds my stare for a moment, as if searching for something in my expression. Finally, he nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah,” he says softly. “It is.”

I don’t push further, sensing that he’s said all he can for now. Instead, I offer him a small, reassuring smile. “For what it’s worth, you’re handling it better than you think.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, but I catch the faintest hint of gratitude in his eyes before he picks up his fork, clearly ready to change the subject.

“Speaking of… thank you, by the way. For last night. You didn’t have to…” he trails off, and it seems like he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek.

I nod thoughtfully, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I’d do it again. I’d never leave you hurting like that.”

He looks at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable, before his lips twitch into something that almost resembles a smile. “You’re too soft for your own good,” he says, his voice a little rough.

“Me?” I question, a teasing tone to my voice. “You’re one to talk.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I stifle a laugh as I take a small bite of my food, licking the syrup off my lips. “I’m just saying, I thought Hufflepuffs were the only ones meant to be so touchy.”

He furrows his brow in surprise, a questioning smile starting to show. “I’m not touchy.”

“You’re joking, right? You’re just as bad as me. Actually… I think you’re worse.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “Worse? How am I worse?” he asks, leaning back in his chair, his expression one of feigned indifference.

I lean forward slightly, a playful glint in my eye. “Oh, please. You’ve got no sense of personal space. I mean, you practically fell asleep on top of me last night, for Merlin’s sake.”

Draco’s eyes widen for just a second before he quickly regains his composure, taking a slow sip of his coffee as if the mention of last night’s moment didn’t affect him. “I was half asleep,” he says, trying to brush it off. “It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

I smirk, crossing my arms. “Sure, sure. Blame it on whatever you want. But you can’t tell me you weren’t getting a little too comfortable.”

He rolls his eyes, but I catch the faint hint of a smile pulling at his lips. “You’re insufferable.”

I laugh, enjoying how flustered I’ve made him. “You’ve got no room to talk. You’re just as touchy as I am. Admit it.”

He looks away, trying to hide the faint flush creeping up his neck, but it’s no use. The corners of his mouth twitch again, and this time, there’s no denying it.

“I’ll never admit it,” he mutters, almost under his breath, but his tone is light, teasing. “But I’m not the one who practically stays in my personal space, am I?”

I grin at his attempt to shift the blame. “Hey, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Someone had to.” I pause, then add with a sly grin, “And you never seem to mind the extra company.”

Draco’s eyes flicker to me, a hint of amusement behind his usual mask. He leans back in his chair, shaking his head. “You’re a real handful, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” I say sweetly, winking at him.

For a moment, we just sit there, the tension between us lighter now, the easy banter filling the space in a way that feels… right. Something still lingers in the back of my mind, though, and I can’t resist bringing it up after breakfast is finished, sitting with him on the couch once more.

“Can I ask you something?” I start, trying to be nonchalant.

Draco looks over at me, his expression soft but curious. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”

I fiddle with the edge of my sleeve for a moment, gathering my thoughts before finally speaking up. “Well… I’ve been wondering,” I begin, glancing up at him, “how you feel about me calling you Draco now. I mean, we’re past the whole ‘Malfoy’ thing, but… would it make you uncomfortable, especially around people? Like in public or whatever?”

He raises an eyebrow at me, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features before he leans back against the cushions. “Uncomfortable?” He says the word slowly, like he’s testing it on his tongue. “Not really. I don’t see why it would.”

I bite my lip, still not quite sure how to ask this next part. “But what about when we’re with your parents or friends? Will it be… weird for you?”

Draco doesn’t answer right away, his gaze wandering to the window for a moment, almost lost in thought. Then he shrugs, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It’s just a name,” he says finally. “It’s not like it defines everything about me. If it makes you feel better, call me Draco whenever you want. Honestly, I’m not bothered by it.”

I let out a breath, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. “Good,” I say, returning his smile.

He gives me a knowing look, one eyebrow raised in that familiar, teasing way. “You do realize, if you keep being this considerate, I might start getting used to it, right?”

I roll my eyes, laughing lightly. “You’re insufferable.”

But something about his relaxed response, the way he doesn’t shy away from the personal touch of my calling him Draco, settles something inside me. Maybe this is one of those small steps that make this whole thing feel real. Like we’re really starting to understand each other.

He chuckles under his breath before clearing his throat.

“You know,” he starts, his tone casual but with an edge of sincerity, “I never would’ve thought a sleepover at my place would actually turn out… well, enjoyable.”

I raise an eyebrow, teasing him. “So you’re admitting it was a good idea?”

He gives a small shrug, avoiding my gaze as he picks at a loose thread on his shirt. “I guess you could say that. I mean, it wasn’t all bad.” His voice softens, almost reluctant, before he adds, “Getting to know you… personally, like this, has been… less torturous than I expected.”

I blink, surprised by the honesty in his words. “Really?”

He looks at me then, a slightly amused smirk tugging at his lips. “Yeah, really. I can’t say I’ve spent much time getting to know anyone like this, and it’s… it’s not the worst thing. You’re not as insufferable as I thought you’d be.”

I can’t help but laugh, the sound escaping before I can stop it. “I’m glad you think so.” I give him a playful smile. “Maybe next time, we can do something a little less… intense.”

Draco leans back into the couch, his expression thoughtful. “Next time, huh? I think that could be arranged.”

I smile at the thought, feeling a warmth settle in my chest at the idea of this—of being here with him, in this space where we’re not just enemies or allies, but something else entirely. Something that feels a little less like a battle and a little more like… friendship, maybe even something more, if I let myself be a little delusional.

“In that case,” I tease, “I’ll hold you to that. You might regret it, though.”

His eyes sparkle with a hint of amusement, and his smirk returns in full force. “We’ll see about that.”

The day slips by quicker than either of us would have liked, and soon we find ourselves standing at the entrance of Malfoy Manor, the weight of leaving pressing heavily on me. I can’t help but feel a little reluctant. It’s strange how quickly things shifted—how easily we slipped into this new dynamic, this space between us where things felt… right.

Draco stands beside me, arms crossed, looking every bit the unwilling participant in this goodbye as I feel. “Well, I guess we should get going,” he says, his voice a little more guarded than it was earlier, but there’s a softness there too, something beneath the usual malice he wears like a shield.

We step in the floo, the green flames bursting around us as we return to Dumbledore’s office. I feel a pang of disappointment after he helps me out, then promptly drops my hand when I’ve steadied myself.

We walk out into the corridor, the door to the office shutting behind us with a click. The weight on my chest returns knowing we have to part ways, leaving the comfortable little bubble of whatever this weekend was behind.

“I’ll see you in class tomorrow, then?” he says softly, his words sounding as hesitant as I feel.

I nod, but before either of us can say anything else, I step forward, pulling him into a quick, almost clumsy hug. It’s brief—just long enough to let him feel the weight of it. I don’t even think, just do it because it feels like the right thing to do.

He freezes for a second, clearly surprised, but then his arms hesitantly wrap around me, the warmth of his body grounding me in a way I didn’t expect. It’s not like the hugs I give to others. It’s different, and I can feel it in the way he hesitates before pulling away.

He chuckles softly, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Easy, little badger. I promise I’m not going to disappear.”

I glance up at him, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips despite myself. “I know,” I say quietly, though the words feel incomplete. It’s as if I’m saying more than I mean to.

Draco looks down at me, the usual smirk starting to return, though the softness I’ve gotten to see in him shines through. I linger for a second longer, almost as if trying to memorize the feeling of standing here, this strange, fleeting moment between us.

Reluctantly, I turn and begin walking away, each step taking me farther from the warmth of his presence. The chill of the air hits me again, but it’s not enough to distract me from the odd, inexplicable feeling in my chest. I can’t help but glance back, just once, and that’s when I catch him looking at me too—his gaze intense, lingering as he stands there, his posture still but eyes never leaving mine.

There’s something in his expression, something unspoken, but before I can figure it out, I turn back around, my feet carrying me away to the Hufflepuff dorms.

The feeling of his eyes on me doesn’t leave. It stays with me, keeping my heart racing even as the distance grows between us.

Maybe, just maybe, I’ve gotten through to him.