The Pact

Aurélien has ignored me almost all day. I know it isn’t out of malice—he’s just hurt—but that doesn’t make it suck any less.

To make things worse, someone heard me call Draco “Dray” in the corridor yesterday, so now the news of us becoming unlikely friends is spreading like wildfire. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs alike have been giving me confused, disappointed, and angry stares everywhere I go, and the tension is weighing on me.

I duck into the corridor leading to Transfigurations, clutching my books tightly and keeping my head down. If I can just make it through class, I can hide out in the library until dinner.

“Snake charmer!”

The voice startles me, and I look up to see Blaise Zabini leaning casually against the wall, his arms crossed and a smug grin on his face.

“What?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

He chuckles, straightening up and stepping closer. “That’s what people are calling you, isn’t it? Taming the great Draco Malfoy. Never thought I’d see the day.”

I groan, shifting my books to my other arm. “Is this really what we’re doing now? Giving me ridiculous nicknames?”

“Ridiculous?” Blaise raises an eyebrow, feigning offense. “I think it’s fitting. Don’t you?”

I shoot him a glare, though the corners of my lips twitch against my will. “I think it’s absurd.”

Blaise smirks. “Come on, don’t be like that. It’s impressive, really. You’ve got half the school losing their minds over this little friendship of yours.”

I sigh, leaning back against the wall. “It’s not like I planned for any of this to happen. I didn’t wake up one day and think, Oh, you know what sounds fun? Befriending Malfoy and pissing off everyone in the process.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Blaise says with a wink. “But seriously, don’t let it get to you. People love to gossip, and you’ve just given them something new to chew on.”

“Great,” I mutter, shaking my head. “That’s exactly what I needed—more attention.”

Blaise chuckles, his expression softening slightly. “For what it’s worth, you’ve got guts. Most people wouldn’t dare get close to Draco, let alone call him something as absurd as Dray.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t realize the nickname police were patrolling Hogwarts today.”

He grins. “You’re lucky it’s me and not Pansy. She’d have a field day with this.”

“Thanks for the warning,” I say dryly, pushing off the wall and adjusting my grip on my books. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class before Professor McGonagall gives me another lecture about clocks.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, shoving his hands in his pockets. “See you around, snake charmer,” Blaise calls after me, his laughter echoing down the corridor.

I shake my head, but a small smile tugs at my lips despite the chaos surrounding me. If nothing else, at least Blaise knows how to keep things interesting.

I walk into Transfigurations and take my seat, trying to remain unnoticed. It doesn’t work, though, as I’ve got a Slytherin girl—who looks oddly familiar—turn around in her chair to face me, an evil grin plastered across her face. Her sleek black bob frames her sharp features perfectly, and her piercing eyes zero in on me like she’s just found her next target.

“So… you’re the Hufflepuff everyone’s talking about,” she says, her tone dripping with amusement.

I glance around awkwardly, clutching my quill. “That depends. What exactly are they saying?”

Her grin widens, and she rests her chin on her hand. “Oh, you know. Something about you cozying up to Draco Malfoy. Didn’t think the Prince of Slytherin had a soft spot for Hufflepuffs.”

The pieces click into place. This must be Pansy Parkinson—one of Draco’s closest friends. Great. Just what I needed.

I straighten up in my chair and force a polite smile. “I don’t know what you’ve heard, but Draco and I are just… friends.”

Pansy raises a perfectly arched brow. “Just friends? How quaint. Draco doesn’t do ‘just friends,’ darling. Especially not with puffs.”

I can feel my cheeks heating up, but I refuse to let her see me squirm. “Well, there’s a first time for everything.”

She laughs, a sharp, tinkling sound that draws a few curious looks from nearby students. “Oh, I like you. You’ve got some bite. No wonder Draco’s been acting so strange lately.”

“Strange?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Oh, you know. Brooding more than usual, disappearing at odd hours, not hexing first-years for fun. It’s like you’ve bewitched him or something.”

I groan, pressing a hand to my forehead. “I haven’t bewitched anyone. We’re just working on a project together.”

“Just a project,” Pansy repeats, her voice dripping with mock skepticism. “Sure, sure. Whatever you say, snake charmer.”

I blink. “Blaise put you up to this, didn’t he?”

She smirks. “Maybe. But I’m glad he did. I was beginning to think Draco was losing his edge.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Look, I’m not trying to cause trouble. Can we just… drop this?”

Pansy tilts her head, studying me for a moment before her grin returns. “Fine. I’ll let you off the hook—for now. But only because I like you.”

I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a warning.

Before I can respond, she adds, “Speaking of which, there’s a Slytherin party tomorrow night. You’re coming.”

I blink at her, caught off guard. “A… Slytherin party?”

“Yes,” she says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, music, drinks, secret passageways—it’ll be fun. You can bring that grumpy friend of yours, too, if you want.”

“You mean Aurélien?” I ask, skeptical.

“Sure, him,” she says with a dismissive wave. “Or don’t. Either way, you’ll be there. The boys and I have been itching to see what makes little miss Beauxbatons so special.”

“I don’t think—”

“Don’t overthink it,” Pansy cuts me off with a wink. “It’s an open invitation. Midnight, in the common room. See you there.”

Before I can protest, she turns back around in her seat, leaving me to wonder what exactly I’ve just gotten myself into.

I don’t know how to feel about the fact that I’ve become a common name through the school, and I especially don’t know how to feel about being acquainted with another one of Draco’s slytherin friends.

What could he possibly have told them to make them so interested in me?

Even worse, why were they being so nice?

~

When I walk into the Room of Requirement for our fondly named “Team Meeting,” I half expect to beat Draco there. To my surprise, he’s already sitting with the trio, and they’re… actually getting along?

The sight is bizarre enough to make me stop in my tracks.

Draco has his sleeves rolled up, his tie askew, and his signature smirk firmly in place. Scattered cards sit on the table between him and the Golden Trio. Ron looks deeply unimpressed, Harry appears vaguely irritated, and Hermione looks like she’s trying to solve the puzzle of why Draco Malfoy is tolerable right now.

Ron slams his cards down on the table, groaning loudly.

“This game is rigged. You’re rigged.”

Draco, without looking up from his cards, simply replies, “Don’t hate the player, Weasley. Hate your lack of strategy.”

Harry smirks faintly, though it seems reluctant. “You do cheat at Quidditch, so…”

Draco raises an eyebrow, finally looking at him. “Oh, please. I didn’t need to cheat to beat you, Potter. You’re just still bitter about that last match.”

Ron snorts and leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Can’t imagine why we hated you all these years.”

“Jealousy, mostly. Understandable.” Draco seems completely unfazed, still just as casual as he was before the comment.

That earns a loud laugh from Hermione, which she tries to disguise as a cough. “You’re really leaning into the ‘arrogant prat’ thing, aren’t you?”

“Why fix what works?” Draco asks, shrugging his shoulders with a cocky grin.

That’s when I step closer, crossing my arms and arching an eyebrow. “Am I interrupting your… bonding session?”

All three Gryffindors look at me, relief practically washing over their faces, while Draco just leans back further in his chair, smirking. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m only here because you insisted we all ‘work together.’”

“Yeah, sure,” Ron mutters sarcastically. “You definitely didn’t drag yourself in early to spend more time with—”

“Say another word, Weasley, and you’ll regret it,” Draco cuts in, the usual edge returning to his voice.

Ron narrows his eyes, clearly debating whether to push further.

Harry smirks. “You two should really just snog and get it over with.”

“Oh, very original, Potter. Did you come up with that one all by yourself?” Draco replies, his tone mocking.

I slide into the seat next to Draco, glancing at the cards. “So, who’s losing?”

“Ron,” Hermione replies quickly, trying to hide her amusement.

“I’m not losing!” Ron quips with an exasperated grumble. “Malfoy’s just—”

“Better?” Draco cuts in smoothly, earning a glare from the redhead.

“Annoying!”

Draco picks up the deck and begins shuffling with practiced ease, his smirk widening. “Funny. I’ve been called worse. Mostly by you.”

“It’s not too late to leave him out of this, you know,” Harry says, pretending to consider it.

Dryly, Draco retorts, “And deprive you of my charm and wit? How tragic that would be for you, Potter.”

I shake my head, biting back a laugh as I reach for the deck. “You’re all exhausting. Can we just focus for once?”

Draco glances at me, his smirk softening into something resembling amusement. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you like being around me.”

I nudge his arm playfully, ignoring the warmth in his voice. “Don’t push your luck, Dray.”

The trio exchanges glances, silently communicating their bewilderment at this bizarre new version of Draco. Harry leans over to Hermione and whispers just loud enough for everyone to hear. “Opposites attract, right?”

Ron grumbles something unintelligible, and Draco? He just smirks like he’s won.

I roll my eyes, groaning. “Not you lot, too. I’ve already been questioned about getting along with Draco by half the school today.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Harry teases, giving me a playful smile.

Ron points a thumb at Draco. “Yeah, it’s not like he’s been unusually nice or anything. Definitely didn’t see him refill your pumpkin juice at breakfast this morning.”

Draco leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I wasn’t being nice. She looked parched. I can’t be responsible for her passing out.”

Harry snorts. “Oh, how noble of you, Malfoy. Tell me, did you see how parched she was from all the way across the Great Hall?”

Draco’s face warms for just a moment before he tucks away his surprise, looking at me out of the corner of his eye. “It’s just the bond. I can feel what she feels, you know?”

Harry and Ron look unconvinced, giving me raised eyebrows and teasing grins.

Hermione tilts her head, looking at me with that all-knowing expression that makes me instantly defensive. “You do have to admit, you two have been… spending a lot of time together lately.”

I shake my head, laughing nervously. “We’re just working together on all this. That’s it.”

Draco scoffs playfully, feigning offense. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

I whip my head toward him, narrowing my eyes. “Don’t start.”

Ron looks between us, his brow furrowed. “Wait, so the rumors aren’t true? You’re not… together?”

I open my mouth to respond, but Hermione beats me to it, her tone sharper than usual. “Ron! Honestly, you can’t just ask people that!”

“What?” Ron says defensively. “Everyone’s been saying it! Besides, they’re always together. If they’re not a thing now, they’re probably going to be soon.”

I feel my face heat up as I stammer, “We are not a thing. And we’re not going to be a thing. Right, Draco?”

Draco doesn’t respond immediately, instead studying me with a faint, unreadable smirk.

“Right, Malfoy?” I repeat, giving him a pointed look.

He shrugs, far too casually. “If you say so.”

Ron snorts. “That wasn’t exactly a denial.”

Hermione sighs, clearly exasperated. “Honestly, you’re all being ridiculous. Can we please get back to the reason we’re here?”

But Harry, ignoring her entirely, grins at Draco. “So, Malfoy, if you were going to date her, would you admit it?”

Draco arches a brow, his smirk turning sharper. “And let the entire school invade my private life? Hard pass, Potter. I’d sooner kiss a dementor.”

I elbow him, and he winces, though I know it didn’t actually hurt. “Very charming,” I mutter.

“Truth hurts,” he says, though his tone is lighter than his words.

As they laugh and bicker, I catch the briefest flicker of something softer in Draco’s expression—a look he quickly masks as he picks up the cards.

“So,” he says smoothly, changing the subject. “Are we going to talk strategy or keep gossiping like first-years?”

The tension breaks as everyone groans at him in unison, and I let out a small laugh, shaking my head. Draco Malfoy, the center of attention, as always.

Not letting us evade the topic fully, Harry chimes in, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Y/n, tell me… when Gryffindor and Slytherin face off in the next quidditch match, who are you cheering on?”

The boys all look at me expectantly, with Hermione just rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, who are you choosing?” Ron asks, leaning forward.

I look between all three of them frantically, a panic smile on my face. “That’s not fair! You can’t ask me that!”

“Oh, but we can,” Harry teases, leaning back in his chair like he’s enjoying the show.

Ron crosses his arms. “Come on, just say it. Us or Malfoy?”

I gape at him. “Do you hear yourself? How am I supposed to choose between some of my closest friends and the person I’m soul-tied to?”

Hermione’s head snaps up, her eyebrows shooting into her hairline. “You mean blood tied,” she corrects, her voice pointed.

I freeze, my cheeks flushing. “Right. That’s what I said,” I mumble, trying to brush it off with a wave of my hand.

“No, you didn’t,” Ron says, his brow furrowed as he looks at me suspiciously.

Harry tilts his head. “Soul-tied? That’s… a thing? Like soulmates or whatever?”

“It’s just an expression!” I blurt, my voice a little too high-pitched. “You know, like, ‘we’ve been through a lot together, so we’re… tied.’” I make vague hand gestures, desperate to backpedal.

Hermione narrows her eyes slightly but doesn’t push further, clearly cataloging my slip for later.

Draco, who’s been quiet this whole time, finally speaks up, his tone dry but his lips twitching in amusement. “If she’s choosing me, I hope you lot don’t take it too hard. You’ll survive.”

I whip my head toward him, glaring. “I’m not choosing you!”

“Good to know,” he says with a smirk.

“You’re impossible,” I mutter, shaking my head.

“Careful,” Harry chimes in, grinning. “You almost sounded like you cared, Malfoy.”

Draco glances at me, and for just a second, his smirk softens. “Maybe I do,” he says lightly, before turning his attention back to the cards on the table, as if he hasn’t just stolen the air out of the room. “But if I see Lavigné in a Gryffindor jersey, I might just riot.”

I scoff, crossing my arms. “Oh, please. Like I’d wear one of their jerseys.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, grinning. “What’s wrong with our jerseys?”

“Nothing,” I say, shrugging. “They’re just… so red. And red is not my color.”

Draco gives a low chuckle, clearly pleased. “See? She gets it.”

Ron rolls his eyes. “Merlin, you’ve already got her halfway converted. Next thing we know, she’ll be cheering for Slytherin.”

“Oh, she’s already done that,” Draco says smugly, cutting his gaze toward me.

“That was one time!” I snap, glaring at him.

“And I’ll treasure it forever,” he retorts, leaning back in his chair with a smirk.

Hermione sighs, clearly unimpressed with all of us. “You’re all ridiculous.”

Draco ignores her, turning his attention fully to me. “If you must wear a jersey, Lavigné, it might as well be mine.”

The table goes silent, all eyes darting between him and me.

“Yours?” I repeat, blinking at him.

He shrugs, completely unbothered by the weight of his words. “You’d look good in it. And let’s be honest, it’d suit you better than Potter’s.”

Harry sputters indignantly. “Excuse me?!”

I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. “I’m sure it would, but don’t you think that would start some very confusing rumors?”

Draco raises an eyebrow, his smirk growing. “As if there aren’t enough already.”

Ron groans, dropping his head onto the table. “I hate this. I hate all of this.”

I can’t help but laugh, shaking my head at the chaos. “This is officially the worst ‘Team Meeting’ we’ve ever had.”

Draco leans closer, his voice low enough for only me to hear. “Admit it—you’re having fun.”

I glare at him, but I can’t stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “I can’t stand you sometimes.”

“Maybe,” he says softly, his smirk fading into something gentler. “But you like me anyway.”

Ron groans dramatically. “This is so weird. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”

“Join the club,” I mutter, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest.

Hermione begrudgingly chuckles before calling our attention. “Alright, alright. Seriously, we need to get back to the topic at hand. Y/n, what did you two find at Malfoy Manor?”

Grateful for the change in topic, I place my bag on the table and pull out the bundle of letters Draco and I found, as well as the two books that surrounded them.

“A lot,” I reply simply, tossing my bag down and untying the letters. “I’ll save you all some reading—except you of course, Mione—and just give you the gist. Basically, someone told our parents about some kind of prophecy and it scared them enough to bind themselves together. Apparently, my family isn’t even from France. My parents just ran there to protect me, thinking I was going to be a boy. I guess that has something to do with it.”

“They wrote back and forth for a little while and agreed to bind us together when we turned sixteen since they didn’t know the bond would get passed onto us. Then, when the Lavignés found out they had a girl, my parents suggested to arrange our marriage to add an extra level of being tied to each other.” Draco runs a hand through his hair pensively, and Harry and Ron look gobsmacked.

“You two are getting married?” Ron asks, an exasperated look on his face.

Harry looks back and forth between us, eyes wide. “I thought that was just a rumor!”

“There’s a rumor about it now?” I sigh, rubbing my face. “You know what, nevermind. Not the point. Yes, we’re supposed to get married when we’re of age.”

Hermione’s face settles, and I know she’s suddenly seeing right through me. “How do you feel about that?” she asks cooly, giving me a pointed look.

I glance at Draco, and he’s wearing a mask of complete indifference. Obviously, it’s not a big deal to him. Just another Monday night.

“It’s the least of my worries right now,” I reply honestly, trying to brush it off. “That’s not for a few years yet, and who knows where we’ll be by then.”

Hermione’s gaze sharpens, like she doesn’t believe me for a second, but thankfully, she lets it slide—for now. “Alright, but the letters—do they say why the prophecy scared them so much? What exactly are they afraid of?”

I shake my head, spreading the aged parchment across the table. “Not directly. They’re cryptic, of course, but it has something to do with bloodlines. Apparently, Draco’s family has something my family needed to ‘balance’ or protect against whatever the prophecy predicted. There are vague references to power and legacy, but no clear details about what the prophecy actually said.”

Draco leans forward, frowning as he flips through one of the letters. “The only thing they were specific about is the bond. They wrote about it as if it was the solution to everything.” He pauses, his voice quieter now. “Like we’re supposed to fix whatever they were afraid of.”

Harry looks skeptical, crossing his arms. “Convenient, isn’t it? Tie your kids together and let them deal with the fallout.”

“Classic Malfoy logic,” Ron mutters under his breath, earning a sharp glare from Draco.

“Classic Weasley whining,” Draco snaps back, his tone biting but controlled.

I step in quickly, holding up a hand. “Enough. Both of you.”

Draco’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t say anything else, leaning back in his chair. Ron mutters something incoherent but stays quiet.

“Back to the prophecy,” Hermione says, her voice steady. “Did they mention where they heard it? Or who told them?”

Draco and I exchange a glance before I answer. “That’s the strange part. They don’t name anyone, but there’s a letter from someone else in the stack.” I pull it out, the parchment darker and more ominous-looking than the rest. “It’s unsigned, but the handwriting is precise—almost too perfect. They called themselves ‘a concerned friend.’”

Hermione takes the letter carefully, scanning the words. “This is… odd. The phrasing is formal, but there’s something almost manipulative about it. Like they were steering your parents toward this bond.”

“Of course they were,” Draco says dryly. “No one with good intentions sends anonymous letters like this.”

Harry nods, his expression grim. “It sounds like someone wanted this bond to happen. For their own reasons.”

Ron groans, slumping back in his chair. “Great. So now we’re dealing with some mystery puppet master on top of everything else.”

“Pretty much,” I say with a sigh, rubbing my temples.

Draco glances at me, his tone uncharacteristically sincere. “We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of it all settling over us.

“Well,” Hermione says finally, her voice cutting through the tension. “It’s a good thing we have these letters. It’s a start.”

Draco smirks faintly. “Leave it to Granger to find optimism in a mess like this.”

Hermione glares at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Careful, Malfoy. I’m your best shot at decoding this.”

“Fair point,” he concedes, leaning back with an exaggerated air of ease. “Carry on, then.”

I can’t help but smile faintly at the banter, but the weight of what we’ve uncovered lingers in the back of my mind. Whatever this bond is, whoever orchestrated it—it’s more than just a family legacy. It’s a puzzle we don’t have all the pieces to. Yet.

“I’ll take a look through those books, too,” Mione says softly, reaching out for them. “See if I can find anything particularly important about the blood pact.”

I slide them her way, then rest my head on my arms on the table. “I didn’t read through them yet, so you’re already doing better than I am with this. I didn’t have the bandwidth to.”

Draco notices my shift in demeanor, but he doesn’t comment on it. He just moves his leg under the table to rest against mine, the gesture small but greatly appreciated. Being close to him just takes the edge off somehow.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it all out in time,” Harry says reassuringly, also seeming to pick up on my heavy expression. “Don’t push yourself too hard. You’ll never get anywhere if you’re burnt out.”

I lift my head just enough to give Harry a weak smile. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

Hermione starts flipping through the first book with her usual determination, but Ron glances at me with a furrowed brow. “You alright, Y/n? You’ve seem kinda… I dunno, off.”

I hesitate, fiddling with the edge of my sleeve as I consider brushing it off. But something about Ron’s genuine concern—or maybe it’s the comforting pressure of Draco’s leg against mine—makes me pause.

“Yeah,” I say softly, though my voice carries a tinge of something I can’t quite hide. “It’s just… I guess it’s hard not to feel like I’ve been a disappointment since birth, you know?”

The room goes quiet, the kind of silence that feels both heavy and delicate. Hermione looks up from her book, her brows knitting together in concern, while Ron and Harry exchange uncertain glances.

Draco’s voice cuts through, low and steady. “Why would you say that?”

I let out a short, humorless laugh and shrug, avoiding his gaze. “My parents wanted a boy. Needed a boy, actually, if they were going to keep this whole prophecy-blood-pact-legacy thing intact. But then I came along, and—well. They had to come up with a new plan, didn’t they?”

Hermione’s expression softens, and she reaches across the table to place a hand on mine. “That doesn’t mean you’re a disappointment. None of this is your fault.”

“Yeah,” Ron adds, his tone surprisingly gentle. “It’s their problem if they can’t see how brilliant you are.”

I smile faintly at their words but don’t say anything, the knot in my chest ever present. I reach into my bag, pulling out the one letter I didn’t bundle with the rest. I chew on my lip as I debate showing it to them, but part of me just needs to. I need them to understand.

My fingers hesitate for a moment, the weight of its words heavy in my mind, but then I pass it across the table.

“This,” I say quietly, “is what I mean.”

Hermione carefully unfolds the parchment, and as her eyes scan the words, her brows knit together. She starts reading aloud, her voice steady but soft.

I close my eyes, unable to handle the pitying looks I know they’re going to give me. I can only tune it out so much, though, because that one sentence swirls around in my mind over and over again, like it has since the first time I read it.

My disappointment overwhelms me.

I can feel Draco tense beside me when she reads over that part, too, no doubt feeling the pangs of grief and sadness coursing through my body.

By the time she finishes, the silence is deafening. Harry and Ron exchange uncomfortable glances, and even Hermione looks stunned, her lips pressing into a thin line as she folds the letter back up.

“Blimey,” Ron mutters, his face pale. “That’s… that’s awful.”

Harry shakes his head, his jaw tight. “How could she write something like that about her own child?”

I shrug, trying to keep my tone light despite the knot in my chest. “It’s not exactly unusual, is it? My parents are practical people. They planned for a son because that’s what they thought they needed. I wasn’t part of the plan, and they… adjusted. Eventually.”

Hermione’s eyes bore into mine, filled with both sympathy and indignation. “That doesn’t make it okay, Y/n. You didn’t deserve that—not then, not now.”

“She’s right,” Harry adds firmly. “None of this is your fault. Prophecy or not, you’re worth more than what they expected you to be.”

I glance down at my hands, unsure how to respond, but Draco speaks before I can. His voice is sharp, laced with a protectiveness I didn’t expect.

“They’re fools,” he says bluntly, his gaze fixed on the letter like it’s personally offended him. “If they can’t see what they have, that’s their problem. Not yours.”

The trio looks at him in mild surprise, but I can only stare, caught off guard by the conviction in his voice.

“Draco…” I start, but he just shakes his head.

“Don’t let their failures define you, Lavigné,” he says, softer now. “You’re better than that. Better than them.”

My throat tightens, and I manage a faint smile, the warmth of his words seeping into the cracks I didn’t realize were there. “Thanks,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, his leg pressing reassuringly against mine under the table again. And for the first time in what feels like ages, I feel a little less like the girl my mother described and more like the person sitting here with these people—people who see me for who I really am.

Sensing the tension, Harry jumps in to save me. “Well, I think that about wraps it up for tonight, then.”

Grateful for the escape, I sit up, leaning back against my chair. “Yeah, that’s all we have for now. Let me know if you guys think of anything.”

The trio all nod their heads, gathering their things quickly. “Are you going to be okay?” Mione asks softly, walking around the table to give me a quick hug.

“Yeah,” I reply unconvincingly. “I just need to get some rest.”

Harry and Ron both look at Draco with expressions I can’t quite place, but they seem almost… expectant. Protective, maybe.

Draco just leans imperceptibly closer to me, waving them all off. “I’ll walk her to her dorm. See you idiots tomorrow.”

I let out a breath, some of the tension leaving my body when my Gryffindor friends seem completely content to leave me in the hands of someone they once hated—and I’m starting to wonder if they still do.

Harry, Ron and Hermione give him a sharp nod, walking out and leaving me with Draco. I try not to crumble immediately, but all I want is to be close to him.

The door scrapes shut behind the them, leaving the room quiet except for the faint crackle of the enchanted fireplace. I glance down at my hands, trying to steady the tremor in my fingers as I press them together in my lap. Draco doesn’t say anything—he doesn’t have to.

Wordlessly, he slides his chair closer until our knees brush. The contact is barely there, but it’s grounding, and I can feel my breath start to even out. Slowly, he reaches out and tugs the chair beside him, gesturing for me to sit.

“Come here,” he says softly, his voice a rare mix of gentle and firm.

I hesitate for only a second before moving over, settling down next to him. Before I can think too much about it, his arm drapes over the back of my chair, and I instinctively lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder. The scent of his cologne wraps around me, familiar and comforting.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The silence feels full—not with words but with an unspoken understanding. His hand moves to my shoulder, fingers brushing lightly as if to anchor me in place.

“Better?” he murmurs, his voice close to my ear.

I nod against him, closing my eyes. “Yeah,” I whisper, the tension in my chest easing with each passing second. “Thanks.”

His fingers trace idle patterns against my arm, light and unassuming, like he’s not even aware he’s doing it. It’s calming, pulling me further out of my spiral.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he finally says, his voice low. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“I know,” I reply, my voice barely audible. “I just… I hate feeling like this. Like I’m stuck trying to prove myself to people who already decided I’m not enough.”

Draco doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he shifts slightly, his arm tightening around me just enough to pull me closer. I can feel his steady breathing against my temple, and the quiet support in his presence says more than words ever could.

“You’re not stuck,” he says eventually, his tone steady but soft. “And you’re not alone.”

The way he says it—firm, like it’s an undeniable truth—makes something in me ease further. I let myself sink into the warmth of his side, letting go of the day’s weight, and for once, I allow myself to believe him.

Draco doesn’t move away, he just sits with me. His presence alone seems to heal most things in me, and I don’t know how to feel about it. It’s equally lovely and terrifying.

I move myself as close to him as I can get without being on top of him, taking his free hand into my lap. He doesn’t question me when I gently trace shapes and patterns onto his palm, never looking at him as I play with his fingers.

“This scares me sometimes,” I murmur softly, feeling him shift his weight.

He rests his cheek on the top of my head, keeping his tone gentle. “What does? Everything going on with our parents?”

“No,” I sigh, unsure how to articulate my feelings. “This. You. The bond.”

“In what way?” he replies, squeezing my shoulder.

I flip his hand over in my lap, gently rubbing my fingertips over his knuckles. “I just mean… I’m too comfortable with you. And you know just how to fix me when I’m upset. And now that I know how it feels to be close to you, it’s getting harder and harder to be away from you.”

Draco doesn’t move or say anything for a long moment, and I wonder if I’ve said too much. The weight of my words lingers in the air, heavy but truthful, and I don’t dare look up at him. Instead, I keep tracing his knuckles with my fingers, as though the quiet movement will keep me tethered.

“I don’t know when or how it happened, but you’ve become really important to me,” I finish quietly, almost shy.

When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, thoughtful, almost like he’s choosing every word with care. “That’s not a bad thing, you know,” he says, his cheek still resting on my head.

I shake my head faintly. “It feels dangerous. Like I’m letting you in too much. Like I’m putting myself at risk.”

His fingers curl slightly under mine, his hand resting more firmly in my lap as if he’s anchoring me to him. “If it’s any consolation,” he murmurs, “I feel the same way sometimes.”

I stop tracing shapes on his hand for a moment, startled by his admission. “You do?”

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “You’re not the only one who’s too comfortable with this—whatever this is.” His arm tightens slightly around me, and he adds, “But maybe it’s not about risk. Maybe it’s just about trusting that we’re figuring it out together.”

His words settle over me, soothing and yet unnerving in their honesty. I shift slightly, lifting my head just enough to glance at him. His expression is serious, but his eyes are softer than I’ve ever seen them.

“That’s easy for you to say,” I whisper, my voice wavering. “You’re not the one who feels like they’re going to fall apart when you’re gone.”

Draco’s brow furrows, and before I can look away, he reaches out with his free hand, gently tilting my chin up so I’m forced to meet his gaze. “Who says I don’t feel the same way?” he counters, his voice barely above a whisper.

The vulnerability in his expression is enough to leave me breathless. For all his bravado, his smirks, his walls—there’s something unguarded here, something real.

I don’t know how to respond, so I just hold his gaze, my heart thudding in my chest. Finally, I manage a weak smile, though my voice comes out trembling. “Guess we’re both doomed, then.”

Draco huffs a quiet laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Yeah, doomed,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against my jaw before he lets his hand fall.

I lean back into him, letting the silence fill the space between us. His presence, his warmth—it doesn’t erase my fears, but it dulls them, makes them feel manageable.

And for now, that’s enough.