The Pact

“Okay, we need a game plan.”

Draco and I sit across from each other, knee-to-knee in the Gryffindor common room, the golden trio and Ginny by our sides. He nods, fiddling with my ring. “How much are we going to say?”

“Well, McGonagall I think has figured out that I know, so there’s not much use in hiding it anymore.” I start taking pins out of my hair, letting it down as we talk. “Besides, I told you, I have a feeling Dumbledore knows way more about it than we do, so we may as well be candid.”

“You puffs and your candor,” Draco replies with a sarcastic scoff. “But if that’s what you want to do, we’ll do it.”

Ron whips his head in our direction, looking at me like I’d grown three heads. “Never thought I’d see the day when Malfoy lets someone else make decisions for him.”

“Except his father,” Harry mutters, earning a glare from both Draco and I.

“You’re hilarious, Potter. Truly,” Draco quips, rolling his eyes and bringing his focus back to me.

I tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, ignoring the tension bubbling in the room. “If we’re going to do this, we need to stick together. No snide comments or picking fights in front of Dumbledore. Agreed?”

Draco leans back slightly, a familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “You act like I’m the problem. Potter and Weaselbee over here can’t go five minutes without insulting me.”

“You’re not exactly innocent,” Hermione interjects, her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Enough,” I say firmly, cutting through their bickering before it starts. “This isn’t about grudges or house rivalries. This is about figuring out what the Blood Pact means and what we’re supposed to do about it.”

After talking to the trio, we decided to make talking to Dumbledore a group effort. Maybe the pressure of multiple students standing in front of him will give him more reason to be honest with us. Plus, he clearly has a soft spot for Harry, so that helps.

Ginny gives me a small, supportive smile. “She’s right. Dumbledore’s probably the only person who has answers. Let’s not waste the opportunity by acting like children.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” I reply, appreciating her backup. I turn back to Draco, catching him mid-eye-roll. “And yes, that includes you.”

He raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. No bickering. Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” I say dryly, though I can’t help but let a small smile slip through.

Harry clears his throat, looking between us. “So we’re just… telling him everything? Even about the duel? The Blood Pact?”

I hesitate, glancing at Draco. He’s still fiddling with my ring on his hand, his brows furrowed in thought. “Yes,” I finally say. “We need to lay it all out. If anyone can help us, it’s him.”

Draco sighs, the smirk fading. “Alright. But if he suggests something stupid, like telling my parents, we’re walking out.”

“Agreed,” I say with a nod, standing up and brushing off my skirt. “Let’s go.”

The group follows, a mix of determination and apprehension in their expressions. Draco lingers at my side, his hand brushing mine briefly. I glance up at him, catching a rare moment of vulnerability in his silver eyes.

“We’ve got this,” I whisper, more for his benefit than mine.

He nods, his usual bravado faltering for just a second. “We better.”

We all walk through the corridors, hearing the distant murmurs of students getting ready to go home for Christmas vacation. It’s a strange picture—the six of us in our best clothing, on what’s supposed to be one of the best nights of our teenage lives, suddenly worrying about the dark lord and what he has planned for me and Draco.

We stop short outside of the office door, taking a moment to collect ourselves.

“No matter what,” I say, turning to face the group, “take everything he says with a grain of salt. We can’t be sure who to trust.”

Draco raises an eyebrow at me, slipping his hands into the pockets of his tailored suit. “You’re the one who wanted to be candid, and now you’re preaching caution? Make up your mind.”

I shoot him a look. “I said we need to be honest. That doesn’t mean he will be.”

“She’s got a point,” Hermione says, her voice quiet but firm. “Dumbledore always has his reasons, but he doesn’t always share them with us.”

Harry nods, his jaw tightening. “Right. He’ll tell us just enough to make us think we understand, but there’s always more to the story.”

Ron looks between all of us, his nervous energy palpable. “Brilliant. So we’re about to walk into a room with someone who might be keeping secrets, to talk about something we barely understand, while also dodging You-Know-Who? Fantastic plan.”

Ginny elbows him lightly. “You’ve faced worse. Besides, we’re in this together.”

Her words settle the tension a little, and I glance around at the group. Each of us is dressed to the nines, yet the weight of the moment has dulled the usual excitement of the Yule Ball. Even Draco, with his perpetual smugness, looks more serious than usual, his gaze fixed on the door as though steeling himself for battle.

“Alright,” I say, adjusting the the chain around my neck. “This is it. We’re not just doing this for us—we’re doing it for everyone who’ll be affected by whatever’s coming.”

Draco steps closer, his voice lower so only I can hear. “You sure about this?”

I look up at him, my heart pounding. “Not even a little. But we don’t have a choice.”

He studies me for a moment, then nods. “Then let’s get it over with.”

With a deep breath, I turn back to the door and raise my hand to knock, my knuckles brushing against the wood. Behind me, I feel the group shifting, readying themselves for whatever comes next.

“Let’s hope he’s in a helpful mood,” Harry mutters, and I can’t help but let out a quiet, humorless laugh as I push the door open.

“Here goes nothing.”

I’m greeted by the familiar scene of Dumbledores office, though its dimly lit interior gives me pause. He sits casually at his desk, looking like he was expecting us.

I clear my throat, stepping further inside. “Professor, do you have a moment?”

Dumbledore looks up, his piercing blue eyes twinkling even in the dim light. He folds his hands neatly atop his desk, the flicker of the nearby candles casting long shadows across his face. “Ah, Miss Lavigné,” he says warmly, his tone betraying none of the gravity I feel in my chest. “And company. I had a feeling you might stop by tonight.”

Draco and I exchange a quick glance, both of us wary of his unflappable demeanor.

“Did you now?” Draco says, his voice sharp but measured as he steps into the room behind me. “How convenient.”

Dumbledore’s gaze shifts to Draco, his expression as calm as ever. “I have learned, Mr. Malfoy, that certain events have a way of converging at just the right moment. Tonight seems to be one of those times.”

Harry and Ron hesitate at the doorway, their expressions guarded, but Hermione nudges them forward. Ginny slips in after them, closing the door softly behind her.

I take a breath, trying to steady myself. “Professor,” I begin, my voice quieter than I’d like. “We need your help. There’s something—something we think you might already know about. The Blood Pact.”

At the mention of it, Dumbledore’s expression changes ever so slightly. It’s not surprise—not quite—but a flicker of understanding passes through his features. He leans back in his chair, his long fingers steepling in front of him.

“Ah,” he says softly. “I wondered when you might bring that up.”

Draco stiffens beside me, his jaw tightening. “So you do know about it.”

Dumbledore inclines his head slightly. “I know of its existence, yes. Though the specifics of how it came to bind the two of you… that is a story I suspect you are better suited to tell.”

I feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on me, but I push forward, determined. “It wasn’t our choice. We don’t know how it happened or why, but we’re bound by it. And now… now it’s interfering with things.”

Dumbledore’s gaze softens, though there’s a deep sadness in his eyes. “Interfering, you say?”

“It’s protecting him,” I say, motioning to Draco. “Protecting us, from each other. During a duel, I tried to—” I stop, the memory still fresh and raw. “The spell should’ve hit, but it didn’t. Something stopped it. Something invisible.”

Draco crosses his arms, his voice low and bitter. “And it’s not just spells. It’s… changing things. Making us—” He cuts himself off, glancing at me before looking away. “Connected.”

Dumbledore considers this for a long moment, the silence stretching until it feels almost unbearable. Finally, he rises from his chair, his movements slow and deliberate.

“The Blood Pact,” he says, his tone grave, “is an ancient and complex magic. A bond that is not easily broken—if it can be broken at all. It does not simply tie two lives together; it intertwines fates, intentions, and, perhaps most importantly, choices.”

I swallow hard, the implications of his words sinking in. “So what are we supposed to do?”

Dumbledore’s gaze meets mine, kind yet unyielding. “That, Miss Lavigné, is a question only you and Mr. Malfoy can answer. For now, I can offer you guidance, but the path forward will ultimately depend on the two of you—and the choices you make.”

Draco exhales sharply, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. “That’s it? You’re supposed to be the greatest wizard of the age, and all you have for us is a riddle?”

Dumbledore smiles faintly, though there’s no humor in it. “Sometimes, Mr. Malfoy, the answers we seek are not given—they are earned.”

I glance at Draco, whose frustration is barely contained, then back at Dumbledore. In the corner of my eye, I see Harry bend down to pick something up, but I don’t comment on it. “We don’t have time to earn answers. If Voldemort finds out—”

“Then you must ensure he does not,” Dumbledore interrupts gently but firmly. “You are both walking a very delicate line, and the choices you make will shape not only your futures but the futures of those around you.”

The room feels heavy with unspoken truths, the weight of the moment pressing down on all of us. I nod slowly, though the knot in my chest remains tight. “Yes, Professor.”

Dumbledore steps closer, his gaze settling on me and then Draco. “One last piece of advice: trust in each other. The bond you share, while unintended, may yet prove to be your greatest strength.”

Draco scoffs softly under his breath, but I can feel the tension in his posture as he turns toward the door. “We’re leaving,” he mutters, his voice low and clipped.

I hesitate, catching Dumbledore’s eyes one last time. There’s something unspoken in his gaze—something he’s not telling us. But for now, I let it go, following the others out into the corridor, where the murmurs of the castle seem louder than ever.

“Wait!” I say suddenly, turning back on my heel. “I have to ask him something else. I’ll be right back.”

“I can come with you,” Draco says quickly, grabbing my hand.

I pause, giving him a small smile. “Come on, then.”

I slip back into the room, pulling the stack of letters out of my bag. “Professor?”

“Yes?” Dumbledore eyes the letters curiously, though I see something deeper behind it.

“I meant to ask you—”

I pause, having stepped up to his desk, when I see a parchment he was working on. My heart nearly stops.

That handwriting…

I pull out the stray letter in the stack that isn’t from either of our parents, opening it carefully and laying it next to the parchment he’d been scribbling on earlier.

“You… you were the ‘concerned friend’?”

Dumbledore looks up at me, his expression unreadable. For the first time, the twinkle in his eyes seems muted, replaced by something far heavier. “Ah,” he says quietly, standing up and leaning on the desk. “You’ve discovered my little involvement.”

Draco steps closer, his grip tightening on my hand as he peers at the letter and the parchment. His face twists in confusion before realization dawns, and he looks at Dumbledore with sharp suspicion. “You’re the one who convinced them to leave,” Draco says, his voice low and accusatory.

Dumbledore doesn’t deny it. Instead, he sighs softly, his gaze fixed on me. “Yes,” he admits. “It was I who suggested to your parents that relocating might be… prudent.”

I stare at him, the words sinking in like lead. “Why? Why would you do that? Why not just warn them—talk to them?”

“Because, Miss Lavigné,” Dumbledore says gently, “the world they were in was rapidly becoming unsafe. For you, for your family, and for what you might one day represent. Your parents were reluctant, but they understood that removing you from certain… influences was the best way to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?” I demand, my voice rising. “From Voldemort? From his supporters?”

Draco steps forward, his presence grounding me. “You had no right,” he snaps, glaring at Dumbledore. “No right to meddle in her life like that.”

Dumbledore’s gaze shifts to Draco, calm yet piercing. “And yet, Mr. Malfoy, had I not intervened, it is likely she would have faced far worse than mere relocation. You, of all people, should understand how dangerous it can be to remain in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Draco flinches at that, but his grip on my hand doesn’t loosen.

I shake my head, struggling to process it all. “You didn’t trust them enough to make their own decisions. You just—what? Thought you knew best?”

Dumbledore’s expression softens, but there’s a hint of sadness there too. “It was never about trust, Miss Lavigné. It was about ensuring you had the opportunity to choose your own path. Sometimes, the greatest gift we can give others is a chance to decide for themselves.”

I bite my lip, my anger and confusion warring with the faint, grudging understanding creeping in. “And what about now? Are you still pulling strings behind the scenes, deciding what’s best for me?”

“No,” he says firmly, his voice carrying a quiet weight. “The decisions ahead are yours to make. I have merely sought to equip you with what you need to face them. Nothing more.”

I glance at the letters again, my hands trembling slightly as I gather them back into my bag. I don’t know what to say—what to think.

Draco speaks up, his voice cold. “Let’s go. We’re not getting anything else useful here.”

I nod slowly, following him toward the door. But just as I’m about to step out, I turn back one last time. “Was it worth it?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Dumbledore meets my eyes, and for the first time, I see a flicker of something raw and unguarded in his expression. “I can only hope so,” he says quietly.

With that, I step out into the corridor, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a stone.

Ginny is the first to notice me, furrowing her brow. “You look like you just saw a troll. What happened?”

“It’s a long story,” I say quietly, rubbing my temples. “But… Dumbledore is the one who told my parents to leave. He was the ‘concerned friend’ our parents kept writing to.”

Ginny looks confused, but Harry, Ron and Hermione all look up at me wide-eyed.

Hermione takes a step towards me. “So, that means—”

“He’s been involved since the start,” Draco cuts her off, anger lacing his voice. “It’s his fault that all of this is happening.”

I move closer to Draco, grabbing onto his bicep to steady myself. “Not exactly,” I say, meeting his eyes. “He told my parents to move… the bond was their choice.”

Frustration flickers across his face, but I see something else, something deeper behind his eyes. “If they hadn’t been told to move, you wouldn’t be tangled up with my family. You wouldn’t be stuck with—”

“Stop,” I say softly, pulling his attention back from his spiraling thoughts. “Bond or no bond, I would’ve been drawn to you regardless. At least it’s you I’m ‘stuck’ with.”

This seems to quiet his thoughts for a moment, though I still feel the leftover anger and betrayal twisting in his stomach. I squeeze his arm gently, offering him a small smile.

“Team meeting?” Harry asks, breaking the moment.

We all nod, turning to face him. “Team meeting.”

As we make our way to the room of requirement, everyone pairs off, having their own distinct conversations. Harry and Hermione are in front, leading the way, theorizing about what Dumbledores involvement could mean considering Voldemort  sticks to Harry like a magnet. Ron is catching Ginny up behind Draco and I, and they definitely think they’re whispering, but I can hear every word they’re saying.

“No, Gin, I’m not saying I like him now, but I have no choice. Whatever happens to him affects Y/n, and she’s real close with Hermione. If something happened to her because I couldn’t get along with him, she’d never forgive me.”

“Right,” Ginny tells her brother, drawing out the world. “That makes more sense. This is cause you’re trying to impress her.”

Ron scoffs, sounding offended. “Right, like you’re not trying to snog my best friend. I know what you’re up to joining our little mission.”

I bite back a laugh as we continue walking, my hand securely around Draco’s arm. He just stares ahead, though I see a flicker of amusement on his face at their bickering.

“So… are those two, like, a thing?” Ginny asks quietly.

Ron snorts. “Obviously. Everyone knows Malfoy has been obsessed with her since she got here, and she’s weirdly protective of him. They’re an odd pair, but I guess opposites attract.”

“How come he hasn’t just told everyone that? I figured they were dating after that quidditch match.”

Draco shoots a look over his shoulder at the red headed pair behind us. “Because not everyone is privy to the details of my personal life, Weaselette.”

I chuckle under my breath, having to cover my mouth to keep it together. “Dray. Play nice.”

He gives me a little pout, though it dissolves into a smile. “You’re no fun.”

“I know, I’m so boring,” I reply, rolling my eyes with a smirk.

We climb up the last set of stairs, standing in front of the entrance to the room of requirement. We all look around, making sure no one can see us, then slip inside undetected.

The Room of Requirement is warm and inviting as always, adapting seamlessly to our needs. Tonight, it resembles a cozy war room—a large round table at the center, surrounded by cushioned chairs, with parchment, quills, and maps scattered across its surface. A soft glow emanates from floating candles above, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls.

Everyone takes their seats, naturally forming pairs. Harry and Hermione sit side by side, already diving into discussion, while Ron and Ginny claim the chairs closest to them. Draco and I settle across from them, his arm brushing against mine as we get comfortable.

Harry picks up the phoenix feather he’d brought along from Dumbledore’s office, twirling it between his fingers. “So,” he starts, his voice low but steady. “This was just lying there, like he wanted us to notice it.”

Hermione leans closer, studying the feather intently. “It has to be from Fawkes. Phoenix feathers aren’t exactly common.”

“Obviously it’s from Fawkes,” Ron says, leaning back in his chair. “The real question is why he left it out. What’s he trying to tell us?”

Ginny crosses her arms, her brow furrowed. “It’s Dumbledore. It could mean anything, or nothing. He likes his cryptic little clues.”

“But it’s not nothing,” I say, reaching for the feather. The faint warmth it radiates is unmistakable. “Phoenix feathers are symbolic—rebirth, resilience, loyalty. Maybe it’s not a clue in the traditional sense. Maybe it’s a reminder.”

Draco scoffs softly, his skepticism evident. “A reminder? Of what, exactly? That we’re all in way over our heads?”

“That we’re not alone,” Hermione interjects, her voice firm. “Phoenixes are incredibly loyal. If this came from Fawkes, it could mean he’s watching over us—ready to help if we need him.”

Harry nods, setting the feather down carefully in the center of the table. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s Dumbledore’s way of saying we need to rise from the ashes ourselves. He always did like his metaphors.”

There’s a heavy silence as we all mull over the possibilities. The weight of everything—the Blood Pact, Voldemort, Dumbledore’s involvement—feels like a storm cloud hanging over us.

“I don’t know if this means anything,” I start, pulling out my wand, “but my wand is Apple wood with a phoenix feather core.”

Everyone turns to look at me, considering my point. Harry then pulls out his wand, tossing it to me. 

“Mine’s phoenix core, too. Apparently the phoenix that provided my feather gave one more—and I’ll give you one guess as to who has that wand.”

I run my fingers over his wand, feeling the magic hum under my fingertips as I mull over his words. “It can’t be a coincidence that we both have the same core… I’m guessing Dumbledore knows that.”

Hermione snaps her fingers across the table. “The prophecy!”

Hermione’s voice cuts through the room like a bolt of lightning, drawing all of our attention. She leans forward, her eyes alight with realization.

“The prophecy,” she repeats urgently, her tone quick and precise. “The one about Harry and Voldemort! If the same phoenix provided the feathers for both your wands, it’s not just a coincidence—it’s a connection. A bond! Just like Draco and Y/n. And if Dumbledore knew that, it could be why he thought Y/n would be the one in the prophecy—he wasn’t sure which of your wands was the twin!”

Harry frowns, tousling his hair. “So what are you saying? That Voldemort and I are tied together by her wand, too?”

“Not exactly,” Hermione clarifies, her brow furrowed as she pieces it together. “I’m saying your wands—and by extension, you—are connected by the phoenix. And if Dumbledore left that phoenix feather in his office for us to find, it’s because he wanted us to understand that connection. It’s not just about the prophecy. It’s about all of you—Harry, Y/n, and even Draco.”

Draco stiffens beside me, crossing his arms defensively. “What does this have to do with me? My wand isn’t phoenix core.”

“No,” Hermione agrees, “but you’re part of this Blood Pact with Y/n. And Y/n’s wand… well, it might be the key to unraveling all of this.”

“Wait a second,” Ron interrupts, looking bewildered. “Are you saying Y/n’s wand is some kind of magical middleman between Harry and You-Know-Who?”

“Not exactly,” I say, turning my wand over in my hand as I consider the implications. “But if Hermione’s right, then my wand’s phoenix feather ties me to Harry’s wand—and maybe even to Dumbledore. And if that connection is intentional, then it has to mean something.”

Ginny speaks up, her voice steady but cautious. “But what about you-know-who? If he knows about this connection—or worse, if he can use it—what does that mean for you two?” She gestures between Harry and me.

A heavy silence falls over the room as the weight of her words sinks in.

“It means we need to find out more about Fawkes and his feathers,” Harry says finally, his tone resolute. “Dumbledore wouldn’t have left that feather in his office unless it was important. There’s something we’re missing—something he wanted us to figure out.”

Hermione nods, already scribbling notes on the parchment in front of her. “I’ll start researching phoenixes and their magical properties. If it really is the thread connecting all of this, then understanding them could be the key to understanding everything else—especially the Blood Pact.”

“And what about us?” Draco asks, his sharp tone breaking the tension. “While Granger digs through books, what are the rest of us supposed to do? Sit around and hope for answers to fall into our laps?”

“No,” I say firmly, meeting his gaze. “We keep moving forward. We keep searching for clues, following leads, and doing whatever we can to stay ahead of Voldemort. Dumbledore said our choices would shape everything—and that starts now.”

Draco exhales sharply, but he nods, his hand brushing against mine under the table.

As the discussion continues, a sense of urgency fills the room. Harry, Draco, and I are all bound together by forces we barely understand. But for the first time, it feels like we’re starting to piece together the puzzle.

“Alright,” I say finally, sitting up straighter. “We can speculate about Dumbledore’s cryptic feather all night, but what we really need is a plan. He said the choices we make will shape everything. So what are our next moves?”

Hermione pulls out a fresh sheet of parchment, quill in hand. “We need to start by gathering as much information as we can about Blood Pacts. Books, old records, anything that might give us a clue about how they work and how they can be broken.”

“Good luck with that,” Draco mutters. “The Malfoy library barely has anything on Blood Pacts, and what it does have is… incomplete, at best.”

“Then we go beyond the Malfoy library,” Harry says, his tone resolute. “There’s got to be something in the Restricted Section or even at Beauxbatons. Y/n, isn’t your family connected to their archives?”

I nod slowly. “Yes, but if my parents catch wind of me poking around, they’ll start asking questions. Questions I can’t answer right now.”

“Then we’ll handle it carefully,” Hermione assures me. “No one has to know what we’re looking for. Do you think Aurélien could dig around on your behalf?”

I sigh, shaking my head. “No. I don’t want him involved. Anyone who knows is in danger, and I refuse to stick him in the middle of something like this.”

Harry clears his throat, giving me a small yet understanding smile. “I know how it feels, thinking everyone’s lives are on your shoulders. But there’s strength in numbers. Maybe you should tell him. I’m sure he can handle himself.”

“Harry, I—”

“He’s right,” Draco cuts me off, looking less than amused to even be having the conversation. “We have no way of accessing the records from here, but your little Prince Charming can. We’ll make sure nothing happens to him.”

I study his features hesitantly. Draco seems to hate Aurélien, so I have no real reason to trust that he’d do anything to keep him safe. But the more we talk about it, the less I feel like I have a choice.

Draco takes my hand under the table, giving me a genuine look of resolution. “I promise.” 

The room goes quiet. Draco Malfoy just… promised me something. Something that, in the end, doesn’t really benefit him at all.

I squeeze his hand, exhaling shakily. “Okay. Okay, fine. I’ll talk to him before he goes back to Beauxbatons.”

Ron leans forward, his elbows on the table. “And what about you-know-who? If he finds out about the Blood Pact—”

“He won’t,” Draco says sharply, his voice colder than usual. “We won’t give him the chance.”

Ginny glances between Draco and me, her expression hesitant. “And what about you two? If this thing is binding you together, how do we make sure it doesn’t backfire on the rest of us?”

I glance at Draco, whose jaw tightens at the question. “We don’t know yet,” I admit, my voice softer now. “But we’re figuring it out. We’ll figure it out.”

Harry picks up the feather again, his gaze distant. “Whatever happens,” he says, his voice quieter now, “we stick together. This thing—whatever it is—it’s bigger than any of us on our own. We’ll need each other.”

A murmur of agreement ripples through the group, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a sense of unity. Even Draco nods, albeit reluctantly.

Hermione starts drafting a list of tasks, her quill scratching against the parchment as she delegates research topics. Ron and Ginny exchange sarcastic quips, but their determination is clear. Harry fiddles with the feather, his focus unwavering.

Draco leans closer to me, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “For what it’s worth,” he murmurs, “I’m glad you dragged me into this. I’d rather be in over my head with you than alone.”

I glance at him, a small smile tugging at my lips despite the gravity of the situation. “You’re not alone, Dray,” I whisper back. “None of us are.”

And as the discussion continues, the warmth of the phoenix feather lingers in the air—a quiet reminder of the hope we’re desperately clinging to.

I stand up and walk around the table, handing Harry his wand back. “Here.”

“Thanks,” he says shortly, giving me a tight nod.

I linger for a moment, gesturing with my head for him to follow me.

He quirks an eyebrow but stands up and walks a few paces away with me, crossing his arms over his chest. “Everything okay?”

“I just have a sort of… alarming question,” I start, playing with my wand. “But I swear I’m asking for a reason.”

He exhaled a short puff of air, obviously considering the implication. “Go for it.”

“Have you ever tried… dark magic?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. “Because between us… I’m wondering if that’s something that ties us.”

Harry sputters, looking like he took a blow to the chest. “Why would you ask me that?”

“I’m not—look, I’m starting to think you and I are more similar than I thought. My parents have been training me in dark magic since I was young, and…” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I’m just going to say it. I can do it all well, and… wandlessly.”

His eyes go wide in shock as he studies me, looking for a lie. “Wandless magic on its own is incredibly difficult, and to do some of the hardest spells in the world without a wand—”

“I know,” I cut him off, wrapping my arms around myself. “I don’t know why I’m so good at it, but I am. I think it’s in my blood. I’m only even bringing it up because when I held your wand, I could feel the magic humming. What if you and I share more than just a wand core? What if we’re both connected to… him?”

Harry looks panic stricken, though he doesn’t say anything right away. He just looks at his wand like he’s deciding something before holding it out to me.

“Trade me.”

“What?” I ask, chuckling nervously.

He gives me a stern look. “I said trade me. Let’s test it.”

I look around the room, noticing no one is watching us except Draco. He shoots me a raised eyebrow before moving his gaze to Harry, silently asking me what’s going on.

I look back at Harry, holding out my wand hesitantly. “Fine. Here.”

We switch, and when I’m holding his wand this time, it hums even more. He tests the weight of mine in his palm, examining it and twisting it in his fingers.

“How do you want to test it?” I ask, watching him carefully.

He shrugs, holding mine out in front of him. “Easiest way is to just cast something.”

I nod, holding his out in front of me, our stances similar. I close my eyes before flicking my wrist. “Reducto!”

The air crackles as the spell bursts from Harry’s wand in my hand, far more powerful than I intended. A loud explosion echoes through the room, and a chunk of the stone wall across from us crumbles, sending dust and debris flying. Everyone’s heads snap toward us, startled.

“What the bloody hell are you two doing?” Ron shouts, coughing as he waves the dust away.

I look at Harry, wide-eyed, and he looks equally stunned. My hand trembles slightly as I lower his wand. “I—I didn’t mean for it to be that strong,” I stammer, staring at the damage I caused.

Draco is at my side in an instant, his hand gripping my arm as he glances between me and the wreckage. “What did you just do?”

“Testing a theory,” Harry says quickly, stepping forward to shield me from the questioning looks. He points my wand at the rubble, muttering, “Reparo.”

The stone wall begins to reassemble itself, though the magic feels noticeably weaker compared to the spell I cast earlier. He frowns, looking at my wand like it’s a foreign object in his hand. “It’s… different,” he murmurs.

“Different how?” Hermione asks, crossing her arms as she eyes the two of us suspiciously.

Harry glances at me before speaking. “Her wand is incredibly powerful. More than mine, even. And when I used it… it felt like it was pushing back. Like it didn’t fully accept me.”

“That’s because it doesn’t belong to you,” Draco snaps, pulling me slightly closer.

“Obviously,” Harry retorts, though there’s no heat behind it. He hands my wand back to me and takes his own from my outstretched hand.

I hold my wand tightly, feeling its familiar hum as if it’s welcoming me back. “It’s not just the wand,” I say softly. “It’s me. There’s something… off about my magic. And it’s stronger when I use spells most people wouldn’t dare to touch.”

Ginny steps closer, her brow furrowed. “You think it’s connected to Voldemort somehow?”

I nod hesitantly. “I think it might be. Harry and I both have this strange connection to him. There’s the prophecy connecting him to Harry, but Dumbledore originally though it was about me. And then there’s our wands…”

Hermione snaps her fingers, her face lighting up with realization. “It’s not just the prophecy—it’s the magic! Both of you are tied to him. Harry from his scar, and Y/n… it must be your family. And phoenix feather cores? There has to be a reason for that connection.”

Harry shakes his head, looking conflicted. “If there’s a connection between us and Voldemort… then what does it mean for the fight against him? Is it a strength, or a weakness he can exploit?”

The room falls silent as everyone processes his words. My stomach churns as I clutch my wand tighter, feeling the weight of the unspoken question hanging in the air.

“I don’t know,” I finally whisper. “But whatever it means… we need to figure it out. Before he does.”

The group closes in around us, everyone looking ready for battle. Hermione puts her hair up in a ponytail. “Okay, then. We’re not getting much done here, and break is about to start. We all need to handle our tasks separately. When school resumes, we’ll meet here and go over all of our findings. Sound good?”

We all nod, giving each other resolute nods.

Ginny clears her throat. “Y/n, you really need to go talk to Aurélien. The other schools are leaving soon.”

I bite my lip, nodding almost imperceptibly. The last thing I want is to involve more people in this mess, but I don’t have much of a choice. Besides, I know they’re right. It’s the only way I can access the Beauxbatons library.

I move to the table and grab my bag, tucking my wand away. “I’ll go handle that now, then. Does anyone want to come with me? It might be easier to explain.”

Draco joins me at my side, though I expected that, of course. Then Mione grabs her own bag as well, sidling up next to me.

“I’ll come, too. I can explain exactly what he needs to be looking for.”

“Alright, then. Let’s go. Everyone, I’ll see you after break,” I say with a newfound confidence, turning on my heel to walk out. Luckily, I know exactly where Aury’s dorm is, so I can lead the way with zero hesitation.

With Draco and Hermione on either side of me, I make a decision right here.

No matter what happens, I’m not letting anything happen to the people I care about. I’ll be on the front lines. I don’t care if I get tortured or killed, no one is going to hurt my friends. Not Aury, not the trio, not Hannah or Ginny or Neville.

And especially not Draco.