The Pact

When we reach Aurélien’s door, I knock lightly a few times, my stomach twisting into knots. Draco’s presence so close takes off some of the edge, but even he can’t soothe my fears with this.

Aury opens the door after a moment, his face lighting up to see me but quickly morphing into confusion at the sight of Draco and Hermione. He quickly tucks it away, opening the door wider to allow us in.

“I wasn’t expecting company, forgive the state of things. I’ve been packing,” he chuckles, closing the door behind him with a click.

I turn to face him, and he immediately notices the worry etched on my face.

“Mon étoile, what’s wrong?” He smooths my hair down affectionately, letting his hand fall to rest on my shoulder. The casual affection causes jealousy to brew in Draco and I feel it full force as I avoid his eyes.

I sigh, plopping down on his bed. Draco and Hermione both seem a little out of their elements, but they don’t say anything just yet. “I need to tell you about something important, and then I have to ask you for a huge favor.”

He sinks to his knees in front of me, looking up at me with pure concern. “Anything for you, soleil. But you seem hesitant. Should I be worried?”

I glance at Draco and Hermione before turning back to Aurélien, trying to find the words. “Maybe. But it’s not just about me—it’s about all of us. And it’s… complicated.”

Aurélien tilts his head, his sharp features softening. “Complicated how?”

Draco steps forward, his arms crossed, though his tone is surprisingly calm. “She’s not exaggerating. What we’re about to tell you isn’t something we’ve shared with many people. And once you know, there’s no going back.”

Aurélien looks between us, his concern deepening. “You’re scaring me a little.”

Hermione clears her throat, speaking in her usual matter-of-fact way. “We trust you, Aurélien. But what we’re about to tell you involves dark, ancient magic. A blood pact. One that ties Y/n and Draco together.”

Aurélien’s eyebrows shoot up, and he turns back to me, searching my face for answers. “A blood pact? Mon dieu, Y/n… why would you ever—?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” I interrupt, my voice firmer than I intended. “It happened before either of us were born. Our families—our parents—created it for their own protection when our mothers were pregnant with us, and somehow, it got passed down. We accidentally activated it during a duel. It’s been affecting us ever since.”

Draco steps closer, his expression unreadable. “It’s not just some trivial magic. It’s binding. It prevents us from hurting each other and forces us into this… connection we don’t fully understand.”

Aurélien rises to his feet, pacing the small room. “So you’re saying this bond is involuntary? And you’re tied to each other for life?” His voice is a mix of anger and disbelief.

“Oui,” I whisper, looking down at my hands. “And that’s why we’re here. We need your help.”

He stops pacing, turning to face me. “What kind of help?”

Hermione speaks up again, stepping forward. “We’ve exhausted all the resources we have at Hogwarts. The libraries at Beauxbatons might have texts about ancient magical pacts that we don’t. We need you to find them.”

Aurélien looks skeptical, but he doesn’t dismiss the idea outright. “You want me to scour the Beauxbatons library for information on this pact? Why not go yourself?”

“I can’t just leave Hogwarts right now,” I explain. “And if anyone were to find out why I’m digging around, it could put everything at risk. You have access. You can help us without drawing suspicion.”

He rubs the back of his neck, clearly overwhelmed but trying to process everything. “And if I find something? Then what?”

“Then we figure out what this pact is really capable of,” Draco says, his voice steady but laced with an edge. “And maybe, just maybe, we’ll find a way to break it.”

Aurélien stares at us for a long moment before nodding slowly. “If it means helping you, Y/n, I’ll do it. But promise me something.”

“Anything,” I say quickly.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “Because if this is as dangerous as it sounds, I don’t want to lose you to it.”

I reach out and squeeze his hand, feeling a small weight lift off my chest. “I promise.”

He squeezes back before stepping toward his bookshelf, pulling out a notebook and a quill. “Then we’d better get started. Tell me everything you know.”

Aurélien sits at his desk, looking like a tortured poet as he takes notes on everything we have to tell him. We take turns, with me and Draco explaining the events that led to us figuring out what it was, then Hermione explaining the more technical side of the magic and what we’ve found so far in the texts from our manors and Hogwarts itself. He’s already filled three pages with bullet points and flow charts by the time we get to what we just learned.

“So… your headmaster is involved? When did that happen?” he asks, furrowing his brow.

“I’m guessing he was close with our parents a long time ago, because they trusted him at face value,” I start, now pacing around the room. Draco follows me with his eyes, sitting with his legs crossed on an armchair. “He was told about a prophecy—that an only child of a powerful family would one day go on to defeat Voldemort.”

He twirls the feather of his quill around his finger pensively. “So… he thought one of you would be the one to fulfill it?”

Draco nods, readjusting his position in the chair. “Specifically the Lavigné’s child. For some reason, they thought they were having a boy, and Dumbledore told them the only way to stay safe would be to relocate.”

Aurélien holds up a hand as if to stop Draco from talking. “Wait… they moved to France because he said so?”

“Yes,” I say slowly, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s what we’ve been saying.”

“That’s not what I mean,” he says, exasperated. “Mon soleil, if your parents moved to France, then they’re not from France. You might not be French at all.”

I snap my mouth shut, realizing my jaw had literally dropped. “I… hadn’t thought about that, actually.”

“You haven’t thought about—what exactly do you know about your family lineage?” Draco asks, an air of superiority about him that rubs me the wrong way but I don’t comment on it. Instead, I pause, considering his question.

“Nothing, now that I think about it.”

Aurélien shoots Draco a glare for the tone he picked up, but I’m too preoccupied to try to intervene. He tilts his head as he looks at me, a single curl falling over his forehead. “Then I think that’s where you need to start.”

I stare at him for a moment before my eyes light up. He’s right. There could be so much that were missing buried in my familial background. “Aury, you’re a genius!” I exclaim, gesturing at him vaguely. “Mione?”

“Already on it,” she says dismissively, pulling out her list of things we need to research.

Hermione flips through her meticulously organized notebook, muttering to herself as she scribbles notes on a fresh page. “We’ll need to start with records of your family’s relocation, anything they might have left behind in England—property deeds, letters, magical registries… there’s bound to be something.”

Aurélien, still looking rather pleased with himself, leans back in his chair. “If they’re not originally French, they must have had ties to the Wizarding families in Britain. That might narrow down which texts to search in Beauxbatons’ archives.”

Draco uncrosses his legs and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And if we’re lucky, there might be a connection to one of the other Sacred Twenty-Eight. Those bloodlines don’t exactly keep a low profile.”

Aurélien interrupts, his voice calm but firm. “We’ll need to tread carefully. If there’s something in your bloodline that ties you to dark magic—or to him—it’s possible your parents kept it hidden on purpose. For your protection.”

My stomach twists uncomfortably, but I nod. “I know. But if this pact is tied to something they were running from, we need to know.”

Hermione taps her quill against her notebook, her expression thoughtful. “Draco’s right. The Sacred Twenty-Eight is a good place to start. If your family was part of that circle, there’s a chance they had old alliances—or rivalries—that could explain a lot.”

Aurélien sits up straight again, his blue eyes sharp. “And if your family relocated because of Dumbledore’s prophecy, then there might be records of that, too. Beauxbatons has extensive magical archives, including international correspondences. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Good,” I say, pacing again, my thoughts racing. “We’ll split up. Aury, focus on Beauxbatons’ archives. Hermione, can you cross-reference the Sacred Twenty-Eight and anything tied to the Lavigné name?”

Hermione nods, already jotting it down. “Of course.”

“And Draco,” I say, turning to him. “You’re better at navigating your family’s records than anyone. If there’s anything in the Malfoy archives about a connection to my family, I need you to find it.”

He arches an eyebrow, clearly amused. “So you’re giving me homework now?”

“Dray,” I warn, narrowing my eyes.

He raises his hands in mock surrender, a slight smirk playing on his lips. “Fine. But don’t blame me if I find something you don’t like.”

Aurélien stands, his expression softening as he looks at me. “And you? What will you do?”

“I’m digging into whatever’s going on with Dumbledore.” I step out of my heels for the first time in hours, relieved at the feeling of the cold tiles on my feet. “If my parents trusted him enough to move their entire lives because of him, then there’s a good chance they distrust him enough now to have moved back. I need to figure out the reason why.”

Aurélien watches me closely, his brow furrowing. “You think he’s hiding something from you? Or from all of us?”

“Both,” I admit, flexing my toes against the cool floor. “He’s always a step ahead, isn’t he? Knows things before anyone else, conveniently shows up at just the right time…” I trail off, shaking my head. “I don’t trust coincidences. Especially not when they involve him.”

Draco leans back in his chair, regarding me with a contemplative expression. “If anyone has the power and connections to manipulate an entire family’s future, it’s Dumbledore. The question is, why would he go to such lengths for yours?”

“That’s exactly what I need to find out.” I glance at Hermione. “You’ve worked with him the most. Do you have any idea how to approach this?”

Hermione taps her chin thoughtfully. “He’s notoriously difficult to pin down. But he does leave breadcrumbs—things he wants you to find. The trick is knowing what’s deliberate and what’s an accident. Maybe focus on the people closest to him. McGonagall, Hagrid… even Snape might know something.”

I nod slowly, my mind already working through the possibilities. “And if he left any clues behind intentionally, it’s probably at Hogwarts. I’ll check his office when I get the chance.”

Aurélien looks skeptical. “Breaking into the headmaster’s office? That’s ambitious, even for you, soleil.”

I give him a small, wry smile. “Ambitious or not, it’s necessary. Dumbledore’s involved in this somehow, and if I don’t start pulling threads, we’ll never untangle this mess.”

Draco stands, stretching lazily. “If you’re sneaking into the headmaster’s office, you’ll need a lookout.”

“I can handle myself,” I say, crossing my arms.

“I’m sure you can,” he replies with a smirk. “But two pairs of eyes are better than one. Besides, I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Aurélien frowns, clearly displeased. “You’re both mad. Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? If he catches you—”

“He won’t,” I interrupt, cutting him off. “We’ll be careful. Right, Dray?”

“Of course,” Draco says smoothly, though his tone suggests he’s more amused than concerned.

Aurélien sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I still think this is reckless, but… fine. Just promise me you’ll keep your head down.”

I give him a reassuring smile. “Always.”

Hermione stands, gathering her notes. “It sounds like we all have a lot of work to do. Aurélien, we need to find time to all meet over break so we can discuss what we find and come up with a game plan. Can you do that?”

“I’ll be there,” he says with a hand on his heart, like he’s making a promise. “The question is, where do we meet?”

I clap my hands together, my face lighting up. “Hear me out.”

Draco and Hermione both give me confused looks but Aury catches on immediately. “I like the way you think, soleil.”

Draco clears his throat, clearly annoyed at my cryptic conversation with Aurélien. “Care to share?”

“Right. Sorry,” I say with a chuckle, shaking my head at myself. “There was an old store in Paris that Aury and I used to shop in all the time. Had a floo and everything for easy access.”

“And in the back,” Aury adds, a gleam of mischief in his eyes, “there’s a break in the wall that leads to a tunnel, and at the end of it mon étoile and I built a little—what do you call it—fort. No one knows about it except us. We put disillusionment charms on it last time we were there.”

Draco raises an eyebrow, skepticism clear on his face. “A secret hideout? How very… juvenile of you.”

Hermione shoots him a pointed look. “Actually, it sounds perfect. If no one knows about it, it’s the safest place we could meet. Especially if it’s warded with disillusionment charms.”

Aurélien grins, clearly enjoying Draco’s irritation. “Juvenile or not, it’s secure. And charming, if I do say so myself.”

I roll my eyes at both of them, but I can’t help smiling. “It’s not just a fort. It’s hidden, quiet, and neutral territory. Plus, the shopkeeper knows us and wouldn’t ask questions if we needed to use the Floo or anything.”

Draco crosses his arms, still unconvinced. “And this shopkeeper can be trusted?”

“Absolutely,” Aurélien says firmly. “Old Monsieur Leblanc has been running that place for decades. Besides… he’s my uncle.”

Hermione nods, already scribbling something in her notebook. “Good enough. That works. We’ll need to coordinate when and how to get there without drawing attention. We can’t risk anyone following us, especially not Death Eaters or anyone working for Dumbledore.”

Draco glances at me, then back at Aurélien. “Fine. But if this ‘fort’ of yours doesn’t hold up—”

“It will,” I interrupt, cutting off his doubt. “Trust me, Draco. It’s perfect.”

Aurélien claps his hands together, the sound echoing in the small room. “Then it’s settled. We meet in Paris over the break. I’ll handle any last-minute wards to make sure it’s secure.”

Hermione folds her notes and tucks them into her bag. “This could actually work. But we’ll need to share updates regularly in case something changes.”

Draco still looks hesitant but finally nods. “Fine. Just don’t get caught sneaking around your parents’ estates. That’ll blow this whole operation.”

“Same goes for you,” I fire back with a grin.

Aurélien laughs softly, resting a hand on my shoulder. “As always, mon étoile, you’ve managed to turn the impossible into something… almost fun.”

I meet his gaze and smile. “Just wait until you see the mess we uncover next.”

Draco mutters something under his breath about “childhood forts” and “ridiculous plans,” but there’s a faint glimmer of approval in his eyes as we finalize our escape plan to Paris.

~

The halls of the castle seem more daunting now as I sneak down them to Dumbledore’s office. He’s busy seeing off the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, so this is the only chance I have before I have to go home for break.

Draco insisted on coming, but I told him I wouldn’t go until tomorrow. I lied, obviously. I just refuse to let him get caught doing something that really is only a one person job. Besides, I already promised myself I’d put myself on the front lines.

I turn my head left and right as I reach the door, checking for any signs of life. Luckily, it’s empty. I whisper, “Alohamora,” and hear the click of the lock before slipping inside.

Dumbledore’s office is dimly lit, the golden glow of the various trinkets and gadgets casting flickering shadows across the walls. The whirring and clicking of his magical devices are almost deafening in the silence, and I instinctively hold my breath as I step forward.

The room smells faintly of aged wood and peppermint, and the air feels alive, as if it’s watching me. The towering bookshelves loom like silent sentinels, guarding secrets I’m not supposed to uncover.

I don’t have time to linger. My eyes sweep the room, searching for something—anything—that could hint at what Dumbledore’s been keeping from us.

And then I see it.

A shallow stone basin, etched with runes that seem to shimmer in the faint light. The Pensieve.

I hesitate for only a moment. I’ve heard about these from Hermione, though she’s never seen one in person. It’s a vessel for memories, capable of revealing truths too vivid to simply describe. Whatever is inside could be the key to understanding everything—the Blood Pact, my family’s involvement, why Dumbledore seems to know more than he lets on.

My fingers tremble as I step closer, the urge to look warring with the fear of what I might find.

Carefully, I lean over the basin. Silvery threads swirl inside, luminous and shifting like smoke caught in moonlight. With a deep breath, I lower my face toward the surface.

The world tilts.

Suddenly, I’m standing in a grand, unfamiliar hall. Shadows flicker on the walls, cast by the light of a massive fireplace. Figures move through the room, their voices low and urgent. My father is among them, his face younger but unmistakable, and beside him stands my mother, her expression cold and calculating.

“I’ve already told you,” my father says, his voice firm. “We will not be pawns for the Malfoys, or anyone else. Our allegiance is our own.”

Lucius Malfoy steps forward, his smile sharp and serpentine. “And yet you’ve made it so easy to tie your hands, Alderwood. One would think you’re asking to be controlled.”

Alderwood?

My father stiffens at the name. My mother places a hand on his arm, her grip tight enough to whiten her knuckles.

“You underestimate us, Malfoy,” she says, her tone dripping with disdain. “And that will be your undoing.”

The memory shifts, the scene blurring like melting wax. Now, I see a much younger Dumbledore, standing with my father in what looks like the same room I’m in now.

“You know what they’ll demand of her,” my father says, his voice low but strained. “This is not what I wanted for her, Albus.”

Dumbledore’s expression is grave. “Her destiny is tied to forces far older than any of us, Castor. The best we can do is prepare her for what lies ahead.”

The words echo in my ears as the memory begins to dissolve, dragging me back into the present. I stumble backward, nearly knocking over one of Dumbledore’s intricate devices. My heart pounds as I try to make sense of what I’ve just seen.

Destiny. Forces older than us. And my father—defying the Malfoys, defying whatever game they were trying to play. And that name. I haven’t heard it before, though Lucius was completely certain in calling him that.

A million thoughts tear through my mind at once, but suddenly, everything Aurélien was saying makes sense.

Maybe you’re not French at all.

I turn on my heel and start rifling through Dumbledore’s files, looking for any sign of the name. On a parchment, a letter, anything. My fingers find an old ledger, a purchase of something—though I’m not sure what. Further down the page, there it is.

Someone has tampered with this paper, I’m sure of it. I see my father’s name: Castor, but the last name has been obscured. I pull out my wand and point it at the ledger.

“Finite incantatem.”

Whatever spell was being used disappears, and what I see confirms my suspicions. CastorAlderwood.

Not only is my entire identity a lie, my father’s is, too. And I’m willing to bet it’ll be the same for my mother.

All the pieces fall into place—my parents listened to Dumbledore, fled the country, and changed their names to avoid being tracked. Whatever—or whoever—they were trying to avoid, they weren’t taking any chances.

A chill runs down my spine as I break out in a cold sweat.

Voldemort.

The sound of footsteps in the hall jolts me from my thoughts. My time is up. Whatever I’ve uncovered, it’s only the beginning.

I put everything back as I found it, though I shove the ledger in my bag. I cast a listening charm on the door and press my ear to it, not sure if I can leave yet or not. The footsteps that we’re getting closer are now receding, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I wait a full minute (I count it out in my head) before slowly cracking the door open, revealing an empty hallway.

I step out, relooking the door behind me.

For the first time in what feels like months, I know exactly what to look for now. I have this feeling deep in my bones that our original family name is going to offer much more insight than I ever thought possible.

Time to tell the others.