The Pact

Exhausted from all the unexpected training, I nearly overslept. It was actually the feeling of Draco tapping his bracelet that woke me, slightly easing the burning edge I’ve felt since I got back to my manor.

Tap tap. “Miss you.”

I smile as I wipe the sleep from my eyes, grateful for the reminder of his presence. Tap tap tap tap. “I’m here.”

We really need to come up with some more codes. There are so many things I find myself wanting to say. Maybe we’ll find some time over the next few days.

As mental as it is, in all of the chaos, I’ve almost forgotten it’s nearly Christmas. I need to find some time to go shopping for gifts, especially considering I have three extra people to buy for this year.

The money isn’t an issue, not really. I already have a trust full of more galleons than I could ever use. I just worry about the gifts themselves—are they thoughtful enough? Will they be useful? Entertaining? Enjoyed? Christmas shopping is enjoyable for me only when I already have a plan, and I’m definitely winging it this year.

I finish packing up my things, clicking my trunk shut. I get myself dressed and ready, refusing to look dark and dreary just because everyone else does.

It is winter, so I have to keep that in mind. Malfoy Manor will no doubt be a bit chilly, so I wrap myself in warm clothes—fleece lined tights, a modest (but very flattering) skirt, and a sweater. I’m in emerald green and black, definitely an attempt to appease the Malfoys, but green always did suit me.

I pull half of my hair up with a ribbon and apply some light makeup, looking rather clean and put together. As I’m finishing my lipstick, my mother raps her knuckles on my door.

“We’re leaving in five minutes, dear. Don’t be—” she pauses when she sees me, clearly pleased. “Lovely. I appreciate you putting in some effort without my asking.”

I nod, tucking my lipstick into my purse. “Of course. I know how important this is to you, and I want to continue making a positive impression.”

“Excellent.” She turns to walk out before stopping in the door frame. “As I was saying. Downstairs in five minutes, not a moment later. The Malfoys are hosting brunch.”

I gather my things, tailing her. “I’m ready when you are.”

A flicker of approval passes over her face as we make our way downstairs, meeting my father in the foyer. He’s well groomed, though he seems frazzled, like he also nearly overslept.

We pull our things to us, falling around father before I hear a crack, and I’m pulled through the familiar blackness of apparating.

By the time we arrive at Malfoy Manor, the mid-morning sun is engulfing the horizon, casting the estate in a warm, golden glow. My thoughts are still lingering on potential gift ideas when the sight of the manor’s entrance takes my breath away.

It’s decorated for Christmas.

Elegant garlands of evergreens frame the towering double doors, adorned with silver and emerald ribbons that flutter lightly in the breeze. Enchanted icicles hang from the edges of the roof, twinkling like stars. A massive wreath, accented with holly and a pristine white bow, dominates the center of the doors.

I blink, trying to reconcile this festive display with the cold, formal atmosphere I’ve come to associate with the Malfoys.

“Surprising, isn’t it?” my father murmurs beside me, his tone low and amused.

I nod absently, unable to take my eyes off the scene.

The doors open just as we reach the top of the steps, revealing Narcissa and Draco waiting in the foyer. Narcissa’s beauty, as always, is striking, her pale features softened by a polite smile that feels warmer than usual. Draco, standing slightly behind her, looks immaculate in dark robes, though his expression is carefully neutral.

“Welcome,” Narcissa greets us, her voice as smooth and composed as ever. “We’re so pleased you could join us for the coming weeks.”

My mother steps forward, matching Narcissa’s tone with practiced ease. “The pleasure is ours, Narcissa. Thank you for hosting.”

Draco’s gaze flickers to mine for the briefest moment, and I catch a hint of something unreadable in his eyes before he masks it.

“Where’s Lucius?” my father asks, glancing past Narcissa as if expecting her husband to materialize from the shadows.

“At a meeting,” Narcissa replies smoothly, her smile unwavering. “He sends his regrets for not being here to greet you. I’m sure he’ll join us later this evening.”

“Of course,” my father replies, his tone carefully neutral.

“Come,” Narcissa says, stepping aside and gesturing for us to enter. “You must be uncomfortable from the cold. Draco will show you to your rooms, and brunch will be served in half an hour.”

Draco steps forward, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer than necessary. “This way,” he says, his voice low but steady.

As we follow him through the grand halls of the manor, I can’t help but glance around. The decorations are everywhere—tasteful and understated, yet undeniably festive. It’s such a stark contrast to the cold, austere feel of the manor during our previous visit that I can’t help but wonder whose idea this was.

I catch Draco’s eye when he glances back to make sure we’re still following. He smirks, almost imperceptibly, as if he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Like the decorations?” he asks quietly when we fall a step behind the my parents.

I arch a brow at him. “I’m shocked they exist.”

His smirk widens slightly. “Mother insisted. Says it’s good for appearances. But between you and me…” He leans in just enough for his voice to drop. “I think she likes it.”

I can’t help but smile at the thought. Maybe the Malfoys aren’t quite as icy as they want the world to believe.

Draco clears his throat, making his way back to the front of the group. “Mr. and Mrs. Lavigné, my parents thought it best to host you in one of the master bedrooms on the third floor considering the duration of your stay. Is that alright?”

“Of course,” my mom drawls, her tone measured. “And where will Y/n be staying?”

Draco nods his head towards one of the doors on his right. “They set up the same room she stayed in last visit, on the second floor with me.”

My mother raises an eyebrow at the mention of me staying on the same floor as Draco. She glances at my father, who remains expressionless, his gaze fixed ahead.

“Is that really necessary?” she asks, her voice smooth but laced with subtle suspicion. “It would make more sense for her to stay closer to us.”

Draco’s eyes flicker to me for a brief moment before he responds. “It’s the most convenient arrangement. The room’s already prepared, and given the circumstances, it seemed simplest.” His tone is nonchalant, but there’s a faint edge to it—one I can’t quite place. “There are three rooms upstairs: my parent’s, the one you’ll be staying in, and one last master that’s reserved for a certain guest that we’ll be expecting in the coming week or so.”

My mother doesn’t seem entirely satisfied with his answer, but she doesn’t press the matter. “Very well,” she says, her smile tight but polite. “I suppose we’ll trust your parents’ judgment.”

I keep my expression neutral, though my thoughts are whirling. The idea of staying in a room so close to Draco again, especially after everything we’ve been through—the kiss, the night terrors, the veritaserum-laced conversations—fills me with a flurry of emotions I can’t quite place. Overwhelmingly, though, I’m relieved to be so close to him physically. Maybe knowing he’s on the other side of the wall will make things less daunting.

Draco opens the door to my room, giving me a small smile that my parents don’t see. “Dobby already brought your things up. Feel free to unpack and get comfortable. I’ll see you shortly.”

I give him a grateful smile as he closes the door behind me, hearing him lead my parents up to the third floor of the manor. I breathe a sigh of relief when I’m out of their line of sight, but the thing that’s gnawing at me the most is not being able to interact with Draco the way I want to.

We’ve gotten so comfortable, so familiar, and now we have to put on these masks of indifference to avoid raising suspicion. I absolutely hate it, because all I want to do is reach out and hold his hand to remind myself he’s still there.

I take a few minutes to unpack, the quiet of the room giving me space to breathe, but it doesn’t help the restlessness that settles in my chest. I try to distract myself with the familiar weight of my things, setting them in their place—nothing special, just the basics. But it feels like I’m moving through the motions, my mind constantly drifting back to the tension of being so near to Draco without being able to show it.

By the time I’m finished, I hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. It’s almost time for brunch. I hesitate for a moment, debating whether I should go downstairs early to avoid drawing attention, but the thought of sitting alone in the room for any longer feels suffocating. I can already feel the weight of the unspoken rules—the expectations—hovering in the air.

I make my way downstairs, adjusting my robe as I pass the familiar portrait of a grimacing Malfoy ancestor. I glance into the sitting room on the way down and spot Draco at the long dining table, talking with his mother. His expression shifts when he sees me, and for a moment, something flickers behind his eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it came.

“Ah, there you are, dear,” Narcissa says with a smile as I enter the room. “Do come sit. Brunch is almost ready.”

I give her a polite smile and move to an empty seat next to Draco. The room is warmly lit, decorated in festive colors, but the air feels oddly strained. Lucius is nowhere to be seen, and I’m silently grateful for that, though I wonder how long his absence will last.

As I sit down, Draco leans slightly toward me, his voice low. “You doing alright?”

I give him a small, almost imperceptible nod. “Yeah. Just… figuring out how to survive this whole thing.”

He gives me a quick glance, his lips curling into a half-smile that barely reaches his eyes. “Same here.” Then, as if remembering where we are, he pulls back, his expression going blank again as his mother begins a conversation with mine when she sits.

I feel the familiar tension in my shoulders, the need to keep up appearances, to not slip up. But the more I try to keep it all in, the more difficult it becomes to ignore the urge to say something real, something that doesn’t belong in this place.

Narcissa and my mother start discussing the upcoming mixers being hosted by the Malfoys, with Narcissa insisting on certain arrangements for the event. My thoughts drift for a moment, lingering on the idea of Draco and I. How we’re supposed to act, how everything will be carefully orchestrated—at least, that’s how it always feels around the Malfoys.

A soft chuckle from Draco interrupts my thoughts as his mother continues to talk. He tilts his head slightly toward me and whispers, “It’s going to be a nightmare, isn’t it?”

I can’t help but let out a quiet laugh, the sound brief but genuine. “It already is.”

Before we can say more, Dobby enters, carrying plates of food, his ears perked and his eyes bright. I sit up straighter as the meal is served, the weight of the conversation once again shifting to casual pleasantries. As we eat, my mind races—not just about the upcoming days, but about how much longer we can pretend.

“So, Y/n,” Narcissa says softly, her eyes trained on me, “I trust you find your room alright? I apologize for not being able to put you on the third floor with us, but we have more guests joining us over the break.”

I take a sip of my tea, trying to be the perfect image of etiquette. “Yes, of course. I really don’t mind. I appreciate you taking the time to set up a room for me at all.”

“It’s my pleasure, dear.” Her tone is soft as always, though there’s a warmth seeping into it I didn’t expect. It almost settles my nerves.

Almost.

“I also wanted to say—I adore the decorations. The manor looks stunning.” I gesture to the garlands and bows hung up around the room, the shiny bulbs glistening in the dim lighting.

Narcissa seems to perk up at this, and it confirms Draco’s theory that she definitely just likes the décor. Her eyes sparkle with a subtle appreciation. “That’s very kind of you, dear. Do you enjoy interior design?”

I take a small bite of my food, nodding thoughtfully. “I suppose I haven’t given it much thought, but I’d say so.”

My parents watch me with scrutinizing gazes. I can just tell what they’re thinking. Interior design? Really?

On the other hand, though, they should be glad Narcissa seems to like me.

She hums with a fond smile playing on her lips. “We can certainly test that theory. I have one last tree to decorate—I don’t let the elves touch it. Would you like to assist me with it after brunch?”

Draco gives me a soft smile, nudging me under the table to encourage me. He doesn’t have to, though.

“I’d be honored,” I reply, putting my hand over my chest. Narcissa’s eyes sparkle warmly.

My father clears his throat. “Very well, darling. Your mother and I must be off to check on the storefront shortly, so while you assist Narcissa, you’ll use it as an opportunity to practice your magic.”

My heart sinks at the mention of my training. So soon? We just got here.

My mother shoots me a warning glance, daring me to refuse. Draco quirks an eyebrow at me, then studies my mother over the rim of his glass as I simply nod my head and agree. “Yes, father.”

The rest of the brunch passes slowly, the tension thick. Draco’s presence is a comfort, though he’s just far enough away that I can’t “accidentally” touch him, so it puts a damper on my mood and a strain on the bond.

Dobby comes through to clear off the table, removing the plates and silverware. When he gets to my side, I give him a small smile. “Thank you, Dobby. It was delicious.”

He beams and snaps the mess away, bowing before leaving the room.

Narcissa is the first to stand, brushing off her dress. “Shall we begin, Y/n?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say politely, folding my hands behind my back as I stand and follow her out.

She lingers in the doorway for just a moment, turning to look at Draco. “I expect you to tend to the library. We have some new titles that need to be put away, but I bought a few just for you. Let me know what you think, my little dragon.”

Draco scrunches his face in embarrassment at the nickname, though he happily agrees to go find his new books as he gets up. His mother gives me a bemused smirk, and I feel like I’ve been let in on some inside joke. Something about the small gesture makes my heart swell.

My parents say their goodbyes to Narcissa before apparating away with a sharp crack, the sound echoing off the walls. I turn to follow Narcissa out before feeling a little tap tap tap.

When I look over my shoulder, Draco is smirking, mischief clouding his eyes.

“The tree is in our main sitting room,” Narcissa says suddenly, pulling my attention back to the hallway in front of me. “I don’t let the elves touch it because most of the ornaments are handmade. Very sentimental for me.”

“I see,” I reply, my shoes clicking on the floor behind her. “That makes perfect sense.”

As we reach the sitting room, my breath catches in my throat. The tree stands tall and proud, nearly grazing the ceiling. Its bare branches stretch out like an invitation, waiting to be dressed in memories and magic.

Narcissa walks forward, her fingers brushing over a box of ornaments resting on a side table. “These,” she says softly, lifting a delicate, star-shaped ornament, “are my favorites. Draco made this one when he was four.”

I step closer, my eyes tracing the uneven edges of the star. The silver paint is chipped in places, and the glitter clings stubbornly in patches, but it’s beautiful.

She smiles wistfully, holding it up to the light. “He was so proud of it. I couldn’t bear to hide it away, no matter how… imperfect it is.”

“It’s charming,” I say honestly, my voice softer than I intended. “You can feel the love in it.”

Her gaze flickers to me, her expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a gentle nod, she sets the ornament down and gestures to the box. “Would you like to do the honors? I trust your instincts.”

I hesitate, glancing at her for reassurance. “I’d love to.”

Carefully, I lift another ornament—a small, intricately carved wooden dragon. Its wings are spread wide, and its eyes gleam with emerald-green stones. “Did Draco make this one, too?” I ask, a teasing smile playing on my lips.

Narcissa chuckles, shaking her head. “No, that was a gift from his father. Lucius has always insisted on adding his… flair to the tree.”

I can’t help but laugh softly at the thought. The dragon looks both out of place and perfectly at home, much like Draco himself.

As we work, Narcissa hums a soft tune, the melody filling the quiet room. I let my magic flow subtly, levitating some of the heavier ornaments to higher branches. When I catch her watching me, I falter for a moment, worried I’ve overstepped.

“You’re quite skilled,” she says after a pause, her tone thoughtful. “I imagine your parents are very proud.”

I force a polite smile, my hands steadying the ornament I’m holding. “They have high expectations. I try to meet them.”

Narcissa hums again, this time with a hint of understanding. “That can be both a blessing and a burden.”

Her words linger in the air, heavier than the decorations we’re placing. For the first time, I feel a sliver of connection with her—an unspoken acknowledgment of shared pressures and roles.

I float another ornament towards the tree, feeling the magic coursing through my fingertips. It doesn’t falter, though this is easy. I’m just glad I’m not practicing defense spells—or worse, offensive ones.

Narcissa tenderly sorts through the boxes of ornaments, her touch lingering on yet another one handmade for her by Draco. I see something wash over her face, and she doesn’t bother to hide it this time.

“Draco is very lucky to have you.”

She gives me a surprised smile, her gaze settling on my face. “I’m lucky to have him. I love my son more than anything in this world.”

“That’s exactly why,” I say softly, avoiding her gaze at the jealousy gnawing in my stomach. I busy myself with a bulb, placing it delicately on the tree. I can’t help myself from studying another handmade ornament, twisting it in the air. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

I let the confirmation linger in the air for a moment before turning to look at her. “Did you want more kids? More than just one, I mean.”

Narcissa pauses, her fingers lightly brushing over a glittering silver ornament shaped like a snowflake. For a moment, I think she won’t answer. Her face remains calm, but her eyes betray a flicker of something—longing, maybe. Or regret.

“It wasn’t in the cards for us,” she says finally, her voice quieter than before. “Lucius and I discussed it once, early in our marriage. He was content with one child, an heir. And when Draco was born…”

She trails off, and her lips curve into the faintest smile. “He became our entire world. I didn’t need more after him.”

I nod, but her words echo in my mind. Didn’t need more. It sounds so… final. As though the idea of more children had been neatly tucked away, like an unused ornament left at the bottom of the box.

“That’s not to say I never thought about it,” Narcissa admits suddenly, surprising me. She gently picks up a delicate golden bauble, holding it up to the light. “When Draco was small, I sometimes wondered what it would be like for him to have a sibling. Someone to grow up with. To share things with.”

Her smile fades slightly as she turns the ornament over in her hand. “But life didn’t allow for it. And I would never trade what I have with him now for anything.”

I swallow hard, unsure why her words strike such a chord in me. Maybe it’s the way she speaks with such conviction, or the way her love for Draco seems to fill the room.

“I think he would’ve made a great brother,” I say quietly, more to myself than to her.

Narcissa’s eyes soften as she looks at me. “Perhaps. But you know, in many ways, Draco has always been… fiercely independent. Even as a boy, he never asked for much. He found his own ways to fill the silence.”

I glance at the handmade ornaments, imagining a younger Draco carefully painting them in a quiet room. The thought tugs at something in my chest.

“Why do you ask?” Narcissa’s tone is gentle, but her gaze is sharp, like she’s trying to piece together my motives.

I hesitate, fumbling with the ribbon on a crystal ornament. “I… don’t really know, honestly.” I put the ribbon down, setting my hands on the table as I think. “You just seem to be rather fond of children. So mostly I was just curious.”

“Mostly?” she asks lightly, though I don’t get the sense that she’s prying any longer.

I shift my weight, adjusting my hair. “I suppose I just… well, I always wanted a sibling. Life can get lonely when all you have are your parents.”

I chuckle mirthlessly, and she considers my words, mulling them over for a moment. “Yes, it can get lonely only having two other people to consider family.”

My gaze flickers up to meet hers, and I see how genuine she’s being. She has no reason to be honest with me, not really, but she is.

Maybe we’re more similar than I realized.

“Well,” she says, her tone lightening as she smooths her hands over her skirt, “I suppose more children is one of those ‘what ifs’ we’ll never know. But I can tell you this—Draco was more than enough to keep me on my toes.”

I laugh softly, nodding. “I can imagine.”

She gives me a knowing smile before turning back to the tree. But as we continue decorating, her words linger in my mind. The weight of them feels oddly familiar—like they echo my own unspoken questions, the ones I can’t quite voice aloud.

And as I place another ornament on the tree, I can’t help but wonder if Narcissa sees a little of herself in me, too.

We step back to admire the tree, now adorned with years of memories and sparkling lights. Narcissa clasps her hands together, a rare warmth spreading across her face. “It’s perfect. Thank you, Y/n.”

“It was my pleasure,” I reply, meaning it.

Before we can say more, Draco’s voice calls from the doorway. “Well? How does it look?”

We turn to see him leaning against the frame, his smirk softened by something tender in his gaze.

“Why don’t you come see for yourself?” Narcissa suggests, motioning him forward.

As Draco steps closer, his eyes scan the tree, lingering on the handmade star. For a moment, his mask slips, and I catch a glimpse of the boy who made it so many years ago.

“It’s… nice,” he says, his tone carefully neutral.

Narcissa gives him a knowing look. “Nice?”

“Fine. It’s perfect,” he admits, shooting me a quick glance that makes my heart stutter.

Narcissa’s laugh is soft but genuine. “Good. Now, why don’t you show Y/n to the library? I’m sure you’ll find something to entertain her while I finish up here.”

Draco arches an eyebrow at her but doesn’t argue. Instead, he gestures for me to follow. As we leave the sitting room, I can feel his mother’s eyes on us, a quiet approval lingering in the air.

When we’re out of earshot, Draco leans in, his voice low. “So, you impressed my mother. Not bad, Lavigné.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” I whisper back, unable to hide my grin.

He chuckles, and for a moment, the weight of our worlds feels a little lighter.

With Narcissa left behind us and our other parents gone, I feel like I can finally relax. As he leads me to the library, I slip my hand in his, and my heart rate steadies.

He flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away. Instead, he gives my hand a squeeze, smiling down at me.

The silence between us feels charged but not uncomfortable as we walk through the long corridors of the manor. Draco’s hand in mine is warm, grounding, and for the first time since we arrived, I feel like I can breathe.

“You know,” I say softly, glancing up at him, “your mother was telling me about some of the ornaments you made when you were little. She seems to treasure them.”

Draco snorts, though the pink creeping up his neck betrays his embarrassment. “Of course she does. She keeps everything. I swear, there’s a box somewhere filled with my terrible childhood drawings.”

I laugh, imagining a young Draco scowling at a piece of parchment while trying to draw something as Narcissa doted on his every scribble. “Terrible, huh? I bet they’re not as bad as you think.”

“You’d lose that bet,” he replies dryly. “Maybe I’ll show you sometime, if you’re lucky.”

His words are teasing, but there’s a softness in his tone that makes my chest tighten.

When we reach the library, Draco pushes open the heavy double doors with ease. The scent of aged parchment and leather-bound books fills the air, and my eyes widen as I take in the towering shelves that stretch from floor to ceiling.

“This is… incredible,” I breathe, stepping inside.

Draco smirks, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Not bad, right? Mother insisted on expanding it a few weeks ago. Apparently, having a smaller library was ‘unacceptable.’”

I chuckle, running my fingers lightly along the spines of the nearest row of books. “I can’t say I disagree with her. I could spend days in here.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you,” he says, walking over to a smaller shelf near the corner. “But before you get lost in all this, let me show you something.”

I follow him curiously as he pulls out a worn leather-bound book and holds it out to me.

“What’s this?” I ask, taking it from him carefully.

“Something I thought you’d like,” he says, his expression softening. “It’s an old journal—a collection of spells and notes on wandless magic. It’s not exactly light reading, but… I figured it might be useful.”

My breath catches as I open the book, the pages filled with elegant handwriting and intricate diagrams. The weight of his gesture isn’t lost on me.

“Draco, this is…” I pause, searching for the right words. “This is amazing. Thank you.”

He shrugs, but there’s a flicker of pride in his eyes. “Don’t mention it. Just don’t let my father see you with it. He doesn’t exactly approve of sharing the family’s more… obscure knowledge.”

I nod, clutching the journal tightly. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

For a moment, we just stand there, the quiet of the library wrapping around us like a cocoon. Draco’s gaze lingers on me, his expression unreadable, before he finally looks away.

“Come on,” he says, his voice softer now. “Let’s find you something a little less intimidating to read.”

As we browse the shelves together, the tension of the day begins to melt away. For now, it’s just us, surrounded by stories and secrets, and for the first time in a long while, I feel… safe.

I pull out a fantasy book, something I’m shocked they even have, and settle myself onto one of the couches in the corner of the room. I get comfortable, leaning on one side of the armrest and putting my legs up onto the rest of the couch, kicking off my shoes.

“Someone’s getting cozy,” Draco teases, smirking at me from across the room.

I roll my eyes, flipping the book open to the first page. “Something like that.”

As I read, he pulls title after title until he has a small stack in his arms. Then, in true Draco fashion, he puts his books down on the side table and lifts my legs up to sit down with me—rather than in one of the numerous other seats in the room.

“So sorry, am I in your way?” I ask sarcastically, though I start  to move my legs to make room. Before I can swing them down, he catches them and pulls them onto his lap in one fluid motion.

“Not at all.”

He doesn’t even look at me as he says it, but it definitely gives me some aggressive butterflies. He holds his book in one hand, letting the other rest on my shin, absentmindedly drawing little circles with his thumb.

The gesture is so intimate, so domestic—it makes me wonder, is this what life would be like with him after we marry? Easy and safe and warm? Because if this would be our future, I suddenly have something to look forward to.

The room is quiet save for the rustling of pages as we each devour our own stories, though the silence is a comfortable one. If I could stay this way forever, I would.

Draco interrupts my thoughts after he finishes his first book nearly two hours later. “I forgot to tell you—those cookies you made at our first sleepover?”

“Yeah?” I ask quietly, not looking up from the page I’m on.

He chuckles lightly. “I remembered the recipe and recreated them, and mother was a huge fan.”

“That’s nice,” I hum absentmindedly, still wrapped up in my own book.

I feel him shift under my legs. “Pay attention to me! I’m giving you a compliment,” he huffs, sounding like a needy child.

I smile softly, still focused on the page, now more for my own amusement. “That’s sweet.”

He leans towards me and grabs the book out of my hands, holding it over his head.

“Hey! Give that back, I’m not done yet,” I whine, reaching for it.

He smirks, pulling it farther back. “Not a chance. You probably couldn’t even tell me what I just said.”

I narrow my eyes at him, though I can’t mask the smile on my face as I crawl up onto my knees and nearly fall onto him trying to steal it back. “You said—your mom likes my recipe,” I say in between attempts to reach up.

He pulls it back just a smidge farther and I topple into his lap, but he catches me by the waist with one hand. I see an amused sparkle in his eye as he sets the book down (never losing my place, thoughtfully enough) and quirks an eyebrow at me. “So you were paying attention.”

“Of course I was,” I say softly, suddenly feeling very shy at our proximity. “I’m always paying attention to you.”

“Stalker,” he says with a smirk, pulling me up just a fraction until our faces are merely inches apart.

I feel my cheeks heat up, my heart rate skyrocketing. “You’re one to talk.”

“Oh, shut up,” he retorts, his breath warm over my face.

“Make me,” I say, much quicker than I intended to.

Before I get a chance to regret it, he pulls me up to sit on his lap and presses his lips to mine, his arm never leaving my waist.

I sink into him almost instantly, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. It’s like I can never get enough of his presence, his scent, his lips… I can never get enough of him.

I’m immediately disappointed when he pulls back, the feeling of his smile against my own still lingering.

He rests his forehead against mine, his breath still warm and uneven. His hand stays firmly on my waist, grounding me in the moment. “You’re such a menace, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing.

“Me?” I whisper back, still catching my breath. “You’re the one who stole my book.”

“And you’re the one who climbed into my lap to get it back,” he counters, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile spreading across my face. “What was I supposed to do? Let you win?”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. “You can’t stand the idea, can you?”

“Nope,” I admit, popping the “p” for emphasis.

Draco shakes his head in mock exasperation, though his grin betrays him. His fingers absentmindedly trace small patterns on my waist, sending shivers through me. “You’re impossible.”

“You love it,” I quip without thinking, and his expression falters for just a second.

The smirk fades, replaced by something softer, something almost vulnerable. His eyes search mine as though trying to decide if I meant it.

“I think I might,” he finally says, his voice barely above a whisper.

My breath catches. It’s not quite a confession, but it’s enough to make my heart race again. I don’t know how to respond, so instead, I lean in and kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the moment.

When we part, he brushes a stray strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle. “Don’t think this means you get your book back,” he says, his smirk returning.

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re the worst.”

“And yet,” he says, tilting his head as he studies me, “you seem to be stuck with me.”

“Lucky me,” I tease, but there’s no denying the warmth spreading through my chest.

For the rest of the evening, we stay tangled together on the couch, books forgotten, as the lines between us blur even further.