The Pact

As I sit at dinner on our first night here, the room is thick with tension. Why, I’m not sure, but I try not to ponder on it much.

“So, Christmas is right around the corner,” my mother starts, taking a sip of her wine. “Are you prepared, Y/n?”

I pause, weighing my options for a response. She’s going to be upset either way, so I may as well be honest.

“Nearly. I just need to go to the shops one more time to finish up.” Okay, maybe not a total truth, but at least I didn’t say yes.

My mother gives me a pointed look across the table. “Well I don’t have time to take you. Neither does your father. How exactly are you planning to get there?”

Before I can respond, Narcissa clears her throat. “I can take her, Grace. I have some shopping to finish up as well.”

My mother turns to Narcissa, her lips pressing into a thin line as if she wants to argue but thinks better of it. “If you’re sure you don’t mind,” she says with a tight smile.

“Not at all,” Narcissa replies smoothly, setting her wine glass down. “It will be nice to spend some time together. Besides, it sounds like she’s been quite busy lately, hasn’t she?”

There’s something knowing in her tone, and I feel a flicker of panic. Is she talking about my sneaking off, or is it something else entirely?

Draco shifts in his seat, drawing attention to himself. “Busy and impressive,” he says casually, though I can tell he’s enjoying the opportunity to stir the pot. “Not everyone can master wandless magic, you know.”

My fork halts mid-air, and I glare at him. “Draco…”

My father clears his throat, giving me a warning look. “She hasn’t mastered it yet. Being able to put up wards and ornaments hardly counts as mastery considering what she knows she needs to be training for.”

I sigh, deflating. No matter what I do, it’ll never be good enough for them.

“I hardly have a reason to train in… those areas, father. I’m perfectly safe, am I not?” There’s an edge to my voice, one he certainly hasn’t picked up on, but Draco does.

“Of course you are,” my mother interjects, her voice firm.

From across the table, Lucius sneers at me. “You need a reason to train, do you?”

I freeze. I had almost forgotten Lucius was here, and something about his tone puts me on edge. I keep my mouth shut for fear of angering him more than he seems to be.

“Lucky for you,” he continues, setting down his glass, “we’re expecting some special guests later next week who have been inquiring about your talents. They’ll certainly expect some level of mastery.”

I clench my jaw, feeling dread settle into my stomach. “Special guests?” I echo, trying to pull any information I can out of him. I keep my voice steady, careful not to reveal my emotions.

His lips curl into a smirk. “Yes. You’ve met a few of them already, at our… showcase all that time ago.”

“I see,” I say flatly, tapping on my bracelet under the table. Tap tap tap tap tap. “Danger.”

Draco taps back discreetly. Tap. “Yes.”

I put on my fakest smile, steadying my gaze on Lucius. “Well, I wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

“No, I imagine you wouldn’t,” my mother chimes in, her eyes dark and cold. “You’ll resume your training as soon as Christmas is over. I’ll give you that much of your break.”

Three days. I resume in three days.

I nod my head, my eyes settling on my fathers hand clenched tightly around his glass. “Yes, ma’am.”

The rest of dinner feels like a performance, every word and action carefully calculated under the watchful eyes of our parents. Narcissa keeps the conversation light, steering it toward Christmas traditions and plans for the coming week. Despite her best efforts, the tension remains palpable, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Draco is uncharacteristically quiet, though I catch him glancing at me now and then, his expression unreadable. He’s probably weighing how much of this is his business—or maybe just trying to figure out how much I’m going to push back when all of this inevitably boils over.

As the meal winds down, Narcissa announces, “Y/n and I will leave early tomorrow. The shops will be less crowded, and we’ll have time to get everything done.”

My mother nods curtly. “Good. Make sure she doesn’t linger too long. There’s no point in wasting the day on trivial things.”

“I’ll make sure she stays focused,” Narcissa replies with a polite smile, though there’s a flicker of something sharper in her eyes—defiance, perhaps.

When the plates are cleared, Lucius rises from his seat, straightening his robes. “Y/n, a word before you retire,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Draco’s eyes flick to mine, a silent warning. I stand, smoothing down my dress and forcing myself to meet Lucius’s gaze. “Of course, Mr. Malfoy.”

As he leads me into his study, I feel the weight of every step, the foreboding air of the room pressing down on me as he closes the door behind us. He doesn’t speak right away, instead moving to stand by the fireplace, the flickering light casting long shadows across his face.

“You may think you’ve done well hiding your hesitations,” he begins, his voice low and measured. “But you’d be mistaken.”

“I’m not hesitating,” I reply evenly, though the tremor in my hands betrays me.

“Good,” he says, turning to face me fully. “Because when our guests arrive, they’ll expect nothing less than perfection. Your family’s reputation—and by extension, ours—depends on it.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping back. Instead, I nod. “I understand.”

“Do you?” His gaze narrows, and for a moment, I feel as though he can see straight through me. “This is no game, Y/n. You carry a legacy, one that extends far beyond your personal whims. I suggest you remember that.”

“Yes, sir,” I say through gritted teeth, lowering my gaze. My heart pounds in my chest, but I refuse to let him see any cracks in my armor.

“Good,” he says, his tone final. “You may go.”

I leave the study as quickly as I can without outright running, the air in the hallway feeling cool and refreshing after the suffocating weight of Lucius’s presence. As I pass by the drawing room, I see Draco leaning against the doorframe, waiting.

“Well?” he asks quietly, falling into step beside me as we make our way upstairs.

“Well, I’m apparently the key to upholding our family’s ‘reputation,’” I mutter bitterly, my hands clenched into fists. “No pressure or anything.”

He gives me a sideways glance. “Don’t let him get to you. He thrives on intimidation.”

“I know,” I say softly. “But it’s hard not to feel like I’m… drowning in all of this.”

Draco hesitates before reaching out, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment. “I’m here with you through all of it,” he says quietly. “Remember that.”

I look at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. For the first time that evening, the weight on my chest feels just a little lighter.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and though he doesn’t reply, the look in his eyes says enough.

~

Narcissa stays true to her word, and we leave for the shops at nine in the morning. I’m exhausted, but I don’t have any reason to argue. Honestly, I’m relieved to be getting away from everything for a while.

We take the floo to the first of a collection of stores in France, all wizard-owned. I can’t help my surprise when she tells me where we’re going.

“Paris?” I ask, stepping out of the Floo and brushing soot from my sleeves. The room we arrive in is elegant yet cozy, with dark wood paneling and enchanted chandeliers that sparkle softly above us. The warm scent of pastries drifts in from somewhere nearby, mingling with the faint tang of magic in the air. I recognize the shop immediately, one I frequented years ago. “Why here?”

Narcissa adjusts her gloves, her expression calm but watchful as she surveys the bustling street just outside the shop. “Because no one here will report back to anyone at home. Your mother won’t hear about how long we’ve been gone, and Lucius won’t concern himself with your purchases.”

I blink, taken aback by her frankness. It’s not often that Narcissa lets her mask slip enough to show me whose side she’s truly on—or at least, how much she’s willing to bend the rules for my sake.

“Thank you,” I say quietly, earning the faintest of nods from her.

“Don’t waste the opportunity,” she says, leading me toward the door. “We won’t have all day.”

The cobblestone street outside is alive with activity. Witches and wizards bustle between shops carrying colorful packages, their chatter blending with the distant sound of a violinist playing near the fountain. The buildings are adorned with enchanted wreaths and glittering charms, and snow falls in slow, sparkling drifts, melting before it touches the ground.

For the first time since the library with Draco, I feel myself relax.

Narcissa guides me toward a boutique filled with shimmering gowns and cloaks. “You’ll need something suitable for the guests Lucius mentioned,” she says, pausing to examine a midnight-blue velvet dress with silver embroidery. “Whether you like it or not, appearances matter.”

I sigh but nod, trailing my fingers over the soft fabric of a nearby gown. “Do you think…” I hesitate, unsure how much I can ask without pushing her too far. “Do you think it’s worth it? Any of this?”

She glances at me, her blue eyes sharp and calculating. For a moment, I think she’ll brush the question off, but then she speaks.

“It depends on what you’re fighting for,” she says quietly, turning back to the dress. “And whether you believe you can win.”

Her words settle heavily in my chest, and I find myself wondering what she is fighting for—and what it’s cost her.

I drift around the store, studying the options I have. I linger on one in particular—a gorgeous yet simple gown in a powder blue color. The sleeves fall off the shoulder, and the skirt has enough volume to twirl, though it isn’t overwhelming. It’s absolutely lovely, but I can’t bring myself to deface it by wearing it to perform dark magic.

I sigh and reluctantly walk away. I pick a few dresses, all dark, and walk back to the dressing room. Narcissa follows me silently, an even expression on her face.

I slip into the first—the one she showed me, that reminds me of the night sky. It stretches and shrinks to fit me perfectly, and I admire myself in the mirror. The dress is beautiful, there’s no doubt, but I hate what it represents.

As I turn to the side to see the back, I hear Narcissa’s soft voice from outside the door.

“Let’s see it then, darling.”

The casual use of the pet name makes me take pause for a moment. Her voice is soft, but there’s something more behind it—a tenderness, a carefulness.

I can’t help but wonder if this is what having a mother who loved me would be like.

I step out of the dressing room hesitantly, giving her a spin.

Narcissa studies me with her sharp, discerning gaze, her hands clasped neatly in front of her. Her lips curve into a faint smile. “It suits you,” she says after a moment, tilting her head slightly. “The color is striking, and the fit is flawless.”

I nod, forcing a small smile. “It’s beautiful.”

“But?” she prompts, raising an elegant brow.

I hesitate. How can I tell her I feel like I’m putting on a costume for a role I never wanted to play? “I just… I’m not sure it feels like me.”

Narcissa hums thoughtfully. “Sometimes, the roles we must play require us to look the part, even if it doesn’t align with who we believe ourselves to be.”

Her words strike a chord, but I don’t know if I find them comforting or unsettling. I give her a small nod before retreating to the dressing room.

The next dress I try on is a deep emerald green, shimmering faintly in the light. It has a high neckline with intricate embroidery across the bodice and sleeves, and the skirt flows gracefully down to the floor. The color reminds me of Slytherin, of Draco even, but also of expectations I’m desperate to escape.

When I step out, Narcissa’s eyes light up just a fraction—so subtle I almost miss it. “That one is regal,” she says, stepping closer to adjust a small fold near the hem. “It commands attention.”

“It’s… intimidating,” I admit, smoothing the fabric over my waist.

She gives a soft chuckle, the sound surprisingly warm. “Good. A dress like this is armor, Y/n. If you wear it, let it remind you of your strength.”

I glance at myself in the mirror again, trying to see what she sees. I like it more than I thought I would, but something still doesn’t feel right.

“One more,” I say quietly, disappearing back into the dressing room.

The final dress I’ve chosen is far simpler—a deep plum color with long, elegant sleeves and a modest neckline. It has a slight sheen but lacks the elaborate embellishments of the others. It feels understated, yet undeniably beautiful.

When I step out this time, Narcissa’s expression softens. She approaches me, tilting her head as she takes in the sight. “That one,” she says after a long pause, her voice softer than before. “It’s… understated, but it has a quiet power. I think it suits you perfectly.”

I glance at my reflection, and for the first time, I see myself—not the expectations, not the image others want me to portray, just me.

“I think this is the one,” I whisper.

Narcissa’s lips curve into the faintest smile. “Then it’s settled.”

I take it up to purchase it, not even flinching at the price. The cashier smiles at me as she places it carefully in the bag.

“This piece is lovely,” she says, her voice high and shrill. “One of my favorites by the designer.”

I nod, taking the bag from her. “I hope I can do it justice, then.”

We move on to other shops, picking out gifts and supplies for the coming weeks. She goes her own separate way for a while, both of us at neighboring storefronts as we shop for gifts. I’m stunned at the amount of trust she puts in me, because as far as she knows, I could bolt at any moment.

I almost feel like there’s an air of understanding between us. It goes deeper than her just liking me—I think she sees me. I think she cares. Maybe because I’m Draco’s future wife, or maybe it’s because I’m the child of one of her old friends. I don’t mind either way. I haven’t really gotten to experience this kind of maternal affection before, and even though her gestures are small, they’re undeniably kind.

I wander into a jewelry shop, the glimmering displays catching my eye. My parents are impossible to shop for—always so particular, so critical—but I know better than to return home empty-handed.

For my mother, I settle on an elegant brooch: gold with small emerald accents that match her eyes. It’s tasteful, extravagant enough to meet her standards, and something she’ll wear to one of her endless social gatherings. For my father, I find a sleek set of cufflinks, etched with runes for protection and power—exactly the kind of thing he’d appreciate, even if he doesn’t say it.

Lucius is trickier. I know he doesn’t need or want anything, but I can’t ignore the political game we’re playing. I finally decide on a rare potion ingredient set displayed in a carved mahogany box. It’s refined and rare, something he’ll recognize as a calculated and respectful choice.

I step back into the street, feeling the weight of my purchases. Narcissa is across the way, browsing a display of fine teas. She picks one up, examining it carefully, then sets it back down and moves on.

I hesitate for a moment before stepping into the shop. The tin she’d lingered on sits neatly on the shelf. It’s a rare blend infused with lavender and bergamot—elegant and calming, just like her. Without a second thought, I add it to my growing list of purchases.

Something else nearby catches my attention—an elegant hairpiece, glimmering under the light. It’s a silver crescent moon shape, made for one to stick a long silver pin through the hair to keep it up. Thin chains with droplet shaped sapphire gems hang off the bottom, creating a beautiful cascade that would look absolutely lovely in her black and white hair.

I purchase that as well, unable to resist the temptation. It’s too perfect.

When I catch up with Narcissa, she’s holding a small bag of her own. “Find something nice?” I ask.

Her lips curve into a polite smile. “A little something for Draco. He’s been burning through his favorite quills lately.”

I nod, hiding the small tin of tea behind my back. “Practical. He’ll appreciate that.”

We continue browsing, stopping here and there, but I find myself growing restless. The thought of returning to Malfoy Manor weighs heavily on me, and I can’t help but feel like these moments of quiet normalcy with Narcissa are fleeting.

All I have left is to find something for Draco, but I can’t for the life of me think of something good enough. He’s come to mean so much to me, and clothes or cologne or trivial items like those can’t measure up to that.

What does he love? He loves flying, and piano, and reading. Maybe I could get him some new gloves for flying, or interesting sheet music, or even some new books, but none of it feels right.

Then it hits me. My poetry.

I’ve never shared it with anyone—it’s always been too personal, too raw. But Draco isn’t just anyone. He’s come to mean more to me than I ever thought possible, and what little he saw all that time ago… I know he appreciated it.

I step into a stationary shop, leaving Narcissa to look both confused and intrigued from the doorway, and start searching for the perfect supplies. My fingers brush over a small, leather-bound journal in a soft, deep green—the exact color of his robes. The pages are thick, textured, and perfect for writing.

Next, I pick out a fine quill and ink, along with gold-foil edging to decorate the pages. I’ll copy my favorite poems into it—ones I’ve written over the years, ones that capture pieces of myself I haven’t shown him yet.

As I run my fingers over the cover, I decide to include something more: new poems, maybe even excerpts from my diary, written just for him. Something that captures what he’s come to mean to me.

The thought both excites and terrifies me, but I know it’s the right gift. Draco doesn’t need extravagant displays or impersonal tokens. He needs something real, something vulnerable.

I gather the supplies and head to the counter, my chest buzzing with anticipation. As I pay, I picture his expression when he opens it. Will he understand the effort, the sentiment behind it?

This gift feels right. It’s a piece of myself, and I hope it’s enough to show him just how much he matters to me.

As I finish up and rejoin Narcissa, she places a hand on my arm, her touch light. “Thank you for coming with me today.”

I blink, caught off guard. “Thank you for taking me.”

Her eyes soften, and for a moment, I think she’s about to say something more, but she simply nods and gestures toward the floo station. “Come along, darling. They’ll be waiting.”

I sigh as we step inside, the weight of reality crashing back down on me.

I’ve come to find comfort in both Narcissa and Draco’s presence, but adding my parents and Lucius to the mix… it hardly settles my nerves.

When we get back to the manor, shopping bags in hand, everyone is still gone save for Draco. He’s sitting right in front of the floo, like he was waiting for us to get back.

I give Narcissa a confused look and she nearly reads my mind.

“You want to have time to wrap, don’t you?” she asks with a fond smile on her lips.

Draco notices the interaction and I’m ninety percent sure he’s just wondering why the hell his mother seems so comfortable with me—and I with her. I bite back a laugh.

“Yes, ma’am,” I reply with a thankful smile, shooting Draco a playful wink. “I’ll be back down later. Have to get all this sorted out,” I tell him, not waiting for a reply as I make my way upstairs and lock myself in my room.

The first thing I do is hang up the dress, making sure it has no wrinkles or snags. It’s perfect, and even though I know what it’s meant for, a small part of me hopes it’ll bring me comfort just because Narcissa helped me pick it out.

Then I lay out all of my gifts and wrapping supplies and get to work. I wrap each item with careful precision, tying ribbons around each box and labeling them with everyone’s names. When I get to the journal for Draco, I pull out all my crafting supplies and move to the desk before grabbing out my own journal.

As I flip through the pages, I draw little hearts on the corner of every page I’m going to copy down, picking the best poems I’ve written and the ones I know caught Draco’s attention when he read them for the first time.

I find the poem I wrote weeks ago when I was still confused about my feelings for him—feeling so torn between my emotions and my morals, thinking the two things were mutually exclusive. I’ve learned with time that Draco and I are almost completely aligned. Perfect counterparts that balance each other’s best and worst qualities.

It makes me think of the bond. How the magic our parents did passed on to us when we were born, two equal halves of the same goal. Maybe we were meant for each other all along.

I pause, fingers brushing over the words I’d scrawled so long ago. At the time, it had felt like I was pouring out my confusion, my guilt, my longing. Now, rereading it, I realize it holds something much deeper—hope.

Hope that despite everything, Draco would see me for who I truly am, not who my parents want me to be. Hope that he would accept me, flaws and all, even when I couldn’t accept myself.

I set the journal down and carefully begin copying the poem onto one of the blank pages in his book, my quill moving with purpose.

As I write, I embellish the page with soft sketches along the edges—delicate vines curling around the words, a faint outline of stars at the corners. It’s subtle but personal, something I know he’ll notice.

When I finish, I sit back and admire the page. It feels like a piece of my heart laid bare, and for a moment, I feel vulnerable. But that vulnerability isn’t as scary as it once was, not when it comes to him.

I turn to the next page, and the next, copying down my favorite poems and diary entries with my thin quill and green ink—bought specially for him.

Going through my diary is a journey in and of itself. It’s charmed against prying eyes, locked away from the world. Even I don’t tend to reread it, but I am now.

I smile fondly as I go through them, picking some of my favorites.

“September 19th:

You know that boy I’ve complained about? Well, unfortunately for me, he’s the son of one of my mother’s business partners. I was stuck having dinner with his family at their manor (which is gorgeous by the way, but not the point) and I had every intention of telling him to piss off forever when we got back to school. But then, the unthinkable happened.

He actually helped me.

My mother pulled me aside and slapped me for embarrassing her (his fault, by the way) and he SAW. I was beyond mortified but he led me to his room and cleaned me up. He was surprisingly gentle about it, and when we got back to dinner, he kept staring at me the whole night. Now I don’t know what the hell to think about him.

I’ll keep you updated.”

I crack a smile while I copy it over, remembering our humble beginnings. Simpler times.

I turn a few pages, scanning through them.

“October 9th,

Okay, huge developments. Apparently I’m bound to Malfoy. Like, magically. What the hell am I supposed to do about this? He hates me! And now I’m literally stuck with him.

After the duel yesterday, I did a ton of research to figure out what was going on, and Mione explained it all to me much more eloquently than I can ever recite, but now I’m mostly just worried.

The bond—it’s ancient magic, tied to our families, and it’s protective. If I try to hurt him or vice versa, it won’t let us. But it’s more than that. It’s supposed to make us stronger together, something about balancing each other out.

I don’t know what’s worse—having to trust him or the fact that, deep down, I think I already do.”

I annotate the entry with a note: You acted like it didn’t bother you, but I could tell you were just as shaken as I was.

I find another, one I’d forgotten about entirely.

“October 10th,

Draco and I met in the room of requirement to test out the bond, and I’m at a loss for words. He played piano (wonderfully as always) and I danced, and I swear, I could feel the magic humming, like a thread pulling me to him. It was intense, but… he smiled at me.

Like actually, genuinely smiled.

Then we switched jewelry out of sheer curiosity and now I think we have some other kind of shields around us from it.

Maybe we are better together.”

I copy it down, too, adding a note to the side: If only I knew then, I would’ve spent a lot less time avoiding you whenever I was upset.

Then I add another, skipping past the time I was mad at him after the arranged marriage fiasco.

“November 14th,

Oh. My. Merlin.

Okay, Hermione was right. I really should’ve just talked to Draco about everything, because I was totally mad for no reason. We had a heart to heart earlier after the party wound down, and we both apologized for everything. I feel like we’re making some real progress in our communication.

That’s not the point, though. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I couldn’t stop myself from hugging him when it was all over. I thought he would freak out or push me off, but he didn’t. He just… let me.

I swear, he held onto me like he was afraid to let go. It was a side of him I’ve never seen, and it was one of the sweetest things I’ve ever experienced, but now it just complicates things.

He makes it very hard to focus.”

I chuckle to myself as I underline the last line and draw an arrow to my annotation. You still make it hard to focus, actually.

Then I find one of my favorites, an entry I often reread and reminisce about.

“November 19th,

Yesterday Draco and I had a sleepover at his manor (okay, it was to find files but I’m calling it a sleepover) and SO MUCH happened.

1.        We baked cookies, and he gave me this look that made me melt—a genuine, open, affectionate look.

2.        We found veritaserum in his fathers study and played 20 questions—turns out he would like me even without the bond, and that’s all that matters to me.

3.        We found a ton of information about the bond and how it started—it’s all on our parents.

4.        I let him read some of my poetry—and he found the ones about him. I’m still freaking out about it.

5.        He let me fall asleep in his lap—he played with my hair the whole time and didn’t even tease me about it.

6.        He had a nightmare and when I went to check on him, he actually let me stay—his little sleepy voice was so cute, and we ended up cuddling through the night and I actually crashed in his room.

7.        I woke up to him still holding me and he whispered, “you’re going to be the death of me.” That’s big, right?

I definitely have feelings for him, there’s not doubt about it. But I don’t think he feels the same, not really. I don’t know. We’ll see.”

I circle number seven, annotating the entry. Yeah, I was awake. I just wanted to see what happened. Your hair is really cute when it’s all messy in the mornings.

I add a few more entries, highlighting the important moments of our relationship: the Slytherin party when he kissed me for the first time, that night when he changed my entire opinion of myself, when he gave me the tap bracelet after I avoided him, the quidditch match when he spun me around, and the Yule ball, when he kissed me for real.

I have no idea how he’ll react to my thoughts on those, but I hope he’ll appreciate them.

Then I pull out my secret additions: every note I’ve ever received from him, saved over the entire time I’ve known him.

I scatter them through the journal, adorning them with embellishments and doodles. When the pages look pretty, I annotate them.

I smile as I reread his notes, the ones I’ve kept hidden away for so long. They’re small moments, captured in words, that mean more to me than I’ll ever admit to him.

The first one is a simple scrap of parchment: “Stop looking at my notes. You’ll fail your exam if you keep copying me.”

Next to it, I write: You were right—I failed anyway, but I did enjoy annoying you.

Another is from a Potions class gone wrong: “I told you to stir clockwise, not counter. You’re hopeless.”

In the margin, I draw a small cauldron with steam curling out of it, along with the note: You fixed it when you thought no one was looking. You’re not as heartless as you pretend to be.

I come across one that’s surprisingly kind, though still in his usual sharp tone: “Your wandwork in Defense wasn’t terrible today. Shocking, really.”

I underline “wasn’t terrible” and add: Coming from you, this might as well be a love letter.

There’s a hastily written one from the library: “Stop humming. Some of us are trying to concentrate.”

I sketch a small treble clef in the corner and write: You didn’t actually leave, though. I think you secretly liked it.

And finally, one I’ve reread a hundred times, the most recent: “Lavigné,

I don’t know why you’re upset with me. If it’s something I said or did, tell me, and I’ll fix it. I swear.

This probably isn’t the most… conventional way to apologize, but I’m not great with words, so maybe this can say what I can’t. The bracelet is charmed—I have one, too—so when you tap yours, I’ll feel it, and when I tap mine, you’ll feel it. You don’t even have to answer me. Just let me know you’re still there.

-Draco”

Next to it, I draw little hearts and I scrawl: You don’t realize it, but you saved me that day. Thank you.

Each note is tucked neatly in place, surrounded by doodles of stars, flowers, and other small things I know he likes, along with stickers and scraps of pretty stationary. By the time I finish, the journal feels less like a collection of my thoughts and more like a reflection of us. Something only the two of us would understand.

Finally, I flip to a fresh page and begin writing the new poem I’d promised myself I’d create just for him. It’s harder than I thought, not because the words won’t come, but because there’s so much I want to say, and it’s impossible to condense it all.

I write about his quiet strength, the way his presence calms the storm inside me. I write about the moments when his guard slips and he lets me see the real him—the boy behind the sharp words and the icy demeanor. I write about the warmth he doesn’t realize he gives me, the kind that makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I can survive all of this.

On the final page, I choose to write a note. Not something short by any means; something to explain to Draco exactly what I see in him, plenty of descriptive imagery so maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to understand.

“Draco,

You may not remember this, but a few weeks ago when we were hanging out in the library, you asked me how I saw you. I told you I thought you were funny, quick-witted and strong, but you’re so much more. I didn’t have the words then, but I do now.

You just have this incandescent glow to you—like the moon, but you sparkle, too, which makes you special. Your eyes are ice and oceans and your hair is silk and feathers. You have the prettiest soft paleness to your skin that makes you look so delicate, a brilliant contrast to your sharp features.

Your eyelashes flutter when you laugh. You hold things tightly and carefully like you’re afraid they’ll break, and your movements are so fluid when you walk or dance it’s like watching the grass sway in the wind. You lips are soft and your kisses are lighter than dandelion seeds floating in the air, and you’re as warm as flame.

You feel like homemade cookies and hot chocolate on cold hands and hair being accidentally curly when you wake up. Being close to you is like walking through rows of cherry blossom trees while eating warm brownies, the lightness of the flowers and the richness of the chocolate. Every part of you is as soft as we used to imagine clouds would be when we were little kids.

 Holding on to you is like wrapping yourself up in fluffy blankets while being surrounded by candlelight and quiet music. Your voice is my favorite melody, and your heart beat is one of the most comforting songs I’ve ever listened to.

I write you this not to flatter you, nor to inflate your ego, but simply to explain to you how I see you. You’ve asked me before why I cared for you, and I couldn’t answer then, because I didn’t even know the answer myself. I do now, and now you have it, for keeps.

Happy Christmas, Dray.

-Y/N”

When I’m done, I let the ink dry and close the journal gently. I run my fingers over the green leather cover, tracing the edges. It’s simple, but it’s us.

Wrapping it feels almost too formal, but I tie a ribbon around it anyway, tucking it carefully into a gift bag. As I place it with the other presents, I feel a flicker of nervous excitement.

What will he think when he reads it? Will he understand?

I push the thoughts aside, tidying up my space before heading back downstairs. Draco’s still there, lounging on the couch, but he sits up when he sees me.

“Get everything sorted?” he asks, his tone casual but his eyes curious.

“Mostly,” I reply, sitting down across from him. “Though now I’m debating if I should’ve gotten more.”

He raises a brow. “More for who?”

I smirk, leaning back. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

His lips twitch, and for a moment, it feels like everything else falls away—our families, the expectations, the looming uncertainty. It’s just us. And that’s enough.

I look out the window and jump up, running over to it. “Look! It’s snowing! How pretty.”

Draco joins me, leaning against the wall as he looks at me. “Very pretty, indeed.”

I turn my gaze to him, realizing he never took his eyes off me. The thought makes my heart jump. “Happy Christmas Eve, Dray.”

“Happy Christmas Eve,” he replies, smoothing my hair down. “I’m glad to spend it with you.”