The Pact

“Y/n. Y/n, look at me.”

A strong hand on my shoulder pulls my attention in the direction of the voice calling me—the voice I see now belongs to Draco.

“It’s over. The meeting. It’s over,” he says, shaking me. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

It takes me a moment to digest his words, to respond with anything more than my eyes. He doesn’t give me a chance to say anything, he just starts to pull me to my feet, out of the chair at the table.

My entire body is stiff, almost unfamiliar as I put my weight back on my legs, feeling as though I’m a wooden doll with no control over my own body. Draco looks positively panicked, but I can’t bring myself to match it. I can’t bring myself to feel much of anything.

Lucius stands, his chair scraping against the floor. As I look around, I realize everyone has cleared out, save for the Malfoys and my parents.

Narcissa and Lucius are at my side in an instant, hovering over me for different reasons. My parents start to make their way around the table as Lucius gives me a tight, approving nod.

“You did well,” he says shortly, his voice tinged with something I can’t place. “You put the training to use.”

Narcissa waves him off, seeming equally as concerned as Draco.

Draco pulls me away from my parents’ worried gazes, his hand warm and firm on my arm, though I barely register the sensation. Everything feels distant, as though I’m watching this moment unfold from outside my body. The voices around me blur into background noise—my parents, Narcissa, Lucius—all their murmurs of approval, concern, pity. It’s like they’re all just actors in some twisted play, and I’m a ghost trapped in the middle of it.

“You did well,” Lucius repeats, his words calculated, but I can’t make myself care about his approval anymore. My hands, stained with blood, feel foreign. The weight of it presses against me, and I just want it gone, all of it. But my feet don’t move as they should, and I’m left following Draco as he guides me through the chaos that seems to spin around us.

Narcissa steps in front of me, her usual composure faltering. “Y/n,” she says softly, her voice the epitome of grace despite the tension hanging in the air. “You should get out of those clothes. You’re covered in blood. Let me—”

“No,” Draco interrupts sharply, his tone more commanding than I’ve ever heard it. His grip tightens on my arm as he pulls me a step closer to him, blocking Narcissa’s advance. He looks at his mother, his expression fierce and protective. “I’ll take care of her.”

His words hang in the air, and Narcissa freezes, her eyes flicking between Draco and me. Her concern for me is palpable, but the urgency in Draco’s voice seems to settle her for the moment. She nods, looking at Draco with an unreadable expression, before stepping back.

“Draco,” I hear my mother’s voice—soft but stern—calling from the other side of the room. “She needs help. She can’t just—”

“She’s fine,” Draco snaps, cutting her off before turning back to me, his hand on my shoulder now, as if trying to reassure both of us. “I’ve got her.”

I feel his eyes on me—searching, studying—but I can’t bring myself to look at him. I don’t want to look at anyone right now. I just want to be somewhere else, somewhere far from this place, this moment. But all I can do is stand there, feeling hollow and detached, as Draco gently guides me away from the blood-soaked room.

When we reach the door, Draco hesitates, then, with a final glance at his parents, he pulls me into the hallway. The distant echo of voices fades behind us, but still, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not really here.

“Y/n,” he says softly, his voice trembling slightly with something I can’t quite place. “I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.”

I don’t respond. I can’t. Instead, I let him lead me to his room, my feet barely lifting from the ground, as though I’m drifting through the motions.

Once inside, Draco closes the door behind us and turns to face me. The faintest tremor runs through his hands as he lifts them, but he doesn’t touch me—he doesn’t dare to. His gaze, however, is full of something I can’t read.

“Y/n,” he repeats my name, his voice quiet, almost as if he’s afraid of breaking me, of shattering the fragile shell I’ve created around myself. “I’m here.”

My eyes finally meet his after a long moment, and I move my mouth as if to speak, but no words come out. All that escapes me is a shaky breath as I let myself sit on his bed, holding onto his arm as tightly as I can manage.

He moves as close to me as he can, standing less than an inch in front of me as he places both hands on my face, gentle but grounding.

“Can we please get you out of these clothes?” he pleads, his eyes searching mine for any sign of life.

I nod slightly, my jaw clenched as he breathes a sigh of relief, moving to his drawers and pulling out some of his own clothes. He brings them back over, trying to give them to me, but I don’t take them.

He holds them out, his voice soft. “Please.”

I stare at the pajamas in his hands, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the air between us. My mind feels like it’s locked in a fog, too clouded to make sense of anything, but I know I need to move. I need to do something. Anything. But still, my body refuses to respond.

Draco’s eyes search my face with a quiet desperation, and for a moment, I almost feel guilty for not responding the way he wants me to. But then he gently places the clothes on the bed beside me, as if giving me space to make the choice on my own.

His hands hover at his sides for a moment, before he kneels in front of me, his gaze steady but filled with a sorrow that makes my chest tighten. I can feel the weight of his gaze, his concern for me heavy in the air. It’s almost suffocating.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not leaving you. Not like this.”

The sincerity in his words cuts through the haze in my mind, and despite the overwhelming numbness, I can feel the tiniest spark of something—something that reminds me that I’m still here, still alive.

I swallow hard and, after what feels like an eternity, I slowly nod. Draco looks relieved, but there’s a flicker of something darker in his eyes, something protective. He’s not going to let anyone touch me, not even to help me change. The thought makes me almost want to smile, though the action feels foreign.

With a shaky hand, I begin to remove the bloodstained clothes, the fabric pulling away from my skin as if shedding some part of me, some part of that twisted moment. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m still covered in it. It’s there, in my bones, in the air I breathe.

Draco stays where he is, only moving to hand me his clothes and turning his head as I start changing. His hands are steady as he places the clean garments in my lap, his touch lingering just long enough for me to feel the warmth of his skin.

“Let me know if you need help,” he says quietly, his eyes avoiding me for a moment as if giving me space. “I’m right here.”

I nod once more, pulling the clothes over my head, grateful for the silence between us. It’s a silence that doesn’t ask questions, that doesn’t demand answers. It’s a space where, for just a moment, I can forget what just happened, even if only for a brief while.

When I finally look at him again, his gaze is soft, but there’s still a tightness around his eyes—like he’s holding something back, something he’s afraid to say. But in this moment, I’m not sure I could handle hearing it. Not yet.

“Come here, sweet girl,” he says softly, climbing into the bed and holding his arms out for me.

I shuffle beside him without a word, pressing my body against his. His arms envelope me immediately, pulling me closer to him with a desperation that makes my heart twist.

Draco’s warmth surrounds me, the familiar scent of him grounding me in a way that nothing else has been able to. I’m still shaking, still hollowed out by the events that just unfolded, but his touch—the way he holds me so tightly, so protectively—pulls me back from the edge.

I bury my face in his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath my cheek. His heart beats quickly, matching my own racing pulse. He’s not okay either, but he’s here—here with me, in this moment when the world feels like it’s slipping away.

His fingers trace gentle circles on my back, as if trying to soothe away the trembling that still hasn’t stopped. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice strained but warm. “You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe, okay? Just breathe.”

I nod against him, my body instinctively curling into him even further. His presence is like an anchor, holding me together in a way nothing else can. But even then, I can feel the weight of what’s happened, of what I’ve just done, pressing down on me.

I want to say something—anything—to make the tightness in my chest go away. To make the suffocating guilt and fear dissipate. But for now, I don’t have the words. I can’t explain how it feels, how it all seems to blur together. How it’s easier to stay silent, to let him hold me, than to try to make sense of the twisted reality I’ve found myself in.

“Draco…” I whisper his name, my voice fragile. I don’t even know what I want to say to him, but I can feel his arms tightening around me, as if he knows there’s more I need to say.

“I’m here,” he says again, his voice so soft and certain that it nearly makes me crumble. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to carry it alone.”

And for the first time since it all began, I let myself feel something more than the cold numbness—the warmth of his comfort, the truth in his words. And even though it’s only a small piece of relief, it’s enough to let me hold on for a little longer.

The warmth of his touch, while endlessly grounding, is comforting and familiar—though maybe too comforting.

All at once I feel everything rush back to me like a tidal wave, and I hear a distant, choked sound ringing in my ears.

After a moment, I realize it’s my own.

The moment the first sob escapes me, it feels as if a dam has broken. I clutch at Draco’s chest, my fingers digging into his shirt as the weight of everything crashes down on me. The numbness, the coldness that I had buried myself in to survive it all, crumbles away in an instant.

Tears pour from my eyes, hot and relentless, soaking his shirt as I break apart in his arms. I can’t stop them; I don’t even want to. The dam that held everything in place is shattered, and the flood of guilt, fear, and helplessness has nowhere else to go but outward.

Draco doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop me or tell me to calm down. Instead, he holds me tighter, his hands gently rubbing my back as if trying to steady me, to remind me that I’m not alone, even as I fall apart in front of him.

His breath is shaky, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t hesitate. I feel him kiss the top of my head, a silent gesture of comfort as he whispers, “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re with me.”

I can’t even respond, the sobs consuming every ounce of my strength. I’ve done something unforgivable, something that’s already twisted my soul into knots. And yet, Draco holds me as though I’m still worth something, as though my brokenness doesn’t make me irredeemable.

“I’m sorry,” I gasp between sobs, my voice barely recognizable. “I’m so sorry. I couldn’t… I didn’t want to…”

“Shh,” he murmurs, brushing my hair away from my face. “You don’t have to apologize. Not to me. Never to me.”

His words are a lifeline, a fragile thread that keeps me from spiraling completely into the abyss. But even as I cling to him, my own thoughts begin to consume me alive.

“I was—so scared,” I choke out, my voice raw and scratchy. “I couldn’t—I didn’t know what to do. He said…” another set of sobs rack my body as I remember the moments leading up to it again. The threat, the mind probing, the wand pointed at Draco. The sequence flashes through my mind at an alarming pace, sometimes even out of order.

“I couldn’t let him—you were—“ I clutch his shirt tighter, any semblance of resolve I once had completely gone. “What have I done?”

Draco’s hold on me tightens as I speak, his hands moving to cradle my face gently, forcing me to look up at him. His gaze is steady, unwavering, even as the rawness in my voice cuts through the air. There’s a softness in his eyes, but also something fierce, something protective that doesn’t falter, even as I break apart in front of him.

“You did what you had to do,” he says, his voice quiet but firm, cutting through the chaos in my mind. “You protected me. Protected your family. Don’t you dare think for a second that you did anything wrong.”

“But I—” I try to protest, but he shakes his head gently, his thumb brushing over the tears still streaming down my face.

“No,” he interrupts, his voice barely above a whisper. “You saved us. You didn’t have a choice. You were forced into this… this isn’tyour fault.”

His words, the raw sincerity in them, break through the storm of guilt and fear that’s been consuming me. But even as his words sink in, a part of me still isn’t convinced. The weight of the life I just took, the fear I had to embrace, lingers like a shadow over me.

“I couldn’t think,” I whisper, my voice small, trembling. “It all happened so fast… the ring, the spell. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t know what to do. I was—so scared.”

“I know you were,” Draco says softly, pulling me even closer, his hands now tangling in my hair as if grounding me to him. “But you’re not alone. I’m here, and we’re in this together, okay? Whatever happens, whatever you think you’ve done, I’m not going anywhere.”

I feel my breath catch in my throat at his words. The weight of what I’ve done presses down on me, but his presence is a steady force, one that wraps around me like a shield. He holds me tighter, like he’s afraid I might slip away, and the truth of his words settles into me, albeit slowly.

“I can’t undo it,” I murmur, the despair evident in my voice. “I killed him, Draco. I—”

The world seems to stop spinning as the words fall from my mouth, an absolute that I can’t escape.

A wave of nausea hits me as I look away from him, my breath catching. “Oh my—I… fuck, I’m a murderer.”

Draco’s grip on me tightens, his arms wrapping around me so securely that it’s almost like he’s trying to hold my broken pieces together. I feel the trembling in my body, the churning in my stomach as I force my gaze away from him, unable to bear the weight of my own words. The air feels too thick, suffocating, and every breath comes in jagged, uneven gasps.

He doesn’t let me pull away for long, though. His hands gently tilt my face back toward him, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes are full of something raw—pain, understanding, but also a quiet strength that makes me feel as though I might just crumble into him if I let go for even a second.

“You are not a murderer,” he says, his voice low but unwavering. “You’re not. You’re—” he pauses, his hands brushing the damp strands of hair away from my face, “You’re a fighter. You did what you had to do to protect everyone.”

The conviction in his voice shakes me, but it doesn’t erase the cold grip of guilt that’s tightening around my chest.

“I killed him, Draco,” I whisper again, the words tasting bitter and foreign as they leave my lips.

Draco’s expression darkens slightly, but instead of anger, I see a deep, pained understanding in his eyes. He exhales slowly, as though he’s working through his own frustrations, his own fear.

“I know what you did,” he says softly, the weight of his words sinking in with a quiet intensity. “I know. But you didn’t do it because you wanted to. You did it because he threatened me, because he had control over us. And if you hadn’t…” His voice falters, but he catches himself. “If you hadn’t, I don’t know what would’ve happened to either of us. To our families.”

The truth of his words is undeniable, but that doesn’t make the guilt any easier to swallow. I feel the weight of the decision settling deeper in my chest, the nausea clawing at my insides.

“But it’s still my fault,” I choke out, my throat tight. “I’m the one who did it, Draco. I could’ve—”

“No,” he interrupts, his voice firmer now. “It was not your fault. You didn’t choose it. You had no choice. You did what you had to do, and you did it for me, for us. No one else can understand that. No one else matters in that moment, but you.”

He’s so close now, his forehead pressing against mine, his hands firm around my body. I can feel his breath, steady and warm, as he tries to anchor me to him, as if I might float away into the storm of my own mind.

“You saved me,” he says softly, voice filled with something I can’t name. “And I will never let you believe otherwise. I’m with you. Always.”

I want to believe him. I want so desperately to believe that this doesn’t make me a monster, that I wasn’t forced into something I can never take back. But in the pit of my stomach, I still feel the weight of what I’ve done, heavy and unrelenting.

“Please don’t leave me,” I whisper, the words trembling on my lips. “I can’t—I can’t do this without you.”

Draco pulls me tighter against him, his arms encircling me like a fortress. “You won’t have to,” he says, his voice unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever.”

And for a moment, despite the churning guilt in my gut, I let myself sink into him. I let myself believe in those words, in the promise of him, and for the first time since the meeting, I finally allow myself to breathe—however shallow it might be.

He holds me for hours, never muttering anything other than small reassurances, keeping me close to his chest. The crying and horror come in waves, sometimes simultaneously, sometimes separate. Regardless, though, he’s there. Strong, protective, and unyielding.

I don’t know when it happens—or how, for that matter—but eventually I cry myself to sleep, still desperately clinging to him, hoping that maybe he’ll be able to fix me.

~

“No! Stop!”

I thrash around violently for a moment before Draco catches my arms, shushing me.

“It’s just a dream,” he mutters, his tone urgent. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

I whip my head back and forth as a cold sweat coats my body, but his touch starts to bring me back to reality.

The moonlight filters through the window with an incandescent glow, gently illuminating his features, etched in worry.

“Easy, darling. It was only a nightmare.” He lets go of my arms, opting to rub gentle circles on my back with his palm.

My breathing starts to slow when I realize what’s happening, but my heart is still racing. He doesn’t try to tell me to calm down, he just sits here with me, and that’s enough.

I turn to look at him, my head pounding.

I’m hit with the stunning realization that he just called me darling, but that’s a conversation for another time.

“What time is it?” I ask softly, rubbing my eyes.

He sits up slightly, looking at the clock on his bedside table. “Half past two,” he says softly, never taking his hand off me.

“I’m sorry,” I groan, covering my face with my hands. “You’re not gonna get any sleep tonight at this rate.”

“I wouldn’t have regardless,” he says quietly. “At least this way I’m not alone.”

I sigh, turning to look at him. “You’re too sweet to me. You deserve better than this.”

Draco’s brow furrows at my words, his hand stilling on my back. “Don’t say that,” he says firmly, his voice quiet but laced with conviction. “You don’t get to decide what I deserve, Y/n. And I’m exactly where I want to be.”

I try to look away, to avoid the intensity in his eyes, but he doesn’t let me. His fingers brush against my chin, tilting my face back toward his.

“You think I’m here out of pity?” he asks, his voice softer now but no less resolute. “Because I’m not. I’m here because I care about you, and nothing you say is going to change that.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes again, and I hate how easily I’ve been crying. “But I’ve brought so much chaos into your life. You shouldn’t have to deal with all of this—deal with me.”

“You didn’t bring anything,” he says, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “This chaos isn’t your fault, Y/n. None of it is. And you? You’re not a burden. Not to me.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly undoes me. I try to respond, but the words catch in my throat, so I just sit there, staring at him, feeling the weight of his words settle over me.

“You keep thinking you’re too much, but you’re not,” he continues, his tone almost pleading now. “You’re strong. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still here. That’s more than most people could handle. So stop apologizing for being human.”

I let out a shaky breath, his words cutting through the lingering doubt and guilt clouding my mind. For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel something other than despair. It’s faint and fragile, but it’s there—a flicker of relief, of hope.

“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. It’s all I can manage, but from the way his expression softens, I think he understands.

He gives me a small nod before pulling me closer, wrapping me in his arms once more. “You don’t have to thank me,” he murmurs against my hair. “Just let me stay. Let me help.”

And for once, I don’t fight him. I don’t push him away or try to convince myself that I don’t deserve this. I just let myself lean into him, let myself believe—for this moment, at least—that maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m not too much.

I can’t bring myself to sleep, not that the quality has been great anyway. I’ve already woken three times with violent nightmares—I don’t want to experience them again.

Draco slowly drifts off with me beside him, his chest rising and falling softly as his breathing evens out. I play with his hair for a while, appreciating the silence in the room before I get restless.

The air is cold as I slip out of Draco’s arms, careful not to wake him. The weight of the past few hours is suffocating me despite the comfort of his embrace. I need to clear my head—or at least feel like I’m trying to.

Padding across the room in the dim light, I grab one of his jumpers off the chair near his wardrobe. It’s oversized, soft, and still warm from him wearing it earlier. I drape it over my arm, holding it close as I step into the bathroom.

I stand there for a moment, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are red and swollen from crying, my skin pale and blotchy. I barely recognize myself. A shiver runs through me as I peel off the layers of clothing, the cool air nipping at my skin.

I cast a silencing charm so as not to wake him before turning on the water, letting it heat up until the mirror is fogged over.

When I finally step in the hot water is a relief, cascading over me and washing away some of the tension that clings to my body like a second skin. I reach for the bottle of shampoo on the ledge, recognizing the scent instantly—Draco’s. The same scent that lingered on his clothes and his bed, the one that’s been grounding me all night.

I pour a small amount into my hand, lathering it into my hair. The smell wraps around me, warm and familiar, like an extension of his presence. For the first time in hours, I feel myself begin to relax, the tightness in my chest easing just slightly.

I let myself linger under the stream of water, closing my eyes and inhaling deeply. The scent, the warmth, the solitude—it all feels like a fragile kind of peace, one that I’m afraid will shatter the moment I leave this bathroom.

By the time I finally step out, my body is calmer, though my mind is still racing. Wrapping myself in a towel, I pull his sweater back over my head, relishing the way it feels against my skin. It smells like him now more than ever, the shampoo blending with the faint traces of his cologne.

I catch my reflection in the mirror again, and while I still look a mess, there’s something softer in my expression—a tiny, hesitant spark of something I can’t quite name.

Quietly, I make my way back to his room, the warmth of the jumper and the lingering scent of him a small but comforting shield against the turmoil of my thoughts. When I step onto the wooden floor Draco stirs slightly, his head turning toward me as his eyes flutter open.

“You okay?” he mumbles, his voice groggy but laced with concern.

“Yeah,” I whisper, climbing back into bed beside him. “Just needed a shower.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just wraps his arms around me and pulls me close, his chin resting atop my damp hair. The scent of him—now on me as well—fills the small space between us, and for the first time all night, I think I might finally get some rest.

At least, I really hope so.

But those hopes are quickly shattered after waking up for the fifth time in a row, although I don’t jolt up this time.

I don’t wake Draco, and that’s all that matters to me.

I finally give up on sleep completely with it being the wee hours of the morning—five, maybe six if I were taking a guess.

I plant a light kiss on Draco’s temple before slipping out of the room completely, needing to do something. Anything other than stare into the blackness and will myself to sleep.

I make my way down to the kitchen—quietly, very quietly—and make myself a cup of lukewarm tea. Hades ends up finding me and jumps up onto my lap, purring against my stomach as he gets comfortable.

“Hi, buddy,” I say softly, petting him behind the ears.

It’s still black outside, the sun not having shown its face just yet. I light a stray candle for some light, setting it next to me on the kitchen island.

My bubble of peace is soon broken when I hear the sound of footsteps to my right, and I whip my head around to see Lucius standing there with an odd look on his face.

I set my teacup down gently, giving him a tight smile. “Sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you. I just couldn’t sleep.”

“You didn’t wake me,” he says, his voice still scratchy and unused.

I nod, looking back down at Hades in my lap, who keeps head butting my hand hoping for more scratches.

Lucius moves to lean against the counter as he makes himself some coffee—black, plain, and very strong from the smell of it.

After taking a long sip, the steam curling up from his mug, he moves his gaze to me once more. “You’ll be able to sleep again eventually. But… it’ll take some getting used to.”

His words hang in the air, heavy with an unspoken understanding. I glance up at him, studying his expression—neutral, but his eyes hold a glimmer of something I can’t quite place. Sympathy, maybe. Or guilt.

“I’m not sure I want to get used to it,” I admit softly, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Lucius exhales through his nose, his gaze briefly shifting to the dark window. “You don’t have much of a choice.”

His bluntness stings, but it’s not wrong. I press my lips together, my hand stilling on Hades’ fur. The cat meows in protest, nudging my palm insistently until I resume petting him.

“You did what you were meant to. You hesitated—” he says, his tone almost chastising— “but you did well.”

“Right,” I say softly, unable to meet his gaze.

He hums, almost like he’s considering his next words. “In the game of right and wrong, just know… you did it for the right reasons. Not out of malice or revenge—out of sheer protectiveness. That kind of loyalty is rare. Even to someone you despised mere months ago.”

“You mean Draco,” I say bluntly, shifting my position on the stool.

“I do.”

There’s a pause as we both stare at each other, the room filled with unspoken words. I know, in his own way, this is him thanking me.

I take another sip of my tea, tightening my grip on the cup. My manners went out the window a long time ago, and my filter went right along with them.

After trying to bite my tongue for a while I give up, placing my cup down. “I don’t understand. How could you drag him into this—into politics, into danger, so willingly?”

Lucius narrows his eyes at me for a moment, and I brace myself for him to get defensive. Maybe to shout, or walk away, even. But he doesn’t.

“Until you have a child—until you’re a parent—you’ll never understand fully. You can’t comprehend the lengths you’d go to to protect your family. To protect your child.”

“Even at the cost of their innocence?” I ask, though there’s no real malice in my tone.

He sighs, setting down his mug. “At the cost of anything. Would you rather your child be upset or orphaned? Uncomfortable or dead?”

His words hang heavy in the room, sharp and unyielding like the man himself. I don’t respond right away, unsure if there’s anything I can say. The logic is cold, brutal even, but I can’t deny the truth in it.

Lucius doesn’t seem to expect an answer, his gaze fixed somewhere just beyond me, as if he’s lost in a memory. The lines on his face, usually smoothed over with his carefully crafted indifference, seem deeper in this dim light, as though the weight of his choices has finally found a crack to settle into.

“I don’t expect you to agree,” he continues after a moment, his tone quieter, almost reflective. “And I certainly don’t expect you to approve. But when the time comes, when you’re faced with a choice—protect them or protect yourself—you’ll understand. You’ll do what needs to be done, no matter what it costs you.”

I swallow hard, the words lodging in my throat. The image of Draco—his guarded expressions, the rare flickers of vulnerability—flashes through my mind. I think about how much of who he is has been shaped by this man and his choices. By his love, his ambition, his fear.

“I think… I could be a good mother.”

Lucius studies me, seemingly caught off guard, but his eyes soften almost imperceptibly. “Keep protecting your people like that, like you did last night… and I’ll have no choice but to believe you.”

The hidden compliment doesn’t go over my head, though I don’t think it’s meant to. I take a breath, lowering my voice. “Do you… think you’re a good father?”

He pauses, searching my face, searching my tone for something harsh, something he can respond to with anger or defensiveness, but we both know he won’t find anything negative. Only overwhelmingly genuine—and maybe that’s worse for him.

“I’ve made mistakes,” he admits at last, the words strained, as though dragged out of him against his will. “More than I care to count. But I’ve done what I thought was best for him. For my family.” His gaze hardens again, his walls snapping back into place. “That is something I will never apologize for.”

I shake my head, biting back the retort bubbling on my tongue. What’s the point? Lucius Malfoy is nothing if not resolute, a man carved out of stone by years of sacrifice and self-preservation. No argument from me will change that.

Instead, I look down at Hades, his small body warm and comforting against my lap. “For what it’s worth,” I say softly, not meeting his gaze, “I don’t think it’s too late. To show him you care, I mean.”

Lucius doesn’t respond, but I feel the weight of his eyes on me. The silence is different this time, not as suffocating, almost contemplative.

After a long moment, I continue, the words bitter on my tongue. “All he cares about is your approval. At the risk of overstepping… I think it would make a big difference if you gave him some of your time.”

Lucius’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly, the faintest flicker of something—doubt, perhaps—crossing his face before his mask of composure slips back into place. He leans against the counter, his fingers tightening around his coffee mug.

“My time…” he repeats quietly, as though tasting the words, weighing their significance.

I nod, swallowing hard. “He doesn’t need perfection, sir. He just needs… you. Not the man the world expects you to be, but his father. Someone he can look up to—not because he has to, but because he wants to.”

Lucius exhales, a sharp, controlled breath that does little to hide the tension coiled in his frame. He stares into his coffee as though the dark liquid might offer answers he hasn’t been able to find elsewhere.

“I’ve given him everything,” he says finally, his voice low but firm. “A home. A future. A legacy that will outlast us all. Everything he could ever need.”

“Everything except you,” I counter, my tone soft but resolute.

His head jerks up, his piercing gaze locking onto mine. For a moment, I wonder if I’ve crossed a line too far, but I hold my ground, the words hanging between us like a challenge.

The room falls into a tense silence, broken only by the steady purring of Hades on my lap. Lucius’s jaw tightens, and I can see the internal battle waging behind his eyes.

“You think it’s that simple?” he asks, his voice barely more than a whisper, but there’s no anger in it—just weariness.

“No,” I admit. “I think it’s hard. But I also think it’s worth it. For Draco’s sake—and maybe even for yours.”

He regards me for a long moment, his sharp features softened by the flickering candlelight. Finally, he straightens, setting his mug down on the counter with a decisive clink.

“Perhaps,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before turning toward the door. He pauses in the doorway, his back to me. “You’re the spitting image of your mother,” he says, his tone unreadable.

I blink, caught off guard, but then have to stifle a groan. “So I’m told.”

He looks at me one more time over his shoulder before mumbling, “But… you’re so like your father.”

I don’t answer right away, but I catch the faintest tilt of his head, almost like a nod.

“Sometimes I feel like I hardly know him.”

Lucius shakes his head, his tone unusually soft. “What a shame. He’s a good man.”

I give him a slightly questioning look once more before he starts to walk out, saying, “There will be no more training for the rest of the time you’re here.”

“But my mother—”

“Will be hopelessly busy until the end of your stay,” he cuts me off, turning the corner and leaving me alone once more, with nothing but the cold air and the cat to keep me company.

I look down at Hades, who stretches lazily in my lap, oblivious to the tension that just left the room. He curls up against me, flipping onto his back to give me his stomach.

I give him a few soft pets then return to my tea.