The Pact

“Welcome to Le Bijou Ca—” Monsieur LeBlanc says before fully taking me in. “Ah! Y/n! What are you doing back here so soon?”

He wraps me up in a bear hug, nearly crushing me before putting me down. “Hi Monsieur. Sorry for the surprise visit.”

“Nonsense. Never apologize for visiting. You know how I love to see you,” he says, ruffling my hair. “I assume you’re meeting Aurélien?”

“Actually no,” I start, tucking my hair back into place with a grin. “I was hoping you could help me with something.”

He leads me towards the main floor of his jewlery store, his boots clicking on the polished tiles. “But of course. How can I help?”

“I was hoping you could tell me where to find your brother.”

He gives me a curious look before folding his arms over his chest. “Francis? Whatever for?” He pauses, then after a moment, his eyes go wide. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, of course,” I reassure him, “I just need to ask him about something to do with my parents.”

He hums in acknowledgment, though there’s an air of subtle disapproval about him that I can’t help but take notice of. I tilt my head. “Monsieur?”

“May I be candid with you, ma fille?”

I fold my hands behind my back before nodding. “Always.”

He sighs, leaning against a nearby display case. “I don’t trust your parents.”

The words hang in the air, sharp and unexpected. I blink, caught off guard. “You don’t?”

“No,” he says firmly, though there’s no malice in his tone. “I can’t put my finger on it, but something about them has always unsettled me. Especially your mother.”

I swallow hard, unsure how to respond. Monsieur LeBlanc has always been like family to me, but hearing his dislike for my parents feels like a dagger, even if I know they’re far from perfect.

He must sense my discomfort because he quickly softens. “Don’t misunderstand me, Y/n. You, ma fille, are nothing like them. You’re good—better than they could ever hope to be. And that’s what matters to me.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, my voice quieter than I’d like.

He watches me carefully before relenting with a sigh. “Alright, I’ll tell you where Francis is, but I’ll warn you—it might not be easy to get him to talk. He’s… particular when it comes to your family.”

“Why?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“That’s something only he can answer,” he replies cryptically. “But you’ll have your chance soon enough. He’s having dinner tonight with Aurélien and the rest of the family. The Bordeaus are hosting.”

I straighten at the mention of Aurélien’s family, surprised. “The Bordeaus?”

“Yes. It’s a rare gathering—Francis, my brother, Aurélien’s parents, and his aunt from Paris will all be there.”

I shift nervously, unsure if walking into such a private dinner is a good idea. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to go?”

Monsieur LeBlanc chuckles. “With you, ma fille, it’s always okay. They all adore you. And frankly, it might do Francis some good to see you again. He’s always had a soft spot for you, even if he pretends otherwise.”

I glance down at the letter in my hand, the weight of it heavier than ever. “Alright,” I say quietly. “I’ll go.”

He reaches out and squeezes my shoulder reassuringly. “Good. Now, go make some sense of whatever it is that’s bothering you.”

“Thank you,” I say again, giving him a small smile before stepping back towards the fireplace.

He nods, his expression warm but serious. “Tell Aurélien to behave himself, will you? He always gets cheeky when you’re around.”

I can’t help but laugh as I grab another handful of Floo Powder. “I’ll do my best.”

With a flick of my wrist, the green flames rise once again, and I step into the Floo, calling out, “The Bordeau Estate!”

As the spinning begins anew, I steel myself for what’s to come. I never fancy showing up somewhere uninvited, but time is of the essence here.

I land in the sitting room of Aurélien’s estate—a room that’s all too familiar. I spent a lot of time at his place over our breaks from school. Honestly, I could probably navigate this manor blindfolded.

I hear the click of heels against the tile floor as a feminine voice calls out, “Who’s that?”

Aurélien’s mother appears from the other side of the doorframe and her alarm melts into pleasant surprise. “Y/n? Oh my goodness, it’s been far too long. How have you been?”

I step out of the floo and she greets me with air kisses, followed by a warm hug. Her familiar scent—strawberry and vanilla—wraps around me as I squeeze back.

“Bonjour, maman. I’ve missed you!” I pull back to look her in the eye, a huge smile on my face. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

Aurélien’s mother, Madame Bordeau, waves her hand dismissively, her golden bracelets clinking softly. “Intruding? Jamais! You’re always welcome here, Y/n. It’s a delight to see you again.”

Her warmth is genuine, and it’s hard not to feel at ease in her presence, even with the weight of my mission pressing down on me.

“Thank you,” I reply, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I wouldn’t have come unannounced, but it’s an urgent matter, and I thought Monsieur LeBlanc might be here.”

At the mention of Francis, her eyes flicker with intrigue. “Ah, you’re in luck. He’s just arrived. The rest of the family is gathering in the dining room.” She pauses, tilting her head slightly as she studies me. “Is something the matter, ma chérie? You look a bit tense.”

I force a smile, not ready to reveal too much. “It’s nothing serious, I promise. Just a few questions I need answered.”

Her expression softens, though her curiosity lingers. “Very well. Shall I show you to the dining room?”

“Please,” I say, grateful for her hospitality.

She leads me through the grand halls of the estate, the familiar elegance of the decor doing little to calm my nerves. As we near the dining room, the sound of light conversation and clinking glasses grows louder. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet,” I admit, shaking my head. “I’m alright, though.”

“Nonsense,” she coos, resting a hand on my shoulder. “At least join us for a meal before you talk to Francis, yes? I’ve missed our conversations.”

I chuckle softly, unable to protest. “If you insist, ma maman.”

The moment we step inside, all eyes turn to us. Aurélien, seated near the head of the table, looks up from his plate with a grin. “Y/n? Now there’s a surprise.”

I offer a small wave, my gaze shifting to Francis LeBlanc, who sits across from him. His sharp, calculating eyes narrow slightly as he takes me in, and I can’t help but feel like a specimen under a microscope.

“Bonsoir, Francis,” I say politely, inclining my head.

“Y/n,” he replies, his tone neutral but not unfriendly.

 Before I can give much of a greeting to anyone else, Aurélien and his father are already up and out of their seats, barreling towards me.

Aury reaches me first, picking me up off the ground and spinning me. “I’m so happy to see you, mon étoile. We were just talking about you.”

“You were?” I ask, still giggling as he sets me down.

“We were,” his father replies, wrapping me up in a hug so tight he too lifts me off the ground. “I was just asking about you.”

The lively atmosphere wraps around me like a warm blanket, and for a moment, the tension in my shoulders eases. The dining room glows with soft, golden light, and the clinking of glasses is underscored by light laughter and cheerful chatter. It feels almost foreign—this sense of ease among the family—so different from the cold, calculated air of my own home.

I find myself grinning despite the weight of the reason I’ve come. Aury’s energy is infectious, his joy almost boyish. “I hope it was all good things,” I tease, smoothing the front of my robes as I regain my balance.

“Of course!” Aurélien’s father, Étienne, beams at me as he puts a hand over his heart. “It’s impossible to say anything but good things about you, ma chère. You’ve been missed.”

I glance around the table, my gaze flickering from one familiar face to the next. Francis watches me intently, his fingers steepled as though he’s already analyzing my presence. To his right, Aurélien’s aunt—the formidable Lady Beaumont—offers me a polite but distant smile, a glass of wine poised delicately in her hand.

“Come, sit next to me,” Aurélien insists, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the table before I can object.

I laugh softly but allow him to guide me, feeling the eyes of everyone in the room following my every move. Francis doesn’t look away, his sharp gaze slicing through the warm atmosphere. If he’s curious—or suspicious—he hides it well, his expression neutral yet somehow heavy with meaning.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” I say lightly as Aurélien pulls out the chair for me.

“Not at all,” Étienne replies, his tone warm as he gestures for the house elf to bring another plate. “You’ve brightened the entire room, as always.”

“You flatter me too much,” I say, smiling shyly as I settle into my seat.

Aurélien leans in, lowering his voice just enough for only me to hear. “It’s not flattery if it’s true, étoile.”

I glance at him, his easy grin meeting my slightly exasperated look. Across the table, Francis clears his throat, and the sound draws me back to my purpose. Though the warmth of the moment is welcome, I can’t forget why I’m here. Still, for now, I allow myself to enjoy the calm before the storm.

Aury’s mom—Geneviève—laughs lightly as she sits down at one end of the table, her eyes twinkling. “Darling, I trust you remember Odette? If I recall correctly, she was at our Christmas party last year.”

She gestures to Aurélien’s aunt and I nod politely. “Of course. She was in the most brilliant blue gown. The silk reminded me of water.”

“A sharp mind,” Odette coos lightly, her well manicured fingers wrapped around her glass. “It’s lovely to see you again, dear.”

Geneviève smiles warmly at Odette’s comment, her gaze flicking to me with motherly pride. “Our Y/n has always had an eye for detail. It’s what makes her so captivating, don’t you think?”

“Among other things,” Aurélien chimes in, smirking as he takes a sip from his glass. His teasing tone earns him a sharp but playful look from Geneviève.

“Behave, Aurélien,” she says with a soft laugh, though there’s a glint of amusement in her eyes. “We wouldn’t want Y/N thinking we’ve forgotten our manners.”

“I’m quite used to him by now,” I reply, smiling as I glance at Aurélien. “He’s nothing if not consistent.”

The table chuckles lightly, and even Odette’s reserved demeanor softens as she tilts her head. “You carry yourself well, my dear. I remember thinking as much last year. It’s refreshing.”

“Thank you,” I reply, trying to sound gracious while keeping my nerves in check. Across the table, Francis watches the exchange silently, his calculating gaze never wavering. I wonder if he already suspects the real reason I’m here.

Étienne takes the moment to raise his glass. “A toast,” he declares, his deep voice cutting through the air. “To family, friends, and the joy of unexpected reunions.”

Glasses clink together, the sound reverberating like a promise. For a brief moment, I let the warmth of the gathering wash over me, but my mind remains sharp.

Étienne summons the elves to bring in dinner and my mouth immediately starts to water. The table is lined with the most decadent dishes, all completely homemade—by Geneviève, more than likely. She’s always had a fondness for cooking.

Aury inhales deeply beside me. “Smells wonderful as always, maman.”

“Good,” she says softly, her tone warm. “Merlin knows with you around none of it will go to waste.”

Odette quirks an eyebrow at her sister in law, and Geneviève just laughs. “You know how growing boys can be. This one has been trying to eat his way through his inheritance.”

“Some things never change,” I muse, wandlessly dishing myself up some food after everyone else has gotten their first servings.

Francis takes a sip of his wine before adjusting his position. “You’ve really learned how to control your magic, haven’t you, Y/n?”

My eyes flick up to him hesitantly, though I can’t quite read what he’s feeling. “Yes, Monsieur. I’ve had a lot of practice recently.”

“Too much if you ask me,” Aury huffs, clearly still stewing about what my parents made me do over break.

Odette waves him off, her gaze steady. “That’s right, I remember Étienne mentioning your… talents. It’s wonderful to see such a young witch with that firm of a grasp on it.”

“Thank you, madame. I’ve been working on it.”

The adults at the table give me approving nods as we start to dig in to the food, and for a moment the only sound is cutlery clinking. Geneviève breaks the silence. “So. What’s this I hear about our girl being the belle of the Yule Ball, hm?”

I toss a playfully exasperated look over to Aury who’s grinning from ear to ear. “I was hardly the belle of the ball. If anything, Aurélien stole the show.”

“I cannot help it, mon amour. The spotlight just loves me,” he replies with a dramatic flourish of his wrist.

Étienne chuckles. “Son, what was it you were telling me before she got here? That she was so stunning and you couldn’t take your eyes off her and the world just stopped spin—”

“Étienne,” Odette warns, her voice warm and motherly. “Don’t embarrass the boy.”

My cheeks flush pink at the comment and Aurélien certainly notices, but he’s too busy rolling his eyes at his father to comment on it.

“It’s pretty hard to embarrass someone with such a flair for the dramatics,” I comment, studying my best friend’s face for just a moment. “Besides, he says the same things to my face. He’s always been rather… affectionate.”

Geneviève leans back in her chair, a soft smile playing on her lips. She takes a sip of her wine, her eyes twinkling with a mixture of nostalgia and curiosity. “Affectionate, indeed,” she murmurs, her gaze flicking between me and Aurélien. “You know, I always thought the two of you would end up together.”

The statement hangs in the air, heavier than the warmth of the cozy dining room. My fork pauses halfway to my mouth, and I glance at Aurélien, whose confident smirk falters for just a second before returning. He hides behind a sip of water, but I catch the faintest hint of red on his cheeks.

“Geneviève,” Odette says with a soft laugh, though there’s a knowing glint in her eye. “You’re starting to sound like one of those meddling matchmakers from a bad romance novel.”

“Well,” Geneviève replies, unperturbed, “sometimes those matchmakers are right.” She looks at me, her expression as kind as it is curious. “The way you two have always been—so close, so in sync—it’s hard not to wonder.”

“I’m just happy to have him as one of my best friends,” I say lightly, forcing a smile even as my heart races. I can feel Aurélien’s gaze on me, but I don’t dare meet it.

“Best friends,” Geneviève echoes thoughtfully, tilting her head as though weighing the words. “Maybe. But the best love stories often start that way, don’t they?”

Aurélien clears his throat, breaking the moment. “Maman, please. You’re going to make Y/n think you’ve been planning our wedding behind our backs.”

Geneviève chuckles, a sound like soft bells. “Only in my head, mon chéri. You can hardly blame me for wanting my son to end up with someone as wonderful as Y/n.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Geneviève,” I quip, though my voice feels just a touch strained. “But I’m afraid Aurélien would get tired of me correcting his French within a week.”

“I doubt that very much,” Aurélien says quietly, his tone softer than usual.

The table falls silent for a moment, save for the gentle clinking of silverware. I take a sip of my wine, trying to focus on the flavors instead of the sudden weight in the air. It’s Étienne who finally breaks the tension.

“Well, if nothing else, you’ve got everyone talking, Y/n. The belle of the ball, indeed.”

“Please, let’s not inflate her ego too much,” Aurélien teases, his tone returning to its usual playful cadence. “She already knows she’s stunning.”

“And you’ve told her enough times to make sure of it,” Étienne counters with a grin, earning a laugh from the rest of the table.

I join in the laughter, grateful for the shift in mood. But as the conversation moves on, I can’t help but notice the way Aurélien occasionally glances my way, his expression unreadable, as if he’s waiting for me to say something. Or perhaps, waiting for me to realize something.

As I listen to my best friend making conversation with his family, I feel a sensation on my wrist. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

What the…?

Then again. Tap. Tap. “Are you okay?”

I try not to let my faint confusion and amusement show on my face as I reply with a single tap. “Yes.”

Instead of one of our usual responses, Draco does it again. He taps it over and over again, maybe twelve or fifteen times in a row. My confusion melts away as I realize what’s happening.

He must be mad.

The last time he smacked at the bracelet like this was when I was avoiding him. Which made sense, to be fair. I just can’t figure out why he’d be so upset now. It’s not like I brought anyone else with me. I came alone, and I shouldn’t have to tell him my every move.

Then again, if it was the other way around, I’d probably be upset, too.

I tap back a quick, “Sorry,” but that only earns me two short taps. “No.”

Odette is still carrying on with Aurélien, so thankfully his attention isn’t on me as I have to suppress an eye roll. Draco is wonderful, but he can be so dramatic.

I’ll talk to him when I get back.

The conversation flows lightly between Aury and his parents for a moment, but during a lull, Francis surprises me by asking, “How are your parents, Y/n?”

I have to stop myself from flinching at the suddenness of it, but I put a cool mask on all the same. “They’re doing well, Monsieur. Busy as always.”

“I see,” he replies, his tone curious. “What are they busy with this time?”

I shift in my seat, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. “They’ve got a few different projects right now. But they’ve started roping me into them now that I’m getting old enough.”

“How do you mean?” Odette asks, raising a brow.

“Well,” I start, setting my fork down, “the training, for one. They’ve been much more demanding as far as that goes. And they’ve arranged for me to—”

“Marry,” Aurélien cuts in, his tone flat. “She’s set to marry that Malfoy boy.”

The room falls into a stunned silence, and I can feel the weight of every gaze settling on me like a heavy cloak. My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression neutral, though Aurélien’s words hit harder than I expect.

“Aurélien,” Odette says sharply, her voice tinged with disapproval. “That’s not something to say so casually.”

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he retorts, his tone sharper than I’ve ever heard it. His eyes lock onto mine, searching for confirmation. “You didn’t mention it, but I overheard. Or did you think I wouldn’t find out?”

I swallow hard, my carefully composed mask threatening to crack. “It’s not like that,” I say softly, though my voice wavers just enough to betray my unease. “It’s an arrangement. Not a choice.”

“An arrangement,” Aurélien repeats bitterly, leaning back in his chair. “How modern of them.”

“Aurélien, that’s enough,” Étienne interjects, his tone calm but firm.

Geneviève looks between us with wide eyes, her earlier warmth replaced by quiet concern. “Y/n, is this true? Your parents… they’ve arranged something like this for you?”

I hesitate, the words caught in my throat. My instinct is to deflect, to brush it off as unimportant, but I know that wouldn’t work here. “It’s complicated,” I admit finally, my voice quieter now. “But yes. They’ve made plans. For the family.”

Odette’s expression softens, though her brow furrows. “And what about what you want, mon trésor? Surely they’ve taken that into account.”

“They’ve taken into account what’s best for the Lavignes,” I reply, trying to keep my voice steady. “Which doesn’t always align with what I want. Actually, it rarely does.”

Aurélien scoffs, the sound low and bitter. “So you’re just going to go along with it? Let them decide your life for you?”

“Aurélien—” Étienne warns again, but he’s already standing, pushing his chair back with a sharp scrape.

“Forget it,” Aurélien mutters, his jaw tight as he storms out of the room. The door slams shut behind him, leaving an echo that seems to linger far longer than it should.

The silence that follows is oppressive. Geneviève looks like she’s about to speak, but Étienne holds up a hand to stop her. “Give him a moment,” he says quietly, his tone resigned. “He’ll come around.”

Odette reaches across the table to place a hand over mine, her touch gentle. “Y/n, mon ange, you don’t have to carry all of this on your own, you know.”

I nod, though my thoughts are far away, following Aurélien’s retreating figure. The ache in my chest feels heavier than it should, and for a moment, I wonder if he’ll ever look at me the same way again.

“It’s not set to happen until we’re both of age, so it’ll be a couple years until then. But for now, I’ve had to spend a lot of time with him,” I clarifying. “He’s actually really sweet. But…”

Geneviève nods. “But you wish you had a say?”

“Yeah,” I say finally, glancing at Francis who eyes me curiously. “But you know how my parents are.”

Geneviève and Étienne both hum in agreement, but Francis lightly wipes the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “They only want what’s best for you. I’m sure they have their reasons.”

“They do,” I counter, my voice firm. “And I could see myself being perfectly happy with Draco should the marriage actually happen. But all that said, it feels a bit early to arrange something like this.”

Francis leans back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Perhaps. But early or not, the world we live in is built on alliances. Your parents understand that better than most.”

Geneviève frowns but doesn’t comment. Étienne glances at her before speaking up. “It’s one thing to plan for the future, but it’s another to forget the person in the middle of it all. Y/n deserves to feel like her life is her own.”

The tension at the table feels heavy again, and I realize I can’t sit here any longer. The urge to find Aurélien, to somehow fix this, pulls at me with growing intensity. I clear my throat softly and push back my chair. “Excuse me,” I say, rising to my feet. “I’m going to check on Aury.”

Odette looks at me with concern, but she simply nods. “Take your time, ma belle.”

As I slip out of the dining room, the murmured voices of the adults fade behind me. The halls are quiet, save for the faint hum of the wind outside. I pass through familiar corridors, my pace quickening as my thoughts swirl. Aurélien’s reaction wasn’t entirely unexpected, but it still stung. He’s always been my anchor, my constant, and seeing him upset—especially with me—leaves a hollow ache in my chest.

I find him in the sitting room, his back to me as he stares out the large bay window. The soft glow of moonlight spills into the room, casting a silvery sheen over everything. He doesn’t turn around as I step inside, but I know he hears me.

“Aury,” I say softly, my voice almost a whisper.

He doesn’t respond at first, his hands stuffed into his pockets. Finally, he speaks, his tone low and uncharacteristically distant. “You should be in there with them. Not chasing after me.”

“I wanted to make sure you’re okay,” I reply, moving closer but stopping a few steps away. “You seemed… upset.”

He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Upset? Yeah, I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

I hesitate, unsure of how to approach him in this unfamiliar state. “Talk to me, Aury. Please.”

He finally turns to face me, his expression guarded but his eyes betraying the storm of emotions within. “What do you want me to say, Y/n? That I hate this? That I hate the idea of you being tied to someone else? Because I do. I can’t help it.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and raw. I open my mouth to respond but find myself at a loss, the weight of his confession sinking in.

“Aurélien…” I start, but he cuts me off.

“I know it’s not your fault,” he says quickly, his voice softening just a fraction. “I know you don’t have a choice. But that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. You’re my best friend, Y/n. You always have been. But lately… it feels like I’m losing you.”

“You’re not losing me,” I say firmly, taking a step closer. “You’ll never lose me, Aury. I promise.”

He looks down at me, searching my face as if trying to find some reassurance in my words. “You say that, but what happens when you’re Mrs. Malfoy? When your whole life is planned out for you, and there’s no room left for us?”

“There will always be room for us,” I insist, my voice steady despite the knot tightening in my chest. “You’re part of my life, Aury. You always will be.”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I want to believe that. I really do. But it’s hard when it feels like everything’s changing.”

I reach out, resting a hand lightly on his arm. “Some things won’t change. No matter what happens, you and me? That’s one of them.”

Aurélien holds my gaze for a long moment, the tension between us palpable. Finally, he nods, though his expression remains conflicted. “Alright,” he says quietly. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“You should,” I reply with a small, tentative smile, hoping to ease the heaviness in the air.

His lips quirk up slightly, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” I tease, the tension between us easing just a little. “Say, what ended up happening with you and Camille?”

Aury smiles wistfully as if recalling a memory. “Ah, Camille. She’s lovely, but… we’re not meant to be, I’m afraid.”

I tilt my head, considering his words. “How come?”

“She’s not…” He stops talking, hesitating to finish whatever his thought was, before looking away from me. “She couldn’t handle me, I suppose.”

“Aury.” I press him gently, stepping closer. “That’s not what you were going to say.”

He sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging under the weight of his unspoken words. “You know me too well.”

“Exactly,” I say softly, my voice urging him to continue. “So tell me.”

He hesitates, his jaw tightening as if trying to keep the words at bay. But then he exhales, the truth spilling out despite himself. “She’s not you.”

The words hang in the air, an unspoken confession that changes everything and nothing all at once. My breath catches, my heart thudding loudly in my chest as I meet his gaze.

“Aury…” My voice is barely above a whisper, but I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to fix this, to make it less complicated.

He smiles sadly, shaking his head. “You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t mean to… I just—” He stops himself, raking a hand through his curls, his frustration palpable. “Forget it. It doesn’t matter.”

“But it does,” I insist, my hand still resting lightly on his arm. “You matter.”

His eyes soften, though the sadness in them lingers. “You can’t give me what I want, mon étoile. And I know that. I’ve always known that. But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

“Aury…” My throat tightens, and I fight back the sting of tears threatening to well up. “I never wanted to hurt you. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do,” he says, his voice breaking just slightly. “And that’s the worst part. You’re not doing anything wrong. You’re just being you. And I… I just have to figure out how to deal with that.”

I swallow hard, my chest aching at the pain in his voice. “I wish I could make this easier for you.”

He offers a faint, bittersweet smile. “You already do, just by being here. Even when it hurts, I’d rather have you in my life like this than not at all.”

Tears blur my vision as I pull him into a tight hug, hoping he can feel the sincerity in my touch. “I’m so sorry, Aury.”

He holds me just as tightly, his voice a low murmur in my ear. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.”

I pull back just enough to look at him, a watery smile on my lips. “I wish I knew how to fix this.”

“You can’t. Not really. But that’s okay,” he replies, his tone lighter now, though the weight of the moment still lingers. “Don’t worry about me, Y/n. Just… be happy. That’s all I want.”

“I’ll try,” I promise, though the words feel heavy. “And you better do the same.”

He chuckles, the sound bittersweet. “Deal.” But as he steps back, the space between us feels larger than it’s ever been.

Despite the fact that I need to talk to his uncle, and despite the fact that we just had a serious conversation, there’s still something eating at me that I can’t let go of. Against my better judgment, I throw up a silencing charm, earning a raised eyebrow from him.

“Étoile?” he questions, his curiosity piqued.

I take his hand in my own and look up at him, my eyes pleading. “There’s nothing I could do that would make you hate me, right? Nothing that would make me lose you?”

“Of course not,” he says quickly, like he doesn’t have to think about it at all. “You know that.”

I pull him over to the bed, sitting down and turning to face him. “You mean that? Like… there’s nothing I could do? Nothing at all?”

“You’re worrying me,” he replies, furrowing his brow. “What are you going on about?”

I take a shaky breath, trying to steady myself. “Something happened. Over break. I had to do something… terrible. Immoral, even. And it’s eating at me, but I can’t bear for you to think of me any differently. So if there’s anything at all that would make you change your mind, tell me now, and I’ll shut my mouth about it forever. Please.”

Aurélien’s expression softens, the worry in his features deepening as he leans closer, his hand gently covering mine. “Y/n,” he says quietly, his voice steady but laced with concern. “Nothing you could ever say would make me think less of you. Whatever it is, I’m here. Just tell me.”

I search his face for any sign of hesitation, but all I see is unwavering support. My hands tremble as I grip his tightly, as if anchoring myself. “Over break, my family took me to… to one of his meetings. He-who-must-not-be-named.”

Aurélien stiffens at the name, but he doesn’t pull away. If anything, his grip tightens. “Go on,” he says softly.

“He didn’t give me a choice,” I continue, my voice cracking. “He wanted me to showcase my… my magic. My heritage. To prove my worth to him.” I swallow hard, the words feeling like shards of glass in my throat. “He… he made me kill someone, Aurélien. A Muggle. With my bare hands—well, wandlessly. And I—I did it.”

Tears spill down my cheeks, and I don’t bother wiping them away. “I didn’t want to, Aury. I swear I didn’t. But I was trapped. Everyone was watching. I couldn’t say no. And now… now I can’t stop seeing his face. I can’t stop hearing the sound of it hitting him. It’s like it’s burned into me.”

Aurélien’s face is pale, his jaw set tight, but his eyes are filled with something I can’t quite place—grief, anger, and an overwhelming compassion that nearly undoes me. “Y/n…” he whispers, his voice breaking.

“I’m a monster,” I choke out. “A murderer. And every time I close my eyes, I wonder if my blood really is that big of a part of me. If I’m meant to be something dark. Something evil.”

“You’re not,” he says fiercely, pulling me into his arms without hesitation. “Don’t you dare believe that for a second. You didn’t have a choice, Y/n. They forced your hand. That doesn’t make you a monster. It makes you a survivor.”

I cling to him, my sobs muffled against his chest. “But what if it changes me? What if it makes me like them?”

“It won’t,” he says firmly, pulling back to cup my face in his hands. His green eyes bore into mine, brimming with determination. “Because you’re not like them. You have a heart, Y/n. A soul. You feel this because you’re human, because you care. That’s what separates you from them.”

“But the man I killed—” I start, but he cuts me off.

“—would never blame you for trying to survive,” he says, his voice gentle but resolute. “And neither will I. Do you hear me? You’ll never lose me over this. Never.”

His words break something in me, and I collapse into him, letting the weight of his support hold me together as the dam finally bursts. “Thank you,” I whisper through my tears. “Thank you for not hating me.”

“I could never hate you,” he murmurs, stroking my hair as he holds me close. “No matter what happens, étoile, you’ll always have me. Always.”

“You swear?” I ask between sobs, holding onto his shirt like a lifeline. “You promise you don’t think I’m…”

His arms tighten around me as he pulls me even closer to him, murmuring into my hair. “I swear it. I promise it. I vow it. Whatever you need to hear me say, because I know who you are, and nothing could change that. Ever.”

The conviction behind his words soothes me, and an overwhelming sense of relief washes over me like a tidal wave.

The two people who matter the most to me in the world—Draco and Aurélien—don’t hate me. Even after what I did. What I had to do. They still care for me, and that’s all that matters. Somehow, that’s enough.

Aurélien holds me for a while longer, keeping me close to his chest, whispering I still love you’s and I’m here’s and it’ll be okay’s into my ear, never once faltering. It’s enough to help me pull myself back together—for me to finally start letting go of the weight I’ve been carrying. To breathe again, even if it’s only for a fleeting moment.

~

As we walk back into the dining room, everyone’s heads snap in our direction to look at us before melting into relieved smiles.

“There you two are,” Geneviève says softly, motioning towards our seats. “We were starting to think you got lost.”

Aurélien pulls my chair out and helps me in before taking his own seat, earning a proud look from his father. I just offer up a tight smile.

I take a moment to glance around the table, scanning the faces of the gathered family. The warm, flickering light from the chandelier overhead casts a golden glow over the scene, but it does little to ease the knot tightening in my stomach. I need to speak to Aurélien’s uncle, and every passing second makes it harder to focus.

“Did we miss anything important?” Aurélien asks, his tone light as he reaches for the wine decanter, pouring a glass for Geneviève before himself.

“Nothing you haven’t heard a thousand times,” his uncle replies with a dismissive wave, his sharp gray eyes flicking between the two of us. There’s a knowing glint in them that makes my skin prickle, as if he already knows why I’ve been so restless.

I force myself to take a sip of water, trying to ease the dryness in my throat. The lively chatter resumes around me, but it feels muffled, distant, like I’m hearing it underwater.

“Eat,” Aurélien murmurs, his voice soft beside me. “You look like you’re about to faint, and that’ll only get people asking questions.”

His teasing is meant to ground me, but I just press my lips into a thin line, spearing a piece of roast on my plate. I don’t even taste it.

“Monsieur LeBlanc,” I say finally, setting my fork down and breaking through the noise. My voice feels too loud, but I press on. “I was hoping to speak with you after dinner—privately, if that’s all right.”

The table goes quiet for a moment, all eyes darting between us. Francis’s brow arches, his expression unreadable.

“Of course,” he says smoothly, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual curiosity. “Though I must admit, you’ve piqued my interest.”

Aurélien stiffens slightly beside me, his fingers pausing mid-reach for his glass. He doesn’t say anything, but the tension rolling off him is palpable.

“I won’t keep you long,” I add quickly, hoping to ease the sudden weight of everyone’s stares.

“Take all the time you need,” Francis replies, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’m always happy to help.”

His words sound genuine, but there’s something lurking behind his gaze—a flicker of amusement, perhaps, or calculation. Whatever it is, it sets my nerves alight, and I suddenly feel as though I’ve stepped into something far more intricate than I’d realized.

“Thank you,” I murmur, dropping my gaze to my plate and trying to ignore the way my heart pounds in my chest.

As the conversation around the table resumes, I steal a glance at Aurélien. He’s staring straight ahead, his jaw tight, his hands fidgeting slightly in his lap. I get the feeling he’s not thrilled about me poking around, but he knows nothing can stop me at this point. I need to know what’s going on, to find out more, and he could be the key.

Dinner comes to a close at an agonizingly slow pace, with every minute feeling like an hour. I adore Aurélien’s family, but now just isn’t the time for me to enjoy their pleasantries.

Once the room starts to clear out, Francis follows me to one of the sitting rooms with a measured expression. Once I’ve closed the door, he breaks the silence. “How can I help you?”

I shift uncomfortably on my feet, but I try to seem professional and nonchalant. “Monsieur, recently I came in possession of a rather peculiar letter written by my father that referenced you at the end. I was wondering if you could clarify some things for me?”

“Perhaps,” he says suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. “What are the contents of this letter?”

I rifle through my bag and hand it to him, giving him a moment to read over it.

Francis reads the letter in silence, his expression a careful mask. The only sign of any emotion is the faint twitch of his jaw as his eyes skim over the page. When he finally looks up, there’s something guarded in his gaze—an emotion I can’t quite place.

“Your father is an eloquent man,” he begins, his tone measured. “But then, I suppose you already knew that.”

I nod, though I don’t miss the way he evades the heart of the matter. “Yes, but the letter doesn’t tell me everything. It mentions you. It mentions my parents needing to come back to England. What plans was he assisting with, and why does it feel like I’m the one being used in some chess match I don’t even understand?”

Francis folds the letter carefully and hands it back to me. His movements are unhurried, almost deliberately so, as though he’s buying time to formulate a response.

“Y/n,” he says finally, leaning forward slightly, “I can’t give you all the answers you’re looking for—not because I don’t want to, but because I’m not the one who should. This letter… it hints at much, but your parents’ choices are their own to explain.”

“You’re dodging the question,” I reply, a note of frustration slipping into my voice. “You were mentioned directly in this letter. My father trusted you enough to involve you in whatever this is, and now you’re telling me you can’t say anything? Why?”

Francis exhales slowly, rubbing his temples. “Your parents sent you to Hogwarts for reasons that go beyond just your education. That much, I think, you already suspect.”

My stomach knots, but I force myself to hold his gaze. “I need to hear you say it. Why?”

He studies me for a long moment, then finally speaks. “Because Hogwarts isn’t just a school, Y/n. It’s a stronghold of influence. Your parents knew that.”

I narrow my eyes, trying to pull more out of him. “That’s not the point. Of course Hogwarts is influential. It’s headmaster is one of the most powerful wizards in the world. I’m asking why they felt such a strong need to send me there.”

Francis sighs, looking off into the distance as if trying to think. “Have you ever heard of an NDA, Y/n?”

“A… non disclosure agreement?”

He nods his head. “I can’t tell you anything about my work with your parents outright due to multiple NDA’s they’ve made me sign. I’m under lock and key.”

I frown, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. “So you’re telling me you do know something, but you’re legally bound to keep it a secret?”

Francis leans back in his chair, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smile. “Exactly. But NDAs are tricky things, Y/n. They don’t stop me from guiding someone to draw their own conclusions.”

My breath catches. “So, you’re saying I already have everything I need to figure this out?”

“I’m saying,” he replies carefully, “that your parents are meticulous people. They leave trails—if you know where to look. This letter, for instance,” he nods toward the paper still clutched in my hand, “is as much a piece of the puzzle as any. Your father chose his words very deliberately.”

I glance down at the letter, scanning the words again. “You mean the part about… ensuring my enrollment? That favor Dumbledore owes him?”

Francis’s smile tightens. “You’re getting warmer.”

I think back to the letter, to the way my father spoke of Dumbledore—not with admiration, but with expectation. “He wanted me at Hogwarts to… to keep me close to Dumbledore,” I say slowly, the realization beginning to dawn. “But it wasn’t for my benefit, was it?”

Francis’s silence is answer enough, his expression unreadable but undeniably pleased.

“Why would my parents need to be close to Dumbledore?” I press, piecing it together as I speak. “Why would they care so much about what he’s doing that they’d send me across countries to keep tabs on him?”

Francis tilts his head slightly, his eyes gleaming. “Why indeed?”

“I know they don’t trust him. That much is clear. But why?” I let out a frustrated huff, the answer dancing just out of reach. Then it hits me, and my blood runs cold. “The prophecy.”

Francis raises a brow but doesn’t confirm or deny.

“They’re upset they had to flee because of the prophecy, but it wasn’t about me at all. It was about Harry,” I continue, the words bitter on my tongue. “If I’m a betting woman, I’d say they think he lied.”

Francis seems to get uncomfortable as I ramble, raising a hand to stop me. “I can’t say either way. And remember, I didn’t tell you anything.”

I start to pace, waving him off. “And now they’re using me to… what? Watch him? Report back on him? Which is odd because they haven’t asked me to. They haven’t spoken about him much at all, actually. What are they playing at?”

“That,” Francis says, his voice low, “is a question only your parents can answer. But you’re asking the right questions now. And those questions may lead you to truths they’d rather you not know.”

I grip the letter tightly, my thoughts spinning. “If they’ve been keeping secrets from me, then I deserve to know why.”

Francis studies me for a moment, then leans forward, his tone soft but firm. “Just remember, Y/n: when you start pulling at threads, the whole tapestry can unravel. Be sure you’re ready for what you might find.”

I swallow hard, his words weighing heavily on me. “I’ll be careful,” I murmur, though I’m not entirely sure I believe it myself.

Francis nods, leaning back again, his cryptic smile never faltering. “That’s all I can ask.”

I stop in my tracks, feeling like a genius as I ask, “Do my parents have a will?”

“A will?” Francis seems caught off guard, blinking in surprise. “Of course they do. They had one drafted when you were born, and we updated it over the summer. Why do you ask?”

I turn to face him fully, the pieces clicking into place in my mind. “Because if they’ve planned everything else so meticulously, wouldn’t their will hold clues about what they’re really after? Maybe even something about why I’m at Hogwarts.”

Francis’s expression shifts, a flicker of something cautious passing over his face. “It’s possible,” he admits slowly. “But wills are legally binding documents, not a place for secrets or hidden messages.”

“They won’t be hidden if they never expect me to get to it,” I counter, my determination hardening.

His lips press into a thin line, and he exhales sharply. “Even if that’s true, you won’t have access to it unless…” He trails off, clearly unwilling to finish the sentence.

“Unless they die,” I finish for him, my stomach twisting. “I know. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t ways to learn what’s in it without waiting for the worst.”

Francis shakes his head, his jaw tight. “Surely you understand that I can’t provide you with their will just because you want to see it.”

I huff, trailing my fingers over Draco’s necklace as I think. “Yes, I know that. You seem to be dead set on being as unhelpful as possible.”

“I’m dead set on not losing my job,” he retorts, his patience seeming to wear thin. “Or worse, having your parents come after me.”

Alarm bells go off in my head at his off handed remark. “Come after you? In what way?”

He freezes, his face paling. “Y/n, if there’s anything you take from this conversation, let it be that your parents are not forgiving creatures. Neither are their… friends.”

The word oozes out of his mouth like poison, and i immediately know who he’s talking about.

The death eaters. Voldemort’s circle. The cruel, selfish witches and wizards who all watched me with rapt attention as I took an innocent man’s life away from him. Who took my life away from me.

My blood runs cold at his words, but I force my expression to remain neutral, unwilling to let him see how much it affects me. “I understand,” I say slowly, the weight of his warning sinking in.

Francis watches me for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to say more, but eventually shakes his head. “You’re a clever girl, Y/n. Too clever for your own good, perhaps. Just… don’t push this too far.”

“I’ll take that under advisement,” I say, my tone clipped.

He nods once and turns to leave, his footsteps echoing faintly as he heads for the door. I let out a shaky breath, the tension in the room finally beginning to dissipate.

As the door closes behind him, something small flutters to the floor near my feet. I glance down, frowning, and spot a crisp business card lying face up.

Francis Armand LeBlanc

Legal Counsel – LeBlanc & Associates

Office Hours: By Appointment Only

Address: 15 Rue de la Tour, Paris

I crouch down and pick it up, turning it over in my hands. The card feels deliberate, too pristine and conveniently dropped to be an accident.

I tuck it into my bag, my mind already racing with possibilities. If Francis won’t tell me outright, maybe his office will. If my parents have files there—anything that could shed light on their plans—I’ll find it.

My chest tightens as I think of what I might uncover. Secrets. Lies. More manipulation.

But the truth is worth the risk.

I straighten up and smooth my skirt, determination settling over me like armor. “By appointment only,” I murmur to myself, slipping out of the sitting room.

It looks like I’ll be making another trip to Paris very soon.

The sound of my shoes clacking against the floor grounds me as I make my way back to the floo, the rhythm steady and deliberate.

Aurélien appears from around a corner, nearly making me jump out of my skin.

“Merlin. Why are you so quiet?” I ask, my hand on my chest as I take a calming breath.

His brow furrows in worry. “Why are you so tense, mon étoile? What did he say to you?”

“Not much,” I reply, and it really isn’t a lie. “But between us, I’m going to be making a trip to his office some day soon.”

He looks around us, checking to see if anyone is listening, before placing a hand on my arm. “I don’t think that’s a wise idea. What if you get caught?”

“I’ll just have to make sure I don’t,” I shoot back, coming off a little more harsh than I meant to. I soften my tone as I say, “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

Aurélien takes my hand and leads me to the floo, shutting the door behind us. “You’re right. You’ll be just fine because I’ll be going with you.”

“Aury—”

“No,” he cuts me off, pulling my hand up to rest on his chest. “You’re my whole heart. My whole world. If you’re going to be in Paris doing something stupid, I’m at least going to be there with you in case something goes wrong.”

I stare at him, my heart twisting at the sincerity in his voice. “Aury, you don’t have to—”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupts, his tone firm but gentle. “You think I’d just sit here while you go digging around in dangerous places on your own? Absolutely not.”

I open my mouth to argue, but the look in his eyes stops me. His usual lighthearted demeanor is gone, replaced by a fierce protectiveness I don’t see often but know better than to challenge.

“You’re too important to me, Y/n,” he continues, his hand still clutching mine against his chest. “I can’t let you do this alone. And I won’t.”

A lump forms in my throat as I look at him. Aurélien has always been my anchor, my safe place. The idea of dragging him into this mess makes me feel guilty, but at the same time, the thought of having him with me eases some of the tension coiled in my chest.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” I say softly.

“And I don’t want you to either,” he replies, his thumb brushing over the back of my hand. “But if something happens, I’d rather be there to help than sitting here, wondering if you’re okay.”

I close my eyes for a moment, exhaling slowly. “Okay,” I finally say, my voice barely above a whisper. “You can come with me.”

His face softens into a small smile, and he gives my hand a gentle squeeze. “Good. Now let’s get you home before you change your mind.”

I let out a weak laugh, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“Non,” he teases as he steps towards the floo, pulling me along with him. “I’m just loyal. There’s a difference.”

As the green flames roar to life, I glance at him one last time. His unwavering determination steadies me in a way nothing else has tonight.

“Thank you, Aurélien,” I whisper as I step into the floo.

“Always, mon étoile,” he replies, his voice following me into the swirling magic.