The Pact

When I step back into the room of requirement, I half expect to see the trio standing there, waiting for me. Instead, I’m greeted by what looks like an empty room.

I brush the powder off of me before walking towards the center of the room near the couch, but when I peer over it from the back, my heart flutters.

Draco is laid across it, fast asleep, with his arms crossed over his chest like he wasn’t planning on an impromptu nap. The sight tugs at my heart strings.

He waited for me.

He’s mad, but he still waited for me.

Damn it, that’s cute.

I set my bag down on the coffee table and gently sit on the edge of the couch cushion, admiring him for just a moment before brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Dray?”

He doesn’t stir at first, and I figure I was probably too quiet. I give his shoulder a squeeze and say his name just a little louder. “Draco?”

I notice a change in his breathing pattern as his eyes flutter open. Once he registers I’m in front of him, he immediately sits up, looking rather unhappy.

“Finally decided to come back have you?” he grumbles, his voice low and scratchy.

Draco swings his legs over the side of the couch and stands up, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. I sigh. “I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry,” he scoffs, turning away from me to pace. “What were you thinking? Running off like that to France just before nightfall by yourself. What if something happened?”

I let myself lean against the back rest as I watch him pace back and forth, refusing to meet my eyes. “I was fine, Dray. I was safe. I wouldn’t have gone alone if I didn’t think I was.”

“Yes, you would’ve.” His voice comes out sharp as he whirls around to face me. “Wouldn’t be the first time you left me behind to go off and do something mental.”

“I was just talking to our family lawyer,” I reply, my jaw tight. “I’ve known him for years.”

Draco drops his arms as he paces again, and I notice him twirling my ring on his finger. “Right. Because I feel so much better knowing you’re gallivanting around with Prince Charming’s family.”

“I thought you two were getting along,” I say, studying him. “Do you seriously still not trust him?”

Draco runs a hand over his face. “We’re not friends, Lavigné. I tolerate him for your sake. But trust him? Yeah, right.”

I stand, crossing my arms now. “Draco, you and I both know he’d protect me if something went wrong. But you’re being dramatic! I was literally just eating dinner at his estate. I was perfectly safe.”

“When it comes to your safety, I don’t trust anyone but myself to take care of you. Not Beauxbatons, not the trio, not even your parents.”

After a brief moment he pauses, unmoving. “Wait. His estate? Granger said you went to his uncle’s shop.”

“I did,” I start, my tone softening when I start to realize how much I might’ve scared him. “To ask the uncle you met where his brother was. It happened to be a family dinner night, so I just went to his estate from there.”

Draco’s jaw tightens, and he takes a step closer, his gray eyes flashing with frustration. “And you didn’t think to tell me that? You didn’t think I’d want to know where you were—who you were with?”

“I didn’t think I needed your permission,” I shoot back, my arms tightening around myself.

“It’s not about permission,” he snaps, his voice rising. “It’s about knowing you’re safe! About not being left in the dark while you run off with him and—”

“With him?” I cut him off, my voice sharp now. “Merlin, Draco, do you hear yourself? Aurélien is my friend. He’s been my friend for years. Why does that bother you so much?”

“Because he looks at you like you’re the bloody sun!” Draco explodes, his hands gesturing wildly. “And you don’t even care!”

I feel heat rush to my face, equal parts anger and embarrassment. “He’s over that now. We talked about it and—”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” he interrupts, stepping closer. “I’ve seen the way he still acts around you, the way he hovers. And you just let him. You went to his estate, for Merlin’s sake, and you don’t think that’s even worth mentioning?”

“Because it’s not your business!” I shout, my voice echoing in the empty room. “You don’t get to control where I go or who I’m with, Draco. You’re not my keeper!”

His expression falters, just for a moment, before hardening again. “I’m not trying to control you,” he says, his tone quieter but no less intense. “I just—”

“You just what?” I press, taking a step closer to him now. “You just want to keep tabs on me? To make sure I don’t spend too much time with someone who isn’t you? Is that it?”

His silence speaks volumes, and the weight of it presses down on both of us.

“I can take care of myself,” I say, my voice trembling with frustration. “I don’t need you swooping in and acting like I can’t make my own decisions. I’m tired of people dictating my life for me.”

Draco’s eyes soften, but his fists remain clenched at his sides. “It’s not about you needing me,” he says finally, his voice low. “It’s about me needing you to be okay. To not disappear and leave me wondering if I’ll see you again. You don’t know what it’s like, Lavigné. To sit here and wait and wonder if the person you care about most is—”

He cuts himself off, looking away, and my heart clenches at the raw emotion in his voice.

“You were that worried about me?” I ask softly, the fight draining from my voice.

Draco glances back at me, his expression guarded but vulnerable. “Of course I was, you insufferable woman,” he mutters, his voice almost too quiet to hear. “Why do you think I’m so bloody mad?”

The room falls silent, the weight of his words hanging between us. For a moment, neither of us moves, neither of us speaks.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” I say finally, my voice breaking the tension. “But you have to trust me, Draco. Trust that I know what I’m doing.”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m trying,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “But it’s bloody hard when you make me care this much.”

I take a tentative step closer, reaching out to touch his arm. “I’ll try harder to keep you in the loop,” I promise. “But you have to stop acting like I’m going to vanish if you take your eyes off me for a second. I’m not going anywhere.”

Draco looks down at me, his gaze searching mine, and after a moment, he nods. “Fine. But no more secrets,” he says firmly. “If you’re going to run off to Paris with him again, at least tell me first. Please.”

I can’t help but smile a little, despite the tension. “I didn’t know I’d be seeing him. It was just as much of a surprise for me as it was for you.”

Draco huffs, rolling his eyes. “I thought after the dance I’d be rid of that pompous, fluffy haired idiot. But now every time I turn my head, he’s involved again.”

I scrunch my nose. “I didn’t want to get him involved at all. You were the one who convinced me to ask him to search the library at Beauxbatons.”

“It was better than having you break and enter to try and find some dusty old books. I know you would’ve done it,” he replies with a groan.

I cross my arms, raising an eyebrow at him. “Oh, so now you’re concerned about my penchant for breaking rules? That’s rich, coming from you.”

Draco narrows his eyes, but there’s a flicker of amusement behind them. “I’m not the one who sneaks off in the dead of night to Merlin-knows-where. If anyone’s a bad influence, it’s you.”

“Excuse me?” I scoff, though I can’t help the smile tugging at my lips. “If I remember correctly, you’re the one who dragged me into this mess in the first place.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” he asks, stepping closer, his tone mockingly indignant.

“Yes, it is,” I say, poking his chest lightly. “If you hadn’t been so annoyingly rude to me when I transferred here I probably would have refused to duel you and we’d have never activated the bond. So I wouldn’t be running around France, talking to lawyers, or dealing with Aurélien’s family dinners.”

Draco catches my hand mid-poke, holding it gently but firmly. “And yet, here you are,” he murmurs, his voice softening as his thumb brushes against my knuckles. “Still standing. Still driving me completely mad.”

The shift in his tone makes my breath hitch, and for a moment, the tension between us changes.

“Well,” I manage to say, trying to steady my voice, “if I’m driving you mad, you’re returning the favor.”

His lips twitch into a smirk, but there’s a warmth in his eyes now. “Good. At least we’re even.”

We stand there for a beat longer, the room unusually quiet.

“So,” he says, his voice returning to its usual drawl, “are you done playing detective for the night, or should I expect you to disappear again?”

I roll my eyes but can’t hide my grin. “No disappearing. You’ve got me for the rest of the evening, Dray. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he replies sarcastically, though the faint curve of his lips suggests he might mean it.

“Good,” I say softly, my lips curving up into a smile. “Because I’m all peopled out. Can we just… exist for a little while?”

He grins, plopping down on the couch and gesturing for me to lay on his lap. “I suppose I could tolerate some one on one time with you.”

I kick off my shoes and lay down next to him, gingerly placing my head on his thigh. His fingers immediately find my hair, undoing the ribbon and letting it down before gently raking through the soft strands.

I shift around until I’m comfortable, exhaling a sigh of relief. “Draco?”

“Hm?” he hums, letting his other hand fall to rest on my waist.

The gesture soothes me, making my body relax. “I’m sorry for running off. It was a spur of the moment thing.”

He’s quiet for a moment, the silence contemplative. “You could have asked me to come meet you. You know I would’ve.”

His voice is soft and reflective it makes a pang of guilt run through my body. “I know. I just knew I could handle this one.”

“I believe you,” he murmurs, twirling a few strands of hair around his finger. “I’m sorry I freaked out. I just get really worried when you’re not with me. It’s not a controlling thing, I swear.”

“I know it’s not,” I say quietly, turning my head slightly to look up at him. “Of course you’re not trying to control me, Dray. You just… worry, maybe a little too much.”

His lips twitch into a faint smirk, but there’s no teasing behind it. “It’s infuriating, isn’t it?”

“Completely,” I tease, my smile soft. “But… it’s also kind of nice, knowing someone’s looking out for me like that.”

Draco’s fingers pause for a moment, still tangled in my hair, before he resumes stroking it gently. “You’re really not used to that, are you? People looking out for you.”

I blink at the question, surprised by the insight. “Not really,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “Definitely not in the way you do. You’re… different.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It is,” I say, shifting slightly so I can rest my cheek against his leg once more. “You’re annoying and overprotective, but it’s kind of your thing. And I don’t think I’d change it, even if I could.”

His hand stills on my waist for a moment before he gives it a small, reassuring squeeze. “Good. Because you’re stuck with me, Lavigné.”

“Lucky me,” I murmur, my voice tinged with affection.

For a while, we sit there in comfortable silence, the tension from earlier melting away. The only sound is the steady rhythm of his breathing and the occasional soft rustle of fabric as his hand moves through my hair.

“I mean it, though,” he says suddenly, breaking the quiet. “No more secrets. If you’re going to do something reckless, at least let me do it with you.”

I tilt my head up to meet his gaze, finding nothing but sincerity in his stormy eyes. “Deal,” I say softly.

He smiles, and for once, it’s unguarded. “Good.”

I close my eyes, feeling the weight of the day lift off my shoulders as I sink further into his warmth. In this moment, with his hands in my hair and his touch grounding me, it’s easy to forget about everything else. Just for a little while.

The Room of Requirement has become my favorite place in the castle, purely because I get to spend so much time with Draco and my closest friends in here. It’s always here when I need it and sometimes even when I don’t—it’s like it knows when I just want a break from reality.

I have no idea what time it is when I jolt awake, another nightmare tearing through my psyche like a hot knife. I didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep, to be honest.

Draco is wide awake, though, and his hand falls to rest on my shoulder. “Hey, you’re okay. You’re with me.”

I turn to look at him, clutching at his robes without realizing it, and pull myself up to sit next to him. I press my palm to my forehead, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he says softly, putting his arm around my shoulders. “You know I understand.”

I groan, pulling my knees up to my chest. “I’m never going to sleep again, am I?”

Draco frowns, his arm tightening around me. “You will. One way or another, we’ll figure it out. I’m not going to let you keep going like this.”

I lean into him, drawing comfort from the steady rhythm of his breathing. But as much as I want to stay here, cocooned in the warmth of his presence, I know I need to head back. The nightmares won’t stop, but I can’t keep burdening him with them.

After a moment, I force myself to sit up, brushing the hair out of my face. “I should go. It’s late, and you need to sleep, too.”

He hesitates, his lips parting as if to argue, but he stops himself. Instead, he brushes a hand along my jaw, his touch achingly gentle. “If you need me, don’t think twice about waking me up. Got it?”

I nod, managing a small smile. “Got it.”

Reluctantly, I stand, gathering my bag and adjusting my robes. Draco walks me to the door, lingering in the threshold as I step out into the corridor.

“Be careful,” he says, his voice low but firm.

“I will,” I promise, giving him one last look before turning and heading down the hall.

The castle is eerily quiet at this hour, the only sounds the faint creaks of the ancient walls and the soft echo of my footsteps. I wrap my robes tighter around me, the cool air biting at my skin.

I’m halfway to the Hufflepuff dorms when a familiar, silky voice cuts through the silence. “Miss Lavigné.”

I freeze, my heart leaping into my throat, before turning to face none other than Professor Snape. His black robes billow around him as he approaches, his dark eyes sharp and assessing.

“What, may I ask, are you doing wandering the halls at this hour?” he says, his tone as icy as ever, though there’s a subtle edge of curiosity beneath it.

I hesitate, debating whether to make an excuse or tell the truth. Finally, I sigh. “I was just trying to clear my head, sir. I—can’t sleep.”

His gaze narrows slightly, and I can’t tell if he’s displeased or simply pondering my words. “Ah. Another restless night, I presume?”

I nod, suddenly feeling very small under his piercing stare.

After a moment of silence, he speaks again, his tone unexpectedly softer. “Have you given any thought to my offer?”

I blink at him, caught off guard. “Your offer to mentor me?”

“Yes.”

I straighten my shoulders, summoning what little courage I have left. “I accept.”

Snape’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something—approval, perhaps—in his eyes. “Good. Then consider this your first lesson: I will show you how to brew a proper Dreamless Sleep Potion.”

I blink, surprised. “Now?”

He arches a brow, as though daring me to argue. “Unless you’d rather spend the rest of the night tossing and turning?”

“…No, sir.”

“Follow me,” he says, turning on his heel and striding down the corridor without waiting for a response.

I hurry after him, my heart pounding—not with fear, but with a strange mix of anticipation and relief. For the first time in a long while, it feels like I’m taking a step toward something that might actually help.

But a small part of me is worried for the simple fact that I’m following a death eater towards a private space in the middle of the night. Merlin knows what he could have planned for me. I’m just hoping he’s acting as my professor, not as one of his followers.

He leads me to his office and upon stepping inside, I’m greeted by multiple bubbling cauldrons and a mix of odd scents from the ingredients lining the shelves. His desk is meticulously organized, much like the man himself.

He closes the door behind us and locks it, making my heart race.

He’s just my professor. He won’t hurt me.

Right?

Snape stands in the middle of the room, flicking his wand at a cauldron and floating it over to the workbench in front of me. “To begin, what size cauldron is this?”

I furrow my brow. Why is he asking me such an easy question?

“It’s… a size four, sir.”

He nods his head sharply before summoning a piece of parchment and a quill. “Good. Now, I’m going to list off all the ingredients you’ll need to brew the potion properly. I want you to record them, then go collect them off the walls. Are you ready to begin?”

I nod quickly, setting my bag down and positioning myself to write. “Yes, sir. Ready.”

Snape’s sharp eyes glance at my wand before he begins, his tone measured and precise as he lists the ingredients. “Powdered valerian root, essence of asphodel, shredded fluxweed, sopophorous bean extract, crushed moonstone, and just a single sprig of lavender. All properly labeled—assuming you can read.”

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes, knowing better than to test his patience. Instead, I jot down the list, my handwriting neat but hurried. When I finish, I glance up at him. “Got it.”

“Then stop standing there and get to work,” he snaps, gesturing toward the shelves with a flick of his wrist.

I turn quickly, scanning the neatly organized shelves for the ingredients. Each jar is labeled in Snape’s precise, angular handwriting, making it easy to locate what I need—though I can feel his piercing gaze on my back the entire time.

As I place the last jar onto the workbench, Snape steps forward, his robes brushing against the floor as he looms over the ingredients. He inspects them with a critical eye before giving a curt nod. “Adequate. Let us proceed.”

He flicks his wand again, summoning a small silver knife and a mortar and pestle. “Dreamless Sleep Potion is a delicate brew. Even the smallest misstep could render it useless—or worse, dangerous. Pay attention.”

I swallow hard, nodding. “I will.”

Snape picks up the valerian root and hands it to me. “Start with this. Grind it to a fine powder. Do not rush.”

I carefully take the root, placing it into the mortar and beginning to grind it with steady pressure. The rhythmic motion is oddly calming, though Snape’s intense presence keeps me alert.

As I work, he continues speaking, his voice low and even. “You’ll find that potions require more than a mere following of instructions. They demand focus, intuition, and respect for the craft. A true potioneer does not simply brew—they create.”

I glance up at him, surprised by the unexpected passion in his tone. “I understand.”

He pauses, his expression unreadable. “What matters is precision and excellence. Both of which I expect from you.”

I nod quickly, returning my attention to the mortar. “Understood, sir.”

As the lesson progresses, Snape guides me through each step, his instructions sharp and unwavering. To my surprise, I find myself becoming engrossed in the process, the methodical nature of potion-making grounding me in a way I haven’t felt in weeks.

By the time the potion is simmering in the cauldron, its pale lavender color glowing faintly in the dim light, I can’t help but feel a small spark of pride. But the tension in the room is heavy—all of my unspoken questions lingering in the air like a thick fog.

He seems to notice but I doubt he cares. He’s always been the cryptic type, and I’m not convinced my curiosities will ever change that.

Snape’s eyes flick to me, sharp as ever, though his hands remain steady as he arranges a set of empty vials on the workbench. “If you have something to say, Miss Lavigné, I suggest you say it now. Your tendency to brood in silence is as irritating as it is predictable.”

I stiffen, clutching the ladle in my hand. “I’m not brooding,” I mutter, though it’s hardly convincing.

His brow arches, unimpressed. “Then what do you call that?” He gestures vaguely toward me. “You’ve been fidgeting since we began, and your mind is clearly elsewhere. Out with it.”

For a moment, I hesitate, my heart pounding. But then the image flashes in my mind again—his face at the far end of that table, dimly lit by flickering torches. The Death Eater meeting. The muggle. The blood on my hands.

“I saw you,” I say quietly, setting the ladle down. “At the meeting. You were there… at the end of the table.”

Snape doesn’t flinch, but his expression hardens. His black eyes lock onto mine, unreadable. “And?”

I swallow, forcing myself to meet his gaze. “Why didn’t you say anything? You just… watched. You didn’t stop it.”

A heavy silence falls between us, broken only by the soft bubbling of the cauldron. Finally, he speaks, his voice low and measured. “Because stopping it wasn’t an option.”

I gape at him, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You just let it happen? You let me—” My voice cracks, and I clench my fists to steady myself.

Snape steps closer, his imposing presence casting a shadow over me. “Do you think I wanted to be there, Miss Lavigné? Do you think I take pleasure in standing by while they demand such… atrocities? It is not a choice—it is survival.”

His words hit like a slap, and I look away, my throat tightening.

“Do you honestly believe your actions could have changed anything that night?” he continues, his tone cutting but not unkind. “They would have killed the muggle regardless. They would have killed you for refusing.”

“I didn’t want to do it,” I whisper, the confession barely audible. “But I did. I had to. And now I can’t even close my eyes without—” My voice breaks again, and I bite my lip, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

Snape regards me for a long moment, his expression softening just slightly. “That,” he says quietly, “is why you cannot sleep.”

It’s not a question. He’s not asking. And if I’m reading him right, I think he might even sympathize with me.

Just a little.

I nod, my breathing uneven. “Every time I close my eyes, I see him. The way he looked at me. The way he… the way it sounded.”

Snape’s voice is calm, almost gentle. “It will not fade quickly. But it will fade. And until it does, you must learn to manage it.”

I glance at the cauldron, its pale lavender glow reflecting in my eyes. “The potion will help, won’t it?”

“It will,” he says. “But do not rely on it indefinitely. Numbing yourself is not the solution.”

I nod again, yawning and rubbing at my eyes. “Yes, sir.”

Snape steps closer, peering into the cauldron with a critical eye. After a moment, he nods. “Acceptable. Bottle it, and you’ll have enough for three nights’ use. No more than two sips at a time.”

“Yes, professor,” I say, carefully ladling the potion into small vials.

As I cork the last vial, Snape speaks again, his tone softer this time. “Do not waste it. And should you require more…” He hesitates briefly. “You know where to find me.”

I glance up at him, caught off guard by the faint note of care in his voice. “Thank you.”

He simply nods, turning away to organize the remaining ingredients. “Get back to your dormitory before someone else catches you. And for Merlin’s sake, avoid wandering the halls at night unless you’re prepared to face the consequences.”

I tuck the vials into my bag, murmuring another quick thank you before slipping out of the office. As I make my way back to the Hufflepuff dorms, the weight on my chest feels just a little lighter. For the first time in weeks, I feel like I might actually get some rest.

I slip into the room as quietly as I can, narrowly avoiding waking up Alice, who’s a notoriously light sleeper. I don’t even bother to change my clothes, I just slip under my sheets and uncork one of the vials, tilting it up to my lips. The potion trickles down my throat with a comforting warmth and a notably floral taste before I can feel it running through my veins. I set the vial back into my bag and less than a minute later, I’m fast asleep.

~

“Hey, Y/n, you’re going to miss breakfast.”

I wake up to see Hannah peering down at me from beside my bed, shaking me awake.

I blink groggily, the bright sunlight from the window assaulting my eyes. “Merlin, what time is it?”

She turns to look at the clock, then back at me. “Half past seven.”

As she looks at me curiously, I nod, sitting up and stretching my arms over my head. Then, realization finally dawns on me.

I actually slept through the night.

My eyes go wide as I look at the floor beside my bed, seeing the other vials still in my bag.

Thank Merlin. I thought I was never going to sleep again.

My roommates seem to notice, too, but none of them comment on it as I get up and start getting ready without another word. When I look in the mirror to do my makeup, I notice the bags under my eyes have gotten much lighter, making me smile despite myself.

Once we all get down to the Great Hall, it’s buzzing with its usual morning energy. The scent of eggs and bacon wafts towards me, and for once, I actually have the energy to eat.

Sliding into my usual spot at the Hufflepuff table, I grab a piece of toast and start buttering it. Across from me, Crispin raises an eyebrow. “You look… different today. Less like a zombie.”

“Thanks, Crispin,” I reply dryly, though I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

Alice, seated beside him, peers at me curiously. “He’s right, though. Did you actually sleep last night?”

Before I can answer, a familiar voice cuts in. “She certainly looks better than she has in weeks.”

I glance over my shoulder to see Draco standing there, arms crossed and a faint smirk playing on his lips. The conversation around the Hufflepuff table dies down, but it doesn’t deter me.

“So, what, usually I look terrible?” I ask, feigning offense.

He shrugs, taking a few steps towards me and fixing a bump in my hair without warning. “Well now you’re just putting words in my mouth, little badger. But your hair pinning skills could certainly use some work.”

I swat his hand away, my cheeks warming despite myself. “And here I thought Slytherins were supposed to be subtle.”

Draco smirks, unfazed. “Subtlety is overrated. Besides, someone has to save you from your own disastrous hairstyling.”

Alice and Crispin exchange glances, their jaws practically on the table. From the corner of my eye, I see one of the younger Hufflepuffs whispering furiously to her friend, no doubt speculating about why Draco Malfoy is standing at our table.

Draco drops his voice, keeping it quiet as he asks, “Sleep well?”

My face softens as I smile up at him. “Very. I’ll explain later.”

He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, fake pouting. “What, you can’t tell me now?”

“Maybe I like to keep you in suspense,” I tease, grabbing my goblet of pumpkin juice and taking a sip.

He smirks wider, leaning casually against the table. “I‘m not leaving until I get an answer.”

I roll my eyes, though I can’t hide my smile. “Lucky me.”

“You always are,” he quips, his voice soft enough that only I can hear.

Alice clears her throat loudly, clearly unable to contain herself anymore. “So, Malfoy… how long has this been going on?”

Draco raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “This?”

“You two!” Crispin blurts out, gesturing between us. “Dating!”

Draco glances at me, his smirk turning mischievous. “Oh, you haven’t told them?”

“Told us what?” Alice presses, leaning forward with wide eyes.

I give him a warning look, but he just shrugs innocently. “Don’t look at me like that. I assumed you’d at least clue in your friends.”

“Clue us in on what?” Crispin nearly shouts, his frustration evident.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” I mutter, standing abruptly and grabbing my bag. “Draco, stop tormenting them.”

“But it’s so much fun,” he says, his voice dripping with mock innocence.

I glare at him, but there’s no real heat in it. “Goodbye, Draco.”

As I walk away, I hear him call after me, “See you in potions, little badger!”

When I glance back, he’s still standing there, smirking like the cat who got the cream. Alice and Crispin, meanwhile, look ready to explode with questions.

They’re definitely going to interrogate me later. But for now, I let myself enjoy the lightness in my chest and the faint smile that refuses to leave my face.

Since the rumors started to flare up about us back before winter break, Draco has been anything but subtle with me around our peers. He seems to like everyone to know that I’ve been tied down, despite the fact that we still don’t officially have a title on our relationship. If nothing else, I’ll admit it’s entertaining—and a bit flattering, if I’m being honest.

I make my way to the dungeons, still smiling faintly from Draco’s antics at breakfast. The air grows cooler the deeper I go, and the faint bubbling of cauldrons begins to fill the quiet halls.

Snape’s classroom door is ajar when I arrive, and I hesitate briefly before knocking softly.

“Enter,” his deep voice calls, curt and sharp as ever.

I push the door open and step inside, the familiar scent of herbs and potions enveloping me. Snape is at his desk, hunched over a roll of parchment, his quill scratching steadily. He doesn’t look up as I approach, but I can feel his attention shift toward me.

“Miss Lavigné,” he says, still focused on his writing. “To what do I owe the pleasure this early in the morning?”

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling a bit self-conscious. “I just wanted to thank you, sir. For last night. I… I finally got some proper sleep.”

His quill pauses mid-stroke, and he glances up, his dark eyes scrutinizing me. “Good,” he says simply, though there’s a faint softness to his tone. “You’ll find that a clear mind and adequate rest are essential to academic success. Especially in my class.”

“I know,” I reply quickly, shifting my weight. “But really, sir, thank you. It helped more than you know.”

Snape leans back in his chair, folding his hands in front of him as he studies me. “The effects of the potion are temporary. If you wish for a more lasting solution, you’ll need to address the root of your… unrest.”

I nod, biting my lip. “I’m working on it.”

His gaze sharpens slightly, as if he knows exactly what’s plaguing me but won’t say it outright. “See that you do,” he says after a moment. “And Miss Lavigné?”

“Yes, sir?”

“There are far more dangerous things than nightmares in this castle. You would do well to remember that.”

I swallow hard, his words hitting a little too close to home. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” He picks up his quill again, effectively dismissing me to go back to my own devices.

I take a seat at my table near the back of the classroom, setting up my supplies as usual. I take the opportunity to write out a diary entry in my journal using the enchanted quill Draco got me for Christmas. The ink comes out as a lovely sky blue color—fitting for how relaxed I feel for once.

Students start to trickle in slowly over the next twenty minutes or so, and eventually Draco walks in as well, settling in next to me.

I offer him a smile as I close my journal, setting it aside.

“So,” he starts, setting up his things, “what’s got you in such a good mood this morning?”

I glance up at Snape who seems far too preoccupied to care about my conversations. “Remember how I had a meeting with Dumbledore yesterday?”

“Mhm,” he hums, draping his cloak over his chair.

“Well, he wanted to ask me if I’d accept being mentored. By Professor Snape.”

Draco pauses, turning to face me. “Really? Why?”

I shrug, lowering my voice. “Snape requested me. I dunno. Said something about me showing a lot of promise.”

Draco narrows his eyes, and he’s thinking exactly what I’m thinking. “What’s he got up his sleeve?”

“I have no idea,” I whisper back. “But I’m going to find out.”

“Wait,” he starts, “that doesn’t tell me why you’re so… rested today.”

I nod. “Right. Well, Snape caught me walking back to my dorm last night, and he helped me brew this.” I pull out one of the vials and hide it under the table, shielding it from prying eyes. “So I could finally get some sleep.”

“What’s that?” he asks, squinting at it.

“Dreamless sleep potion,” I reply, tucking it away again. “And let me just say, it works.”

Draco raises a skeptical eyebrow but doesn’t push it, instead leaning back in his chair as if mulling something over. “You sure you can trust anything Snape gives you?”

I smirk, amused by his protective tone. “He’s not trying to poison me, Draco. If he wanted me out of the way, I think he’d be far more inconspicuous about it.”

Draco huffs, clearly not as convinced as I am. “Being mysterious is his thing, you know. Just… be careful. Especially with anything he gives you.” His stormy gray eyes flicker to mine, betraying a trace of concern he probably doesn’t even realize is there.

“Noted,” I reply, matching his serious tone with a softer one of my own. “But for now, I’ll take the good night’s sleep over paranoia. Besides, everyone knows harmful potions smell like black licorice.”

Draco furrows his brow. “What are you talking about?”

I give him a confused look. “You didn’t know that? Every poison or dark potion I’ve ever been around has smelled like licorice.”

Before he can argue further, Snape calls the class to attention with a sharp rap of his wand against the desk, the sound echoing ominously through the dungeon. “Today, we will be brewing the Draught of Peace,” he announces, his deep voice cutting through the room. “An exceedingly delicate potion that requires precision, focus, and a steady hand. Needless to say, I expect perfection.”

A murmur ripples through the students, a mix of apprehension and frustration. Snape’s idea of “perfection” is notoriously unattainable. I glance sideways at Draco, who rolls his eyes.

“Of course, he’d pick today to test our patience,” he mutters under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

I stifle a laugh and pull out my textbook, flipping to the appropriate page. “Come on,” I whisper, nudging him with my elbow. “We’ve got this.”

Draco snorts, but there’s a hint of amusement in his expression. “Speak for yourself, Lavigné. Last time we brewed this, Pansy’s cauldron nearly exploded.”

I grin. “Well, I’m a better partner than Pansy.”

“And infinitely less whiny,” he adds with a smirk.

“Let’s hope Snape agrees,” I quip, my tone light despite the tension in the room.

The next hour is a blur of carefully measured ingredients and precise stirring patterns. Snape stalks between the rows of desks like a predator, his gaze sharp enough to make even the most confident students falter. I’m hyperaware of every movement, every sound, determined not to mess this up. Draco, for all his bravado, is just as focused, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Fortunately for me, I’m at the top of my game since I finally don’t feel like I’m going to fall asleep at my station.

“Add the crushed moonstone,” I murmur, tilting the bowl toward him.

“Slowly,” he counters, as if I didn’t already know. He sprinkles the powder into the cauldron with painstaking care, and I stir clockwise exactly three times before stopping.

The potion begins to shimmer, its silvery surface rippling like liquid light. It’s beautiful, almost hypnotic, and I allow myself a small moment of pride.

“Not bad,” Draco admits, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “Guess you are a better partner than Pansy.”

I glance at him, surprised by the unexpected praise. “Was that a compliment, Malfoy?”

He smirks, leaning just slightly closer. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Before I can respond, Snape’s voice cuts through the room like a whip. “Stop!” he commands, his dark eyes scanning the rows of cauldrons. He approaches ours, peering into the shimmering potion with an inscrutable expression.

“Acceptable,” he finally says, his tone devoid of enthusiasm but lacking its usual venom. For Snape, that’s practically glowing praise.

I glance at Draco, and he’s already looking at me, one eyebrow raised as if to say told you so. I roll my eyes, biting back a smile.

As Snape moves on to the next pair, Draco leans in again, his voice barely above a whisper. “You might survive his mentoring after all.”

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply dryly, but there’s a warmth in my chest that I can’t quite explain. Maybe it’s the potion, or maybe it’s just… him.

Snape weaves in and out of the rows of desks, failing most of the pairs but giving a couple of our classmates begrudging passing marks. Off to the side of the room, I can tell someone has ruined their potion—that sickly sweet licorice smell is invading my nose even from this far away.

I nod my head towards the side. “Smell that? They ruined theirs somehow,” I whisper to Draco.

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t. Seriously, I’ve never heard of that before.”

“Watch,” I reply, pointing to Snape with the end of my quill.

Snape approaches the offending cauldron, his expression twisted into one of disgust. The potion inside is a murky grayish-purple, its surface bubbling ominously. The pair of students standing beside it—Timothy Hargrove, a nervous-looking Ravenclaw with perpetually ink-stained fingers, and Rosalind Prewett, a haughty Slytherin who always insists she’s Snape’s favorite—are both trying to look anywhere but at the professor.

“Hargrove. Prewett.” Snape’s voice is low, but the menace in it is palpable. “Explain.”

Timothy stammers, his face going red. “I-I think we might’ve added the powdered ashwinder egg too early, sir.”

Snape’s eyes narrow dangerously, and he picks up a ladle to swirl the potion. The licorice scent intensifies, making me wrinkle my nose. “Might have?” he repeats mockingly. “What you have brewed here is not the Draught of Peace but a borderline toxic concoction that, had it been consumed, would have induced a sleep so deep it would rival death itself.”

Timothy pales, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. Rosalind, however, straightens her shoulders and lifts her chin. “With all due respect, sir,” she begins, her tone sharp, “it was Hargrove’s mistake. I followed the instructions precisely.”

Snape turns his glare on her, silencing her mid-breath. “And yet, Miss Prewett, you did not stop him. A true potion master anticipates their partner’s errors and corrects them before disaster strikes. You have failed, both of you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek to suppress a laugh, glancing at Draco. His lips twitch, but he stays silent, clearly entertained by the dressing-down.

Snape waves his wand, vanishing the ruined potion with a sharp flick. “Ten points from Ravenclaw,” he sneers at Timothy. “And ten from Slytherin.” He turns to Rosalind, his voice dripping with disdain. “You, Miss Prewett, are an embarrassment to your House.”

Rosalind’s face flushes an angry red, but she bites her tongue, clearly unwilling to make things worse. Snape sweeps past their desk and continues his inspection, leaving the pair in mortified silence.

“Called it,” I whisper to Draco, smirking.

He leans closer, lowering his voice. “Alright, maybe you’re onto something with the licorice thing. But that doesn’t mean Snape’s not planning something.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re naïve,” he counters, though his tone is more teasing than cutting.

Snape’s voice snaps through the room again. “You have five minutes remaining. Clean your stations and bottle your samples for grading.”

As we finish tidying up, Draco glances at me, his expression unusually serious. “Just… keep an eye on Snape, alright? I’m serious.”

I pause, studying him. There’s something in his tone—genuine concern, maybe—that catches me off guard. “I will,” I promise softly. “But you’ve got to stop worrying about me, Dray. You know I’m probably more suspicious of him than anyone.”

He smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “No promises.”

I bottle up a vial of our potion and Draco gets rid of the rest before I label the vial with our names. He nods with approval as he slings his bag over his shoulder.

Once I’ve gathered the rest of my things, I walk our potion up to Snape, slipping the vial into one of the slots in his tube holder. Before I can fully turn around, he stops me. “Miss Lavigné.”

I hesitate before facing him once more. “Yes, professor?”

“You are going to stay after class to help me grade these potions.”

My mouth opens and closes once as I process his words. “Sir?”

“This is part of our mentorship, Miss Lavigné,” he drawls, seeming annoyed. “I need to gauge your judgement when it comes to brewing.”

I glance over my shoulder at Draco, who pauses mid-step. His brow furrows as his gaze flickers between Snape and me, clearly displeased. I give him a subtle shake of my head, silently telling him to go. He hesitates, but after a beat, he reluctantly turns and exits the dungeon with the rest of the students.

Turning back to Snape, I nod, trying to mask my unease. “Of course, Professor.”

He gestures toward the front of the classroom, where the other vials are neatly arranged. “Begin by inspecting the samples. Note the clarity, consistency, and aroma. I trust you already understand the ideal characteristics of the Draught of Peace?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply, moving to the desk and pulling out a clean piece of parchment.

Snape folds his arms and watches as I pick up the first vial. The liquid inside is a dull grey rather than the silvery shimmer it should have. I jot down my observations, noting the incorrect consistency.

As I reach for the next vial, Snape’s voice cuts through the silence. “And tell me, Miss Lavigné, what exactly do you find so enlightening about the scent of licorice?”

I freeze, my hand hovering over the vial. My mind races, and I struggle to keep my expression neutral. “I—what do you mean, Professor?”

His dark eyes narrow slightly, his gaze pinning me in place. “I overheard your… conversation with Mr. Malfoy. You claimed to detect a licorice scent from Hargrove and Prewett’s potion, did you not?”

I swallow hard, trying to tread carefully. “Yes, sir. I’ve noticed that certain potions—especially ones that are unstable or tainted—give off that smell.”

Snape’s lips curl into a faint, calculating smile. “Fascinating. Most witches and wizards are incapable of discerning such subtleties. Tell me, is this ability common in your family?”

I grip the quill in my hand tightly, my mind racing for an answer that won’t reveal too much. “I… don’t think so, sir. It’s just something I’ve always noticed.”

He steps closer, his robes billowing slightly as he moves. “How fortunate for you, then. This sensitivity could be… useful.”

I suppress a shiver, keeping my focus on the vial in front of me. “Thank you? I think.”

“However,” he continues, his tone laced with a quiet intensity, “I expect you to put this talent to proper use. Carelessness or arrogance will not be tolerated.”

“Yes, Professor,” I murmur, carefully uncorking the next vial. As I inspect it, I catch a faint licorice-like scent. I glance up at Snape, who is watching me like a hawk.

“This one,” I say, holding up the vial. “It smells off. Too sweet.”

He raises an eyebrow. “And what does that tell you?”

“That it’s not safe to use. And by the looks of it, whoever brewed it likely added the hellebore syrup too early, throwing off the balance,” I reply confidently.

Snape regards me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he gives the smallest of nods. “Correct. Continue.”

I exhale quietly and return to my task, hyperaware of Snape’s gaze lingering on me. Whatever this “mentorship” is, it’s clear that Snape has his own agenda. I’m just not sure if it aligns with mine.

My list grows long as I denote the qualities of each individual sample, possibly even bordering on overkill, but I know Snape values a thorough look at things. I even mark down possible issues with my own potion—ever so slightly too thin. We could have brewed it for maybe another thirty seconds for the perfect viscosity.

When I finally finish, I place the vials back in the rack and hand him the parchment. “There you are, sir.”

Snape takes the parchment without a word, his long fingers curling around it as he scans my notes. The silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the faint scratching of quill on parchment as he makes a mark here or there. I stand perfectly still, refusing to fidget under his scrutiny, though every second feels like an eternity.

Finally, he speaks, his tone sharp but measured. “Thorough, though you lack confidence in your own work.” He gestures to where I noted the viscosity of our potion. “While it may not be flawless, it meets the required standard. Do not waste my time with unnecessary self-criticism. Perfection is a rarity, Miss Lavigné. Focus on results.”

I nod, a faint heat creeping up my neck. “Understood, Professor.”

He sets the parchment aside and fixes me with a piercing stare. “Now, let us test your theory regarding licorice.”

My stomach twists, but I keep my expression neutral. “Of course, sir.”

Snape retrieves a small, unlabeled vial from his desk, the contents a deep, inky black. “This is a compound I created myself. I would like to know if your… unique sense of smell can discern its properties. Do not taste it—simply observe.”

I hesitate for the briefest moment before stepping forward and uncorking the vial. A pungent, almost overwhelming scent wafts out, a strange mix of burnt herbs and something faintly sweet—licorice.

“It’s unstable,” I murmur, holding the vial closer. “There’s aconite in it, but it’s been over-boiled. And… wormwood?” I pause, taking another careful sniff. “No, not wormwood. Something similar but less volatile.”

Snape’s dark eyes glint with something unreadable—approval? Curiosity? “Impressive. The final ingredient is fluxweed, harvested during a full moon. Few would detect the distinction.”

I set the vial down carefully, meeting his gaze. “What is it for?”

“That is none of your concern,” he replies curtly, though there’s a faint edge of amusement in his tone. “You’ve proven your ability, Miss Lavigné. Now, use it wisely.”

I nod, assuming that’s the end of the conversation. But as I take a few steps towards the door, his voice stops me once more.

“You’re an Occlumens?”

I stop dead in my tracks, freezing. I slowly turn to face him once more. “I… sir?”

He narrows his eyes at me, studying my features. The intensity of his gaze makes me uneasy. “It’s a simple question.”

I hesitate once more. “How would you…?”

“Another natural ability? Or is this one learned?” he drawls, unblinking.

I swallow, my pulse quickening. My sessions with Narcissa flash through my mind as I look back at him. Has it become natural? I haven’t been trying to block anyone out—actually, I didn’t even notice he was trying to get in.

I keep my voice steady, though my mind races. “I… I’m not sure what you mean, Professor.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced by my response. “Don’t play games, Miss Lavigné. You’ve been shielded from me and others far too well, far too often, for it to be coincidence. Your ability is… impressive. What’s more, I suspect it’s more than just instinct. It takes practice to block others so effectively.”

I press my lips together, fighting to keep my expression neutral. My heart is pounding in my chest, but I force myself to stand tall, not wanting to show any sign of weakness. “I haven’t been blocking anyone, sir. If I had, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

Snape’s eyes flash, as if he’s not buying it. “Don’t underestimate me, Miss Lavigné. I know when someone is holding something back. And you’ve been doing it since the moment you walked into my class.”

A chill runs down my spine, but I don’t let it show. If I admit to learning occlumency, Snape would likely want to push me even further, test me in ways I’m not prepared for. But if I deny it… well, there’s a chance he’ll simply find another way to dig deeper.

I weigh my options, then finally speak, keeping my voice even. “If I were, Professor, it wouldn’t be something I’d discuss with anyone.”

Snape seems to consider this, his lips curling slightly in a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I see. But don’t think I won’t be watching, Miss Lavigné. There’s more to you than you’re willing to reveal, and I find that… fascinating.”

I don’t respond immediately, my thoughts spinning, but I nod once, acknowledging his words. “Is there anything else, Professor?”

He studies me for a long moment before dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “No. Go on, then. I trust you can handle your other tasks without further distractions.”

I nod again, turning swiftly on my heel and walking out of the dungeon with my heart still racing. I don’t know whether I’ve just made things worse for myself, but one thing is clear: Snape has taken an interest in me. And I’m not sure whether that’s a blessing or a curse.