The Pact

As I round the corner to Snape’s office for our usual morning meeting, I feel a sudden chill in the air. Something feels off, but I can’t place it.

My paranoia heightens when I knock on the door and he spells it open, gesturing for me in haste.

“Come here. Quickly. We need to speak.”

I furrow my brow as I power walk up to his desk, him spelling the door locked and closed behind me. “Is everything alright, professor?”

He studies me carefully. “There’s a meeting. This weekend. Will you be attending?”

My heart sinks in my chest. I shake my head. “I don’t think so. No one has mentioned it to me yet.”

A hidden look of relief seems to wash over Snape’s face, though it only heightens my nerves more.

“Good,” he says quickly. “Let’s keep it that way.”

“Professor?”

He mulls over my wordless question, knowing exactly what I’m wondering. Why is he so worked up?

He stands up, pulls over a stool, and points to it. “Take a seat.”

I do as I’m told reflexively, trying my best not to fidget under his gaze. After a beat, he jumps right into his spiel.

“I’ve tried to avoid discussing this topic with you for obvious reasons,” he starts, taking a few steps back. “But as your mentor and the only professor in this school who knows what’s going on behind certain doors, I feel it is my duty to warn you. You must stay away from the Dark Lord as much as possible. Do you understand?”

I look back at him like he’s stupid. “I don’t particularly fancy being around him. Of course I’ll try to avoid him.”

“Save your wit for another time, Miss Lavigné,” he snaps. “Given your family’s political status I expect they will be attempting to involve you more often in these matters. You must do everything in your power to avoid it if you can.”

“I know that,” I reply, my voice laced with suspicion. “Am I missing something?”

Professor Snape leans back against his desk, a worried look on his face. “You don’t need to avoid it because he’s the Dark Lord. You need to avoid it because you’re a girl.”

As he speaks, confusion floods my thoughts. “I’m sorry professor, I’m… not following.”

He sighs, clasping his hands behind his back. “This is an uncomfortable discussion to have, but being the only one here who knows, I feel I must tell you. The Dark Lord has been wanting an heir for many years now.”

It takes a moment for the wheels to start turning, but when they do, my stomach churns. Professor Snape seems to pick up on the exact moment I start piecing things together.

“He doesn’t have many options, you see,” he continues, his voice sharp. “Bellatrix, the woman with the wild hair, was his first attempt at obtaining an heir. Fortunately for the world, she failed to carry it to term.”

Bile starts to rise up into my throat at the implication. “He wants…”

“A child. More specifically, someone to carry it.”

I can feel my blood turn to ice as Snape’s words settle over me like a suffocating weight. My hands grip the edges of the stool, knuckles going white.

“You’re young,” Snape continues, voice tight. “You come from a powerful bloodline. Your capabilities are already beyond what they should be at your age. And with Narcissa Malfoy being off-limits, you—” He exhales sharply, running a hand over his face as though the very thought disgusts him. “You might be considered.”

A sickening, involuntary shudder runs through me. My mind races, trying to find some loophole, some reason this wouldn’t make sense. Why me? I am not loyal. I am not willing.

But that doesn’t matter, does it?

I swallow thickly, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Surely my parents wouldn’t allow that.”

Snape’s dark eyes flicker with something I can’t quite read—hesitation? Uncertainty? “I don’t know,” he admits. “Your father is a pragmatic man. Your mother… I can’t say for certain where her loyalties truly lie. But it may not be up to them.”

A sharp, piercing ache blooms behind my ribs. I feel trapped. The walls of Snape’s office feel smaller, the air heavier. My breaths come quicker, shallower.

He notices. “I am telling you this because you need to be careful,” he says, his voice lowering to something almost gentle. “You must make yourself seem… undesirable for such a task. Helpless. Useless.” He spits the words like they taste foul in his mouth. “The Dark Lord has no need for weakness. If he perceives you as such, he will lose interest.”

I shake my head, my pulse roaring in my ears. “But what if he doesn’t?”

Snape’s lips press into a hard line. For the first time since I entered the room, he looks almost at a loss. “Then you must pray your family protects you.”

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste iron. I can’t rely on that. Not when I don’t even know where they truly stand.

Not when I don’t even know if they’d stop it.

I try to stand but my knees seem weak, my legs wanting to buckle under my own weight. “How am I supposed to avoid him? My parents—”

“Are being monitored closely by the Malfoys,” Snape interrupts me, something almost comforting in his tone. “Lucius has made me aware of the arrangement between you and Draco. For the sake of his future bloodline, he will do his best to prevent your presence at the meetings. But you must understand, if you are requested by the Dark Lord himself, there is almost nothing anyone can do to stop it.”

If I weren’t about to throw up or keel over, I’d have scoffed at that. Lucius protecting me just so he can have the same. An heir. A bloodline. A legacy.

It’s a disgusting thought, and yet something tells me he has other motives.

Something hot starts to creep up my throat once more. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Go,” Snape says with a flick of his wrist. “No mentoring today. I’ll see to it that you’re excused from your classes.”

I’d like to thank him for his unexpected kindness but I can’t. I grab my bag and run out of the office and to the nearest bathroom, where I barely make it to the toilet before I spill the contents of my stomach—which is mostly bile, considering I’ve yet to eat breakfast.

My head swims and sweat coats my entire body as I gag and heave, the force so violent it makes my body shake.

Voldemort wants me to… carry his child? An heir?

I hurl again at the sudden clarity of the thought. I grip the edge of the toilet desperately, trying to steady myself.

How the hell am I supposed to escape this?

Once I’ve expelled probably every last drop of acid in my stomach, I just shrink into the corner of the stall with my knees clutched to my chest.

Everything feels like too much. The lights are too bright, the hum of the pipes is too loud, the floor is too cold and I’m getting hot flashes all at once. I feel exposed. I feel dirty.

I’m only fifteen. How could anyone look at me and consider…

I shake my head, trying to erase the thought but it won’t budge. I’m drowning in my own thoughts and part of me starts to wish I could just disappear.

With my hands still shaking I send Draco a desperate message. Tap tap. Tap tap. “Meet me.”

After just a second, he replies. Tap. Tap. “Are you okay?”

I send him a new code, one we’ve just adopted. Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap. “Bring the trio.”

Tap. “Yes.”

Slowly, very slowly, I pull myself up to my feet. I need to get to the Room of Requirement. I need to get out of here where I’m suffocating. I need my friends.

I need Draco.

The walk to the room is much too long, and incredibly more difficult than normal because I just feel so weak. Every inch of me is trembling and keeping myself upright is taking a conscious effort.

When the door finally appears in front of me I check over my shoulders out of reflex, but no one is out. Everyone is in class. I don’t even know why I’m looking.

As I finally step inside everyone is already there, and Draco whips around to face me. “Hey. Why’d you want to—”

He immediately cuts himself off when I start to cry—a horrible, mangled sound that I don’t even realize is coming from my own mouth. Hearing his voice just broke every last bit of resolve in my body, opening the floodgates to the intense fear strangling my heart.

“Woah, woah, hey, what happened?” he asks in a panicked voice, immediately striding up to me and taking me in his arms. “What’s going on?”

My arms are wrapped around my own torso tightly as if I’m trying to hold myself together. I bury my face in his chest as hard as I can, pressing myself closer to him desperately.

“It-it’s… so—bad, Draco,” I choke out between sobs. “I can’t…”

I can feel him holding me tighter while simultaneously looking back at the trio, probably desperately trying to figure out what’s happening.

Draco stiffens against me, his arms locking around my trembling frame as though he can physically keep me from breaking apart. His breathing is uneven, his pulse hammering beneath my cheek. “What happened?” His voice is hoarse, frantic. “What’s so bad?”

The trio is already stepping closer, Hermione’s face etched with concern, Harry and Ron exchanging uneasy glances.

I try to answer, I really do, but the words won’t come. My throat is too tight, my thoughts too scrambled. The only thing I can do is shake my head against Draco’s chest, gripping his robes like a lifeline.

He exhales sharply and guides me toward one of the plush sofas the Room has provided, keeping an arm around me as he lowers us both down. “It’s alright,” he murmurs. “You’re okay.”

I’m not, but I nod anyway.

The trio watches in tense silence, their gazes darting between Draco and me, waiting for some kind of explanation.

Draco rubs slow, grounding circles into my back before turning to them. “Someone tell me what the hell is going on.”

“We don’t know,” Hermione admits, her brows furrowing. “You just asked for us to come.”

Draco looks down at me again, his expression twisting with frustration at my continued silence. He knows I’m not like this—I don’t break down, I don’t cry in front of people. Whatever has happened must be serious.

He tilts my chin up with gentle fingers, his steel-gray eyes locking onto mine. “Did someone hurt you?” His voice is barely above a whisper now, but the deadly edge in it is unmistakable.

A sob catches in my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut. “No,” I rasp. “Not yet.”

His whole body goes rigid. “Not yet?”

Harry takes a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides. “What does that mean?”

I suck in a shuddering breath, my nails digging into my arms as I struggle to find the right words. But there aren’t any. Nothing can make this sound less horrifying than it is.

“Voldemort,” I whisper. The name alone feels like poison on my tongue. “He… wants an heir.”

Silence.

For a moment, all I can hear is my own heartbeat, thrumming wildly in my ears. Then—

“What?” Draco’s voice is like ice.

I force myself to continue, even as my stomach twists violently. “Snape just told me. He said… he said that the Dark Lord has been looking for someone to carry his child. That I might be considered.”

Hermione gasps, a hand flying to her mouth. Ron looks seconds away from being sick. Harry’s expression hardens into something cold, dangerous.

Draco, however, does not move.

He does not speak.

He just stares at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, his grip on me tightening with each passing second.

And then, in the quietest, most venomous voice I’ve ever heard from him, he says, “Over my dead body.”

The fury in his chest ignites in my own, sending a shiver down my spine. In all the time I’ve shared this bond with Draco, I’ve never felt something so red hot and yet icy cold at the same time from him.

I can feel my breathing going erratic, every last ounce of control I had over it gone. Admitting it out loud made it real.

“Breathe,” Hermione says frantically, trying to be comforting. “Just try to breathe.”

“You’re working yourself into a panic attack,” Harry adds urgently, pulling a small vial out of his robes and holding it out in my direction. “Here, drink this.”

I shake my head, one hand on my own chest and the other a death grip on Draco’s robes.

Draco grabs the vial. “What is—”

“Calming draught,” Harry interjects quickly. “She needs it more than I do.”

Draco doesn’t hesitate. He uncaps the vial with one hand while keeping the other firmly on my waist, grounding me. “Drink,” he orders, pressing the rim to my lips.

I shake my head weakly, my entire body trembling. “I—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he insists, voice softer but no less firm. “Just a sip. Please.”

His please is what does it. I part my lips just enough for him to tip the potion in, the cool liquid sliding down my throat. Almost immediately, the tight band around my chest begins to loosen. My heart is still hammering, but I can breathe again.

Draco exhales as I sag against him, my grip on his robes still tight but no longer desperate. He tilts his head down so that his lips brush the shell of my ear. “Good,” he murmurs. “That’s good.”

Hermione kneels beside me, her eyes searching mine. “Do you need more?”

I shake my head. Any more and I’ll be too numb to think, and I can’t afford that. Not now.

Draco keeps an arm wrapped around me, his entire body wound tight with tension. “This isn’t happening,” he mutters, his grip on me almost bruising. “I won’t let it.”

“Draco,” Harry says cautiously.

“No,” he snaps, his voice a deadly growl. “I mean it. Over my dead body. I don’t care what it takes—I’ll burn the whole world down before I let him touch her.”

The sheer violence in his voice makes the room go silent. Hermione and Ron exchange nervous glances, but Harry meets Draco’s fury head-on.

“We won’t let it happen,” Harry says, his voice resolute. “We’ll find a way to keep her safe.”

Draco glares at him, but for once, he doesn’t argue.

I finally lift my head, exhaustion weighing me down. “How?” My voice is hoarse, raw from crying. “If he demands me, there’s nothing anyone can do.”

Draco’s jaw tightens. “That’s not true.”

I look at him, and for the first time, something flickers in his eyes beyond rage—something calculating. Something desperate.

Harry, ever perceptive, narrows his eyes. “You have a plan.”

Draco doesn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he slowly shifts his grip on me, fingers curling slightly as though bracing himself for something.

“How soon can we get to the French Conseil?” he asks, looking at me as if asking permission.

I suck in a breath. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to figure that out yet.”

“What are you thinking, Malfoy?” Ron asks, his eyes narrowed in thought.

Draco caps the vial in his hand once more, handing it back to Harry. “We need help. As much of it as we can get. Especially if we can make connections with the ministry, or even the French government. We’re going to take him down from the inside.”

A brief silence takes hold, though Harry breaks it quickly. “And by take him down you mean…?”

“Kill him,” Draco says sharply. “We’re going to kill Voldemort.”

The weight of his words settles over the room like a thunderclap.

Hermione visibly pales. Ron’s face slackens in stunned disbelief. Even Harry, who has spent years preparing for the inevitable showdown with Voldemort, looks taken aback by the sheer finality in Draco’s voice.

But Draco doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t waver. His grip on me tightens as if grounding himself in his own decision. “What? Did you think we were going to negotiate with him?” he sneers. “Talk him down? Avoid him forever? We all know that’s not an option. Sooner or later, he’ll come for her. And when that day comes, I want us to be ready.”

“Malfoy, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” Hermione asks, voice hushed but urgent. “You’re talking about assassinating the most powerful Dark wizard in existence.”

Draco levels her with an unreadable stare. “And?”

Ron lets out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “Bloody hell.”

“This isn’t just about me,” I say, my voice steadier now despite the storm still raging in my chest. “Even if I weren’t in danger, Voldemort has to be stopped. He’ll never stop killing or destroying families. He won’t stop until he rules over everything.”

Harry, at last, straightens to his full height, something shifting in his expression. The hesitation fades. The fear dissolves. In its place, there is steel. Determination.

“You’re right,” he says quietly, looking between me and Draco. “It’s time we stop waiting for him to make the next move. We need to start making our own.”

Draco inclines his head, a silent understanding passing between them.

“Alright,” Hermione sighs, rubbing her temples before setting her shoulders. “Then let’s figure out what we need. Y/n, you have ties to the Conseil des Sorciers. We need to leverage that.”

“I just found out about my connection to them—I don’t even know how to claim my position yet,” I admit. “But I’ll figure it out.”

Draco nods. “Good. Because if we can gain their trust, we’ll have access to their resources. Legal channels. Intelligence networks. Protection.”

“Yeah, well, the British Ministry sure as hell won’t back us,” Ron mutters. “Half of them are already compromised.”

“Which is why we start elsewhere,” Harry says. “The Order, Dumbledore, the Conseil—we build a network, people who are willing to fight back, and when we’re ready…” He exhales. “We end this.”

A long silence stretches between us.

I clear my throat, my voice still wavering. “No.”

They all look at me as if I’ve gone insane. “No?” Harry questions.

“I’m not putting you all in harms way for me,” I say softly, shifting in Draco’s arms. “I can’t. Magic wise, I’m safe. Draco and I can’t be touched.”

Hermione grimaces. “There are worse things than curses.”

I wince at the implication, but I press on. “I don’t care. I’ve dragged you all into my mess long enough. I’ll handle it from here.”

“Absolutely not,” Draco replies, his voice sharp. “You’re not doing this on your own.”

I look up at him, exhausted, but with a trace of defiance. “You can’t stop me.”

“Like hell I can’t!” he exclaims, furrowing his brow at me. “You think I’ll just let you waltz into the line of fire by yourself because you think you’re invincible?”

“You don’t get to let me do anything. I don’t need your permission,” I shoot back, my voice quiet but firm. “No one is getting hurt for me.”

Draco’s grip on me tightens, his jaw clenching so hard I can practically hear his teeth grind. His entire body is tense, a storm of emotions barely contained beneath his pale skin.

“That’s not your decision to make,” he says, voice low and dangerous.

“Actually, it is,” I counter, lifting my chin despite the tremble in my limbs. “This is my life. My fight. And I won’t let any of you—” my gaze sweeps across the trio “—get killed because of me.”

“Then what, Y/n?” Hermione cuts in, crossing her arms. “You just… run? Hide? Let Voldemort come for you whenever he pleases?”

I swallow hard. “I’ll figure something out.”

“That’s not a plan,” Harry says sharply, his green eyes burning into mine. “That’s a death wish.”

Ron shakes his head, exhaling through his nose. “Bloody hell, you sound like Harry.”

Harry pointedly ignores him, stepping closer. “We’re already in danger, Y/n. Even if you weren’t involved, Voldemort would still be after me. He’d still be after anyone who stands in his way. And after what you did at Malfoy Manor, you’re already on his radar. This isn’t just about you anymore. It never was.”

I open my mouth to argue, but it fizzles out on my tongue when I fully process Harry’s words.

What you did at Malfoy Manor.

Panic splays itself over my face. How does he know about that? I haven’t told any of them. Only Aurélien and Draco know.

“How did you…?” I trail off, my throat tight.

Harry clenches his jaw, looking away for a moment. Draco does the same, and I know exactly how he knows.

“Draco?”

He turns to face me, looking guilty. My heart sinks and I stand up, stumbling backwards. “Did… did you tell them?”

Hermione makes her way over to me, placing a hand in my shoulder. “He had to, Y/n. We need to know these things.”

I pull away from her touch in horror, still looking at Draco.

“We, erm… we don’t think any differently of you,” Ron mutters out, though the inflection in his voice clearly means he does. “You had to. Besides, he said you were messed up for days afterwards. We know you didn’t want to.”

Draco stands, trying to reach out but I pull away. “It’s not like that. I had to—”

“How could you?” I ask desperately, something between anger and betrayal swirling around in my chest. “You know how fucked up I was after that. And you just went around telling everyone?”

Draco’s face twists, his expression a mix of frustration and something else—something dangerously close to regret. “I had to tell them, Y/n,” he says, voice low, urgent. “You’re not thinking clearly right now—”

“Don’t,” I snap, stepping further away. My hands are shaking, but I clench them into fists at my sides. “Don’t talk to me like I’m some fragile thing you need to manage.”

Draco exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I wasn’t trying to manage you. I was trying to protect you—”

“By telling them?” My voice cracks, and I hate it, hate how raw and exposed I feel. “That wasn’t your choice to make, Draco. That was mine.”

He flinches. A real, physical reaction, like I struck him. And for a second, I almost feel bad. Almost.

But then Ron shifts uncomfortably, looking between us like he wants to be anywhere else, and it only makes the suffocating feeling worse.

Harry steps in again, more cautious this time. “Y/n, we’re on your side. He only told us because—”

“I know why he did it,” I cut him off, my voice dangerously quiet. “That doesn’t make it right.”

The words hang between us, heavy and unshakable.

Draco looks at me, his silver eyes pleading. “I didn’t tell them to hurt you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, my vision blurring. “You still did.”

Silence. No one speaks. No one moves.

I shake my head, my arms wrapping around myself like it’ll somehow hold me together. “I—I need air,” I mutter, grabbing my bag off the floor. “I’m going to the Conseil by myself. None of you can stop me.”

Draco steps forward. “Wait—”

But I’m already gone.

~

The next few days pass in a blur of avoidance. I don’t go to class—not that I’d have to, with Snape excusing me. I don’t go to meals, either. Instead, I stay curled up in my dorm, buried beneath layers of blankets, drowning in my thoughts.

Every now and then, I hear them outside my door. First Hermione, knocking gently, her voice soft and coaxing. Then Harry, a little more firm, telling me I don’t have to do this alone. Even Ron, though his attempts are more awkward, standing outside my door and muttering something about how I can’t just hide forever.

But I do. I hide from all of them.

I don’t even know how they got into the Hufflepuff dorms, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion it has something to do with Harry’s invisibility cloak.

I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to listen to their explanations or justifications. Because at the end of the day, Draco still told them. He took my worst moment and handed it over like it was his to give.

And Draco—he doesn’t knock. He doesn’t call out my name like the others do. But I feel him. I know he’s been here, lingering outside my door in the quiet moments between their visits.

I know because every so often, the pain of betrayal swells inside me like a fresh wound reopening. And I know because, despite everything, something inside me still aches to open the door and let him in.

But I don’t.

Instead, I keep the door shut and let the silence stretch on.

Occasionally, I’ll hear Hannah shooing them away, telling them to give me space. She’ll come in with snacks and meals that go untouched, and she looks increasingly worried with every passing day.

On day four, she wakes up with the twins and nudges me as usual. “Hey, even if you don’t go to class, will you at least come eat with us?” she asks gently, her voice tinged with worry.

“I’m not hungry,” I reply softly, avoiding her eyes.

The truth is, I am hungry. But I’m certain if I try to eat anything right now, I won’t be able to keep it down anyway. I’d rather not eat than taste something twice.

She sighs, sitting on the edge of my bed. “You’re really worrying me. The trio, too. Even Draco keeps begging me to let him in to come check on you.”

I tense at his name, my grip tightening around the edge of my blanket. “I don’t want to see him,” I murmur, staring at the wall.

Hannah exhales, like she was expecting that answer but was hoping for a different one. “I know,” she says. “But I also know you. And I know that shutting yourself away isn’t going to make this any easier.”

I don’t respond. What’s there to say? I know she’s right, but knowing that doesn’t make it any easier to step outside this room, to face them—him.

Hannah just sighs, standing up. “Okay. I won’t push you. Just… please. Think about it.”

I nod halfheartedly and she leaves the room with the twins in tow, leaving me alone once again.

Time passes slowly when you’re alone with nothing to do. I try to read or even write about it in my journal, but all I can do is stare at the blank page. How am I supposed to put this into words?

Finally, after maybe two hours, I settle on doing something at least semi-productive.

I trudge to the bathroom, turning on the water in the shower. As I wait for it to heat up, I pick out some new, clean pajamas to wear.

If I’m going to be stuck in bed, I may as well be comfortable, I suppose.

The hot water does little to ease the tension in my shoulders, but washing away all the sweat and tears is at least mildly relieving. I sit under the stream for a long while, just trying not to think about how much I hate my life right now.

Of course, that only makes me think about it more.

When I hop out, I put on my new set of pajamas and pad to my dorm, tucking myself under the covers once more.

Sometime before dinner, I hear a knock and a very apologetic Hannah walks in.

“Hey, you showered,” she says cheerily. “That’s a good sign.”

I shrug. “I was just bored, mostly.”

Hannah deflates a little at my sullen tone, and for a moment, I think she’s about to leave. But instead, she says, “I, um… I wrote to someone.”

I frown, looking up at her. “What?”

She bites her lip, looking nervous now. “I wrote to Aurélien.”

My stomach flips. “You what?”

“You weren’t talking to anyone, and I was worried, and—” she gestures toward the door, just as it swings open.

And standing in the doorway, looking breathless and frantic like he got here in a single heartbeat, is Aurélien.

For a second, all I can do is stare. His hair is windswept, curls even messier than usual, his uniform slightly askew, like he barely stopped to fix himself before barging in. His brown eyes lock onto mine instantly, and the moment he sees me—really sees me—his entire face twists with concern.

“Ma chérie…” His voice is soft, but there’s something heavy in it, something raw. He crosses the room in an instant, dropping onto the bed beside me without hesitation. His hands find my face, tilting it up so he can study me properly.

My throat tightens. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

His lips twitch, something between amusement and exasperation. “Like that was ever going to stop me.”

The warmth in his voice, the familiar teasing lilt, the way his fingers are impossibly gentle against my skin—it’s enough to break something inside me. Before I know it, I’m collapsing against him, my hands falling on his chest as I squeeze my eyes shut.

“I’m so tired,” I whisper.

“I know, mon amour,” he murmurs, wrapping me up in his arms. “I’m here.”

Hannah gives us a nod and leaves the room silently, shutting the door behind her with a click to give us some privacy.

What did I ever do to deserve her?

Aury starts to run his hands through my hair, a comforting gesture that’s so familiar to me it instantly settles my nerves. He kisses the top of my head before speaking. “Now, what’s this I hear about a fight with your friends?”

I sigh. “It’s Draco.”

His jaw tightens but he doesn’t raise his voice. “I could’ve guessed that. What did he do now?”

The distrust in his voice irks me despite how upset I am at Draco, but I don’t say anything to that effect. “He… he told them. About it. What I had to do over break.”

Aurélien tenses, his heartbeat quickening. “And you feel betrayed?”

“It wasn’t his story to share,” I reply, though I’m too weak for any real bite to shine behind my words. “That’s not even the worst part about what happened that day.”

He hums in response, offering me space to tell him in my own time. I swallow, trying to steady myself.

A long few minutes pass before I can get enough of a grip on my emotions to spit it out. “Voldemort. He wants a child. And he needs someone to carry it.”

He freezes, his grip on me tight and protective. I don’t have to finish the explanation for him to figure out what that means for me. His arms, once gentle and reassuring, become iron bands around me, his breath sharp and unsteady against my hair.

“He what?” His voice is low, deadly in a way I’ve never heard before.

I press my face further into his chest, barely able to repeat it. “He wants an heir. A bloodline to carry on his legacy. And because of… because of what I am, because of my family—” My breath shudders, the words feeling vile on my tongue. “He might think I’m the perfect candidate.”

Aurélien swears under his breath, a vicious sound. One of his hands leaves my hair and clenches into a fist against the blankets. I can feel the tension rolling off of him in waves, the way his entire body is thrumming with barely contained rage.

“He will never touch you,” he growls, his accent thicker, rougher. “Over my dead body.”

I almost laugh because that’s exactly what Draco said.

I close my eyes, exhaustion pressing into me from all sides. “That’s what everyone keeps saying,” I whisper. “But what if it’s not up to us?”

He pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at me, his green eyes burning with something fierce, something desperate. “Non. You listen to me, Y/n. I don’t care what kind of power he thinks he has. You are not his to take. You are not some pawn in his twisted game.”

A lump forms in my throat, and I swallow it down. “You don’t get it. It’s already happening. The Malfoys—my parents—everyone is already maneuvering around it like it’s inevitable.”

“I don’t care,” he says flatly. “We will not let this happen.”

“We?”

He cups my face again, his fingers pressing against my jaw, grounding me. “Harry. Hermione. Ron. Me. Even the ferret, as much as I hate to say it. We are not letting them dictate your future. You hear me?”

I want to believe him. I really do. But I also know the kind of people we’re up against.

Aurélien seems to sense my hesitation because his expression softens just a fraction. “And if none of that convinces you… then I’ll put it simply.” He leans in slightly, his forehead almost resting against mine. “I would destroy every last one of them before I let them take you.”

My breath catches. He’s never spoken like this before.

I don’t know what to say, so I just close my eyes, pressing closer to him. His grip tightens around me again, fierce, protective.

Despite his bone crushing grip on me, for the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe.

There are a million things I want to say to him, a million questions to ask and Merlin knows how many apologies. But all I can manage is a small, “Okay.”

That seems to be plenty enough for him, and his hands, warm and reassuring, trace patterns on my back to calm me. His fingers trail down my spine and he presses his cheek to my head.

“You feel thinner, mon étoile. Have you eaten?”

I shake my head, feeling suddenly guilty. “I haven’t been able to. I’m afraid I’ll just throw it back up.”

Aurélien sighs, and though I can’t see his face, I know exactly the expression he’s making—lips pressed together, brows furrowed in frustration and worry.

“Well, that simply won’t do,” he mutters. “You need food. You will eat something.”

I groan, burying my face into his shoulder. “Aury…”

“No. Don’t ‘Aury’ me,” he chides gently, pulling back just enough to meet my eyes. His fingers tip my chin up. “You’ll eat. Even if I have to spoon-feed you myself in front of the entire Great Hall.”

My nose scrunches. “You wouldn’t.”

His lips twitch. “Try me.”

I sigh in defeat, rolling my eyes. “Fine.”

Aurélien grins, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead before standing. He extends a hand. “Then let’s go.”

I hesitate, glancing toward the door. “What if they’re there?”

“They probably will be,” he answers honestly. “But you don’t have to talk to them. You only need to eat. And I will be right there the whole time.”

I chew on my lip, weighing my options, but his warm green eyes hold no room for argument.

When I stand up I throw on my uniform, not bothering with the tie or making it look neat. I just refuse to go down in my pajamas.

I take his hand.

The moment we step into the Great Hall, conversation dies down. Heads turn, eyes widen, and the entire room seems to hold its breath at the sight of Aurélien casually strolling in beside me, his hand still loosely wrapped around mine. 

Whispers start almost instantly. I catch pieces of them as we walk toward the Hufflepuff table. 

“Who is that?” 

“He’s French?” 

“Wait, isn’t that Aurélien Bordeau? From Beauxbatons?” 

“What’s he doing here?” 

At the Gryffindor table, I can feel the trio’s eyes on me, their shocked and worried gazes burning holes into my back. 

Draco, from where he sits with the Slytherins, has gone completely rigid, his silverware clutched tightly in his hands. I can feel his jealousy and frustration building, but overwhelmingly he’s still just worried about me.

I keep my eyes fixed straight ahead. 

Aurélien, ever the performer, smirks at the attention, giving a playful wave to the gawking students. “Bonjour, mes amis,” he says smoothly, the charm practically dripping from his voice. “Lovely evening, no?” 

A few girls giggle. Some of the boys roll their eyes. 

Diana, Alice and the others look stunned as we slide into our seats. 

“How did you get in here?” Ernie finally asks, blinking rapidly. 

Aurélien shrugs, reaching for a plate. “Dumbledore let me in. It was an emergency.” 

Hannah bites her lip, sneaking me a glance, but I focus on the food in front of me instead. 

I pick up my fork, and despite the stares, despite the tension pressing in from all sides—I take a bite.

It’s good, of course. Really good. But I make sure to eat slowly, methodically, so as not to upset my stomach after days of nothing entering my system. I catch Professor Snape’s eye from the front of the hall, and he simply gives me a sharp nod, as if he was expecting this.

Hannah, who’s next to me as always, gives me a soft smile and leans towards me. “I’m proud of you. I know you’ve been going through it.”

I give her hand a squeeze on top of the table, silently thanking her for bringing Aurélien to me. She receives my wordless message, eating happily.

Aurélien nudges my shoulder with his own, his tone light but his eyes sharp with quiet scrutiny. “See? Not so bad, hmm?”

I swallow my bite and roll my eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you adore me.” He grins, spearing a roasted potato from my plate like he belongs here.

I huff a laugh, but the sound dies in my throat when I glance toward the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are all watching me, their expressions varying degrees of guilt, relief, and uncertainty.

And further down the hall, at the Slytherin table, Draco hasn’t touched his food. He’s staring at Aurélien and me, jaw tight, hands curled into fists.

I look away, my appetite waning.

Aurélien notices. He follows my gaze and exhales through his nose before leaning in just slightly. His voice is quiet, meant only for me. “Ignore them. Tonight, you eat. You breathe. The rest can wait.”

I nod, forcing myself to take another bite.

The whispers continue, but I tune them out, focusing only on the warmth of the food, the steady presence of Hannah beside me, and the weight of Aurélien’s unwavering support.

For a fleeting moment, I feel just a little bit like myself again.

Once I clear my plate, Hannah sets a cookie down in front of me. She doesn’t even give me a chance to protest. “I know your weaknesses. Go on, you could use a pick-me-up.”

I shake my head playfully at her, taking a bite. The sweetness is a welcome addition to my meal, and I pretend not to see Hannah and Aury fist bumping behind my back.

I can’t help but to look over my shoulder at Draco. He’s staring at me helplessly, his expression a mix of jealousy and concern. The trio are equally as worried, though mostly, they just seem anxious. Like they’re waiting for me to explode or crumble. Maybe both.

Aury quirks an eyebrow at me and I just sigh. “I have to talk to them, don’t I?”

Aurélien tilts his head, considering. “Eventually, yes. But not tonight. Tonight, you just exist.”

I exhale, tension leaving my shoulders. “Good.”

Hannah beams. “I second that. No serious talks, no stress, just dessert and maybe a good night’s sleep.”

I take another bite of the cookie, savoring the way the sugar melts on my tongue. But I can still feel Draco’s gaze burning into me, and the trio’s anxious glances aren’t much better.

They want to talk. They want to fix this.

But I’m not ready.

So instead of meeting their eyes, I turn back to Aurélien and let him distract me with stories of Beauxbatons—of dramatic duels between lovesick students, of a professor who insists on using a talking peacock as an assistant, of his latest misadventures sneaking past curfew.

He’s good at this—pulling me out of my own head, making me feel lighter when the weight of everything threatens to crush me.

That’s why I’ve always loved him. He’s more than a best friend. He’s my anchor, my protector, and he never judges me. In the high class world I grew up in, that was perhaps the most important part.

Aury and Hannah fussed over me as I got ready for bed, making sure my sheets were fresh and my pillows were fluffed. Hannah brushed my hair for me while Aurélien and I gossiped about my old classmates, and he made sure I was comfortable before he had to head down to Dumbledore’s office at the end of the night.

“Thank you,” I say softly, smiling up at him. “You’re a miracle worker.”

He chuckles lightly, brushing his lips over my forehead. “Anytime, mon soleil. Anything for you.”

With that, he closes the door, leaving me and my roommates to settle in for the night. When no one is looking, I take a sip of the dreamless sleep potion I made with Snape.

Hannah turns out the light and tells me goodnight, but I’m already half-asleep.