The Pact

“You have to deal with this for a week?” Harry laughs out, clutching his sides. “Oh, this is great.”

I smack his arm. “Shut up! This is terrible. He acts like he’ll explode if he’s not waxing poetic about how amazing I am or being physically attached to me 24/7. I’m basically baby sitting,” I groan.

Hermione catches her breath, waving her hand apologetically. “Sorry, I’m sorry. Okay, I went and talked to the Slytherin girl to see what happened. She said she was messing around with spells and accidentally cast one for real. Your boyfriend just got hit with Amore Canis—a.k.a, the puppy love spell.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron muses, in a shaking heap on the floor. “Malfoy is going to be chasing you around like a puppy for the next week? This is just amazing!”

“I hate all of you,” I grumble, letting Draco play with my hair as it cascades down my back, muttering compliments under his breath.

Hermione, still giggling, clears her throat and adjusts herself. “The potion will be ready in a week, but until then, he’s completely infatuated with you—like a lovesick crup.”

I groan, tilting my head back in exasperation. “Great. Just great. As if I didn’t have enough going on.”

Draco presses a kiss to my temple, his voice dreamy. “You deserve to be worshiped. You’re like a goddess, mon amour.”

Ron wheezes. “Did he just—did he just call you mon amour?”

“Yes, and if you bring it up after this wears off, I will hex you,” I warn, shoving Draco’s face away when he tries to nuzzle my shoulder.

Hermione composes herself, biting her lip to keep from laughing again. “Well, at least he’s not hexing people for looking at you. Yet.”

“Yet,” I echo grimly, rubbing my temples. “Listen, I need a favor.”

Harry wipes his eyes, still trying to contain his laughter. “What, besides preventing you from strangling Malfoy?”

“I mean it,” I insist. “I still have Council meetings, and I can’t exactly bring this—” I gesture to Draco, who’s now tracing patterns on my arm with a dreamy look on his face. “So, I need you three to take turns babysitting him while I’m gone.”

Ron chokes. “I’m sorry, you want us to babysit Malfoy?”

Hermione sighs but nods in understanding. “You don’t want to risk anyone finding out why you’re sneaking off.”

“Exactly,” I say. “So, for the next week, you lot have to keep him entertained while I’m away. Otherwise, he’s going to notice I’m gone and either follow me or throw a tantrum.”

Harry crosses his arms, giving me a smug grin. “You do realize we could make him do whatever we want, right? He’s under a love spell.”

I narrow my eyes. “Harry. No.”

But it’s too late. Ron and Harry exchange glances, identical slow, wicked grins spreading across their faces.

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Ron says.

I am so, so doomed.

Even better, Draco has vehemently expressed that I’m not allowed to sleep separately from him or he’ll die, so now I have to explain to his snake friends why I’ll be in their common room every night.

Both luckily and unfortunately for me, the opportunity presents itself early on at the dance. Blaise, Theo and Pansy are chattering amongst themselves in a small group, tucked away in the corner.

I lace my fingers together with Draco’s, guiding him away from our plotting friends. “Come here, Dray. We have to go talk to your friends.”

He bounces along behind me, pouting. “Why? I just want to talk to you. Why do we have to deal with all these other people?”

“You’ll see,” I mutter, kissing his knuckles to make him more agreeable.

It works.

I walk up to the small group, tapping Blaise on the shoulder. “Uh… hi.”

He turns around to face me, Theo and Pansy following his lead. “Hi. Can I help you?”

I clear my throat, shifting uncomfortably under their collective gazes. “Yeah, um. I need a favor.”

Blaise raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “A favor? From us?”

Theo crosses his arms, smirking. “Well, this is new. What exactly do you need, Hufflepuff?”

Draco wraps his arms around my waist from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder. “She needs a place to sleep,” he sighs dreamily. “With me.”

Pansy lets out a sharp laugh. “I’m sorry—what?”

I wince. “Look, you guys obviously know Slytherins have private dorms, and for the next week, I need to stay with Draco—without any of you running off to tell the professors.”

Blaise blinks, processing, then slowly grins. “Let me get this straight. You—Little Miss Hufflepuff—want us to let you break school rules and stay in the Slytherin dorms because your lovesick boyfriend refuses to be apart from you?”

“Yes,” I say flatly.

Theo lets out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Merlin, he looks like he’s been hit with a love spell.”

“He has,” I mutter. “And the antidote takes a week to brew. Until then…”

Draco hums happily, playing with the ends of my hair. “She’s just so perfect. Like, look at her.”

Pansy rolls her eyes. “This is disgusting.”

I sigh. “Trust me, I know. So, are you going to help me or not?”

Blaise and Theo exchange looks, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“You know,” Blaise muses, stroking his chin, “I think we could keep quiet—”

Theo smirks. “For a price.”

I groan. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Pansy smirks. “Sorry, sweetheart. If we have to endure this nightmare of Malfoy being nice for a week, you definitely owe us.”

Draco tightens his hold on me and glares at them. “Oi! Don’t talk to her like that!” Then he gasps dramatically. “Wait! Are you bullying my angel? My darling?”

Theo bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah, mate. We’re bullying her. What are you gonna do about it?”

Draco immediately puffs up, stepping in front of me. “I’ll duel you right now, Nott. No one talks to my love that way.”

Blaise loses it, cackling. “Oh, this is fun.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I hate you.”

“Not me,” Draco chirps. “I love you.”

For Merlin’s sake.

“Fine, fine. Name your price. What do you want from me?” I ask, my tone hushed.

Blaise, Theo, and Pansy exchange mischievous looks, and I immediately regret everything.

Blaise goes first, grinning like a kneazle who’s just caught a mouse. “Alright, sweetheart. My price is simple—I want you to get me out of one essay a week for the rest of the year. Any essay. You’re smart, you’ll figure it out.”

I groan. “You want me to do your homework?”

“Oh, no,” he corrects, smirking. “I want you to make sure I don’t have to do it. Either by distracting the professor, pulling some strings, or whatever other magic you have up your sleeve. I don’t care how—just make it happen.”

I glare at him, but he only winks in response.

Theo is next, tapping his chin dramatically. “Hmm… I think I’d like something more entertaining. You, dear Hufflepuff, have to play one game of Truth or Dare with all of us—no backing out, no running away, and no skipping turns. And we get to ask anything.”

I groan even louder. “That sounds like a death sentence.”

“Oh, it will be,” Theo agrees, looking positively delighted.

I glare at him, then shift my gaze to Pansy, who is smirking like she’s saved the worst for last.

“You,” she says, “are going to owe me one favor. To be determined. No questions asked.”

I narrow my eyes. “Absolutely not.”

Pansy shrugs. “Fine, then I guess I’ll be speaking with Professor McGonagall in the morning—”

“Fine!” I snap, throwing my hands up. “Whatever. Just don’t get me killed.”

Blaise grins. “Oh, we make no promises.”

Draco, meanwhile, has been silent throughout this whole exchange, instead nuzzling against my shoulder and twirling my hair around his fingers. “Anything for my angel,” he sighs dreamily. “If you want to stay in my room forever, you can.”

Pansy makes a gagging noise, but her smirk remains. “Well, this is going to be an interesting week.”

I have never regretted anything more in my life.

~

With Valentines falling on a random Wednesday, I have to attend classes the day after with a very lovesick Draco in tow. I explain the situation to each of our professors, who don’t seem at all pleased to have to witness him stuck to me like glue, dazed off during instruction. I assure them Professor Snape is already working on a cure, but until then, I’ll pay enough attention for the both of us.

Hermione, always the clever one, teaches me a duplication spell for my notes so I can make sure Draco has some to look at when this is all over. That isn’t to say that taking the notes is easy, though.

“Dray,” I whisper during transfiguration. “I need my hand to write.”

He pouts, giving me the saddest puppy eyes he can muster as I take my hand out of his. “Notes aren’t important. You don’t need good grades or even a career. I’ll just take care of you forever.”

“That’s very sweet,” I reply softly, “but I need to pay attention. Here.”

I move his hand to my knee, giving him something else to hold. I’ve learned very quickly that trying to cut physical contact completely leaves him absolutely distraught.

When I drag him to DADA, Professor Lupin actually chuckles when I explain Draco’s condition, though he doesn’t seem particularly thrilled about it. “Love spells,” he muses. “More dangerous than they appear.”

Draco, of course, ignores him completely, choosing instead to play with my hair while I try to take notes.

“I don’t understand why you need to know all this,” he mutters petulantly, twirling a lock of my hair around his finger. “You’re already the most powerful witch I know.”

I swat his hand away gently. “Draco.”

He presses a dramatic hand to his heart. “Oh sunshine, you wound me.”

Harry, sitting next to me, gives me a look before leaning over. “I think I preferred it when he hated you.”

“Trust me, so did I.”

In charms, Professor Flitwick is just about at his wit’s end. Draco refuses to perform any spells unless they involve impressing me, which means our classwork is entirely abandoned in favor of conjuring floating hearts in the air.

“Mr. Malfoy, if you do not stop with the theatrics—” Flitwick begins, but Draco interrupts him entirely.

“Professor,” he says, completely serious. “Would you not say that love is the greatest magic of all?”

Half the class groans in exasperation.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Dray, please just do the lesson.”

“I will,” he says sweetly, “if you say you love me.”

I sigh, immediately relenting. It’s not like he’ll remember this. “I love you. Now please just—”

I don’t even get to finish before he beams like the sun and completely abandons his wand in favor of hugging me.

Flitwick groans. “Merlin help us.”

Having already heard about our little problem, when we get to herbology, Professor Sprout actually attempts to separate us—she places me on one side of the greenhouse and Draco on the other.

It lasts two minutes.

By the time we’re repotting Fanged Geraniums, Draco has miraculously made his way back to my side, holding the plant in one hand while his free one rests on the small of my back.

Neville shakes his head as he watches. “That’s actually impressive.”

Sprout sighs in defeat. “Just—try not to let the plants bite you.”

Draco kisses the top of my head. “Don’t worry, Professor. I’d never let anything harm my love.”

The moment he says that, the Fanged Geranium snaps its teeth at him, and he yelps, nearly dropping it.

I stifle a laugh. “Karma.”

By the time dinner rolls around, I am absolutely exhausted. I slump into my seat at the Great Hall, and Draco, of course, slides in beside me, staring at me like I’ve hung the stars.

“Snape is still working out the antidote,” I tell him.

He gasps. “But—why would we want to cure this?”

I give him a tired smile. “Because as much as I love this, I’d really like my normal Draco back.”

He pouts but sighs dramatically. “Fine. But I hope you know—no matter what happens, I’ll always be completely devoted to you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I laugh, nudging him playfully. “Now eat something before you pass out.”

He sighs wistfully. “Who needs food? My soul is nourished by your presence.”

On the other side of me, Hannah is trying (and failing) to hold back a laugh, listening to the once elusive Draco Malfoy go on about how much he adores me. I groan.

“Draco—”

“Don’t use my name,” he pleads. “That’s so impersonal. So dull.”

I take a breath. “Right, okay. Darling, there’s nothing that would make me happier than if you would eat something with me. Can you do that?”

Draco’s entire face lights up as though I’ve just promised him the moon. “Anything for you, mon amour.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as he finally turns his attention to his plate. But the moment I start eating, I feel his gaze return, soft and dreamy.

“You’re so beautiful when you eat,” he murmurs.

Hannah chokes on her pumpkin juice. I shoot her a glare before turning back to Draco. “Dray, please.”

He takes a dramatic bite of roasted chicken, still watching me with unrelenting devotion. It’s like dining with a besotted poet—except the poet is a lovesick Slytherin who usually spends more time sneering than sighing dreamily.

As I finish my meal, I remember I have something far more pressing to deal with tonight—a Conseil des Sorciers meeting. I glance at the time and suppress a groan. I have to get to the Room of Requirement soon, which means I need to leave Draco there with someone.

~

I lean toward Hermione. “I need you to watch him.”

Her eyes widen in horror. “Absolutely not.”

“Hermione,” I beg, “please. I just need an hour or two. Distract him, make him read something—”

“He’s not going to read in this state,” she says, exasperated.

“I can do it,” Harry offers, smirking. “I’ll just tell him all the ways he’s embarrassed himself today. That should keep him busy.”

Draco, overhearing this, glares. “I have not embarrassed myself.”

Ron snickers. “Mate, you tried to duel Professor Flitwick for telling her to focus on class.”

Draco frowns, as if the memory is slightly fuzzy. “Well… he shouldn’t have distracted my beloved.”

I groan. “Draco, please just stay with Harry and Ron for a little while. I have something important to do.”

His expression falls immediately. “You’re leaving me?”

“It’s just for a bit,” I assure him, cupping his face so he doesn’t get too dramatic. “I promise I’ll be back.”

He grips my hands tightly. “But what if I wither without you?”

“You won’t wither,” I say, trying not to laugh.

Ron claps Draco on the back. “Come on, Malfoy. Let’s play a game—every time you say something ridiculous, you have to eat a bean from Bertie Bott’s.”

Draco eyes him suspiciously. “And what does she get in return?”

“She gets peace of mind,” Hermione mutters.

Suddenly I get an idea. “You know what, Dray? How about you make a list of everything you love about me so I can keep it forever, hm? I would just be over the moon about that.”

Draco’s eyes light up like I’ve just handed him the most sacred task in existence. “A list,” he breathes, gripping my hands even tighter. “Of everything I love about you?”

I nod, giving him an encouraging smile. “Exactly. But it has to be perfect, so you should take your time with it.”

Ron snorts. “Yeah, take ages.”

Draco looks absolutely determined. “I’ll make it the greatest declaration of love ever written,” he vows. “It’ll be poetic. It’ll be immortalized. Future generations will study it and weep.”

“Brilliant,” I say quickly, stealing a glance at the clock. “You get started on that, and I’ll be back soon.”

He nods solemnly, already pulling out parchment and ink. “Don’t be gone too long, my love, or I’ll have to add an entire section about the agony of separation.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes fondly before slipping away, Hermione subtly blocking Draco’s view as I step into the emerald flames of the floo, gripping my cloak tightly around my uniform. “Conseil des Sorciers, Salle de Réunion.”

The fire whisks me away, the world spinning for only a moment before I step out into a grand hall lined with towering bookshelves and enchanted tapestries woven with centuries of wizarding history. The air is thick with the scent of parchment and candle wax, the low murmur of foreign dignitaries echoing across the chamber.

I take a steadying breath, smoothing down my robes. This meeting is important—more than Draco’s current predicament, more than anything happening at Hogwarts.

Here, I am not just a student. I am a Lavigné. I am a member of the Conseil des Sorciers. And tonight, we have much to discuss as it pertains to international and governmental relations—one of the seats I hold.

This is a larger meeting than any I’ve attended before, with officials from multiple countries and governments present to discuss the economic crises that have taken ahold of thousands of wizarding families around the globe. Dark artifacts are being smuggled at an alarming rate, and among those artifacts are galleon presses, which have somehow circumvented the magic protecting our money from being duplicated or created illegally.

I make my way through the grand hall, weaving between clusters of high-ranking officials deep in conversation. The chandeliers overhead cast a golden glow on the polished marble floors, illuminating the sigils of the Conseil des Sorciers etched into the massive doors leading into the main chamber.

Stepping inside, I am immediately struck by the sheer size of the meeting room. It is vast—large enough to hold hundreds of officials from across the globe. Towering columns stretch toward a domed ceiling enchanted to mimic the sky outside, shimmering with the faint glow of constellations. Rows of tiered seating form a crescent shape around a central podium, where tonight’s discussions will take place.

I don’t know if I’m ready for this.

I quickly spot the familiar banners of the French Conseil, their deep sapphire hues standing apart from the crimson and emerald colors of other delegations. My seat is waiting for me near the other French representatives, but before I can reach it, a flash of pale blond hair catches my eye.

Lucius Malfoy.

He is seated with the British delegation, the sigil of the Wizengamot pinned to his pristine robes. He looks entirely at ease, fingers steepled as he listens to a discussion among his peers. But then—his sharp gray eyes flick toward me.

For a moment, time slows.

He wasn’t supposed to know I was here. My parents don’t know I’m here. Yet Lucius Malfoy, one of the most powerful men in British politics, has just spotted me among the ranks of government officials, sitting in a seat that only those with authority could claim.

I expect immediate reaction—a sneer, a flick of his wand to summon my parents, a sharp word that will undo everything I’ve built. But instead, he merely tilts his head slightly, as though considering me.

My heart pounds, but I school my expression into perfect neutrality, refusing to let him see the uncertainty creeping into my thoughts. Slowly, he leans back in his chair, saying nothing, merely observing.

He isn’t outing me. Not yet.

But the knowledge that he could hangs over me like a guillotine.

Swallowing hard, I straighten my posture and move toward my seat. The discussions tonight will be crucial, and I refuse to let Lucius Malfoy’s presence rattle me. If he wants to play a game, I’ll be ready.

But I won’t make the first move.

A special place has been set for me, right between the representatives for defense and international relations. I’ve come to learn some of my fellow seat holders names, and they seem to tolerate me at the very least, which is all I can really ask for.

Monsieur Claudius LeGarde—head of the Conseil itself—stands at the podium and clears his throat before holding his wand up to his throat to amplify his voice. His presence alone silences the room, and we all watch with rapt attention.

“Before we begin, I would like to thank you all for joining us tonight. I know some of you have traveled long and far, and your presence is greatly appreciated in this time of what I can only describe as a crisis.

“Now, to start discussing the issue at hand. As of recent events, we here at the Conseil des Sorciers have been given the unique opportunity to hold a representative in two distinct sectors—Defense and International Relations. Given her unique perspective on the matter at hand, I ask that you all turn your attention to Mademoiselle Lavigné—the youngest witch to ever grace a seat on the council, and the only magical person to hold two seats at once. Miss Lavigné, you have the floor.”

I swallow thickly, taking a deep breath as I stand up to make my way down to the podium. Every pair of eyes is on me, and if I think about it for too long, I’ll panic.

I can do this. It’s just a speech.

Monsieur LeGarde steps aside, giving me the main position at the podium. I step up, putting on a mask of confidence before pressing my own wand to my throat.

“Thank you, Monsieur LeGarde. Distinguished members of wizarding governments around the world, thank you for your attention. As my superior has stated, we are indeed in a time of crisis.”

I cast a charm to turn on a projector, showing a slide with a graph that skyrockets in the middle. A visual always helps.

“The issue at hand lies with an economic disparity in the wizarding communities in every country globally. Thousands of families are struggling to make ends meet due to inflation, which is climbing steadily. More specifically, the issue at hand lies in dark artifact smuggling. The rate has increased over twenty fold in the last year, as shown on the screen. But this, alone, is not the root of our financial downfall—the real culprit is this, commonly known as a ‘galleon press.’”

I flick my wand at the projector, changing the slide to an image of a galleon press and all its pieces laid out and numbered.

I hear murmurs around the room, curious voices wondering how it works.

“This galleon press was recently confiscated from a band of dark wizards here in France. Our aurors tried to study it, but when tampered with, the machine was jinxed to quite literally fall apart, as shown. We don’t know all the inner workings of the machine itself quite yet, but here’s what we do know.”

I change the slide once more, displaying an image of a real galleon and a fake one side by side—almost indistinguishable from one another. “These ‘galleon presses’ have found a way to circumvent the magic protecting our currency from being duplicated or created by unauthorized witches and wizards. The resulting coins are nearly identical to the real ones, making it easier for the offenders to use them at local shops.

“Because there has been such an influx of money being passed around in these circles, vendors have increased their prices to reflect the market changes following increased demand. The resulting inflation has left the rest of these communities to struggle to get by, due to higher prices and more difficulty finding supplies they need to live their day to day lives.”

I cast a charm to turn the projector off, pulling everyone’s attention back to me. “We have multiple options as to how to deal with this, but many of the avenues are costly or difficult to enforce. The floor is now open to questions and proposals.”

The moment I step back, a flurry of movement follows as officials shift in their seats, murmuring amongst themselves. Some whisper urgently to their aides, while others exchange knowing glances. I brace myself as the first hand rises—a stern-faced woman from the German delegation.

“How widespread is this issue?” she asks, her voice sharp with concern. “You mentioned a single confiscated press. Do we have an estimate on how many more exist?”

I nod. “Based on reports from various law enforcement agencies, we estimate there are at least thirty confirmed presses in circulation, though the real number could be far higher. The problem is that these presses are often charmed to self-destruct upon discovery, making it difficult to trace their origins.”

A tall, dark-skinned wizard from the South African delegation leans forward. “And what of the goblins? Has Gringotts or any other goblin-run bank weighed in?”

“Not yet,” I admit, “but I propose making it mandatory for all wizarding currency to be approved by goblins before being accepted into vaults. While this will not prevent the coins from entering everyday markets, it will cut off a major avenue of financial security for those using counterfeit money. If they cannot store their wealth safely, they will be forced to rely on risky transactions.”

A few heads nod in agreement, though others look more skeptical.

A man from the Italian delegation clears his throat. “That addresses long-term security. What about immediate solutions? How do we stop these counterfeits from spreading further?”

“We can station more Aurors at high-traffic areas along country borders,” I suggest. “Many of these presses are being smuggled between nations to avoid detection. If we monitor key transport hubs—international portkeys, apparition zones, and floo checkpoints—we can disrupt the supply chain.”

Monsieur LeGarde strokes his beard thoughtfully. “And within our own borders?”

“Enforcing detection wards in shops would be another option,” I say. “We could create enchantments that identify fake coins at the point of sale, alerting vendors before they accept them. Shops could also be required to keep goblin-verified galleons on hand to compare currency.”

Another wave of murmurs ripples through the assembly. Some officials nod, others exchange wary glances. I wait, hands folded in front of me, as they process the information.

Lucius Malfoy is still watching me. He hasn’t spoken. He hasn’t so much as lifted a finger. But his gaze is unwavering, cold and calculating, taking in every word I say.

Finally, Monsieur LeGarde speaks. “All viable options. We will need to assess their feasibility and determine which course of action is best suited for each region.” He turns to the room at large. “For now, we shall take a vote on immediate action. First—how many are in favor of increased Auror presence at country borders?”

A sea of hands rises. The motion passes.

The meeting continues, discussions growing more intense as the finer details are debated. I remain at the center of it all, answering questions, defending my proposals, and refining strategies with those willing to listen.

Lucius never speaks. But his silence says more than words ever could.

Not everyone wants to stay silent, though.

A refined looking older man stands, clasping his hands together behind his back. “LeGarde, must we really discuss politics with her? She’s just a child.”

My jaw tightens, but I keep my composure. My superior opens his mouth as if to speak, but I jump in before he can.

“Ah, Mr. Wolpers, I presume?”

The man quirks an eyebrow, looking smug. “Yes.”

“While I appreciate your concern, I’ll have you know that I’ve been groomed for this my entire life. I passed the same tests as everyone else, and I am more than capable of satisfying my role here. You may have experience, but I have a deeply rooted legacy and an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and justice, not to mention a fresh perspective and the incredible opportunity to hold a seat on two different branches of this council.”

He chuckles. “Shouldn’t you be in school, girl?”

“Shouldn't your aurors be making a livable wage?” I counter. “Especially considering the amount of work flooding in for them with the crime rates under your jurisdiction tripling?”

A few quiet gasps ripple through the chamber, followed by murmurs of approval and stifled amusement. Wolpers’ smug expression falters for the briefest of moments before he schools his features once more.

LeGarde’s lips twitch, as if suppressing a smirk, but he wisely says nothing. Instead, he merely folds his hands in front of him, watching the exchange unfold.

Wolpers, regaining some of his confidence, clears his throat. “You speak boldly for someone so young.”

I tilt my head, unfazed. “And you speak dismissively for someone so threatened.”

His eyes narrow. “I am not threatened by a child.”

“Then why are you so determined to discredit me?” I ask smoothly, arching a brow. “I have presented viable solutions to a crisis affecting every nation in this room. If you take issue with my plans, by all means—debate the policies, the logistics, the implementation. But if your only argument is my age, then I’m afraid you’ll have to do better than that.”

A slow ripple of whispers breaks out from a few of the representatives, including the South African delegate who had spoken earlier. Even those who remain silent seem to regard me with more interest, perhaps reassessing their initial assumptions.

Wolpers looks displeased but wisely chooses not to respond. He sits back down with a huff, muttering something under his breath.

LeGarde finally steps in, his voice level. “Mademoiselle Lavigné has proven herself more than capable, and her role on this council is not up for debate. Now, unless there are further relevant concerns, let us proceed with the next agenda item.”

The meeting moves forward, though I can still feel Wolpers’ lingering resentment. He isn’t the first to doubt me, and he certainly won’t be the last.

But Lucius?

He watches the entire exchange in silence, his fingers steepled together, his expression unreadable.

He still hasn’t spoken.

And that unsettles me more than anything Wolpers could have said.

When the meeting adjourns, two major things have happened: we settled on a temporary solution for now—wards for fraud detection in shops and more auror presence around the borders—and Lucius dismissed himself from the rest of his colleagues to start walking in my direction.

Shit.

He gives me a smug smile, bowing his head in a show of acknowledgment. “Councilwoman. What a surprise to see you here.”

Ah, so code it is.

I nod, stepping away and out of earshot from my fellow chair members. “I can hardly say I’m surprised to see someone of your caliber here, Mr. Malfoy.”

He preens, reminding me very much of Draco, before dropping his voice. “I find it odd that your predecessors have not mentioned this little development to me.”

“How could they?” I reply, my voice just as quiet. “They don’t know.”

Something flickers in his eyes that I can’t quite name, but my stomach twists all the same.

“A bold move indeed,” he states, voice smooth as silk. “Keeping secrets from those who matter most is hardly ever beneficial.”

I glance around quickly before steeling my gaze on him once more. “Well, I must get it honestly. That is to say, I was never made aware of the… opportunities I had waiting for me here. And besides—it’s not a secret from everyone.”

He seems to catch the unspoken end of my sentence—it’s not a secret from you.

Lucius hums in amusement, tilting his head ever so slightly. “No, I suppose it isn’t.” His gaze flickers, sharp and assessing. “Though I do wonder if you understand the weight of what you’ve involved yourself in.”

I refuse to shrink beneath his scrutiny. “I understand enough.”

“Do you?” He steps closer, his tone deceptively light. “You’ve just placed yourself at the heart of international politics, directly in opposition to the very forces that seek to control such matters. And yet, you believe you can keep this hidden indefinitely?”

My pulse quickens, but I keep my expression composed. “I believe that whether my family knows or not is of no concern to you.”

Lucius chuckles, a slow, knowing sound. “On the contrary, Mademoiselle Lavigné, I believe your parents would find this most concerning indeed.”

I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to snap at him. “Are you planning to inform them?”

He studies me for a long moment, then exhales through his nose, as if mildly entertained. “No.”

I blink. “No?”

“I’m hardly in the business of doing others’ dirty work.” His voice lowers, almost conspiratorial. “Should they discover it on their own, however, I will deny all knowledge of your… extracurriculars.”

I narrow my eyes. “And why is that?”

His smirk returns, cool and calculated. “Because, councilwoman, I am rather interested to see what you make of this opportunity. You have ambition—true ambition. And ambition must be observed before it is either cultivated or crushed.”

A chill runs down my spine, though I refuse to let it show. “Then I suppose I should thank you for your… discretion.”

He dips his head, his voice turning softer, but not out of kindness. “But do be careful, my dear. The Dark Lord does not take kindly to unknown variables—especially ones with influence.”

A quiet pause.

“A seat on the Conseil des Sorciers is a dangerous thing to have when the wrong people start paying attention.”

He meets my gaze, and for a single, fleeting second, I think I see something almost akin to warning beneath his usual arrogance.

Then, just as smoothly as he appeared, Lucius steps back, offering one final nod of acknowledgment before turning on his heel and vanishing into the crowd.

I let out a shaky breath, really wishing I had some of Harry’s calming draught within reach.

It seems I’ve gained a powerful new piece on the board. But whether he’s an ally or an opponent?

That remains to be seen.

~

“Oh, thank Merlin you’re back,” Hermione groans, helping me out of the floo. “Malfoy is—”

I can’t catch the end of her sentence due to Draco quite literally flinging himself at me, wrapping his arms around me and peppering my face with kisses.

“My love, you’re back! And you were gone for hours. How I’ve missed you. I thought I was simply going to combust.”

Usually I’d push him off, but after the meeting I just endured, part of me is relieved to have him so close to me.

From behind Draco, I can hear Ron sounding traumatized. “Three rolls.”

I quirk a brow, peeking over Draco’s shoulder. “What?”

“Three rolls,” he repeats, picking up several pieces of parchment off the table. “He wrote a list of things he loves about you that was three rolls long!”

Harry wipes a hand over his face, looking exhausted. “We ran out. He even split the pages down the middle to make more space. And he covered the backs.”

I blink. “You… actually wrote a list?”

Draco, still clinging to me like a particularly affectionate cat, nods eagerly. “Of course I did, darling. How else was I supposed to cope with your absence?” He nuzzles into my neck, his voice a dramatic whisper. “It was a devastating ordeal.”

Hermione sighs, rubbing her temples. “It was devastating for us to listen to.”

Ron shudders. “He recited the whole thing. Twice.”

Draco ignores them entirely, lifting me slightly off the ground in his embrace. “But now you’re back, and I can breathe again.”

I can’t even bring myself to tease him for being so ridiculous. Not after everything. I exhale softly, letting my arms wrap around him in return, my body melting into his warmth.

It doesn’t go unnoticed.

Draco stills for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet my gaze. The lovesick haze in his eyes fades slightly, replaced by something quieter. Something understanding.

His hands, which were previously holding me so tightly, shift—gentler now. One moves to cradle the back of my head, the other pressing lightly against the small of my back, not as if he’s trying to keep me there, but as if he’s grounding me.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs, searching my face.

I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”

His expression softens, but I see the flicker of something serious in his eyes. “Don’t do that.” His thumb brushes lightly over my cheek. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

I swallow, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than I expected. “It was just… a long night.”

Draco studies me for a moment before gently taking my hand. “Come on.”

I frown. “Where?”

“My dorm.” His voice is light but firm. “You need sleep. And I refuse to let you spend another second being stressed when I could be holding you instead.”

Ron makes a face. “We definitely don’t need details—”

“Then don’t wait up,” Draco says smoothly, already steering me toward the door.

I don’t argue. I don’t even roll my eyes at his dramatics. Because, for once, I want to be somewhere safe. And right now, that place is with him.

But isnt it always?

The Slytherin dorms are quiet by the time we arrive, the common room dimly lit with green and silver hues reflecting off the dark lake outside. Draco keeps my hand in his, leading me past the empty lounge area and into his room.

The moment the door closes, he turns to me, his expression softer than I’ve ever seen it. “Come here.”

I barely have time to react before he’s tugging me into his arms again, but this time it’s different. He doesn’t smother me in kisses or monologue about his affection. Instead, he just holds me. Steady. Warm. Secure.

I close my eyes, resting my forehead against his chest.

For the first time tonight, I let myself relax.

Draco’s fingers slide through my hair, his touch slow and soothing. “You’re always carrying so much, my love,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to with me.”

My throat tightens, but I don’t respond. I just curl closer, letting the weight of exhaustion settle over me.

Draco guides us toward his bed, pulling back the covers before coaxing me to lie down. He follows, wrapping himself around me in a way that feels less like possession and more like protection.

That’s when I realize that no matter what, no matter how incapacitated he is, he’s still my Draco. He still know exactly what I need, even when I don’t. He’s basically high out of his mind right now, but that hasn’t changed a thing, really.

His lips brush against my temple. “Get some sleep, darling.”

I barely manage to whisper, “Stay?”

His arms tighten around me. “Always.”

And finally, despite the fuzziness in my head and the tension that has worked its way into my shoulder, sleep encapsulates me.