The Pact

“This is so not good,” I mutter, head in my hands.

The trio look worried for me. Hermione taps my back sympathetically. “We’ll figure something out.”

“How?” I groan, exasperated. “Our parents want us at the manor this weekend. I can’t take Draco in this state.”

As if proving my point, Draco floos dramatically down into my lap, lazily playing with my hands. “You’re so beautiful, my love. Have I told you that?”

“Yes, about three times a minute,” Ron groans.

I put the letter from my parents away, wishing I could just ignore its contents. “Do you think Lucius told them about me taking the seats?”

Harry furrows his brow, considering. “Honestly, I feel like if he had, they would be freaking out by now. For whatever reason, I think he stuck to his word.”

I hum in agreement, looking down at the lovesick boy in my lap. “Draco?”

“Not Draco,” he pouts.

I sigh. “Sorry, darling?”

He beams up at me. “Yes?”

“Are you willing to do absolutely anything for me? Even if it’s hard?”

Draco looks wistfully at my hands, still playing with my fingers. “I’d walk through fiendfyre for you if you asked, my sweet angel.”

Harry and Ron make gagging noises and Hermione stifles a laugh as I roll my eyes affectionately. As much as this situation is tricky, he really can be quite endearing.

I run a hand through his soft blond hair to placate his need for touch to make sure he pays attention to me instead of my hands. “Well, our parents want to see us at the manor this weekend. And I need you to pretend not to be obsessed with me.”

“What?” He asks, almost as if I’ve betrayed him. “You mean—”

“No nicknames, no longing stares, no going on about how much you love me, no holding on to me all the time, nothing.”

Draco sighs pitifully. “But I’ll simply die. Is that what you want? You want me to die?”

I raise a brow. “Dramatic much?”

He clutches his chest as if physically wounded. “Only for you, my love.”

“See, that’s what I’m talking about,” I say, gently flicking his forehead. “You have to tone it down, or we’re both doomed. My parents will absolutely notice if you start reciting sonnets at dinner.”

Draco groans, burying his face in my lap. “But why must I hide my love for you, my starlight? I want to shout it from the tallest tower, tell everyone how utterly radiant you are!”

Harry coughs. “Yeah, they’re definitely going to notice that.”

“Draco,” Hermione says patiently, “you just need to act normal for a weekend. Normal. Think about it like… pretending to be your usual aloof self. You’ve done it for years, so it shouldn’t be that hard.”

Draco perks up slightly, his eyes narrowing in thought. “Pretend to be my cold, indifferent self again? Like I don’t care about anything?”

“Exactly!” Hermione nods encouragingly.

“Like the brooding prince of Slytherin?” he continues.

“Yes!”

Draco sits up, smoothing his hair with newfound determination. “I’ll do it. For you, my goddess among mortals.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And no calling me your goddess.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine. But you owe me for this—something big. Perhaps a kiss under the moonlight?”

“Perhaps not,” I reply, giving him a warning look. “Now, can we trust you to behave, or should we start drafting our wills?”

He gives me a mischievous smile. “You wound me, but I’ll be the perfect picture of restraint. Cool, calm, collected. Our parents will never know how completely besotted I am.”

Ron snorts. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

“You’re not wrong,” Harry mutters.

I glance at Draco one last time, making sure he understands how serious this is. “Remember, we just need to survive one day. One. And no love-struck antics. Got it?”

Draco winks. “Got it. I’m a Malfoy, after all. Deception is in my blood.”

“Somehow, that’s not as comforting as you think it is,” I say with a sigh, already dreading what’s to come.

If this isn’t enough, I don’t even know why our parents want to see us. It could be anything from an informal dinner to a death eater meeting to a gala.

Only one way to find out, right?

~

“Etiquette classes?”

My mother sighs and my father just shrugs. “Lucius wanted you two to brush up on them.”

“Is that a problem?” My mother eyes me sharply, as if daring me to defy her.

I shake my head, silently willing Draco to stop looking at my mother like he’s going to hex her for raising her voice at me.

“Not at all,” I say quickly, shooting Draco a subtle warning glance. “We’d be happy to brush up. Right, Draco?”

Draco blinks, clearly thrown by my sudden shift in tone. His hand twitches like he wants to grab mine, but he remembers himself just in time and instead clasps his hands behind his back. “Of course. It’s always a pleasure to… refine one’s skills.” His usual confidence wavers just enough to make Lucius narrow his eyes.

“Quite,” Lucius says, leaning back in his chair. His sharp gaze flickers between the two of us, studying every twitch and breath like a predator circling its prey. “I thought you might benefit from a refresher, given your recent… interest in diplomacy, son.”

My pulse spikes. This isn’t for Draco at all. It’s for me.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, Father,” Draco replies, his usual drawl returning, though there’s a slight tightness in his jaw. “We’ll make sure to give it our full attention.”

“See that you do,” Lucius says, folding his hands in front of him. His eyes remain on me for a second longer than necessary before returning to Draco. “You’ve been rather… off balance today, Draco. Something on your mind?”

Draco straightens, putting on a carefully constructed mask of indifference. “Nothing at all, Father. Just tired from the trip.”

“Is that so?” Lucius hums, unconvinced. “Strange. You’re usually far more composed. Almost like you’ve taken a dose of something peculiar.”

My breath catches in my throat. He knows something’s wrong.

“Perhaps it’s just the excitement of being home,” Narcissa interjects, her voice calm but pointed as she shoots her husband a warning glance. “It’s been a busy term for both of them.”

Lucius pauses, then nods slowly. “Of course. I suppose even the best of us can have an off day.”

The tension in the room is suffocating, and I grip the sides of my chair to keep from fidgeting.

“Say,” Lucius starts, leaning towards his son, “your eyes. They look… violet.”

I swallow a lump in my throat as all the adults turn to inspect Draco’s eyes. “Must be the lighting.”

Narcissa cocks her head. “They do look a bit different.”

“Really?” I ask, feigning curiosity. “How odd. Draco, look at me.”

The blond boy does as he’s told immediately, looking into my eyes like he’s trying not to get lost in them. I subtly wave my fingers at my waistline, out of sight of our parents, placing a light glamor charm to make them their signature grey-blue again. Draco blinks, feeling the magic sparkle as I clear my throat. “I don’t think so. They look normal to me.”

Lucius, fully standing now, grabs Draco’s shoulder and whips him around to face him before furrowing his brow in confusion. “How odd.”

I shrug my shoulders, as if agreeing with him. He seems suspicious but backs off nonetheless. “Well, you two should be off now.”

“I agree,” Narcissa hums, gracefully joining us at our sides. “No time like the present.”

“Indeed,” Lucius replies, his eyes still lingering on Draco for a fraction of a second longer than they should. “I’ll expect a full report of your progress.”

As we follow Narcissa out of the room, Draco exhales quietly, his shoulders relaxing a fraction.

“That was too close,” I whisper, barely moving my lips.

“You don’t say,” Draco mutters, running a hand through his hair. “If he asks me one more question, I might combust.”

I snort despite myself. “Let’s avoid that if we can.”

“You are so enchanting,” he adds with a shy grin, unable to help himself.

“Draco—”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “Pretend Draco it is. But if I survive these etiquette lessons without making a complete fool of myself, you owe me.”

“Owe you what?” I ask suspiciously.

“A dance,” he says, smirking. “At the next ball. A proper one. No interruptions, no distractions.”

I smile despite the butterflies in my chest. “Deal.”

We follow Narcissa the rest of the way to one of the spare drawing rooms, sitting side by side. I can tell Draco is restraining himself from reaching out to grab my hand or nuzzle into my hair, and a pang of guilt goes through my chest despite the circumstance. I hate that I can’t give him what he wants, potion laced or not. He always does everything for me.

Narcissa glides to the front of the room, her hands clasped in front of her, surveying us with a critical but patient gaze. “Now, let’s begin with posture,” she instructs, her tone even but firm. “Draco, sit up properly. Shoulders back.”

Draco obeys, but his eyes flick to me, and I can tell he’s barely paying attention. Instead, he’s watching the way my fingers rest delicately on my lap, as if transfixed. I shift slightly, and his expression flickers—like he’s fighting the urge to reach out.

“Draco,” Narcissa’s voice snaps him back to reality. “Your attention should be on me, not Y/n.”

His ears turn pink. “Right. Of course. My deepest apologies, Mother.”

She eyes him carefully, but if she finds his behavior strange, she doesn’t comment. Instead, she moves on, guiding us through the basics of formal sitting, standing, and hand placement. Draco manages well enough, though every so often, he casts me a look—like he’s struggling to focus on anything other than me.

When it comes time for table etiquette, Narcissa instructs us to set an elaborate tea service. As I reach for a delicate porcelain teacup, Draco’s fingers brush mine. I freeze. His gaze softens instantly, and he looks at me as if I’ve just handed him the stars.

Narcissa, fixing the placement of a spoon, doesn’t notice. But I do.

“You’re radiant,” he murmurs under his breath, so quiet that I almost don’t catch it.

I jerk my hand back as if burned. “Draco.”

He blinks, as if he hadn’t realized he said it aloud. Then he clears his throat, forcing a smirk onto his face. “I meant to say, you have excellent form with the teacup.”

Narcissa’s head tilts slightly. “Flattery will not save you from learning precision, Draco.”

He swallows, nodding quickly. “Of course not, Mother.”

I suppress a sigh of relief as Narcissa moves on, unaware of how close he was to slipping again.

For the next half hour, we go through more lessons—proper greetings, handling silverware, and perfecting the art of polite conversation. Draco keeps himself together, though his eyes linger on me more than they should, and every time he leans in too close, I subtly shift away.

But then, Narcissa instructs us to practice a formal bow and curtsy. As I lower into a graceful curtsy, Draco executes his bow but hesitates for a moment too long—his gaze locked onto mine like I’m the only thing keeping him upright.

“Draco,” Narcissa warns, her voice carrying an edge of suspicion.

He blinks, straightening immediately. “Apologies, I was—” He falters, searching for an excuse. “I was merely admiring her—technique.”

I nearly choke.

Narcissa narrows her eyes ever so slightly. “Mm. Yes. Well, see that you keep your admiration to proper standards.”

“Yes, Mother,” Draco says quickly, hands tightening into fists at his sides.

I risk a glance at him, and he looks… frustrated. Not just from the near slip-up, but from the sheer effort of containing himself.

We continue for a while longer, but I can tell he’s reaching his breaking point. When Narcissa finally announces a short break, Draco all but collapses into the nearest chair, running a hand down his face.

“I am dying,” he groans. “I can’t take much more of this.”

I sit beside him, keeping my voice low. “Just hold on a little longer. It will all be over soon.”

His head turns toward me, and for a brief moment, his usual bravado is gone. “That’s the problem,” he murmurs, almost too quiet to hear.

I stiffen, my heart skipping a beat. With Narcissa busy on the far side of the room, I press the quickest kiss to his temple, praying it offers him some reprieve. His body relaxes immediately, though I can feel his disappointment when I put some distance between us again.

My poor boy.

~

Before I can floo back to the castle, Lucius claps a hand on my shoulder, nodding his head towards the edge of the room. I quirk an eyebrow at him but follow wordlessly, not one to want to test him.

Draco catches sight of me, as I sort of signal to him with my eyes to keep the rest of the adults distracted. He gives me an imperceptible nod back, calling the attention of Narcissa and my parents by offering up ideas for the next mixer being hosted at my manor.

Lucius and I step out into the hall, and he gently closes the door behind us.

“We need to have a little discussion,” he starts, keeping his voice low. “Maybe a few, actually.”

I tilt my head, feigning innocence. “What about?”

He sneers at me. “About the real reason I needed you to come here today. Why it was important for you to brush up.”

“This is about the council,” I say softly, checking over my shoulder. “Must we do this here? You couldn’t write me?”

“That is far too dangerous and you know it,” he hisses, leaning closer. “You’re lucky I’ve kept the secret at all.”

I tense slightly at his words but keep my expression neutral, meeting his sharp gaze with a steady one of my own. “I appreciate your discretion,” I say carefully. “But I fail to see why this couldn’t wait until—”

Lucius cuts me off with a quiet scoff, stepping closer. “Because you’ve painted a rather large target on your back,” he murmurs, eyes narrowing. “That little stunt at the council, standing up to Wolpers the way you did… Bold, yes. Admirable, even.” His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smirk, a flicker of approval in his eyes. “But dangerous. And reckless.”

I inhale sharply but don’t back down. “Someone had to say it.”

“And did it have to be you?” he counters, voice dropping lower. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just invited upon yourself? You may think you’re playing a clever game, but the council is no place for defiant idealism.”

“I wasn’t being idealistic,” I say, voice steady. “I was being strategic. He was trying to undermine me.”

Lucius studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he shakes his head. “Strategy or not, you’ve made enemies. And powerful ones.” He straightens his cuffs, eyes flicking back to the closed door. “Be very careful of the next moves you make. Because now, every single one will be watched.”

I hold his gaze, unflinching. “Noted.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, to my surprise, he nods—just once, almost imperceptibly. And for the briefest second, I could swear there’s a glint of something like respect in his eyes.

“And as far as Draco,” he continues, adjusting his cuff, “I know there’s something going on with him. I know my son. Tell me, is he using potions?”

The way he says it, using, makes me angry. Draco would never abuse potions. He’s not the type. And even if he was, for his own father to suggest it is outlandish to me.

I scoff. “No, he’s not using. Everything is fine.”

“Don’t lie to me,” he says, rubbing his temples. “You and I are far past that now.”

There’s no malice in his tone, only something like defeat, and it makes me pause. I don’t know what it is about it that disarms me so much, but I finally decide to just tell him the truth. It’s too far gone, anyway.

Sighing, I look back at the door keeping us apart. “He got hit with a love spell at the Cupid’s Ball.”

Realization flickers across Lucius’ face, painting his features with surprise. “And I take it you are now the… object of his affections?”

“Unfortunately,” I quip, running a hand over my face. “I was standing right in front of him when it hit, and that just sealed the deal. He acts like he’s going to shrivel up and die if he’s not smothering me with affection 24/7.”

His father scowls, seeming deeply uncomfortable. “Which spell was it?”

“Amore Canis,” I reply, earning a look of exasperation. “Snape is brewing the antidote, but it take’s a week. So I’m stuck baby sitting until Wednesday.”

Lucius exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose as if warding off a headache. “Amore Canis,” he mutters. “Of all the ridiculous, juvenile—” He stops himself, exhaling again before fixing me with a pointed look. “And no one thought to shield the room properly? To screen for such nonsense before allowing children to attend?”

I shrug. “Apparently, the organizers thought the most dangerous thing that could happen at a Cupid’s Ball was a bit of bad dancing.”

Lucius mutters something under his breath—probably a curse—and shakes his head. “And how, exactly, has Draco been handling this?”

I let out a dry laugh. “Oh, you know. By being Draco—possessive, dramatic, and convinced that I’m the love of his life. I can’t so much as breathe without him hovering. He follows me between classes, he sits too close, and Merlin help me, if I have to hear him wax poetic about my ‘radiance’ one more time, I might actually fling myself into the Black Lake.”

Lucius visibly shudders, clearly regretting asking in the first place. “Good grief,” he mutters. “And you’re certain Severus’ antidote will work?”

“Yes,” I reply. “He’s confident it will break the spell completely—Draco won’t remember a thing.”

Lucius nods, considering this. “Good. Because the alternative is unthinkable.”

I tilt my head, eyeing him with mild amusement. “Unthinkable how? You mean the possibility of your son actually being in love with me?”

His sharp glare is immediate. “Draco’s emotions are not to be trifled with. You may find this amusing, but if he were to develop a genuine attachment under false pretenses, the consequences would be… undesirable. He doesn’t need any distractions, and neither do you.”

His words carry an unmistakable warning, but I’m not fazed. Instead, I cross my arms. “Well, that’s not going to happen. Because the moment that antidote kicks in, he’ll be back to his usual self, and this whole disaster will be a distant memory.”

Lucius watches me carefully, expression unreadable. After a moment, he nods. “See that it is.”

Something about his tone sends a chill down my spine, but before I can question it, he straightens his cuffs again, clearly done with the conversation. “Now,” he says briskly, glancing at the door, “go back inside before someone starts asking questions.”

I hesitate for half a second, but then I give him a curt nod and turn to leave.

Just as I reach for the door handle, his voice stops me.

“And for what it’s worth,” he says, quieter now, “bold or not… what you did was not without merit.”

I blink, surprised by the admission, but when I glance back, Lucius has already turned away, his expression once again unreadable.

Shaking my head, I slip back into the room, Draco’s voice immediately cutting through the chatter as he spots me.

“Oh, finally—where have you been?” He strides over, eyes practically glowing with exaggerated adoration, and I resist the urge to groan at his whispered plea.

“Long story,” I whisper back. “Come on. Let’s get back.”

He nods, seeming rather tense before turning back to the floo, guiding me over. We say our goodbyes to our parents and I thank Narcissa for the lessons before the green flames pull us back to Dumbledore’s office, although there is no Dumbledore as far as the eye can see.

I don’t even get to fully step out before Draco is wrapped around me, holding me tight like a lifeline. I have half a mind to push him off, but the way I can feel all of the anxiety and frustration disappear gives me pause.

This is still Draco. He’d do it for me.

And if I’m being honest with myself, part of me enjoys this, just a little. Maybe I like the attention, or maybe the physical touch, but either way, its strangely endearing.

“Come on, my love,” I coo, gently pulling his face off my shoulder. “Do you want to get to bed?”

He nods fiercely, the lovesick gleam in his eyes shining back at me with full force. “Please.”

I can’t help but chuckle softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Alright, let’s go.”

He clings to my hand as we make our way down to the dungeons, his grip firm, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go. Normally, I’d roll my eyes, but tonight… tonight, I let him.

By the time we reach the Slytherin common room, most of the house has either turned in or is too absorbed in their own business to pay us any mind. Draco pulls me through the space without hesitation, not stopping until we’re inside his room, the heavy door clicking shut behind us.

The second it does, it’s like something inside him unravels.

With a shuddering breath, he all but melts into me, arms winding around my waist as he buries his face into my neck. “I missed you,” he murmurs, voice muffled against my skin.

I exhale slowly, bringing a hand up to thread through his hair. “Draco, we’ve been together all day.”

“Not in the way I wanted,” he groans dramatically, his hold tightening. I feel the tension leave his body as he sags against me, all of the restraint he’s kept up throughout the day finally crumbling away.

I sigh, but there’s no real frustration behind it. Instead, I let my fingers gently trace up and down his back, soothing, steady. “You’ve been suffering all day, haven’t you?”

He nods against me, gripping my robes like I might disappear if he loosens his hold even a fraction.

“You must be exhausted,” I murmur, guiding him toward the bed. “Come on, lie down.”

Draco doesn’t protest, only lets me maneuver him onto the mattress, his arms never leaving me as I follow him down. The moment we settle, he curls into my side, cheek pressed against my collarbone, his breath warm against my skin.

I sigh, combing my fingers through his hair again. “You’re so dramatic.”

He hums contentedly. “You love me.”

I shake my head, but a small smile tugs at my lips. “Go to sleep, Draco.”

His grip tightens for a second before loosening as his breathing evens out. I stay still, letting him rest, and as much as I hate to admit it… it’s nice. Comforting, even.

Maybe I missed him, too.

~

Draco is practically in my lap in arithmancy, but I don’t protest. The professor doesn’t either, having just accepted it as part of the class until Snape finishes the cure. All of my professors have adopted a similar mindset, choosing not to push it.

Blaise passes me a note from the desk behind me, which was certainly not something I anticipated today. Or ever, really. He may be Draco’s best friend, but him and I haven’t quite reached the point of a true friendship. I’d call us acquaintances at best.

I unfold it quietly, furrowing my brow at the immaculate cursive.

“I’m cashing in my weekly favor. I didn’t do the essay. Figure it out. -B”

Right. The favor.

I roll my eyes, shoving the note in my bag. How the hell am I supposed to distract our professor into not making Blaise turn his essay in?

I glance toward the front of the room, where Professor Fenrin is meticulously scanning the rows of students, likely preparing to call on someone at random. Blaise is staring at me expectantly, a hint of smug confidence in his expression—he knows I’ll figure something out.

I exhale sharply, shifting slightly in my seat as Draco nuzzles into my shoulder. “Draco, darling,” I whisper, “I need you to sit up for just a second.”

He groans dramatically but does as I ask, albeit with a pout. Now free to move properly, I slip a hand under the desk, fingers flexing subtly as I tap into my magic. It hums beneath my skin, warm and eager, and within seconds, I weave together the tiniest burst of wandless energy—something small, just enough to cause a little chaos.

Across the room, Professor Fenrin’s inkwell suddenly tips over on its own, spilling a thick, dark stain across the open ledger on her desk. The class collectively stiffens as she gasps, leaping up in alarm.

“What in Merlin’s name—?”

I suppress a smirk as she scrambles to salvage her ruined notes, muttering cleaning charms under her breath while blotting frantically at the parchment. The ink, however, refuses to lift, smearing further as if deliberately working against her.

A few students snicker. Blaise kicks the back of my chair lightly, a silent well done.

Fenrin groans in frustration, clearly exasperated. “Alright, alright,” she huffs, tossing her quill down. “We’ll revisit the essays next class. Everyone, take the rest of the period to review chapter fourteen—quietly.”

I don’t need to turn around to feel the grin on Blaise’s face.

Draco, however, is staring at me with wide, adoring eyes. “That was brilliant,” he whispers, clutching my hand as if I’ve just performed the greatest feat of magic known to wizardkind.

I snort, shaking my head. “It was nothing.”

“It was everything,” he insists, squeezing my fingers. “You’re the most cunning, most extraordinary witch I’ve ever met.”

Blaise coughs pointedly behind me. “And selfless. Don’t forget selfless,” he teases.

I roll my eyes, but there’s a small, satisfied smirk on my lips as I lean back in my seat, twirling my quill between my fingers.

Professor Fenrin keeps grumbling at her desk, glaring at the ink stain as if personally offended. A light chatter flows around the room, but it’s hardly distracting. Our professor doesn’t comment on it, at the very least.

I suppose I should feel bad about disrupting her day, but I don’t.

Maybe Harry was right. Maybe I have some Slytherin in me after all. I don’t know how I feel about that yet, but I suppose its only a part of me. As long as the gentle, kind parts of me are the most prominent, I don’t think the rest matters.

Despite the instructions to read quietly, I decide to do something else entirely. I pull a piece of parchment out of my bag along with the enchanted quill Draco bought me for Christmas and set to work, writing down every single thing he’s done for me since getting hit with the love spell that I’ve appreciated.

It’s a long list, and surely I won’t have enough room for all of it. I can sure try, though.

When he receives the antidote, I don’t know if he’ll remember anything—but I will. I’ll remember all of it. The compliments, the poems, the lingering gazes and the gentle embraces throughout the day. Every time he was quick to defend me, or to finish a task I didn’t want to do.

He’s been smothering and a bit overbearing, sure. But he’s also been unfailingly kind, and I want him to know that it means everything to me.

Draco shifts beside me, leaning his head on my shoulder. “What’s that?”

“A surprise,” I whisper, scratching his head with my non-dominant hand. “Just a little something to say thank you.”

He relaxes into my touch, his breath warm against my neck as he smiles dreamily. “I must be the luckiest man in the world. My fiancée is the most beautiful, intelligent, captivating, elegant witch in all of Hogwarts—no, all of existence.”

I chuckle softly, resting my cheek on the top of his head. “You know we’re not technically engaged, right?”

“No matter,” he coos, twisting a strand of my hair around his finger. “We will be. Besides, we’re going to get married anyway. And we’re in love. That makes us fiancées.”

“We’ll see,” I reply quietly, continuing on with my list.

His brow furrows and he sits up to look at me. “What do you mean? We will marry.”

I tilt my head at him, a hesitant smile on my face. “We’re arranged to, yes. But that’s because of our parents. Normal Draco doesn’t want to be locked in a marriage of convenience and politics. If we figure out how to break the thing, we might not actually get married at all.”

“I’m still Draco,” he huffs, crossing his arms. I see a flicker of his usual self in his eyes. “And I want to marry you.”

His determination catches me off guard. “That’s because of the spell you’re under. Remember?”

“Yes, yes, I know about the spell,” he says, rolling his eyes. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I love you. I always have and I always will. I want to marry you.”

My breath catches, the quill slipping from my fingers as I take him in. His expression is so achingly sincere, so Draco, that for a moment, I forget about the spell entirely.

But then doubt creeps in.

This isn’t real. It can’t be. It’s the love spell talking. It has to be.

Right?

I swallow hard, offering a shaky smile. “Draco…”

“What?” He frowns, tilting his head slightly. “You don’t believe me?”

I glance down at the list in front of me, the ink glistening in the candlelight. Every small kindness, every moment of warmth—it’s all here. But how much of it is him, and how much is the magic twisting his emotions into something unshakable? Something undeniable?

“I—” I hesitate, gripping the edges of the parchment. “I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.”

His frustration flickers across his face, but then it softens into something wounded. He looks down, toying with the cuff of his sleeve, fingers brushing against his silver ring. “You think I only care about you this much because of this stupid spell?”

I stay silent, unable to answer.

Draco exhales sharply, then reaches out and cups my face. His touch is warm, grounding, and despite myself, I lean into it. His thumb brushes across my cheek, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Fine,” he says, and there’s something almost stubborn in the set of his jaw. “Then tell me—before this spell, did I ever look at you like I do now? Did I ever let myself act on it?”

I blink. The weight of his words settles deep in my chest.

Because the answer is yes.

Yes, a million times.

Draco leans in, his forehead pressing against mine. “I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” he murmurs, his breath fanning over my lips. “But you felt it, didn’t you? Every time I held you. Every time I defended you. That wasn’t the spell.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. My fingers tremble where they rest against the desk.

He’s right. Merlin, he’s right.

Because love spell or not, blood bond or not—Draco Malfoy has always been something with me. A tether. A storm. A force I never quite understood but could never ignore.

And now, as he stares at me with those piercing violet shaded eyes, full of something raw and terrifyingly real—I don’t know if I ever wanted to.

I pull away from him, fully aware of all the eyes that have been flickering back and forth in our direction. I don’t much care about everyone else right now, though. There’s just an ache in my chest that’s threatening to consume me if I don’t put some space between us.

Draco’s brows knit together as I pull away, his hands falling limply to his sides. He looks almost lost, like he doesn’t understand why I’m retreating when he’s just given me everything.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it?

I don’t know if it’s him giving it to me.

I clutch the parchment in my hands, my knuckles turning white. The weight of his words still lingers, curling in my chest, wrapping around my ribs like a vice. Because I have felt it. He’s right—I’ve felt it a thousand times before. In the way his gaze lingered just a second too long. In the way he always had a retort for me, even when no one else dared to. In the way he stitched me back together when no one else was looking.

But he never acted on it until recently, and even then, it’s been more quiet. Subtle. He doesn’t wax poetic about me or confess his undying love. He just kisses my forehead, tells me I look pretty no matter what I wear, and helps me carry my things when it’s too much. Small gestures. Simple ones.

So how do I trust this? How do I trust him?

Draco’s expression shifts, his frustration barely restrained. “You’re running from me,” he accuses, voice tight. “Again.”

I swallow hard. “I’m trying to think, Draco.”

“What’s there to think about?” He leans forward slightly, his voice quieter now, desperate. “You know it’s real. You know I—” He stops himself, glancing around the room as if suddenly realizing we aren’t alone.

Professor Fenrin clears her throat, eyeing us from her desk with thinly veiled irritation. I force a breath through my nose, shaking my head as I gather my things. “I just… I need some air.”

Draco’s chair scrapes against the floor as he moves, as if to follow, but I shake my head again, firmer this time. “No, Draco. I need to be alone. Please.”

For once, he doesn’t argue.

He just watches, violet-tinted eyes dark with something I don’t want to name, as I slip out of the classroom.

I feel so guilty leaving him behind for even a moment, but I just can’t wrap my head around all of this.

Snape. I should talk to Snape. He can help, right?

I move quickly through the corridors, barely registering the flickering torches and the hushed whispers of students passing by. My mind is too tangled, too overwhelmed by everything Draco just said—by everything I felt when he said it.

By the time I reach the entrance to Snape’s office, my hands are trembling. I don’t bother knocking. I know he’s inside, and I know his classes are done for the day.

The heavy wooden door swings open under my touch, revealing the dimly lit space. The scent of crushed herbs and something acrid lingers in the air, curling in my lungs as I step inside.

Professor Snape doesn’t even look up from the cauldron in front of him. His sharp, dark eyes remain fixed on the slow, deliberate stir of his wand. “I was wondering when you’d come.”

I pause, blinking. “You—”

“Of course you would seek me out,” he interrupts smoothly, still not looking up. “You have questions, and I imagine they are all equally ridiculous. Close the door.”

I do as he says, hesitating before taking a step closer. The glow of the potion reflects off the harsh angles of his face as he finally lifts his gaze to meet mine.

“I assume this is about Mr. Malfoy?” He drawls, arching a single brow.

I let out a shaky breath. “Yes. Kind of. About the spell.”

Snape hums, turning back to his work. “The antidote has been coming along well. It should be ready in two days.”

My heart leaps—relief, panic, I don’t know which. Maybe both. “So… once he takes it, everything goes back to normal?”

Snape’s stirring slows as he finally looks at me fully, expression unreadable. “That depends on what you consider normal.”

I frown. “What does that mean?”

Snape sighs through his nose, setting his stirring rod aside with a quiet clink. He leans forward slightly, folding his hands together. “The Amore Canis spell is not an illusion of affection, nor does it create feelings where there are none.” His voice is low, measured, careful. “It is an amplifier.”

The breath catches in my throat. “An amplifier?”

Snape nods. “It heightens what already exists. If there were no feelings present, the spell would have done nothing.”

I grip the edge of the desk to steady myself. The room feels smaller all of a sudden, like the walls are pressing in on me. “So… you’re saying that everything Draco has been saying, everything he’s felt—”

“Has always been there,” Snape finishes smoothly. “Repressed, perhaps. Subdued, certainly. But the spell merely brought it to the surface.”

I shake my head, my mind spinning. “But that doesn’t make sense—he’s never—look, he’s been saying some really intense things.”

Snape scoffs. “I’ve seen the way you two interact, Miss Lavigné. It’s no secret that you two are in a relationship. Why, exactly, are you surprised?”

“I don’t know,” I admit quietly. “I just didn’t think it ran this deep.”

He rolls his eyes, seeming over the conversation entirely. “Personally, I’m only surprised that you’re being targeted by the Dark Lord and yet you’re concerned with fleeting affections for your classmate. You need to work out your priorities. This childish fixation will pass, and when it does, you still need to be ready to fight for your survival.”

I swallow hard, my pulse roaring in my ears. I know he’s right. I have way bigger problems to worry about.

An awkward silence stretches over us in his office, and I shift my weight.

“So when the antidote is ready… will he remember any of this?”

Snape regards me for a long moment before answering. “Most of it.”

The words send a shiver down my spine.

Most of it.

I don’t know if that makes things better or so much worse.

I clutch the edge of my sleeve, my thoughts swirling too fast to grasp. Snape is watching me closely, his dark eyes unreadable.

“You should end it,” he says abruptly.

I blink. “What?”

“This… attachment.” He gestures vaguely, as if the idea itself is distasteful. “It is a liability.”

My stomach twists. “You just said his feelings aren’t going to disappear.”

Snape exhales sharply through his nose. “That is precisely the problem.” He stands, moving toward one of the shelves lined with countless vials of dark, shimmering potions. “Feelings—love, devotion, loyalty—are weaknesses. They can be used against you. The Dark Lord does not care for sentiment, but he certainly knows how to exploit it.”

His words settle like ice in my veins.

“You believe yourself safe in the illusion of school walls,” Snape continues, his voice eerily calm. “You are not. You and Mr. Malfoy are bound by circumstances neither of you can control. And now, thanks to this spell, whatever restraint he once had is gone.” He turns to face me fully. “If you truly care for him, Miss Lavigné, you will cut him off before it is too late.”

I hate the way my heart clenches at the thought. The idea of pushing Draco away, of acting as if none of this mattered—as if he doesn’t matter—feels unbearable.

But Snape isn’t wrong.

Draco and I have already been forced into a game we never asked to play. And if the Dark Lord were to suspect that Draco cares for me beyond mere obligation—if my parents caught wind of it, if Lucius Malfoy saw an opportunity to use it against him—what would happen then?

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to quell the ache in my chest. “You’re saying I should hurt him now before someone else does.”

“I’m saying,” Snape corrects, “that you should protect yourselves from what is inevitable.” His gaze darkens. “Or do you think you can afford the luxury of love when a war is at your doorstep?”

The words sting. But I don’t look away.

Because the truth is—I don’t know.

I exhale slowly, nodding once. “The antidote will be ready in two days?”

“Yes.”

I turn toward the door, every step feeling heavier than the last. My hands tremble at my sides. Most ofit, he said. Draco will remember most of this. But when the magic fades… will he still look at me the same way?

And if he does—what will I do about it?

“Thank you, sir,” I say quietly, giving him a look of resolution.

He nods, acknowledging me. I can see in his eyes that he knows I won’t end it, that he doesn’t think me capable of it.

Once again, he’s not wrong.

I may be stupid for it, but I don’t really care. I won’t hurt Draco. I can’t. Not when I just got him.

It’ll be us against everything, and I’ll just have to make do with whatever that entails.