The Pact

“I’m sorry, my love,” I hum softly, holding Draco close to my chest. “I won’t leave you again. You have me all day, I promise.”

He nuzzles in closer, basically laying directly on top of me in his bed. “I forgive you, my sweet angel. Everything is okay now. Wait… what about your classes?”

“They can do without me for one day,” I reply, raking my hands through his hair. “You’re more important.”

He smiles brightly before attacking me with kisses, pressing them all over my face and neck. I can’t help but giggle. “Easy, there, darling.”

He settles back into my arms happily, the smile never leaving his face.

I’ve decided to take the full day to let him have whatever he wants since the antidote will be ready tomorrow. If he’s going to remember everything, I want him to remember that I never stopped adoring and taking care of him, even when it was difficult. He deserves it, anyway. Especially after me leaving him alone so much over the last week.

Draco sighs in contentment, his breath warm against my skin as he shifts even closer, if that’s even possible. “So, what shall we do first, my love?” he murmurs, tracing lazy patterns along my arm.

I smile, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Anything you want, darling. Today is yours.”

His violet eyes light up with excitement. “Really? No limits?”

I hesitate for only a second before nodding. “No limits.”

He grins wickedly. “Then we’re staying in bed a little longer. I rather like having you all to myself.”

I laugh softly but don’t protest when he tightens his grip around me, burying his face in the crook of my neck. We stay like that for what feels like hours, simply basking in the warmth of each other’s presence, until Draco finally decides he’s ready to move.

“Alright, love,” he says, stretching languidly like a cat before rolling off of me. “Let’s get breakfast. But not in the Great Hall—I want you to steal something from the kitchens for us instead.” He smirks playfully. “You wouldn’t deny me, would you?”

I arch an amused brow. “You’re making me do the work?”

“Of course,” he says, matter-of-factly. “I can’t be seen sneaking about like some common thief. But you? You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” He bats his lashes dramatically.

I roll my eyes but can’t stop the fond smile on my lips. “Fine. Stay here. I’ll be back soon.”

Draco flops back onto the pillows, looking immensely pleased with himself. “Hurry, my love. I’ll waste away without you.”

I shake my head and slip out of the room, making my way to the kitchens. It’s easy enough to charm the house-elves into giving me a lavish breakfast spread—piles of pastries, fresh fruit, and a pot of tea—before I return to Draco’s dorm.

He practically beams when I set the tray down beside him. “You’re an angel,” he says, grabbing a croissant and taking a dramatic bite. “Come, eat with me.”

We sit together on the bed, sharing bites of food and laughing between sips of tea. He insists on feeding me little pieces of fruit, claiming it’s only fair since I went through the trouble of getting breakfast for him.

After we’ve eaten, Draco leans back against the pillows, pulling me into his lap with an exaggerated sigh. “Now what shall we do, my sweet?”

I glance at him, tilting my head in thought. “You tell me.”

His smirk turns mischievous. “Let’s go outside. I want to take you to the Black Lake.”

“The Black Lake?” I repeat, raising a brow.

“Yes,” he says, tugging me up with him. “You said no limits.”

I shake my head but follow him anyway, letting him pull me wherever his heart desires.

We take a slow stroll around the lake, his fingers never leaving mine. It’s rather chilly outside, but Draco has the spell to keep him warm—and I have his overcoat and gloves and several warming charms he’s cast for me.

Draco leans down to kiss the top of my head, pulling me into a hug. “Can we talk about yesterday?”

“How do you mean, my love?” I ask, looking up at him with my head slightly tilted.

Draco keeps his arms wrapped tightly around me, his chin resting atop my head as he exhales softly. “I mean about what you said… about the betrothal.”

My breath stills for a moment. “What about it?”

He pulls back just enough to look me in the eyes, his expression earnest. “I know you think I’m out of my mind… but I swear I wasn’t lying—I want this. I want us.” His fingers brush against my cheek, his touch as gentle as his voice. “If I could choose anyone in the world, it would still be you.”

My heart clenches. He means every word—I can see it in the way his gaze softens, in the way he holds me like I’m the most precious thing in his world. And maybe, right now, I am—but I know it isn’t entirely real. Not yet. The love spell only amplified what was already there, but that’s exactly what makes it overwhelming. If the emotions were already there, how much of this is the spell? How much of it is him?

Draco’s thumbs stroke idly along the backs of my hands, grounding me. “You know, my mother told me when I was young that arranged marriages were about duty first, and if you were lucky, love would come after.” He smiles faintly. “I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have both.”

I swallow hard, forcing a smile to my lips. “Draco…”

“I mean it,” he insists, gripping my hands tighter. “I love you. I know I do. I don’t care if it was arranged—I’m glad it was. And don’t you dare think for a second that this is only because of this spell. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else.” His voice drops, quieter, more vulnerable. “I don’t want to.”

I should be happy—Merlin, I am happy—but it’s tangled with a thousand other emotions I can’t begin to process. Because tomorrow, the spell will break. And when it does, I don’t know if he’ll feel the same way.

So I do the only thing I can—I wrap my arms around him, pressing my face against his chest, and whisper, “I love you, too.”

His embrace tightens around me, his lips pressing against my temple, and for now, I let myself believe in it. Even if it might slip through my fingers tomorrow.

Our day continues on, unrushed and easy. I let him follow his every whim, no matter where it takes us.

We stop by the Astronomy Tower, where he insists on making me sit on the ledge just so he can dramatically ‘save’ me from falling. He shows me his favorite secret passageways in the school, picking me up and carrying me when I tell him I don’t feel like walking. We even make a brief detour to the library, where he lounges across my lap while I half-heartedly flip through a book, his eyes never leaving me.

By late afternoon, we find ourselves back in his dorm, curled up together beneath the covers once more. He presses lazy kisses along my temple, sighing softly. “This has been the best day,” he murmurs. “You should skip class more often.”

I chuckle, running my fingers through his hair. “Don’t get used to it.”

He pouts but quickly recovers, a satisfied smile spreading across his lips. “I suppose it’s fine, as long as you promise to always come back to me.”

I press a kiss to his forehead, holding him close. “Always.”

And for the rest of the evening, we simply exist in each other’s arms, savoring the fleeting moment before reality catches up with us.

I realize I fell asleep only because I’m woken up by the sound of someone banging on Draco’s door—and rather aggressively, at that. I groan, rolling over to nudge my sleeping boyfriend.

“Dray… hey. Draco.”

He blinks groggily, wiping his eyes. “Hm?”

“It’s morning. You have a visitor,” I mumble, gesturing to the door before burying myself back in his covers.

Even potion-laced, Draco still grumbles when he’s forced to get up and deal with whoever is smacking the door—which, turns out, is Theodore Nott.

“Finally!” the curly headed boy exclaims, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’ve been here for five straight minutes!”

“What do you want?” Draco asks, albeit quite sharply.

Theo seems completely unaffected. “Snape wants to see you. You too, Lavigné.”

I stiffen beneath Draco’s covers, the warmth of our stolen moment now rapidly dissipating. There’s only one reason Snape would be summoning us this early: the antidote. The realization makes my stomach twist uncomfortably. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, as Draco runs a hand through his hair in frustration.

“Did he say why?” Draco asks, voice still groggy but noticeably tense.

Theo gives him a look. “Use your brain, Malfoy. It’s about the—” He pauses, glancing at me before smirking. “—incident.”

Draco exhales sharply, muttering a curse under his breath. He turns back toward me, his expression unreadable. “Do we have to go? Maybe I don’t need the antidote. I think I’m fine like this!”

I nod, suddenly hyper-aware of the state we’re in—his wrinkled shirt draped over my shoulders, my uniform from yesterday in a heap on the floor. “Yes, my love. Trust me, you’ll thank me later.”

I slide out of bed quickly, pulling on my clothes while Draco does the same (after much convincing), both of us moving with a quiet urgency. The weight of what’s about to happen lingers between us, unspoken but heavy.

Theo watches with mild amusement. “You two are disgustingly domestic,” he muses. “It’s unnatural.”

“Shut up, Nott,” Draco snaps, buttoning his shirt with unnecessary force. “Don’t talk to my perfect angel like that!”

Theo rolls his eyes, calling out, “I can’t wait for this to be over!” as he walks away.

Once we’re both presentable, the walk to Snape’s office is suffocatingly silent. Draco’s jaw is set tight, his usual arrogance replaced with something closer to dread. I reach for his hand, giving it a small squeeze, but he doesn’t return it in the over the top affectionate way I’ve become accustomed to. He just runs his finger over the back of my hand and mopes.

When we step inside, Snape is already waiting, a small vial of deep blue liquid resting ominously on his desk. His dark eyes flick between the two of us before landing on Draco.

“Drink it,” Snape orders, sliding the vial toward him.

Draco hesitates for a fraction of a second then looks right at me. “Do I have to?”

The look in his eyes is absolutely heartbreaking, and part of me almost considers telling Snape to wait another day—but I don’t. “Do it for me, Dray.”

He pouts for a moment before grabbing the antidote and downing it in one go, almost like he can’t resist following my orders. He winces at the taste, grimacing as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, his shoulders stiffen, his breathing shallows, and his fingers twitch as the potion works through him.

And then—his eyes widen.

I know the exact moment it happens, because the horror that floods Draco’s face is instant and absolute. His gaze locks onto mine, and I can see it all—the realization, the embarrassment, the sheer mortification washing over him like a tidal wave.

He remembers.

Every single thing.

The adoring way he held me. The soft words he whispered. The way he cradled me against his chest like I was something fragile and precious—in front of anyone and everyone, making it a point to attract as much attention as possible.

I watch as his face burns red, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He looks like he wants to apparate straight out of the room.

“Dear Gods,” he mumbles, backing himself up against a desk. “Please tell me that was all a dream.”

Hearing him say dear Gods like a muggle-born is enough to tell me exactly how distraught he is. Part of me feels guilty, but another part of me—a small, terrible one—is holding back a laugh.

“Afraid not,” I quip, offering him a sympathetic smile.

Draco sputters, covering his face with his hands in exasperation. “I’m going to pitch myself off the astronomy tower.”

Snape makes a sound that’s suspiciously close to an amused snort but masks it behind an unimpressed sigh. “That would be a waste of my time, Malfoy, considering I’d be the one scraping you off the ground.”

Draco groans dramatically, dragging his hands down his face. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, feigning offense. “Worse than the time you got turned into a ferret?”

Snape makes a sharp noise in the back of his throat, and I swear there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips. Draco, however, shoots me a wounded glare. “You’re enjoying this.”

I try—really try—to keep my expression neutral. “Not at all.”

Draco narrows his eyes at me, then at Snape, who has remained remarkably unbothered throughout this entire ordeal. “You both are.”

Snape folds his arms, looking down at Draco like he’s nothing more than an inconvenience. “Your dramatics are exhausting. If you’re finished wailing like a banshee, you may leave.”

Draco makes an indignant noise. “That’s it? No wise words? No reassurance? No Obliviation offer?!”

“Get. Out.”

Draco looks positively murderous—or self-hating, I’m not sure which. I pat his arm reassuringly. “Well, on the bright side, you won’t have to call me ‘my sweet, perfect angel’ every five seconds anymore.”

His face burns even redder. “Stop. Talking.”

I can’t help it—I laugh. And to my surprise, Snape doesn’t stop me.

“This isn’t funny!”

“I’m sorry, you’re right, it’s not, I just—” I cut myself off with another round of laughter, clutching my sides. “Okay, it totally is.”

Draco groans, dragging his hands through his hair like he’s physically trying to rid himself of the memory. “I’m never going to live this down.”

“I mean, you did serenade me in the middle of the Great Hall,” I remind him, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye.

His head snaps up so fast I’m surprised he doesn’t get whiplash. “I what?”

Snape, who has been watching this entire exchange with the patience of a man who deeply regrets his life choices, clears his throat. “As much as I thoroughly enjoy watching you spiral, Malfoy, I’d rather not waste another second on this.”

Draco turns to him, looking absolutely desperate. “You’re sure you can’t just Obliviate me?”

Snape gives him a slow, unimpressed blink. “Do I look like a man who does charity work?”

Draco groans again, spinning on his heel and storming toward the door. “I’m going to die. That’s it. I’ll simply perish.”

I follow, still struggling to contain my amusement. “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad—”

He whirls around, pointing an accusing finger at me. “You don’t understand. I wrote you poetry. And I read it! Out loud! To everyone I knew! And I went around telling everyone you were my fiancée and that I was going to gift you the moon—the actual moon—because you think it’s pretty! And—oh, Merlin—I let Potter and Weaselbee convince me to choreograph an interpretative dance about my respect and admiration for you and—”

I grab his arm, blinking. “Wait. You did what now?”

Draco freezes, as if he’s just realized what he’s admitted to. His face somehow turns an even deeper shade of red. “Forget I said that.”

I grin. “Oh, no, no, I definitely need to see this—”

He turns back around and practically sprints out the door.

Snape sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get out of my sight, both of you.”

Still grinning, I follow after Draco, who is already halfway down the corridor, muttering to himself. I catch up to him easily, bumping my shoulder against his. “Dray.”

He glares at me. “Not. A. Word.”

I just smile sweetly. “My sweet, perfect angel—”

“I will hex you.”

“And I’m the queen of England.”

Draco groans and quickens his pace, but I match his stride effortlessly, still basking in his misery. He’s too busy muttering under his breath about how he’s going to fake his own death and move to Albania to notice that we’re nearing the entrance to the Great Hall.

It isn’t until we step inside that I realize just how much of a spectacle we’ve become.

The moment Draco and I walk in—separately, I might add—the entire hall seems to collectively pause. There’s a beat of silence, then a wave of hushed whispers and poorly concealed gasps.

I don’t blame them. For the past week, Draco has been following me around like a love-struck Crup, refusing to sit anywhere that wasn’t within arm’s reach of me, declaring his affections loudly and publicly for all to hear. And now? Now he’s walking straight to the Slytherin table, without so much as a dreamy sigh in my direction.

The Gryffindor table is the most obvious about their reaction—Seamus nudges Dean so hard he nearly knocks over his goblet, and Hermione’s brows shoot up in surprise. Even Harry and Ron, who have spent the last week enduring Draco’s aggressively affectionate rants, look bewildered.

The Hufflepuff table is whispering fervently amongst themselves, no doubt reeling from the whiplash of watching their newest honorary house member return to his own people. I catch sight of a few third-years exchanging sickles, as if they had actually bet on how long the spell would last.

And then there’s the Slytherins.

Blaise stares at Draco like he’s just been resurrected from the dead. Pansy, who had spent the past week oscillating between jealousy and disbelief, looks suspicious—like she’s waiting for him to suddenly burst into song again.

Draco, to his credit, does hesitate for a fraction of a second when he catches all the staring. His shoulders tense, and for a split moment, I think he’s considering turning around and following me to my table out of sheer muscle memory.

Instead, he rolls his shoulders back, lifts his chin, and marches over to the Slytherin table with all the dignity of a man who definitely did not spend the last week composing poetry about my “unparalleled grace and ethereal beauty.”

I, meanwhile, slide into my usual seat at the Hufflepuff table, where my friends immediately descend upon me.

“So it’s finally over, then?” Ernie asks, looking almost disappointed.

Hannah leans forward, eyes twinkling. “Did he cry?”

Susan grins. “Did you cry?”

I smirk, grabbing a piece of toast. “He was devastated.”

Across the hall, Draco must feel me talking about him because he whips his head around to glare at me. I grin at him, wiggling my fingers in a cheeky little wave.

Draco scowls, slams his goblet down a little too hard, and mutters something under his breath that makes Blaise howl with laughter.

Somehow, I don’t think I’ll be getting to see that dance anytime soon.

My playful teasing of Draco across the Great Hall is swiftly interrupted by the swooping of owls after a Ravenclaw prefect yells, “Post!”

Willow glides over to me, dropping a neatly folded letter right into my hands before landing on my shoulder. I give her a scratch then turn the envelope over to see my family crest in a wax seal holding it together.

Great.

I roll my eyes before opening it, pulling out a thin piece of parchment with my mother’s loopy cursive handwriting covering it.

“Y/n,

You are to attend a meeting at Malfoy Manor this Saturday evening at nine sharp. Dress formally. Come alone.

-Mother”

I nearly choke on my own spit reading the last line.

Come alone? What the hell are they planning?

~

The Room of Requirement is quiet except for the flickering of candlelight and the occasional crackle of the fireplace. I sit cross-legged on one of the plush armchairs, the letter clutched in my hands, while Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco all watch me with varying degrees of concern.

“Let me get this straight,” Ron says, frowning. “Your mother—who literally trained you to be a weapon for her own gain—wants you to show up at Malfoy Manor alone? As in, without even Draco? Who lives there?”

“That’s what the letter says,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. “And before you ask—no, I don’t know why.”

Draco, who’s been eerily silent, leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “You can’t go.”

I snort. “Oh, yeah? You think I can just not show up when my mother orders me to?” I gesture to the parchment in my hands. “She’ll drag me there by my hair if she has to.”

“Then we find a way to make sure you’re not actually alone,” Hermione says decisively, already deep in thought. “A Disillusionment Charm, an Invisibility Cloak—”

“Polyjuice Potion,” Draco cuts in.

All four of us turn to him.

“Polyjuice?” Hermione echoes warily.

Draco nods, his expression grim. “If we can brew it in time, someone else could go in her place.”

“And what? Walk right into Malfoy Manor without knowing what they’re walking into?” I shake my head. “That’s a great way to get someone killed, Dray.”

“Right, because walking in alone is so much safer,” he snaps. “You don’t even know what they want from you!”

I sigh, pressing my fingers against my temples. “I know. But if I don’t go, they’ll just make me later—and that time, they’ll make sure I can’t refuse.”

Harry, who’s been quiet up until now, finally speaks. “Then we go with you.”

“Harry—”

“Not with you, technically,” he corrects himself. “But nearby. In case things go south.”

I chew my lip, considering it. It’s reckless. Dangerous. Exactly the kind of thing that would get us all killed.

But it’s also the only way I don’t have to do this completely alone.

Draco exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. “I still don’t like it.”

“Me either,” I say, folding the letter and tucking it into my pocket. “But it’s fine. I’ll go. They can’t touch me anyway. If anything goes wrong, I’ll just apparate somewhere.”

Hermione shakes her head. “I don’t like this. It sounds like a trap.”

“It sounds like a business meeting,” I correct her, “and honestly? I don’t think that makes it any better.”

Harry sighs, his expression mirroring my own. Him and I seem to realize exactly what it sounds like at the same time.

“You think it’s…?”

“Maybe,” I reply, pulling my knees up to my chest. “It would explain a lot. The secrecy, the formality, the… dangerous energy.”

Draco looks between us, seeming just as confused as Ron and Hermione. “Think it’s what?”

Harry and I both look at him in sync, simply replying, “Death eaters,” in unison.

Silence falls over the room like a thick fog. Ron shifts uncomfortably. Hermione folds her arms tighter across her chest. Draco—who has spent his entire life around Death Eaters—looks like he’s just been doused with ice water.

“I don’t think so,” Draco says immediately, though there’s no real conviction in his voice. “They wouldn’t—my father wouldn’t—” He stops himself, jaw tightening. “It’s probably just about your family’s… business.”

“Maybe,” I say, though we both know neither of us believes that. “But it doesn’t matter. I have to go.”

“No, you don’t,” Hermione protests. “If they’re planning to recruit you—”

“They can’t recruit me,” I cut in. “Even if they wanted to. I’m too young. They wouldn’t waste time on someone who can’t actually serve them yet.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Ron mutters.

Draco, still looking as if he’s swallowed something vile, crosses his arms. “Then it could be worse.”

I frown. “What do you mean?”

“They could be trying to see where you stand.” He gestures vaguely, expression dark. “They’ll test you. Push you. Figure out if you’re willing to be molded into something useful to them.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine.

“Then all the more reason for us to be there,” Harry says firmly.

I shake my head. “No.”

“What?” Hermione blinks at me.

“No,” I repeat. “It’s too dangerous. If you show up anywhere near Malfoy Manor and anyone so much as suspects something, they won’t hesitate to kill you.”

Harry opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. “Harry, you know I’m right. If you go, you will die. I can’t risk that.”

A long, tense pause. Then, finally—begrudgingly—Harry exhales through his nose and leans back, clearly hating that he’s accepting this. “Fine. We won’t go.”

“What?” Ron and Hermione exclaim in unison.

“She’s right,” Harry says stiffly, looking away. “If we get caught, it’s over. For all of us.”

Draco, surprisingly, doesn’t argue. He just looks at me, his brows furrowed, and mutters, “I still don’t like it.”

“You’re not supposed to,” I say softly.

Ron huffs, crossing his arms. “Then if we can’t be there, we need to make a plan for you to get out. Fast.”

I nod. “Agreed.”

Hermione, always the strategist, straightens up. “Okay. Here’s what we do.”

And so we spend the next hour crafting an escape plan. Hermione insists I wear a concealed emergency Portkey. Harry teaches me a few defensive spells I haven’t mastered yet. Ron sketches out the layout of Malfoy Manor as best as he remembers from his father’s old Ministry reports. Draco, still pale and tense, tells me exactly which exits are least guarded, which doors require which spells, which rooms hold the highest risk.

By the time we’re done, the plan is airtight.

By the time we’re done, I still don’t feel any better.

There’s only one person in this castle outside of this room who has any idea of any of this—and who I desperately need to see to ask for advice.

“I think I’m going to turn in early,” I declare, standing up to make my escape. “We still have a few days to figure this out, and I have Council work to do. I’ll see you lot tomorrow.”

Draco’s brow immediately furrows at my demeanor and he grabs my arm as I turn to walk away. “Wait, we’re not done.”

I shoot him an apologetic smile before pecking his cheek. “I know, Dray. I’m just… I’m really tired. Yeah. I’m super exhausted and if we’re going to strategize properly I need to get to bed early and—”

“Why are you acting so weird?” he cuts in, his voice low.

I swallow hard. “I’m not acting weird.”

Draco raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

Ron snorts. “You are acting weird.”

“I’m always weird.” I shoot back, forcing a smirk. “This is just regular weirdness.”

Hermione folds her arms. “You’re lying.”

Damn it.

I sigh, rubbing a hand over my face. “Look, I just—I need to go. Alone.”

Harry, who has been watching me closely, narrows his eyes. “Where?”

“Just… somewhere.”

Draco scoffs. “Brilliant. That clears everything up.”

I huff in frustration, feeling cornered. “I just need to talk to someone, alright? Someone who actually knows what I might be walking into.”

Harry’s expression darkens in realization. “Snape.”

The entire room goes still.

“You cannot be serious,” Ron blurts.

“Dead serious.”

Draco lets go of my arm like I just burned him. “You’re going to him for help?”

“Of course I am,” I say. “He’s literally the only person we know who’s on both sides of this war and still breathing.”

“Because he’s a snake,” Ron argues.

“Because he’s smart,” I counter. “And I’d like to make sure I don’t walk into this completely blind.”

Draco’s jaw clenches. “No.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t trust him.”

“I don’t trust him,” I admit, “but I trust that he knows more about this than any of us.”

Draco shakes his head, stepping closer. “If you go to him, he’ll tell them. He’ll tell my father, and then—”

“I can handle Snape,” I assure him. “I don’t fully trust him, but he’s the one who warned me about YouKnowWho wanting… well, you know what in the first place. That has to count for something. He obviously told me for a reason. He’s mentoring me for a reason. I may as well take advantage of that.”

“He could’ve been lying for all we know,” Draco bites out.

Ron groans, throwing his hands up. “Bloody hell, this is stupid.”

“I want to go,” I insist. “And I want to go alone.”

“Like hell you do,” Draco snaps.

Harry steps between us before this spirals into a full-blown fight. “Fine,” he says, staring me down. “Go. But if you’re not back in an hour, we’re coming after you.”

Draco glares at him. “Speak for yourself. I’m coming after her the second she steps out of this room.”

I roll my eyes, exasperated. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Draco, please. He won’t be candid with me if there are other people around. Besides, it’s broad daylight and we’re at school. It’s not like he’s going to try to hurt me. If he wanted to, he would’ve done that by now.”

Draco still looks ready to argue, but I don’t give him the chance. Before he can fire back another protest, I slip out of the Room of Requirement, the door sealing behind me with a quiet thud.

The corridors feel emptier than usual, though that’s probably just my nerves making everything seem eerily silent. My heartbeat echoes in my ears as I make my way down to the dungeons, the letter from my mother practically burning a hole in my pocket.

I hate that I have to do this alone. I hate that I need Snape’s insight, but there’s no one else I can turn to for this. No one else who has one foot in both worlds and has managed to survive it.

The familiar chill of the dungeon seeps into my bones as I stop in front of Snape’s office door. I hesitate for only a moment before knocking.

A long pause.

Then—“Enter.”

I push open the door and step inside, shutting it behind me. Snape is seated at his desk, quill scratching against parchment. He doesn’t look up immediately, but I know he already knows it’s me.

“To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” His voice is smooth and deliberate, though laced with something unreadable.

I take a deep breath. “I need your help.”

That gets his attention. He finally lifts his gaze, dark eyes narrowing slightly. “Help?”

I nod, reaching into my pocket and unfolding the letter before sliding it across the desk. He barely glances at it before looking back at me.

“I assume you’re capable of reading, Lavigné. Do enlighten me—what about this summons is unclear to you?”

I clench my jaw. “I know what it says. I just don’t know why they’re calling me there alone.”

Snape watches me for a long moment, then slowly leans back in his chair. “And you assume I have that answer?”

I cross my arms. “You always seem to know more than you let on.”

His lip twitches slightly—just shy of a smirk, but not quite there. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

I huff. “I’m not flattering you, I’m being realistic.”

Snape steeples his fingers. “And what makes you believe this is anything more than a family matter?”

“Because my family doesn’t summon me alone unless there’s a reason.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “It’s not a stretch to think that reason involves him.”

Snape’s expression gives nothing away. “You fear this is an initiation.”

It’s not a question.

I swallow. “Yes.”

Silence stretches between us. My hands tighten at my sides, but I force myself to stand my ground.

Finally, Snape exhales through his nose and reaches for the letter. He studies it again, fingers tracing the elegant script.

“Your mother’s wording is deliberate,” he says after a moment. “Attend, not requested to attend. Alone, not private. There is an expectation here, not an invitation.”

I already knew that. But hearing him confirm it sends a sick feeling crawling up my spine.

“You think it’s what I think it is?” I ask quietly.

Snape meets my gaze. “I don’t know your parents as well as you do. But I do know that there is a meeting this weekend at Malfoy Manor at precisely the time your mother has requested for you to appear—and you may not be aware of this fact, but your lack of attendance at the last four consecutive meetings has been noted.”

I suck in a sharp breath, a pain stabbing at my ribs. “They’ve been expecting me?”

“He’s been expecting you, yes,” Snape drawls, leaning forward over his arms. “Realistically I cannot claim to know his intentions, but you can breathe a little easier, Miss Lavigné. I think even he would deem you too young to join the ranks as of yet.”

There’s an edge to his voice that makes me even more unsettled. “But?”

Snape’s fingers drum against the desk, a slow, rhythmic tap that sets my nerves further on edge. “But,” he continues, “the Dark Lord has a particular… appreciation for those with influence. He values connections, bloodlines, and most of all—usefulness.”

My stomach twists. “You think he wants to use me.”

“I think,” Snape says carefully, “that he will offer you a choice.”

I straighten, the sick feeling in my chest only growing. “A choice between what?”

Snape studies me for a long moment, dark eyes sharp and unreadable. “Between pledging yourself to him in a different capacity—one that does not yet require your arm—or proving where your loyalties truly lie.”

I swallow hard. “Meaning if I refuse, he’ll see me as a threat.”

“Or worse, a liability,” Snape confirms. “You may have been absent from his attention thus far, but you are no longer just a name on parchment, Miss Lavigné. You are a presence—one that carries weight, whether you like it or not. He will want to test that weight before he decides what to do with you.”

I hate how true that sounds.

My hands curl into fists. “If I say no, what happens?”

Snape’s expression darkens just slightly. “That depends on how well you refuse.”

I grit my teeth, heart pounding. This is exactly what I was afraid of. A test. A trial. Some impossible game of proving myself that I didn’t sign up for.

Snape tilts his head slightly. “I assume you have no intention of accepting any offer he might extend?”

I glare at him. “Of course not.”

“Then you must be strategic.” His voice drops, measured and firm. “Defiance is not always the wisest course of action, especially when you stand in front of him. I would advise against outright refusal.”

My eyes narrow. “What are you saying?”

“I am saying,” Snape enunciates slowly, “that you must be cautious. Give him something without giving him everything. Appear as though you are considering, even if you are not. The Dark Lord does not take kindly to wasted opportunities, and if he believes you to be one, your next summons will not come with a letter—it will come with force.”

A cold shiver runs down my spine.

I hate that he’s right. I hate that I have to play this.

But I hate even more what might happen if I don’t.

“Will you be there? This weekend?” I ask, a desperate hope betraying my carefully constructed mask.

Snape eyes me carefully, like he’s considering how much to reveal before he opens his mouth.

He lets the silence stretch between us, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Finally, Snape exhales through his nose, a sound that could almost be mistaken for a sigh, but it carries more weight than that.

“I will be there,” he says, his voice steady. “But understand this—my presence will not be your shield. You must rely on your own judgment, your own wit.” His eyes flash, a warning tucked beneath the surface. “And even if you fail to see it now, Lucius and Narcissa have grown… possessive of you. Protective, even. They will be watching you closely. In their own way, they believe you to be a valuable piece in their game.”

I flinch, the last bit of hope I had crumbling under the cold reality of his words. They will be watching me. They—the Malfoys—will be watching me. It’s almost worse than the idea of the Dark Lord himself, because at least with Voldemort, there’s the potential for a clean break. With the Malfoys, it’s a quiet, insidious kind of control.

Snape’s gaze softens just a fraction, though his expression remains unreadable. “Don’t misunderstand me. They will not protect you out of kindness. But they will protect you nonetheless. If you remain useful, they’ll keep you close.”

His voice is laced with something I can’t quite pinpoint—caution, perhaps? Or is it an unspoken warning about the Malfoys’ affection? Either way, I feel the weight of it press into my chest.

I nod, trying to gather the shreds of my composure. “So, it’s up to me then. Play their game, or risk losing everything.”

“Exactly,” Snape agrees, his lips curling into something almost resembling a grim smile. “And sometimes, playing their game is the only way to survive it.”

I swallow hard, the reality of it all crashing in. There’s no easy path. I can’t just refuse, can’t just fight back. It’s a delicate balance—pretend to play along without actually surrendering. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned from Snape, it’s that survival often depends on how well you can deceive without breaking your own integrity.

I push myself to stand a little taller. “I’ll manage.”

Snape nods, approving, but his gaze lingers on me for a moment longer. “Don’t mistake playing the game for winning it. You’ll need more than cunning to navigate what’s coming. Keep your eyes open, Miss Lavigné.”

I nod, the words settling deep within me. If anything, I know now that there’s more at stake than I’d originally thought—and that I’ll need every ounce of the strategy Snape’s taught me to survive what’s ahead.

As he turns and makes his way toward the door, I can’t help but wonder just how much of this is a test for me… and how much is a game I may never be able to leave.