The Pact

Draco paces back and forth in front of the floo, effectively blocking my path. “Is there anything we’re forgetting? You have a port key, your jewelry, your protection stone—you have the pendant on, right?”

I nod, tugging on the chain as he continues. “You have the coin if you need to write a message, an escape plan, a few different exits—you remember how to get to my spare room if needed, don’t you?”

“Draco, I practically lived with you over break. I know how to navigate your manor.”

“Right, right,” he sighs, running a hand through his already tousled hair. “I have a really bad feeling about this.”

The trio are staring me down from a few paces away, too—Harry has his arms crossed, Ron looks like he might throw up, and Mione can’t stop biting her nails.

“Can you lot at least pretend you’re going to see me again after this? Your nerves are stressing me out,” I quip.

Draco stops pacing and turns to face me fully, his expression tight with frustration. “You’re acting like this is just another errand. It’s not.”

“I know,” I say, my voice quieter now. “But if I let myself spiral, I won’t make it through the night.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t argue.

Behind him, Hermione finally drops her hand from her mouth. “Just—don’t let them corner you,” she says. “If anything feels off, use the port key. No hesitation.”

Ron nods fervently. “I’m serious, Y/n. We’re not joking about this.”

I glance at Harry, expecting him to echo their concern, but instead, his gaze is sharp, calculating. “If you learn anything,” he murmurs, “anything at all—”

“I know,” I interrupt, adjusting the long sleeves of my gown. The fabric is rich, too elegant for my liking, but my mother had insisted on nothing less. “I’ll be careful.”

Draco exhales harshly beside me. “You better.”

Without thinking, I pull each of them into a hug—lingering for a few extra moments when I have my arms around Draco. His arms wrap around me like a vice, and our nerves mingle for a moment before I pull away.

With one last look at the trio, I step into the floo, taking a breath before speaking clearly. “Malfoy Manor.”

The familiar pull of magic wraps around me, and when I open my eyes, I’m standing in the grand drawing room of the manor. The air is thick with tension, the scent of expensive cologne and burning wood lingering in the space. A handful of cloaked figures are already present, engaged in low conversations, but their eyes flick toward me as I arrive.

“Finally,” my mother’s crisp voice cuts through the room, drawing my attention. She stands near the fireplace, dressed immaculately, her icy gaze sweeping over me. “Join me.”

I school my expression and walk forward, my heels clicking against the marble. I brush off my long black dress primly, folding my hands in front of myself. As I reach her side, I catch sight of Lucius Malfoy, poised near the head of the gathering, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly at my presence.

“I trust you remember your place,” my mother murmurs, her hand lightly resting on my arm—a warning disguised as a gesture of guidance.

Before I can respond, another voice joins in.

“How lovely of you to join us, Miss Lavigné,” chirps a voice I recognize immediately. Bellatrix Lestrange. She lounges in one of the chairs, her dark eyes gleaming with something too eager, too unhinged. “I do hope you’re ready for a…productive evening.”

I keep my chin high, my expression unreadable. “Of course.”

“Now, Bella, let’s mind our manners.”

I turn my head in the direction of the all too familiar voice to see Snape in the corner, his arms folded over his chest. “We wouldn’t want the Dark Lord to lose his pretty new pet, now would we?”

Bellatrix cackles, unbothered by Snape’s dig, but I don’t miss the way some of the others shift uncomfortably at his words. I keep my expression carefully neutral, but inside, I silently thank him. He may have phrased it as an insult, but by openly mocking the situation, he’s subtly reminding everyone—including me—that I’m here as a pawn, not by choice. And that knowledge is something I need to hold on to.

My mother’s grip tightens ever so slightly on my arm. “Enough of that,” she says smoothly, though I can hear the edge in her tone. She doesn’t appreciate Snape’s interference.

Lucius clears his throat, stepping forward. “Let’s not waste any more time. The Dark Lord has been… anticipating this meeting.”

I don’t react, though my stomach twists violently. I knew this was coming, but hearing it aloud makes it real in a way I hadn’t prepared for.

My father finally speaks, his voice quieter than my mother’s but no less firm. “He has taken an interest in you,” he says, trying to mask his very obvious concern. “It was only a matter of time before he requested your presence.”

Requested. A polite way of saying demanded.

I force myself to nod, as if this is all expected. “Of course,” I say evenly.

My mother gives me a slow once-over, her eyes sharp. “You will be on your best behavior.”

I meet her gaze, unwavering. “Naturally.”

She studies me for a second longer, then inclines her head. “Good.”

There’s a heavy pause before Lucius gestures toward the doors. “Then let’s not keep him waiting.”

As the group begins to move, I keep my breathing steady, my steps measured. I remind myself of everything I prepared for—of Draco’s voice in my head, running through my escape plans, my protections, my exits.

And above all, I remind myself that no matter what Voldemort says or does, I do not belong to him.

When we get to the grand dining room, I’m seated between Lucius and my father—a subtle act of protection from the men in my life. Last time my father’s seat was occupied by Draco; I can breathe a little easier knowing he’s not in harm’s way this time around.

To be completely honest, because of the sheer amount of time I’ve spent with the Malfoys, Lucius and Narcissa have become something resembling parental figures for me. Narcissa more so, of course, but even despite all of the terrible things he’s done, Lucius has had his redeeming moments, too. He’s stayed true to his word and kept my secret about the council, slipped me that potion during my training, and even went about giving me advice for how to handle the political side of things now—in his own way, of course. But still. That has to count for something.

The room is filled with low murmurs as the Death Eaters settle in, but the atmosphere is heavy. The long dining table is set, though no one is here to eat. This is a meeting of power, not comfort.

Everyone goes quiet when Voldemort walks in, his pet snake twisting around his feet with perfect precision. Nagini, he calls her. She’s no ordinary snake, I’m certain of it. There’s something about her that feels less animalistic and more… sentient. It makes my stomach churn.

The Death Eaters all stand, keeping their heads bowed while he makes his way to the head of the table. I follow suit, determined not to stick out too much. Lucius makes it easier—he gives me subtle signals to tell me what’s coming. A flick of his wrist telling me to stand, a muffled cough when it’s time for all of us to say, “Good evening, my lord.”

And finally, he tugs me down with him by my dress sleeve when Voldemort hisses, “You may be seated.”

Honestly, who does this man think he is? A God? His narcissism knows no bounds—but I can’t say anything about it even if I wanted to.

I keep my posture composed, hands resting lightly in my lap, but the weight of his absence in my direction is heavier than any glare. He doesn’t acknowledge me. Not at first. Just like last time.

The longer he ignores me, the more my dread coils in my stomach like a living thing, tightening with each passing second.

Instead, his attention is focused on his most trusted. “The Ministry is weakening,” he says, his voice smooth, calculated. “Our people inside are feeding us valuable intelligence. The time to strike draws near.”

Lucius inclines his head. “The new security measures will only last so long. Eventually, they will become complacent.”

Voldemort’s lip curls in something almost like amusement. “Complacency is a disease that rots even the strongest of foundations.” His gaze flickers briefly to Severus. “And what news from Hogwarts?”

Snape leans forward slightly, his expression unreadable. “Dumbledore remains… persistent,” he says carefully. “However, his health declines. He will not be a threat much longer.”

The Dark Lord hums, considering. “Good. Our patience will be rewarded soon enough.”

There is more discussion—of strategies, of names I don’t recognize, of places that will soon be taken. It’s horrifying, hearing them speak of destruction like it’s a mere chess game. I school my face into blank attentiveness, knowing that even the smallest show of emotion could be dangerous.

But still—he does not look at me. And that terrifies me more than anything.

Because I know what comes next.

He’s saving me for later.

“And what of our young heir?” he finally drawls after the longest twenty minutes of my life, his voice low and dangerous. I freeze, willing myself not to flinch.

All eyes turn to look at me, but I don’t react. I sit quietly, my face stone cold.

Voldemort turns his head ever so slightly, red eyes locking onto mine for the first time that evening. The corner of his mouth twitches in something that might resemble amusement, but the feeling it stirs in my gut is anything but comforting.

“Come,” he says, the word soft yet absolute. A command, not a request.

I push my chair back slowly, my movements measured. My father stiffens beside me, but he doesn’t object. He wouldn’t object. My mother watches me with a sharp gaze, unreadable, but I don’t look at her for long.

I don’t look at anyone.

Except for Lucius, who, to my surprise, makes a move to stand. “My Lord,” he starts carefully, inclining his head in deference, “perhaps it would be best if she remained. She is still young, and—”

A terrible silence follows.

Voldemort merely tilts his head, his amusement deepening. “And what, Lucius?” he muses, voice lilting. “Are you questioning me?”

Lucius is an experienced politician. He doesn’t waver, doesn’t flinch, though I notice the way his fingers curl ever so slightly at his sides. “Of course not, my Lord,” he says smoothly. “I only meant to ensure her usefulness to you is not wasted prematurely.”

Bellatrix scoffs loudly, crossing her arms with a sneer. “What usefulness? She has done nothing to earn this much attention,” she spits, her voice venomous. “You coddle her, Lucius. Just like your brat of a son.”

I keep my expression blank, even as my nails dig into my palm beneath the table.

Voldemort lets the moment hang before he finally chuckles—a horrible, airy sound. “You are as transparent as ever, Bella,” he murmurs, standing with fluid grace. His eyes flicker back to me, and the amusement vanishes. “Come, child.”

I don’t hesitate.

Lucius exhales quietly as I step away from the table, and Bellatrix glares daggers into my back, but I don’t allow myself to dwell on either of them. I follow the imposing figure as he strides out, catching Snape’s eye as we pass. I can hear his voice in my head. Be careful. It’s clear enough that I almost question if he actually said it.

I keep walking behind Voldemort down the grand hallway, the manor’s eerie silence pressing down on me with every step. He leads me to a dimly lit study, lined with ancient tomes and relics that hum with dark magic. The door shuts behind me without him ever touching it.

And then, finally, he speaks.

“Y/n Lavigné. Daughter of Castor and Grace, heir to the Lavigné fortune.”

Nagini circles around my feet, trapping me in place. I don’t let myself flinch as he starts to circle me as well, clearly sizing me up.

“Tell me, child—how does it feel?”

I steady my voice before speaking. “How does what feel, my lord?”

He laughs under his breath. It’s a sickening sound.

“To wield such power and yet… go unrecognized for it. To have nowhere to put it.”

I do a quick mental check to make sure my defenses are up. They are.

Finally, I lift my head, keeping my posture straight. “My lord?”

He stops in front of me, gesturing to a sofa. “Take a seat. We have much to discuss.”

I hesitate for only half a second before lowering myself onto the sofa, careful to move with the same grace my mother drilled into me since childhood. My hands rest neatly in my lap, though every muscle in my body remains coiled, waiting.

Voldemort takes his own seat across from me, his movements slow, deliberate. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this was meant to be civil. A quiet discussion between equals. But I do know better.

This is a performance. A test.

His red eyes gleam in the dim candlelight as he studies me, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “You are a bright girl,” he muses. “Intelligent. Well-connected. Exceptionally gifted.”

I say nothing.

“I have been watching you for some time,” he continues. “Your heritage is noteworthy—your lineage even more so. Merlin’s blood runs through your veins, yet you have been… hesitant to embrace the full extent of what that means.”

My stomach clenches, but I force myself to remain impassive. I expected this. The moment I discovered my ancestry, I knew it wouldn’t stay hidden forever. But how much does he truly know?

He tilts his head, as if gauging my reaction. “There is great potential in you, child. Power that has been squandered under the misguided teachings of lesser men. Tell me, do you not tire of pretending? Of restraining yourself for those who will never understand what you are?”

I exhale slowly, choosing my words with care. “I do not pretend to be anything I am not.”

His lips curl slightly—not quite a smile, but something close. “Perhaps. But you do hide.” He leans forward, voice soft, almost coaxing. “You are not like them. You were never meant to be like them. And yet, you have allowed yourself to be shackled by their expectations.”

The air in the room feels heavier now, thick with magic and intent. He’s weaving something into his words, pressing against my mind with all the subtlety of a blade to the throat. I strengthen my Occlumency shields, careful not to make it obvious.

His gaze sharpens, but he does not press further. Instead, he leans back, feigning ease. “I am not your enemy, Y/n.”

A lie.

“I wish only to guide you.”

Another lie.

“To help you become what you were always meant to be.”

And there it is.

The offer.

I let the silence stretch between us, keeping my expression thoughtful, as if I’m considering it. I know better than to reject him outright—that would be foolish. But I also know that accepting outright would be even worse.

So I do the only thing I can do.

I let him keep talking. Let him think he’s winning.

Because the longer he underestimates me, the more control I have.

“All of that to say,” he presses on, his face twisted into something evil, “I’d like to make you a deal.”

If there was ever a time for performance to come in handy, it’s now. I need to act innocent, to make him think I know much less than I do—and most of all, I need to find some way to spin this in my favor.

It’s not going to be easy, but it just might be possible.

I let something small flicker over my face—something like interest, curiosity even—before I mask it again. “In… what capacity, my lord?”

He seems mildly pleased at my curiosity being piqued as he presses on. “I think you have great potential, my child. And I’m willing to offer you something of your choosing. All I ask in return is for you to pledge your loyalty to me. To my cause.”

My stomach churns. I knew exactly what he was going to say, but that doesn’t make it any less terrible.

Loyalty.

So, what, he wants me to join his ranks? To take the dark mark? He’s being cryptic on purpose, and we both know it.

Before I can even process a response, he decides this is the time to try and sweeten the deal. “But first, tell me… what is it you most desire?”

I should get an award for the acting I’m about to do.

I lean forward ever so slightly, letting my lips part slightly and my eyes go a little bit wider as if I can hardly contain myself at the offer. “Anything?”

His eyes flicker with something dark—he thinks he has me. “Yes, child. What is it you long for? Fame? Power? Independence? I can give you all that and more.”

I press my lips together, pretending to think before giving him the answer I’ve spent the last few nights thinking about.

There’s nothing he can give me that I don’t already have. Wealth? Power? Fame? That comes with my family name. Maybe not to the extent he’s thinking—but I don’t need it. Independence? I have my own plan for that. Love? I have that, too.

There’s only one thing I don’t have, but it has nothing to do with myself.

“I want immunity,” I say evenly, a hint of perfectly crafted desire lacing my voice.

His arrogance falters for a brief moment before he regards me with something else entirely. His snake-like face bears an expression I can only equate to respect. “Protection? Of course you will have immunity when you join our ranks.”

“Not for me,” I add, keeping my voice steady.

The almost amused look returns to his face, his lips pulling up into a sneer. “I see. Who, exactly, would you like immunity for, my child?”

This is it.

“All of my classmates,” I reply, lifting my chin ever so slightly. “Every witch or wizard who hasn’t come of age yet. The adults have made their choices—but my peers? They’re much too young and naïve to fully grasp the gravity of what’s going on.”

Voldemort’s red eyes narrow, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, a slow, slithering chuckle escapes him.

“You are a clever one,” he muses, tilting his head slightly as if reassessing me. “A noble request, though I must say, a rather naive one. Do you truly believe that youth absolves them of their allegiances? That their blood does not already bind them to a side?”

I keep my breathing steady. “I believe that children are easily manipulated. That many of them have been taught what to believe, not given the choice. Surely, my lord, you above all others understand the power of shaping a young mind.”

His lips curl, the ghost of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. “A fair point,” he concedes. “But I cannot agree to such a broad request so easily. Tell me, what do you gain from this?”

I feign hesitation, lowering my gaze slightly as if I’m reluctant to admit it. Then, in a carefully measured tone, I say, “Loyalty.”

His expression flickers with interest.

“If my peers know that I have secured their safety, then when the time comes, they will turn to me. They will owe me. And that loyalty, that gratitude, can be cultivated into something greater.” I meet his gaze again, willing him to believe me. “You asked me what I desired, my lord. I desire influence.”

Voldemort leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Influence,” he echoes. “A rare ambition for someone so young.”

I allow myself the smallest smile. “I have seen what influence can do. The right words at the right time can shape the course of history.”

He studies me in silence, and I know I’m walking a razor-thin line. He could see through me at any moment. But I have one advantage—he underestimates me. He thinks I am ambitious, yes, but not dangerous. Not a threat.

After a long pause, he exhales through his nose, as if humoring me. “Very well. I will consider your request—on one condition.”

I brace myself. “Which is?”

“There is a particular classmate of yours who unfortunately cannot fall under that blanket. He’s in your year, I believe. Surely you have heard his name.”

Harry. He’s talking about Harry.

I tilt my head slightly, letting recognition color my features. “You mean the Potter boy?”

Voldemort seems to go cold at the mention of his name, but he doesn’t let it show. “Yes. Harry Potter.”

“I presume your hesitation is because of the prophecy?” I prompt gently, trying to downplay it.

He prickles. “You’re familiar with it.”

I nod my head, preparing myself for the sticking point.

I have to sell this.

“May I be candid, my lord?”

Voldemort straightens, making a vague gesture with his hand, seeming amused. “By all means.”

“With all due respect, I don’t believe the prophecy could’ve been about him. It specifically mentioned a singular heir of a powerful family. The potters were wealthy, yes, but they were not powerful. Lily Evans herself was a muggle-born making Harry Potter a half-blood at best and he cannot be considered powerful if he is not even pure.”

I can see the wheels turning in his head despite his stubbornness. It’s a good sign.

If I can make him question himself, if I can make him doubt that Harry is the true threat, I can start to chip away at him.

“Then who, do you presume, is it about?” he asks, clearly trying to trip me up. I don’t let him. Instead, I go in for the kill—the thing that can make the scales tip in my favor or possibly send me completely into enemy territory.

“Me.”

Voldemort regards me in eerie silence, his red eyes gleaming with something unreadable. The room feels colder now, as if the very air has turned against me. Then, after a long pause, his lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile.

“You think highly of yourself.”

I tilt my chin up ever so slightly, holding his gaze. “I think realistically, my lord. Surely, you have brought me here for a reason.”

His fingers drum idly against the arm of his chair, a slow and deliberate rhythm. “Enlighten me, then. What makes someone like you so… powerful?”

It’s a challenge, I’m sure of it. I see it in his eyes—he’s daring me to back down now that I’ve worked myself into this corner.

I won’t let him win.

“I can do wandless magic, wordless magic, both at the same time, even. I’m skilled at defense, I’m great in a duel and I’m a natural at Legilimency. I can properly cast each of the Unforgivables—and accurately at that—without so much as my wand which, I might remind you, shares the same core as your own. if that does not constitute power, I don’t know what does.”

Voldemort pauses, as if weighing my words before narrowing his eyes.  “And yet, power alone does not make one the subject of prophecy. Many witches and wizards have talents, but destiny does not choose them all.”

I keep my expression measured. “Perhaps not. But I was not raised in obscurity. My bloodline is ancient, my heritage deeply woven into the fabric of magic itself. I am a direct descendant of Merlin through my father’s side. His magic flows through mine—older than the Ministry, older than Hogwarts itself.”

There’s a flicker of something in his expression—curiosity, maybe even intrigue. He leans forward just a fraction.

I continue, keeping my voice steady. “And on my mother’s side, well… I imagine you already know of her lineage.”

His silence tells me everything. Of course he does. He makes it his business to know who holds power, especially those who could one day rival him.

“You believe this prophecy speaks of you,” Voldemort muses, watching me like one would a chess piece before making a decisive move. “And yet, you are standing before me now. If you were truly my downfall, would I not already be dead?”

I let out a soft breath, as if I’ve already considered this. “Prophecies are vague, my lord. The wording can be twisted, misunderstood. Perhaps it doesn’t mean the one destined to defeat you—perhaps it simply means the one who could. Power is potential. It is the ability to tip the scales in any direction.”

His gaze darkens, and I know I’m walking an impossibly fine line. I have to be careful—too much confidence, and I become a threat. Too little, and I become nothing.

Voldemort taps a single finger against the armrest, considering me. Then, after a long moment, he exhales slowly. “You are either incredibly brave, or incredibly foolish.”

I keep my posture steady. “With all due respect, my lord, I fail to see the difference.”

A dark chuckle escapes him. “Indeed.” He straightens, his expression smoothing into something almost unreadable. “I will consider your request—on one condition.”

I brace myself. “Which is?”

His smirk returns, sharper than before. “You will prove your loyalty. Not in words, but in action.”

And just like that, the real test begins.

“I expected nothing less,” I say smoothly, forcing my face to remain calm.

He considers me, standing. “Very well, then. Should you complete this task I will grant you your request—if, and only if, you are successful.”

I can’t tell if he wants me to stand up as well or stay seated, but I take my chances and rise out of my seat. It seems to be the correct choice. “As you wish, my lord.”

Voldemort steps closer, his presence suffocating, his voice a low hiss. “Albus Dumbledore.”

The name alone sends ice through my veins, but I don’t let it show. I already knew where this was going the moment he mentioned proving my loyalty.

He watches me carefully, as if waiting for a reaction. When I give him none, he continues.

“You will kill him.”

A silence so thick it could be cut with a blade settles between us.

This is a test. A trap, even. He expects me to hesitate, to waver, to show some sign of weakness. But I cannot afford to fail, not when the alternative is exposing myself as a traitor.

So I do the only thing I can do.

I incline my head slightly. “Of course, my lord.”

A flicker of something—surprise—crosses his serpentine features, but it vanishes just as quickly as it came. “You accept so easily,” he muses, almost as if he doesn’t believe it.

I allow myself the smallest of smirks, letting my gaze meet his. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve killed a man at your request.”

Voldemort stills, his eyes narrowing as he studies me, perhaps searching for any sign of a lie. He won’t find one.

Then, after a beat, he laughs. A cold, hollow sound that slithers through the air like smoke. “Yes,” he murmurs, as if pleased. “I suppose it wouldn’t.”

He believes me.

That, more than anything, seals my fate.

I bow my head, knowing that my real task isn’t taking Dumbledore’s life—but finding a way out of it.

Voldemort regards me with something like intrigue, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light. “You seem so content with your choices,” he muses, but there’s something new in his voice—curiosity, suspicion, perhaps even amusement. “And yet… a Hufflepuff.”

I know what he’s getting at. Hufflepuffs are meant to be soft. Kind. Morally upright.

I let a small, knowing smile tug at the corner of my lips. “I assure you, I was sorted properly. At my core, loyalty is my greatest strength—and the strongest part of me.”

His expression sharpens slightly, as if testing the weight of my words. I press on before he can speak.

“But loyalty is not the same as lightness, just as betrayal is not the same as darkness. And I have never felt bound to the naive ideals people so often associate with my house. I have always felt more at home around dark magic.”

It isn’t a lie. It’s something I’ve known about myself for a long time. I pick up dark spells faster. The magic comes to me like second nature. Maybe it’s my lineage, maybe it’s something else entirely—but I don’t deny it.

Voldemort studies me in silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. Then, a slow, satisfied smirk stretches across his face. “Good.”

One word. But it seals my place in his eyes.

I bow my head slightly, playing my part perfectly. Inside, my mind is already racing ahead. I have an ace up my sleeve that I can’t reveal to anyone except the headmaster himself—I have a plan.

It’s risky, and probably not very well thought out, but if I play my cards right, it just might work.

But to make that happen, no one can know.

Voldemort straightens, his presence suffocating me. “Come,” he commands, turning sharply.

I follow without hesitation, falling into step just behind him as he leads me back to the meeting. My heart pounds against my ribs, but my expression remains composed. I can feel the weight of what’s just happened pressing down on me, the enormity of what I’ve agreed to—but I push it aside.

As we enter, the conversation at the table dies instantly. Every pair of eyes flickers to us, waiting, watching. Some of them—Lucius, Bellatrix—are trying to read me, trying to figure out what was discussed behind closed doors. Others look vaguely disinterested, but I know better. They all want to know if I succeeded.

Voldemort moves to his seat at the head of the table, his movements smooth, deliberate. He does not sit. Instead, he lets his gaze sweep over the room before speaking.

“We have come to an agreement.”

The silence stretches, thick with anticipation. I keep my posture straight, unreadable.

“Within one month’s time,” he continues, voice soft but sharp as a blade, “she will prove herself.”

There’s something in the air—curiosity, approval, skepticism. He does not elaborate on what exactly I’ve agreed to, and I know better than to react.

Bellatrix tilts her head, her dark eyes gleaming with something like delight. “How intriguing,” she purrs. “I do hope it will be… entertaining.”

Lucius casts me a glance, his expression carefully schooled. Others exchange looks but say nothing.

I let the words hang, let them wonder.

I can feel my mother’s gaze on me, assessing, calculating. I do not look her way.

Voldemort finally lowers himself into his seat, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. “See that you do not disappoint me,” he murmurs.

I bow my head slightly. “I would never dream of it, my lord.”

The meeting resumes as if nothing has changed, but I know better. Everything has.

~

When I land back in the Room of Requirement, four heads snap in my direction and Draco and the trio all rush over to me at the same time, concern flooding their features. They all talk over each other at once—all I hear is a jumble of, “What happened?” “Are you okay?” “Thank Merlin you’re back.” “We were about to come out there ourselves.” “Why didn’t you message us?”

I’m overwhelmed by the barrage of concern, but I force myself to remain calm, letting none of my panic or fear show. Draco grabs my arms, his hands surprisingly gentle as he checks for injuries—though I can tell it’s not just about that. He’s looking for something else, maybe a Dark Mark.

I let out a quiet breath, just as he seems to find nothing and releases me with a sigh of relief.

“I’m fine,” I say, the words coming out smoother than I feel. I keep my face neutral, but the knot in my stomach tightens.

“It was just a normal meeting,” I continue, my voice steady as I glance around at all of them. I leave out the part about Voldemort’s offer, the ultimatum, and the fact that I’ve just agreed to murder Dumbledore.

“They were discussing strategies, plans, you know, the usual things. Nothing… particularly unusual happened,” I lie.

They exchange uncertain glances, but Draco doesn’t seem convinced. His brows furrow, but he doesn’t push it further, his attention flickering to the others as if waiting for them to speak up.

“I’m just glad you’re back safe,” Hermione says, her voice laced with concern, though there’s a wariness in her eyes. She knows when I’m hiding something, but she doesn’t press.

“Did he seem… different?” Ron asks, his tone wary, though he tries to act nonchalant.

I hesitate for a split second before answering, feigning a casual shrug. “No more than usual. Just the same cold, calculating monster.”

Draco catches my gaze for a moment, his eyes flickering with suspicion, but he says nothing. He seems content to let the topic drop—for now.

I turn away slightly, pretending to be more at ease than I feel. Inside, the weight of the agreement bears down on me, but I push it back. For now, the lie holds. For now, I’m safe.

“Harry, you wanted information? I have it. Come on,” I say quietly, moving towards the table in the center of the room. “They’re picking up speed.”

Harry nods swiftly, following me to the table, tailed by his two best friends and Draco. “Good. What did you find out?”

I pull out a map from one of the compartments under the table and splay it out, before grabbing some red pins and sticking them in various locations. “These are their next targets. Voldemort is sending them in droves to destroy evidence, steal artifacts, and take prisoners of war for questioning.”

I press my finger to the map, tracing the paths of the pins. The urgency in my voice is barely contained. “They’re moving fast. These aren’t just random raids—they’re coordinated, and they’re targeting key places. I think they’re after something specific, but I haven’t figured out what yet.”

Harry leans in, scanning the map with his brow furrowed, clearly trying to make sense of it. “How do you know all this?”

I shoot him a quick glance, keeping my expression as neutral as possible. “For whatever reason, they trust me enough to let me sit in on their meetings. They were talking about it right in front of me. Like I wasn’t even there.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not exactly the whole truth, either.

“I’ve been keeping track,” I say, pushing a red pin into another spot, marking yet another location they’re planning to hit. “They’ve been leaving traces behind—nothing obvious, but just enough for me to figure it out.”

Draco, who had been lingering near the edge of the group, steps forward, his eyes narrowing at the map. “How much time do they have before they strike again?” he asks, his voice edged with something almost too casual.

I don’t miss the underlying tension in his tone. There’s a part of me that wonders if he already suspects that I’m involved with Voldemort in ways that I haven’t fully disclosed, but I keep my gaze steady, unflinching. “It’s hard to say. But if I’m guessing, we’ve got a matter of weeks, maybe a month at best.”

Hermione leans over, studying the pins with intensity. “We need to stop them before they get to these places. If they’re targeting artifacts, that means they could be after something that we still don’t know about. Something dangerous.”

I nod, my thoughts racing. “Exactly. We need to move quickly, and we need to get to those sites before they do.”

Draco glances at me again, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. But before I can try to decipher it, he straightens, giving a quick nod. “We’ll need to be smart about it. We can’t just rush in.”

I take a breath, reminding myself to keep up the facade. “That’s not all.”

“There’s more?” Harry asks, quirking a brow.

I nod, leaning back against the wall. “Voldemort said the ministry is almost completely taken over. So on that front, we have no one we can trust.”

Everyone stiffens at my words. We’ve been expecting it for quite some time, but me saying it out loud made it real.

Hermione leans forward, tilting her head. “You have a plan.”

It’s not a question—she’s reading me. And she’s not wrong.

“Kind of,” I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Not exactly a plan, per se. But I do have an idea.”

“Go on, then,” Ron encourages me, leaning forward.

I look at all of them, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to tell the Conseil.”

The room goes silent. For a moment, I think I’ve completely lost them.

“Are you serious?” Harry asks in disbelief. “We can’t even trust the British ministry. What makes you think we can trust the French one?”

I shoot him a look. “Because it’s different. The British ministry has certain ways of hiring and losing members—the Conseil takes members by bloodline only. The families on it today have been the same ones since its creation. I did some digging and as far as I’ve seen, there’s no connection or even crossover between members of the Conseil des Sorciers and Voldemort’s followers.”

Ron leans back, looking exhausted. “You’re putting a lot of trust into a group of people you’ve only just met.”

“It’s our only hope,” I sigh, coming to sit down at the table with them. “We obviously can’t handle this alone. We need help. Actual adults, with actual resources and experience who can take on the Voldemort and his followers to end this war.”

Everyone pauses. They know I’m right.

Finally, Draco places his hand over mine, clearly trying to ground himself. “We don’t even know if they’ll believe you. You’re at a huge disadvantage here—you’re really new, and really young.”

“I know,” I agree, turning my hand over to lace our fingers together. “So… I had another thought.”

“Oh, God,” Hermione mumbles under her breath, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. “I mean—Merlin. I mean… oh, whatever. What is it?”

I smile sheepishly, knowing I’ve given them information overload. “Remember our plan for over break?”

They all nod, looking skeptical.

“I was just thinking… if we can find my grandmother, maybe I can get her on my side. And if I can do that, maybe I can convince her to help me talk to the Conseil. She was a member for decades. They trust her. It won’t sound so outlandish coming from someone like her.”

The group falls into an uneasy silence, each of them processing my words in their own way. Draco shifts slightly beside me, still holding my hand, though I can feel the tension in his fingers. He opens his mouth to say something, then hesitates, as if considering his next words carefully.

“Are you sure you can get her to help?” he asks quietly, his voice tinged with concern. “I mean… you said she’s been out of touch with everything, right? What if she doesn’t want to get involved?”

“I don’t know,” I respond, meeting his gaze. “But clearly she’s always been a political woman. I can’t imagine she’d sit idly by while the world is falling apart.”

Hermione shifts uncomfortably in her seat. “And how do we know she isn’t on his side? I mean, given your mother’s lineage…”

The boys all look at me expectantly, but I know there’s a possibility she’s right. “Look, I know it’s a long shot, but it’s all we have. Unless any of you have a better idea.”

Ron groans, rubbing his temples. “This is all a lot, you know? First, we have to deal with the Death Eaters. Now we’re supposed to track down your estranged grandmother, who’s probably holed up somewhere in France, and get her to join our cause?”

I shrug, trying to seem calm despite the whirlwind of thoughts spinning in my mind. “It’s all we have, Ron. If we can even get her to listen, it could be the key to getting the Conseil on our side. I don’t know what else we can do.”

“Yeah,” Harry mutters, folding his arms. “Guess we don’t have much of a choice.”

“Great. We’re off to find your grandma then, I suppose,” Ron says, his voice dry but resigned. “Nothing like a spring break treasure hunt.”

I offer him a half-smile, though I can tell that the weight of the situation is settling heavily on all of us. There’s no time for second-guessing anymore.

Hermione sighs, looking exhausted but determined. “Fine. We do this, but we do it smart. We don’t rush in without a plan.”

I nod, feeling the pressure in my chest lighten slightly as they all come around to the idea. “We’ll figure it out together. I promise.”

Draco squeezes my hand, his touch warm and grounding. “Just… don’t do anything reckless, alright?” His voice is low, almost like he’s trying to hide the worry creeping into his words.

“I won’t,” I promise, though I can feel the weight of the secret I’m holding back—the one about my agreement with Voldemort. I can’t afford for them to know. Not yet.

The room falls silent as everyone digests the plan. Finally, Harry speaks up. “Alright, we’ll head out over break. Just… keep us in the loop. And be careful. We can’t afford any slip-ups right now.”

“Agreed,” I murmur, standing up and stretching, the tension still tight in my shoulders. “We’ll get this done. Together.”

The group starts to disperse, everyone heading for their respective dorms. As I begin to move toward the door, Draco calls out quietly, “Hey… are you staying with me tonight?”

I stop in my tracks, glancing back at him. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that wasn’t there before. “What?”

“I haven’t slept in days. I’ve been so worried about you,” he admits, his usual bravado faltering for a moment. “And… I just… I don’t know. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

I hesitate, my heart thumping a little harder in my chest. I haven’t stayed in his room since we cured the love spell, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it.

He looks at me, his gaze earnest. “Please. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

His request is simple, but the weight of everything that’s happened between us makes it impossible to resist. The truth is, I don’t want to be alone either—not with everything going on.

I give a quiet sigh, nodding. “Honestly… that sounds really nice right now.”

Draco seems to relax a fraction, slipping his hand in mine and kissing the top of my head. “Thank you.”

I follow him to the Slytherin dorms, receiving some looks but ignoring them. Draco pulls me along proudly, almost preening, as if showing me off to the few stray Slytherins still in the common room.

His bedroom door shuts behind us with a click and he immediately pulls out a pair of his pajamas for me to slip into, spraying them with his cologne before holding them out in my direction.

I take them gratefully, kissing him on the cheek. “You’re a dream.”

Draco smiles softly, his eyes glimmering with something I can’t quite place as he watches me change into the pajamas—a milestone we reached but never discuss. When I’m done, I walk over to him, feeling a warmth spread through me, not just from the clothes, but from the way he’s looking at me.

“You’re the dream,” he replies quietly, a faint chuckle escaping him as he reaches over to pull back the blankets on his bed. “Come on. Get comfortable.”

I settle in beside him, the bed feeling unusually big with the space between us at first. But soon, Draco scoots closer, wrapping his arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest. His body is warm, and I find myself relaxing into the familiar feeling of him.

The weight of everything else fades, just for a moment. I’m here, with him, and that’s all that matters right now.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice low and gentle as he brushes a strand of hair out of my face.

I nod, feeling safe in his arms, but still, my mind races with thoughts of the tasks ahead. Draco seems to notice the shift in my demeanor, though, and his hand moves to my wrist, gently rubbing circles into my skin. “You’ve been through a lot,” he murmurs. “I’m here, alright? Don’t overthink it.”

I smile softly, the comfort of his words settling over me. “I’ll try not to.”

He reaches for a small vial of Dreamless Sleep potion in his bedside table, uncorking it and handing it to me. “Drink this. You’ve got a lot on your mind, and I… well, I don’t think either of us need any more nightmares.”

My eyes widen in appreciation. “Where did you…?”

He shrugs, smirking softly. “I may or may not have asked Snape if I could make some for extra practice.”

I down the potion, feeling the cool liquid slide down my throat. It’s always a bit bitter, but tonight, it’s exactly what I need. Within moments, I can feel the tension in my body begin to release, the weight of the day lifting.

“My hero,” I murmur gratefully, closing my eyes as the effects start to take hold.

Draco adjusts his position slightly, pulling me even closer so that my head rests on his chest. The scent of his cologne floods my senses, the citrus and pine a welcome reminder of home. His heartbeat is steady and comforting beneath me, and I find myself slowly drifting off, my mind quieting.

“I’ll make sure you’re safe,” Draco whispers, his voice barely audible. “Sleep well, darling.”

And with that, I let the darkness take over, my body and mind finally surrendering to the peace I’ve been searching for.

The last thing I hear is Draco’s steady breathing, matching mine as we both drift off into a quiet, peaceful sleep.