The Pact

“If you don’t mind, could my friends come in?” I ask Catherine politely, gesturing to the front door. “They’re going to start to worry and I don’t want to leave them outside just staring at each other.”

Catherine looks at her daughter and they seem to have a silent conversation with their eyes before she relents. “I suppose. I’d rather have them in here where I can watch them, anyway.”

I breathe a sigh of relief as I follow her to the foyer. She deactivates the blood wards and ushers me to the door so I can beckon everyone inside.

They’re all sitting in the grass in a circle, on top of a blanket that I’m sure Hermione transfigured out of a leaf or something to keep them from getting covered in mud. The boys are whispering to each other but stop when they hear the front door open.

“You should be able to come in now,” I call out, leaning against the door frame. “Give it a shot.”

Draco stands up first, clearly antsy to get closer to me. When the barrier no longer holds him back, he immediately charges up the path and to the porch to give me a once over.

As the trio start heading towards us, he leans down to whisper into my ear. “Everything okay? It’s been a little while. You felt… I don’t know. Anxious or something. It was hard to place.”

I give him an unconvincing smile before pecking him on the cheek. “I’m alright, Dray. Just learning a lot of things at once. It’s a little overwhelming, but I’ll be fine.”

Draco studies me for a moment, unconvinced, but he doesn’t press further as the others reach the steps. Hermione’s sharp eyes scan my face, always attuned to the slightest changes in my demeanor, while Ron and Harry linger behind her, looking wary but relieved.

Catherine clears her throat, drawing their attention. “Come inside, all of you. I won’t have you sitting in the dirt like vagrants.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replies quickly, ever the polite one.

Once they step over the threshold, Catherine gestures toward the grand sitting room, where an ornate fireplace casts flickering light across the room. Enora moves to stand beside her mother, watching them closely, as if studying a group of peculiar creatures she hasn’t quite figured out yet.

Catherine claps her hands once, and within moments, three house-elves appear, their large eyes flickering to her attentively. “Bring refreshments for our guests. Tea, biscuits, perhaps some sandwiches,” she orders, her tone crisp but not unkind. The elves bow low before vanishing with a soft pop.

As my friends settle onto the plush chairs, Hermione murmurs, “You have house-elves?”

Catherine raises a brow, clearly amused. “You disapprove?”

Hermione, to her credit, chooses her words carefully. “Only if they aren’t treated well.”

“They are paid and given the choice to stay,” Enora interjects smoothly. “Mother may be particular, but she’s not cruel.”

Hermione looks mildly surprised but nods in approval.

As the conversation continues, Catherine places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Y/n, come with me.”

I glance at Draco, who stiffens slightly but says nothing. “Where are we going?” I ask as Catherine guides me toward the hallway.

“To see exactly where your magic stands,” she replies simply. “I won’t waste time speculating. If you are meant to fight a war, then we should know if you are ready for battle.”

I swallow hard but nod, following her deeper into the house, my heart pounding with both anticipation and unease. I feel a small sensation on my wrist as we walk. Tap tap tap. Our small, unspoken I love you that neither Draco nor I have mustered up the confidence to actually confess yet, but I tap it back nonetheless.

My grandmother takes me to an ornate door with multiple secure wards around it that she has to take down before we can enter. When she swings the door open, I find myself in awe.

The room is vast, its towering ceiling enchanted to resemble a swirling night sky, deep indigo clouds drifting lazily over a canopy of glimmering stars. Dark, polished stone tiles stretch across the floor, cool underfoot, embedded with runes that faintly pulse with residual magic. The air is thick with energy—old magic, the kind that hums beneath the surface of reality, waiting to be wielded.

Tall bookshelves line one side of the chamber, filled with ancient tomes bound in deep crimson and black leather, their spines inscribed with gold filigree. Some of the books seem to shift slightly, as if aware of my presence. A large, intricately carved wooden desk sits nearby, stacked with parchment and vials of ink, a place for research and strategy.

On the opposite side of the room, a dueling space is marked by a raised circular platform of obsidian, its edges glowing faintly with protective wards. Candles hover in the air around it, their violet flames flickering as if sensing a new challenger. Training dummies, enchanted to mimic an opponent’s movements, stand to the side, their forms shifting unpredictably between different shapes—human, creature, shadow.

A massive mirror, framed in wrought iron twisted into the shape of intertwining vines, takes up one wall. It is not a simple reflection—it shifts, showing glimpses of past battles, possible futures, and secrets yet to be uncovered. The whispers of forgotten spells tickle the edges of my mind as I approach it.

A cauldron rests in a shadowed alcove, surrounded by shelves filled with glass jars containing rare ingredients—nightshade, crushed moonstone, vials of shimmering silver blood. A ceremonial dagger, its handle embedded with onyx, rests on an altar beside a worn spell book, evidence of the room’s history with blood magic and ritual casting.

At the far end, a grand fireplace crackles with blue and green flames, casting eerie yet oddly soothing shadows across the room. Above it, a tapestry woven with silver thread depicts the Noirval crest—a raven clutching a dagger in its talons, wings spread wide as if ready to strike.

Catherine steps inside, gesturing for me to follow. “This,” she says, her voice filled with quiet reverence, “is where true power is honed. Where our family has trained for generations. And now, Y/n, it is your turn.”

“Woah,” I breathe out quietly, stepping into the room slowly.

I can’t describe the shift that happens as I simmer in the space for a moment, but something inside of me changes. Relaxes, even. Like there was a pressure on my chest that finally let up, and I can breathe a little easier.

My posture goes effortlessly straighter, and the tension headache that I’ve had for the past few days disappears. Even the muscles in my face that were once screwed up tight with stress are lax, the space between my eyebrows no longer sore from being knit together so often.

But most of all, I can feel a difference in my veins—in my magic. It sizzles beneath the surface, though not painfully. What once felt sharp and cold now feels warm and comforting, and I don’t know how to begin to process it.

Catherine seems to notice the shift in my demeanor as she looks at me. “You’re only proving my point.”

“What?” I ask, slipping out of my daze.

“The gift,” she says softly, hands folded in front of her. “You definitely have it. You are family after all.”

I glance down at my hands, flexing my fingers, feeling the magic thrum just beneath my skin. It’s different here—more present, more alive. Like I’ve been trying to hold onto something slippery all my life, only to realize I was never meant to grasp it with force, but to let it flow through me freely.

I look back at Catherine, eyes wide. “I’ve never felt it like this before.”

She nods knowingly. “Because you’ve never been where it was meant to be nurtured. Magic is more than talent, Y/n. It is connection. To the world, to history, to blood.” She takes a step forward, studying me carefully. “And yours has been restrained for far too long.”

I swallow hard, my heart pounding. “Then teach me. Show me how to use it properly.”

A slow, knowing smile spreads across her face. “I intend to.”

She flicks her wrist, and suddenly, the candles hovering above the dueling platform flare with violet flames, casting elongated shadows across the stone floor. The mirror in the corner shimmers ominously, and I swear, for just a moment, I see my own reflection smirk back at me with a glint of something unfamiliar in its eyes.

Catherine gestures toward the center of the room. “Let’s begin. How do you usually train?”

I step up onto the dueling platform where she pointed, my feet planted surely on the wood. “It’s a combination of things. Mostly, mother just gives me a spell to work on and has me do it over and over until it’s perfect. If it’s a defensive spell, she’ll keep casting at me until I can block it. If it’s an offensive spell, I cast it on a dummy. But… the dummys we use don’t…”

“Change?” She asks, a bit of amusement in her tone. “Yes, well—these are different. Everything in here is different. Meant to challenge you. To help you grow. And what better way to learn than on your feet, against an opponent that moves like it’s real—or that could change from a shadow to a creature to a person in seconds?”

I take a slow, measured breath, steadying myself. This is different—far different from the rigid training my mother has given me. There’s something alive about this room, something ancient, like the magic itself is watching, waiting to see if I’m worthy.

Catherine lifts her hand, and with a subtle flick of her fingers, the space around us shifts. The air grows heavier, charged with something unseen, and the shadows along the walls start to move. At first, they ripple like reflections on water, then slowly, deliberately, they begin to take form.

A figure emerges from the darkness, tall and faceless, its edges flickering like smoke caught in a storm. It cocks its head as if studying me. Then, without warning, it lunges.

Instinct takes over. I raise my hand, wandless magic crackling at my fingertips, and throw up a shield. The shadow slams into it with a force that sends vibrations up my arm, but the barrier holds.

Catherine watches me closely. “Good,” she murmurs. “Your reflexes are sharp, but you rely on instinct alone. You need control. Again.”

The shadow shifts, elongating, its limbs stretching unnaturally as it circles me. My pulse quickens. I ready myself, channeling my magic with more intent this time.

It strikes. I move.

The dance begins.

“You need to feel it,” Catherine calls as I toss up a wave of water at a new figure. “I can see you have a wide array of spells to use—but have you considered combining them? Changing them? Making new ones?”

“What? You—you can do that?” I question her over the whooshing sound in my ears—a figure running past me. I turn around sharply, summoning a brick wall between us as it charges.

Catherine smirks, flicking her wrist, and my wall shatters like glass, dissolving into the very air it came from. “Of course you can,” she says, stepping lightly around the dueling platform, watching me with sharp eyes. “Magic is not meant to be rigid. It’s fluid, evolving. You’ve spent your life following spells like recipes, but true mastery comes from understanding the ingredients.”

I barely have time to process her words before another shadow lunges. This time, I don’t just react—I think. Instead of casting a simple shield, I combine Protego with a propulsion charm, forcing the shadow backward as my barrier explodes outward in a controlled blast. It stumbles, reforming almost instantly, but Catherine nods approvingly.

“Better,” she says, her voice low with satisfaction. “But what if you didn’t stop there? What if the very force of your shield carried another spell with it? A freezing hex? A binding charm?”

My mind races. The idea is overwhelming, but also… thrilling.

I pivot, dodging another attack, and this time, when I cast, I layer my magic—Protego first, but laced with Glacius. As the shield expands, ice spreads along the ground beneath the shadow’s feet, locking it in place.

Catherine claps once, slow and deliberate. “Now you’re thinking like a sorcerer.”

“This is mental,” I exhale, attempting a Flipendo mixed with Incarcerous. It doesn’t quite hold the way I want it to, so I try it again—heavier on the Incarcerous. That does the trick. “I didn’t know this was even an option.”

She smirks, watching me deflect another figure. “It’s not an option for everyone. It takes a certain level of skill, a certain type of magic, and a certain amount of finesse—and, just as I predicted, you took to it like breathing.”

I duck under a spell cast by the figure in front of me (they can do that, too?), weaving in and out of the obstacles that have magically appeared in the floor of the dueling stage. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Catherine tilts her head, her expression calculating as she watches me move. “Most witches and wizards treat magic like a tool—a means to an end. They follow instructions, replicate spells, never daring to push beyond what’s written in books.” She flicks her fingers, and the figure I just dodged shifts shape, its limbs elongating into jagged claws. “But you? You feel magic. You shape it, mold it without even realizing.”

I grit my teeth, rolling to the side as the creature slashes toward me. I raise my hand, but before I can cast, I remember her words. Feel it. Shape it.

Instead of relying on a single spell, I imagine what I want the magic to do—something solid, something forceful. I thrust my hand forward, channeling both Expulso and Petrificus Totalus in one swift motion. The blast sends the shadow creature skidding backward before its form stiffens, freezing mid-movement.

I pant, staring at it in disbelief. “Did I just—?”

Catherine smirks, stepping onto the platform. “Create something new? Yes.” She raises her wand, and the frozen figure dissolves into wisps of smoke. “And that, Y/n, is what separates a true sorcerer from an ordinary spellcaster.”

She steps closer, lowering her voice. “This is what your mother feared. What the prophecy hints at. You have the power to change magic itself.”

A chill runs down my spine at the intensity in her voice. She’s being dead honest, and that scares me on its own. No one in my family has ever been straightforward with me in this way—only ever to insult me, belittle me. Make me feel small.

I keep having to remind myself that was all Dumbledore’s idea.

“Is this how my mother trained?” I ask suddenly, not sure where it came from. Maybe morbid curiosity, or an ache to understand more about the woman I apparently know nothing about. Maybe both.

Catherine takes a breath, a wistful look in her eyes. “Yes. This is how all of my children trained. And, had Enora or Matias had children, they likely would have been trained in the same way.”

“How old were they when you’d start working with them?”

Catherine meets my gaze with an earnest thoughtfulness. “That depended on them. Whenever they started showing signs that they were ready, that their magic was blossoming. For Matias, it was around thirteen. Enora at eleven.”

I pause, wrapping my arms around myself. “And my mother?”

She pauses, as if debating how much to share before she caves. “Grace was extraordinary. We started working with her at eight and a half.”

“That’s so young,” I say quickly, eyes wide. “Before she would have even had a wand.”

Catherine nods solemnly. “Yes. But Grace… she was different. The magic inside of her was wild, unpredictable. It manifested early, lashing out when she was emotional—angry, afraid, even overjoyed. We had no choice but to teach her how to control it before it controlled her.” She exhales, a hint of something regretful in her expression. “Perhaps, in doing so, we stifled parts of her. Pushed her too hard, too soon.”

I shift uncomfortably, absorbing this new piece of my mother’s past. It doesn’t make sense—not with the woman I knew. She was calculated, composed, always in control. But now I wonder if that was because she had to be.

Catherine studies me for a moment before speaking again. “That is why I will not force you, Y/n. I will train you, guide you—but only if you want this. If you choose it for yourself.”

I bite my lip, my fingers gripping my arms a little tighter. “And if I don’t?”

Her lips press into a thin line. “Then I suggest you pray that prophecy never comes to pass. And that your magic doesn’t fizzle out on you.”

“When you say fizzle out…” I trail off, not really sure what I’m asking.

Catherine sighs, walking towards one wall of the room and pulling something out of a box. When I look closer, I see that it’s some sort of tapestry, handmade if I were guessing.

She lays it out on the ground in front of me, and I see an intricate pattern that looks almost like constellations. She waves her wand over it and it comes to life—moving pictures telling a story.

The woven figures shimmer and shift, unfolding the tale like a living memory. The first image shows a young witch, her magic bursting from her hands in untamed waves, illuminating the dark fabric in gold and violet threads.

“This,” Catherine says, pointing at the girl, “is Cressida Alarie. Our ancestor. She was born with magic unlike any seen before—powerful, raw, limitless.” The tapestry changes, showing Cressida training, honing her gift, her spells warping reality itself. “But she feared what she could become. She hesitated. Repressed it.”

I watch as the images flicker again—Cressida’s form dims, her once-brilliant magic fading into dull embers. The final image is haunting: Cressida lying in bed, frail and empty, as if the magic had drained from her entirely.

“What happened to her?” I ask, my voice hushed.

Catherine meets my gaze, solemn and firm. “She lost it. Not just her skill—her magic. It withered inside of her until there was nothing left. Because magic like ours does not accept denial. It must be embraced, wielded, understood. Or it will abandon you entirely.”

A shiver runs through me as I stare at the final image, the woven threads flickering like dying embers. “So you’re saying… if I don’t use it, I lose it?”

She nods. “And with the prophecy looming, that is a risk you cannot afford to take.”

“How often do I need to train, then?” I ask, moving to sit on the edge of the platform.

She steps closer, assessing me. “That is up to you. How vigorous your training is. What kind of magic you are using. If you are not accessing the deeper parts of your magic, training is pointless regardless. But really, it’s all about how you feel.”

I shrug, giving her a noncommittal hum as a response. She continues on.

“The more you train—properly, I should specify—the better you’ll feel. Stronger, even. More confident and at ease. The darkness that has been consuming you for most of your life isn’t only outside influences. It is also your magic kicking back. Begging for attention.”

I take a breath, immediately knowing what she means. Despite how tired I am from the the wandless magic I’ve just done, I’m infinitely less tired than usual. Instead of feeling depleted, like I just ran a sprint, I feel almost rejuvenated—like I’ve been running slow and steady and hit my second wind.

In all honesty, I feel incredible.

Catherine watches me carefully, no doubt noticing the realization settling over me. “You feel it, don’t you?” she asks, a knowing glint in her eyes. “The way your magic is responding.”

I nod slowly. “It’s… different than what I’m used to. Normally, magic leaves me drained, but this—this feels right.”

She hums in approval. “Because you were fighting against it before. Forcing it into molds that weren’t meant for you. The way the Ministry teaches, the way Hogwarts teaches—it’s structured, restricted. That is not how your magic thrives.”

I let her words sink in, remembering every moment of exhaustion after long training sessions with my mother, every lesson where I felt like I was pushing against an invisible wall. But here, in this room, with Catherine’s methods, it’s the opposite. My magic flows naturally, freely.

“Then I want to keep going,” I say, standing again. “If I stop, if I hesitate—” I glance down at the tapestry, at Cressida Bellrose’s final, hollow form. “I can’t let that happen to me.”

Catherine smiles, something almost proud flickering across her face. “Good. Then let’s begin again.”

~

When we wrap up, I’ve gone in the complete opposite direction of tired. I feel reenergized, refreshed, on top of the damn world. Every part of my body is alight with magic, my veins sparking with electricity. It’s so different for me, but part of it feels so natural. Like I was always meant to have this.

We walk back out into sitting room where my friends are, listening intently to Enora telling stories about her time at Beauxbatons.

As soon as I step into the room, a grin spreads across my face, impossible to contain. I practically radiate energy, my body thrumming with a feeling I can only compare to one thing.

Draco is the first to notice. He stands immediately, brows furrowing in concern. “Are you okay?” He looks me over like he expects to see injuries.

“I feel amazing,” I exclaim, practically bouncing on my feet. “I don’t even know how to describe it—it’s like I’ve just downed an entire vial of Liquid Luck.”

Hermione’s eyes widen. “What?”

I nod enthusiastically. “It’s insane. I don’t feel drained like I usually do after training—I feel better. Like I could take on the world.”

Ron snorts. “Did she slip you an actual Felix Felicis?”

Harry leans forward, intrigued. “What did you do in there?”

I plop down onto the couch, barely able to sit still. “It wasn’t like the way we train at Hogwarts, or how my mother does it. It was different. I didn’t just cast spells—I shaped them, combined them. Did you know you can do that? Mix spells, break them down, build them back up, change them, make entirely new ones? Cause I didn’t know that. But apparently you can, and it’s incredible! My magic—it’s never felt like this before. Like it’s actually working with me, instead of fighting back.”

Draco is still studying me, his expression unreadable. “So you weren’t just learning spells—you were learning your magic.”

“Yes!” I nod eagerly, grabbing onto his hand with both of mine. “That’s exactly it.”

Hermione looks thoughtful, glancing between me and Catherine, who lingers by the doorway with an amused expression. “That makes sense,” she murmurs. “Most witches and wizards are taught within strict guidelines—structured magic, pre-written spells. But if your magic doesn’t fit into those constraints…”

I snap my fingers, pointing at her. “Then it resists. But now, I’ve figured out how to actually use it.”

Ron shakes his head with a laugh. “You’re buzzing. This is weird.”

I just beam at him. “You have no idea.”

“Wait,” Harry cuts in, looking at me like he can’t believe his eyes. “You said you’re changing spells?”

“And creating them,” I reply, my eyes bright.

Harry’s mouth drops open slightly. “Creating spells? But that’s not… how does that even work?”

I grin, the excitement practically bubbling over. “It’s like everything clicked into place. You start with what you already know, then… feel the magic. You bend it, combine it, make something new.”

Draco raises an eyebrow. “And you’ve just been able to do that all along?”

I shake my head. “No, I’ve always had the potential, but I’ve never had the right training—until today. It’s like I’ve been running on a fraction of my power, and now… now I feel like I can stretch out and take on anything.”

Hermione looks impressed, but also a little worried. “That’s wonderful, but be careful. You don’t want to burn yourself out trying to harness it all at once.”

“Don’t worry,” I laugh, feeling more alive than ever. “I’m pacing myself. But you guys, you should see the magic that’s in me now—it’s not just spellwork. It’s an entire force. I can feel it.”

Ron looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, but there’s a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That sounds a bit terrifying.”

“It is terrifying,” I agree, my voice quieter now, more serious. “But it’s also the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Catherine, who’s been standing silently near the door, finally steps forward with a soft smile. “She’s right, you know. She’s just begun to tap into her true potential. But it will take discipline and patience to make it truly hers.”

I nod, still buzzing with that newfound confidence. “I know. But I’m ready for it. I feel ready.”

Draco leans in closer to me, the protective instinct in his eyes clear. “Just don’t get ahead of yourself, Y/n. This… this is new for all of us. We’ll learn about it with you.”

His words are grounding, and for a moment, I let the intensity of the magic settle in. I may feel on top of the world right now, but I know it’s just the beginning. And I’m not alone in this.

“I’ll do anything with you,” I repeat softly, smiling at him, before turning to look at the trio. “With all of you. Do you know how much I love you lot?”

Draco rolls his eyes affectionately, and my other friends look torn between exasperation and amusement. “There’s the Hufflepuff. I knew you tucked her away somewhere.”

All I can do is giggle, standing up and walking over to Catherine. Without warning, I pull her into an overexcited hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You have no idea what you’ve done for me. How much this means.”

Catherine returns the embrace, a warm smile breaking across her face. “You’re welcome, my dear. You’ve got the heart of a true sorceress, Y/n. Just remember, the journey ahead will have its challenges. Embrace them, and never forget who you are.”

Pulling back, I wipe a happy tear from the corner of my eye and glance back at my friends, who are watching with a mix of affection and disbelief. “I really mean it. You guys have always believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

Ron grins, nudging Harry with his elbow. “Look at her, all sappy and sentimental. We’re gonna need to watch out for her now that she’s got this big power.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “More like we need to watch out for everyone else. Y/n’s going to be unstoppable.”

“Unstoppable or not, we’ve got your back, Y/n,” Hermione says firmly, her expression earnest. “No matter what happens, we’ll face it together.”

“Together,” I echo, my heart swelling with gratitude and love for them all.

Draco takes my hand, squeezing it gently. “And if anyone tries to mess with you, they’ll have to deal with all of us. The more power you harness, the stronger we’ll be as a team.”

I can feel the warmth of their support wrapping around me like a protective shield. “I can’t wait to see what we all manage to do.”

There’s a moment of warm camaraderie before I turn back to Catherine, suddenly remembering the original reason I came here. “About the Conseil.”

“Yes,” she replies thoughtfully, smoothing out my hair. “Whenever you want me there, send me an owl. I’ll pop by and we can talk to them about the Ministry.”

I nod, beaming up at her. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.”

She smiles softly, admiring me with an intense recognition that makes me realize what this might be for her—a second chance. “What else is family for, ma fille?”

I smile wider at her words, feeling a warmth spread through me. “I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

As we gather our things, Draco shifts closer to me, his presence grounding. “I think she’s already proud. I am, too.”

I can’t help the faint blush that rises to my cheeks as he takes my hand and presses my knuckles to his lips. A simple, small gesture—but the intimacy isn’t lost on me.

Catherine’s gaze flickers between us, and then she pulls out a small, intricately designed box.

“Before you leave, I want to give you something.” She opens the box to reveal a shimmering object that looks like a locket but is more ornate, with swirling designs etched into its surface. “This is a permanent Portkey. It’ll allow you to come and go as you please, without needing to use a floo or apparition.”

I take the Portkey, my fingers tracing the beautiful carvings. “Thank you! This means so much to me.”

“It will always connect you to this place, and to me,” she replies, her voice softening. “Just hold it tight and think of where you want to go. You’ll always be welcome here.”

I feel a lump in my throat, emotions swirling as I gaze up at her. “I will visit often, I promise.”

“Good,” she says, her eyes shining with pride. “Now go. Your friends are waiting.”

Draco and I step outside together, the evening air cool against my skin. Harry, Hermione, and Ron are lingering at the edge of the property, looking like they’re preparing for a long journey home.

“Did you say your goodbyes?” Ron asks, his curiosity evident.

I nod, holding the Portkey tightly. “I did, and I’ll definitely be back.”

“Ready to go?” Hermione asks, glancing at Draco and me.

“Absolutely,” I reply, squeezing Draco’s hand.

As we prepare to leave, I clutch the Portkey tightly, feeling the connection to Catherine and this new path I’m embarking on. “Apparate!” I call out, and with a rush of energy, we disappear from the grounds of Catherine’s home, landing right back at the Malfoy’s vacation home.

We all shake out the nausea from the ride, taking our time up the front steps and into the house.

It’s well past dinner time, the sunset painting the house with warm golden hues. Everything feels brighter now, more welcoming than it did before. But I can definitely feel a difference in the way my magic is responding here.

When I was surrounded by that ancient, dark, familial magic in Catherine’s home, I felt like I could breathe. But here, even surrounded by the people I care about most in the world, that slow pressure is starting to build up in my chest again, threatening to undo all of my progress. To spoil my good mood.

Draco notices first, pulling me off to the side while the others meander into the kitchen, trying to figure out dinner. “What’s wrong?”

I sigh, leaning into him. He wraps his arms around me without protest.

“I just… feel different again. Heavy,” I explain, not sure if I’m communicating it right.

He rubs gentle circles on my back, supporting my weight. “Are you drained?”

“No,” I reply, before thinking about it again. “Kind of? It’s not… I’m not exactly tired. I mean, I am, but—never mind. It’s hard to articulate.”

Draco nods, his expression attentive and patient as he listens to me sort through my thoughts. “Take your time. You just experienced a lot of powerful magic back there. It makes sense if you’re feeling a little off-kilter now.”

“It’s not that,” I reply, pulling back slightly to look into his eyes. “Catherine’s home was like a sanctuary. The magic felt alive, nurturing.”

He pauses, considering me warily, dropping his voice to almost a whisper. “You mean… the dark magic?”

The shift in his tone makes my heart drop. I instinctively pull away. “Yeah. It’s part of my heritage, Draco. Part of me.”

He hears the defensiveness in my voice, furrowing his brow. “I know that.”

“Then why do you seem so uncomfortable?” I ask, almost pleading.

Draco doesn’t respond for a moment, wiping a hand over his face. “I’m not. I just worry is all.”

“Worry about what?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intended. “This is who I am, Dray. Dark magic has always been a part of me. It will always be a part of me. So yes, when I’m surrounded by it, I feel more at ease. Lighter. Better. And I think deep down I always knew that. I just could never test it until now.”

My voice trails off into something smaller, something quiet and far away. He catches the shift, looking guilty. “I wasn’t trying to… I don’t care that you come from dark magic. At all. That doesn’t change the way I feel about you. But as much as that is true, not everyone will understand that. And I worry that it might put you in a tough spot. That’s all.”

I wilt, folding in on myself at his relentless understanding. “Right. Yeah. I’m sorry.”

Draco pulls me back in, cradling my head with one hand. “Don’t be. This is new for both of us. It’ll take some getting used to, but it’ll work out.”

“I know,” I say, my voice softer. “I just need to find a way to make it work when I can’t be in a place like that. To make this… smothering feeling go away.”

“Maybe it’s about finding balance,” Draco suggests. “You’re discovering new parts of your magic, and it’s natural to feel overwhelmed. But this is your journey. You get to decide how you navigate it.”

I smile softly, feeling a bit more grounded with his words. “You’re right. I have control over my own magic.”

Draco’s eyes shine with pride. “Exactly. And you’re not alone in this.”

As we step back into the living room, the inviting scent of food fills the air, and I can see Harry, Hermione, and Ron gathered around the kitchen island, laughter spilling out as they joke about something. The warmth of their friendship pulls at the edges of the heaviness in my chest, and I take a deep breath, reminding myself that I’m surrounded by love and support.

“Ready to join them?” Draco asks, tilting his head toward the kitchen.

“Yeah,” I reply, feeling a little lighter. “Let’s go.”

We walk into the kitchen together, and I can’t help but feel a sense of belonging as I join my friends. No matter how heavy things feel at times, I know that with them by my side, I’ll find my way through it all.