The Pact

As much as I’ve loved every minute of resting and recovering in Malfoy Manor, all good things must come to an end. The school year still isn’t over, and despite me defeating Voldemort apparently I still need to learn basic charms and potions.

Lucius and Narcissa send Draco and me back on the same day, making sure to send us to the floo in Dumbledore’s office with healer’s notes about why we’ve been out for so long.

Personally, I couldn’t care less how the headmaster feels about us being about. I’m still shocked he’s alive.

As we step through the green flames, landing in the familiar office, I stand with my mouth agape.

Right in front of me, in the flesh, is Dumbledore.

Draco, sensing my shift in attitude, clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably beside me.

“Well,” he mutters. “Hello, professor.”

Dumbledore, ever the picture of serene amusement, clasps his hands together. “Ah, Miss Lavigné, Mr. Malfoy. It’s good to see you both well.” His blue eyes twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles, as if this is just another ordinary school day.

Draco scoffs. “Right.” He turns to me, clearly eager to escape whatever is about to happen. “I’ll be in my dorm.”

He barely spares Dumbledore another glance before heading for the door. I don’t blame him—he has no context for what’s going on. But I’m not about to let this go.

I step forward, jaw tightening. “You’re alive.”

Dumbledore’s smile remains, but something shifts in his gaze—calculation, perhaps.

“So it would seem,” he says lightly.

“No,” I snap. “I watched you die. I watched you drink that poison. I watched the life drain from your eyes. And yet—” I gesture wildly at him, my pulse racing. “You’re standing here. So, I’ll ask again: How the hell are you alive?”

Dumbledore studies me carefully, as if weighing how much to reveal. “Miss Lavigné, death is not always as final as it appears.”

I let out a sharp laugh, devoid of humor. “Oh, spare me the riddles. I killed you. Or did you fake it somehow? Was the whole thing a setup?”

His expression softens. “You were never meant to bear such a burden.”

I clench my fists. “Don’t patronize me.”

A sigh escapes him. “You are correct in remembering my death, but the specific potion you brewed… what was it, again?”

I pause, remembering the shimmering silver of the potion, but realizing, “Snape never told me.”

He nods slowly, pulling an empty vial from his robes. “A true poison would never carry such a light hue, Miss Lavigné. I’m sure you’ve learned that much in your years in potions.”

A chill runs down my spine. “You planned this, didn’t you?” I breathe.

Dumbledore doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he just smiles, waiting for me to piece things together.

“You and Snape… you tricked them. Tricked him.”

“Now you’re getting it,” he chuckles, pulling out his wand. “Sometimes it’s easiest to show people what they want to see.”

I blink, looking at the familiar wand in his hand. “What was the potion?”

“The Black Veil Tonic,” he says simply, floating the empty vial over to me. “Ask Severus about it. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind explaining the finer details and workings to you.”

“Right,” I scoff, snatching the vial out of the air. “Like I trust anything either of you has to say right now.”

Dumbledore gives me a curious look. “I thought you would have been rather glad not to have another life on your hands, Miss Lavigné.”

I laugh incredulously. “Seriously? Is that what you think this is? I’m disappointed that you didn’t actually die?” I run my hands through my hair, pacing about the room. “Do you understand the hell I went through, thinking I had killed my own headmaster? Knowing that Draco and his friends watched it happen, saw me murder someone? It was torment! You could have at least clued me in on the plan!”

“But it wouldn’t have worked had you not believed it,” he says evenly, watching me pace. “And it worked, did it not?”

I stop pacing, glaring at him. “Worked? Worked?” My voice rises, fueled by the weeks of guilt, the weight of what I thought I had done. “You call that working? Do you know what that did to me? To Draco?”

Dumbledore’s gaze remains calm, but there’s something deeper there—something unspoken. Regret? Acknowledgment? I don’t care.

I throw the vial back onto his desk, spinning on my heel. “I’m done with this conversation.”

I storm out of his office, slamming the door behind me so hard that a few portraits mutter in protest. My heart pounds against my ribs as I make my way through the corridors, my mind racing. I need answers. Real ones.

I head straight for the dungeons.

By the time I push open the heavy doors to Snape’s classroom, he’s in the middle of a lecture, standing at the front with his usual dark presence, a cauldron simmering beside him. The room is filled with students—Slytherins and Gryffindors alike—who all snap their heads toward me as I step inside.

Snape’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. His sharp, dark eyes land on me, widening just slightly in shock before he smooths his expression into something unreadable. “Miss Lavigné.”

I don’t stop. I march straight up to his desk, ignoring the confused whispers from the students around me.

“You knew,” I accuse, my voice lower but no less furious. “You and Dumbledore. You set me up.”

His lips press into a thin line. “Class, continue brewing your Draught of Peace. Should I hear a single explosion or misplaced ingredient, you will all suffer the consequences.”

The students murmur among themselves but quickly turn back to their cauldrons, stealing glances at us as Snape gestures for me to follow him into his office.

The moment the door shuts behind me, I whirl on him. “The Black Veil Tonic.” I spit the name like a curse. “You let me believe I killed him.”

Snape regards me for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, quietly, “Yes.”

A rush of heat flares up my spine. “Why?”

He exhales slowly, moving behind his desk. “Because it had to be real.”

I grip the edge of a chair to steady myself. “For who? The Death Eaters? Voldemort? Me?”

His gaze flickers, just for a moment, and I realize—he did consider that. Consider what it would do to me.

“I was following orders,” he says at last, though there’s something almost tired in his voice.

I let out a bitter laugh. “Of course. The ever-loyal Snape. Following orders, never questioning, never caring about the damage in the process.”

His eyes flash dangerously. “Do not mistake my silence for indifference.”

“Then explain it to me,” I demand. “Because right now, it sure as hell looks like you and Dumbledore threw me to the werewolves.”

Snape stares at me for a long moment, as if deciding how much I deserve to know. Then he reaches into his robes, pulling out a small vial filled with the same silvery liquid I had once brewed. He holds it between two fingers.

“This,” he says, “was designed for one purpose—to mimic death convincingly enough to fool even the Dark Lord himself.”

I swallow hard, watching the way the potion catches the dim candlelight.

“You were never meant to bear the guilt,” Snape continues. “You were simply the best candidate to ensure the deception was flawless.”

I shake my head. “That’s not good enough.” My voice is quieter now, raw. “You used me. And you didn’t even have the decency to tell me afterward.”

Snape hesitates, something flickering across his features. “I did not expect you to return.”

Something in my chest tightens.

He expected me to die.

Or maybe he expected me to become something else entirely.

I don’t know what’s worse.

I take a step back, crossing my arms tightly. “Well,” I say, my voice clipped, “surprise.”

Snape’s expression remains unreadable, but something lingers in the air—something unspoken between us.

I don’t wait for him to speak again. I turn on my heel and push the door open, stepping back into the classroom. The students pretend to focus on their potions, but their eyes flick between me and Snape, undoubtedly wondering what the hell just happened.

I don’t give them a chance to ask.

As I storm through, I pause at a desk near the back. “That’s wrong. Too many siren’s tears.”

The Gryffindor sitting there gapes. “What—”

But I don’t stick around to explain. I leave, my mind still reeling.

Dumbledore is alive. Snape knew. And I was just a pawn in their game.

But not anymore.

I storm through the castle, nothing but pure fury coursing through my veins. A few months ago, I would have wanted to destroy something. To throw what my mother calls a “magic tantrum.” But the urge never comes.

Maybe that ritual did more than I thought.

As I walk—well, at more of a jogging pace, really—I suddenly feel a hand clasp the handle of my bag, pulling me backwards. I expect to fall, but a pair of strong arms catches me.

“What the—”

A hand clamps over my mouth before I can properly protest, dragging me into an empty classroom.

I thrash against my captor’s grip, instincts firing off in every direction. My wand is halfway out of my sleeve when I hear a familiar voice hiss, “Relax, it’s us!”

The hand over my mouth drops, and I whirl around, coming face to face with Ron Weasley. His freckled face is paler than usual, his blue eyes wide as he looks me over like he can’t quite believe I’m real.

Behind him, Harry and Hermione stand frozen, their expressions a mix of shock and relief.

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathes. “You’re alive.”

I blink, caught off guard. “What—of course I’m alive. What did you think?”

Harry and Hermione exchange a look before Harry mutters, “We thought you were dead.”

The weight of their words settles between us, thick and suffocating. My mind races back to the Ministry—the last time they saw me. The battle, Dumbledore, the way I had collapsed after—

Oh.

Guilt flickers in Hermione’s eyes before she steps forward. “We—we looked everywhere for you. After the battle, when you didn’t come back, we thought—” Her voice breaks slightly, and she presses her lips together.

Ron scoffs, but it lacks any real heat. “We even asked Malfoy.”

That startles me. “Draco?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, crossing his arms. His green eyes narrow slightly. “But he couldn’t tell us anything. Just burned our letters, probably.”

I inhale sharply, something twisting in my chest. Of course he did.

I straighten my shoulders. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.”

Ron shakes his head, stepping closer. “No, you don’t get to do that. You don’t get to act like everything’s normal.” His voice is quiet but firm. “You disappeared on us. And you—” He swallows hard. “We’re still pissed at you for what you did.”

I deflate. I knew this was coming.

“Listen, I had to—”

“Don’t give us that half baked excuse,” Harry scoffs. “You didn’t have to. You thought you could do it on your own, per usual. And—big surprise—you couldn’t!”

Hermione steps forward, arms crossed. “Harry’s right. If he hadn’t broken out of your enchantment when he did, Voldemort would still be alive.”

“I know! I know,” I reply, stepping back. “And I’m very grateful for what you did, Harry. But—”

“But nothing!” Ron splutters, gesturing wildly with his arms. “We were there to help you! We knew the risks! You just didn’t trust us enough to—”

“It’s not about trust!” I cut him off, frantically looking between all three of them. “I trust you lot more than anyone in the world. You know that.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t have glued us to the fuckingfloor,” he spits, gesturing at his feet. “Took forever to get out of, by the way! You’re lucky Hermione figured out a counterjinx.”

I wipe a hand over my face. “I know. I’m sorry. You just don’t understand,” I mutter, looking away.

“Then enlighten us,” Mione shoots back, dropping her arms as if defeated. “You know we’re stronger together than we are apart. Why would you stop us from going in there and—”

“To protect you!” I interject, throwing my arms in the air. “Why else? I had it handled. I would have—”

“You would have died if I hadn’t been there!” Harry shouts, stepping up to me.

Tears prick my eyes as I step closer to him, throwing my arms out. “I was prepared to die!”

Everyone freezes, my words hanging over the room.

“What?” Hermione asks, breathless.

I grit my teeth, unable to look at them. “I had enough magic left to kill him. Just enough. I could feel it,” I whisper, clenching my fists. “I was okay with using all of it up, with killing myself if it meant the rest of you weren’t involved. Everything I did was to make sure you weren’t involved.”

The tension in the room is thick enough to cut, but Ron pulls Harry back a few steps and out of my face. “That’s why you obliviated Malfoy.”

A tear finally falls when he says it, and I wipe it away with my sleeve. “I had to. He would have never stopped following me. I couldn’t risk it.”

“But the bond—” Hermione starts, but I cut her off.

“Was broken in the middle of the fight.”

Harry looks at me, stunned. “I thought the only way for those blood pacts to break was—”

He stops abruptly when I start to cry, my shoulders shaking. “It was my dad,” I choke out, leaning against a desk for support. “He’s gone.”

The room is silent.

Hermione is the first to move, her hands flying to her mouth as if she can physically stop herself from gasping. Ron’s face falls, all of his frustration instantly fading into something softer—something horrified. And Harry… he just stares.

“Oh, mate,” Ron murmurs, rubbing a hand over his face. “We—Merlin, we didn’t know.”

Hermione steps toward me, hesitant. “I—I’m so sorry. We would have—”

“There was nothing you could have done,” I interrupt, voice hoarse. I take a shaky breath, trying to pull myself together. “It happened too fast. I didn’t get to him until it was too late.”

My fingers clench against the edge of the desk, gripping it like an anchor. My father had been the last link to my old life, to who I used to be before all of this. Before Voldemort. Before blood pacts and betrayals. And now… now he’s gone.

Ron clears his throat, shifting awkwardly. “Draco—he—he must have lost it when he found out, huh?”

I freeze.

And just like that, the weight of an entirely different burden crashes down on me.

Hermione picks up on my reaction immediately. “Wait.” Her brows knit together in confusion. “You did tell him, didn’t you?”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

Their eyes are on me, expectant.

I force myself to speak. “He… doesn’t know.”

Ron blinks. “Come again?”

Harry frowns. “But—you obliviated him. Surely by now—”

I shake my head, my nails digging into the wood of the desk. “They couldn’t restore his memory,” I admit, barely above a whisper.

Silence.

Complete, deafening silence.

Hermione’s face goes blank, like she can’t quite process what I just said. “What do you mean they couldn’t?”

I inhale sharply. “I guess when I casted it, my magic corrupted something in the spell. They tried everything. He doesn’t remember the pact. He doesn’t remember the battle. He doesn’t remember me obliviating him. As far as Draco Malfoy is concerned… he has no idea what I took from him. He still doesn’t really remember me.”

Ron looks horrified. “Bloody hell.”

Harry rubs a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Jesus, Lavigné.”

Hermione just shakes her head, slowly. “And you’ve just… what? Let him walk around, completely oblivious to the fact that you tore a part of his life away from him?”

I flinch. “It was the only way to keep him out of this.”

Harry scoffs, raking his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, well, something tells me he’s not gonna see it that way when he finds out.”

I lift my head, eyes locking onto his. “He won’t find out.”

Hermione looks at me sharply. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

I hold her gaze, jaw tightening. “No.”

Ron lets out a low whistle. “Well. That’s gonna be a real fun conversation when he does.”

“Honestly, I deserve it,” I breathe out, folding in on myself. “I don’t even care. I just want him back. I want my Draco back.”

Harry looks thoughtful. “Can’t you just… I don’t know. Give him a nudge? Help him remember or something? Surely the memories aren’t gone, you’ve never obliviated someone before.”

“That’s the thing,” I reply, sniffling. “Sometimes he looks at me and I can tell he’s getting flickers of memories. Like he’s having déjà vu,” I explain. “But the healers said I can’t push him too much or I could risk making it worse. Locking the memories up for good.”

Hermione exhales sharply, crossing her arms. “You shouldn’t have obliviated him in the first place,” she snaps. “You always do this, you know that? You always think you have to carry the weight of everything on your own. Like you’re the only one who can make the hard choices.”

I bristle. “It wasn’t a choice. It was a necessity.”

Ron scoffs. “Oh, right, because obviously wiping Malfoy’s memory and tearing a massive hole in his life was the only way to keep him safe. That’s mental, and you know it.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Harry cuts in before I can.

“He’s right,” Harry says, eyes sharp. “You’ve got a hero complex the size of Hogwarts, and it’s going to kill you one day.”

I glare at him, something defensive twisting in my gut. “I did what I had to do.”

“Did you?” Hermione presses, her voice rising. “Really? Because all I see is you making reckless decisions and convincing yourself it’s for the greater good. Did you ask Malfoy if he wanted to be kept out of it? Did you give him the choice?”

I freeze.

“Thought so,” she mutters.

I hate that she’s right. I hate that she sees through me so easily.

Ron shakes his head, rubbing his temples like this entire situation is giving him a migraine. “Look, we get it. You wanted to protect him. But you don’t get to decide that for people. You don’t get to just erase someone’s memories because it makes your life easier.”

My chest tightens. “That’s not why I did it.”

Harry sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Doesn’t matter why you did it. What matters is that you’ve made a mess of things, and now you don’t know how to fix it.”

Silence stretches between us, thick with tension.

I swallow hard, my throat raw. “I don’t know if I can fix it,” I admit. “And even if I could… I don’t know if he’d ever forgive me.”

Hermione softens just slightly. “Maybe not,” she says quietly. “But you owe him the truth. That’s how you fix it.”

I shake my head. “If I tell him, it could make it worse. He already looks at me like I’m familiar, like I should mean something to him, but he doesn’t know why. If I push too hard, I could break those pieces for good.”

Ron shrugs. “Maybe. Or maybe it’ll bring him back.”

I exhale shakily, wiping my hands over my face. “I just… I don’t know what to do.”

Harry studies me for a long moment before sighing. “Then figure it out.” His voice isn’t unkind, but it’s firm.

I bite my lip, my heart pounding.

Figure it out.

I just wish I knew how.

~

When I get back to the Hufflepuff dorms, they’re empty. Everyone is still in class—and I’ve never been more grateful for it.

I trudge up to my room and start to unpack, taking out my clothes and such. My school supplies are still here—untouched since before the battle at the ministry.

Before everything changed.

I make quick work of getting my room together and decide to take a shower, wanting to be ready for the day when tomorrow rolls around. I haven’t been to any of my classes in ages. I can’t imagine how much work there will be for me to make up.

Once I’m done showering, it’s about time for my dorm mates to get out of their courses. I dry my hair with a charm, then start to pace.

What if they’re mad I haven’t been here? That I didn’t tell them what was going on? What if they heard about what happened with Dumbledore, that I willingly tried to assassinate him? I can’t imagine the Slytherins would have kept that much a secret. Especially if they thought I was dead, since apparently everyone did.

Just then, the door opens, making me jump.

“Y/n?”

Hannah, Diana, and Alice are in the doorway, jaws dropped in shock.

I force a smile. “Hi.”

For a second, I think they’re going to whip out their wands and start interrogating me. But then—

“Thank Merlin you’re okay!”

Hannah throws herself at me, wrapping her arms around me while our other dorm mates join in, squeezing the life out of me.

“I was so worried! Why didn’t you write?” she asks, though she doesn’t sound mad. Just relieved.

I squeeze her back, tucking my face into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’ve had a lot going on, and I wasn’t sure you all would want to hear from me, and—”

“That’s mental,” Diana huffs, squeezing harder. “Why would we ever not want to hear from you?”

“Don’t you know how much we love you?” Alice chimes, sighing.

For a moment, I just let myself soak it all in, then finally pull back to look at them. “I’m so sorry to scare you guys. I’ve missed you like crazy.”

“We missed you more,” Hannah replies quickly, taking my hand and guiding me over to the door. “Come on, let’s go to the common room. I’m sure there’s a lot for you to catch us up on, yeah?”

I offer her a weak smile. “Yeah. I have to warn you though, it’s… a lot.”

“Well, it’s not like we haven’t heard,” Diana interjects.

I quirk a brow. “What do you mean?”

Alice looks between us, almost confused. “Everyone has heard. You defeated you know who. It’s all over the Daily Prophet. You’re, like, a total celebrity.”

My stomach twists uncomfortably. “Oh,” I say, the weight of their words settling over me like a lead blanket.

Hannah gives me a little nudge. “Come on, you’ll see.”

I let them pull me down the stairs, but as soon as we step into the common room, I realize exactly what she meant.

The moment I’m spotted, a wave of voices erupts.

“She’s back!”

“I told you she wasn’t dead!”

“She dueled You-Know-Who and won—”

“And she helped break his power—”

I freeze in the doorway, my heart hammering. Hufflepuffs of all ages are gathered around, their faces alight with admiration, excitement—something dangerously close to awe.

A younger student—third year, maybe—stares up at me, wide-eyed. “You killed him?”

I flinch. “I—I didn’t kill him.”

“But you beat him,” another student says eagerly, inching closer. “You went against the Dark Lord, and you survived! That’s incredible.”

Someone claps me on the shoulder, and I jolt. Ernie Macmillan beams down at me. “You’re a legend now, you know that?”

I force out a chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“A legend,” I say, a little more forcefully. “I just—I did what had to be done. That’s it.”

But they aren’t listening.

More students press in, their voices overlapping.

“Tell us what happened!”

“How did you do it?”

“Did you really trick Death Eaters and duel multiple people at once?”

“Is it true you’re on the French Ministry and got them to help?”

I try to step back, but my heel hits the threshold of the doorway. The walls feel like they’re closing in. The air is thick, too many bodies pressing too close.

I can’t do this.

I can’t be this.

“Enough,” a voice cuts through, sharp and firm.

The crowd quiets instantly, parting as Crispin Larkspur steps forward. His brow is furrowed, his gaze flickering to me before he turns to the rest of them. “Give her some space. She just got back.”

There’s a murmur of apologies as students start to disperse, though a few linger, casting me furtive glances.

Crispin waits until the common room has settled before turning back to me. “You okay?”

I swallow hard, nodding. “Yeah. Just… not used to this.”

His lips twitch into something that isn’t quite a smile. “It’ll die down. But you are kind of famous now, whether you like it or not.”

I huff, raking a hand through my hair. “Yeah. Brilliant.”

Crispin chuckles, but there’s understanding in his gaze. “Come on. Let’s sit down before someone else tries to make you tell the story again.”

I nod, following him to a quieter corner of the common room, my dorm mates right behind me.

Even as I sit, trying to shake off the feeling of being under a spotlight, I can’t help but think—

If people are already reacting like this…

What the hell is going to happen when Draco remembers everything?

~

Walking into the Great Hall for dinner is a feat of its own. As soon as I walk through the doors, I can feel every single head turn, all eyes on me.

Then the whispers start.

“I thought she died.” “No way, I heard she didn’t even use a wand.” “Someone said her family is like, super dark or something.” “No, I think she was tied to you know who. it’s the only explanation.” “You think she’d give me an autograph?” “She’s only a fifth year! Isn’t that mental?”

I keep my eyes on the floor as I settle into my usual seat next to Hannah, hoping to avoid any unnecessary attention. But of course, that can’t keep everyone away.

“Y/n!”

I turn my head to see Neville coming my way, a goofy grin on his face.

“Hey, Nev,” I smile, making some space for him on the bench.

He plops down next to me before pulling me into a bear hug. “Oh, I’m so happy to see you. We were all so worried.”

“We?” I question him, hugging him back.

He gives me one last squeeze before pulling away. “Yeah. You know, Harry, Ron, Mione, Ginny, Luna, all of us. We weren’t sure if…”

“If I’d be back,” I finish for him, earning a small nod. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

Neville chuckles, shaking his head. “Didn’t think so.”

I smile, but it falters slightly when I notice just how many people are still staring. Some of the younger students are whispering furiously, while a few Ravenclaws openly gawk. A group of Slytherins at the far end of the hall—Pansy Parkinson included—exchange skeptical looks, their expressions unreadable.

Across the room, I catch a glimpse of Harry and Hermione at the Gryffindor table. Hermione gives me a small, encouraging nod, while Harry’s gaze flickers between me and the hushed conversations happening around us, his jaw tight.

I exhale, picking up my fork. “This is ridiculous.”

“Give it time,” Neville says, grabbing a roll from the basket. “They’ll find something else to obsess over soon enough.”

Hannah hums in agreement. “Besides, it’s not every day someone our age goes missing, then shows up like nothing happened after dueling You-Know-Who.”

“I did not duel him,” I mutter, spearing a roasted potato.

Ernie Macmillan, seated a few places down, leans forward. “Right, sorry. You just faced him and survived.” He smirks. “Which is obviously much less impressive.”

I shoot him a glare, but he just laughs, clearly entertained by my suffering.

Before I can reply, a new voice interjects.

“So, is it true?”

I turn to see a group of sixth years watching me curiously. One of them—a boy I vaguely recognize from Herbology—leans forward with eager eyes. “Did you really use wandless magic?”

I blink. “What?”

“People are saying you didn’t even use a wand when you fought. That you just—” he waves his hands dramatically, “—willed magic into existence.”

I gape at him. “That’s—insane.”

“Not denying it, though,” one of the girls points out.

I close my eyes briefly, inhaling deeply through my nose. “Listen. I don’t know what anyone is saying, but most of it is probably wrong. I am not some kind of—chosen one. If anyone should be getting all this attention, it’s Harry. He’s the one who delivered the final spell.”

Silence lingers for a second too long. Then—

“She’s just being humble,” someone whispers. “It was mostly her. He came in at the last second.”

I nearly slam my forehead into the table.

Neville snickers beside me. “Yeah, you might be doomed.”

Before I can snap at him, movement at the entrance catches my eye. The doors to the Great Hall open, and in walks Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

He looks… different. His posture is still sharp, his uniform pristine, but his face is carefully blank. He doesn’t glance my way, doesn’t hesitate as he makes his way to the Slytherin table.

He has no idea.

My stomach clenches.

“You okay?” Neville asks softly.

I nod, forcing myself to tear my gaze away. “Yeah,” I murmur, though my hands feel unsteady as I pick up my goblet.

For weeks, I had been consumed by guilt, by fear—by the knowledge that I took something from Draco that he can never get back.

But as I watch him sit among his friends, completely unaware, another thought creeps in.

For now, he doesn’t remember me.

But his friends do.

And if I’m not mistaken, there’s a very unhappy group of snakes making their way towards my table.

“I’ll be right back,” I say to Neville and the other puffs, excusing myself. The last thing I want is some huge confrontation in the Great Hall.

I slip out of the large doors at the last second, looking around the hallway to plan a potential escape route. Just when I settle on one, I hear the doors open behind me.

“Well, well, well. The Puff Princess is back.”

I freeze. Pansy Parkinson.

I turn around slowly, plastering a fake smile on my face. “Hey, guys. Long time no see, hm?”

Blaise scoffs. “Don’t you dare. You know why we’re here.”

Theo and Pansy nod on either side of him, arms crossed and positively pissed.

I raise my hands in defense. “Listen, before you guys start hexing me, just know that I only did what I did to protect you, okay? The whole point was that none of you were supposed to be involved and—”

“That’s what you think we’re mad about?” Theo chimes in disbelief. “You trapping us in a room and not letting us fight?”

“I—yes?” I stutter, looking between them confused.

Pansy smacks her forehead. “So you can outsmart a dark lord but you can’t use common sense?”

I blink. “I’m… gonna need you to elaborate.”

Blaise lets out a sharp laugh, though there’s nothing amused about it. “You really don’t get it, do you?” He steps closer, his dark eyes flashing. “We’re not mad because you tried to keep us safe, Lavigné. We’re mad because you Obliviated Draco.”

I swallow hard. “I—”

“For no reason,” Pansy cuts in, voice dripping with venom. “He didn’t ask for that. He didn’t want that. And now, he’s walking around, acting like you’re some random classmate instead of—” She huffs, shaking her head like she can’t even get the words out.

Instead, Theo steps forward, gaze sharp and unyielding. “You had no right.”

I open my mouth, but the words don’t come. My throat tightens. My fingers curl into fists at my sides.

“You think you’re some kind of martyr, don’t you?” Blaise sneers. “Sacrificing yourself for the greater good, making all the hard choices so no one else has to. But tell me, Lavigné—who the fuck asked you to?”

I flinch.

Theo shakes his head, exhaling sharply. “You took away his choice. Do you get that? You—” He breaks off, jaw clenching as he looks away for a moment. “Draco’s been off for weeks. He knows something’s wrong, he just doesn’t know what—because you stole it from him.”

My chest constricts. I look to Pansy, hoping for some kind of understanding, but there’s only fury in her expression.

“You don’t get to make that kind of decision for him,” she says, voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “Not for us, and sure as hell not for him.”

I inhale sharply, gripping my robes to keep my hands from shaking. “I didn’t—” My voice wavers, but I force it out anyway. “I didn’t know what else to do. If he remembered, he would’ve—he would’ve tried to get involved, and I couldn’t—”

“Oh, spare us the sob story,” Blaise snaps. “You think he’s better off now? You think he’s safer like this?” He gestures wildly toward the Great Hall, where Draco is probably still sitting, completely unaware of what we’re discussing. “Because from where we’re standing, all you did was break him and leave us to pick up the pieces.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.

I can’t breathe.

Can’t think.

Because—because they’re right.

I press my lips together, forcing the words out. “I’m sorry.”

Blaise scoffs. “Yeah? Sorry doesn’t fix it.”

Pansy shakes her head, taking a step back. “You’d better hope he never remembers what you did. If he gets hurt again because of you, you’re going to pay for it in blood. Don’t think killing Voldemort makes you untouchable now.”

Then, without another word, she turns on her heel and storms off.

Theo watches me for a second longer, something unreadable in his gaze. Then he exhales, muttering a quiet, “Unbelievable,” before following after her.

Blaise lingers the longest. He stares at me, expression dark, before finally letting out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You really fucked up this time, Lavigné.”

And then he, too, is gone.

Leaving me alone in the empty corridor.

Fuck.

I choose not to go back to dinner. I’m not hungry, anyway, and I don’t feel like getting mobbed again. Instead, I go back up to my dorm, plopping down on my bed.

I stare up at the canopy, my mind a storm of thoughts I can’t quiet.

Pansy. Theo. Blaise.

The way they looked at me—like I was a stranger. Like I was something awful.

And maybe I am.

I rub a hand over my face, exhaling sharply. The dorm is quiet now, my roommates having returned from dinner and settled into their nightly routines. Hannah had given me a worried look when she came in, but she hadn’t asked. None of them had. Maybe they knew I wouldn’t answer.

Eventually, the room darkens, the soft sounds of my dorm mates’ breathing filling the space. I close my eyes, willing sleep to come, but my body has other plans.

I dream.

Of cold blue flames and silver runes carved into skin. Of Draco’s eyes—wide, furious, betrayed. Of my own voice, whispering the incantation that wiped it all away.

I dream of the Ministry, of blood on the stone floors, of the flash of green light that nearly ended everything.

And then I wake—gasping, shaking, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it might break through my ribs.

I sit up, running a trembling hand through my hair. My sheets are tangled around me, damp with sweat. I can still hear the echoes of my nightmare in my head, a phantom pain pressing against my chest.

I can’t stay here.

Quiet as a shadow, I slip out of bed, grabbing my wand and a sweater before padding out of the dormitory. The common room is empty, the fire reduced to embers. I don’t stop. I move on instinct, taking the fastest route out of the basement, up the stairs, through the quiet halls of Hogwarts.

The castle is still at this hour, eerie in its silence. But I know where I’m going.

The Room of Requirement.

By the time I reach the seventh floor, my breath is steady, but my hands are still shaking. I pace three times in front of the empty wall, my mind whispering what I need.

A place to breathe. A place to be alone.

The door appears, and I slip inside, exhaling in relief as the room shifts around me.

It’s warm. Quiet. A couch sits near a fireplace, bookshelves lining the walls, a soft rug underfoot. It’s not unlike the common room, but something catches my eye.

A glint of blond hair on the couch, piercing silver eyes turning to look at me.

Draco.

“Oh, sorry,” I say quickly, nervously fiddling with my sleeves. “I didn’t think anyone else would be in here this late.”

He eyes me curiously, leaning back. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I blink. “Um… something like that, yeah.”

Draco just nods, turning back to the book in his lap. “Me either. Keep having these weird dreams.”

“Oh?” I ask, walking over and sitting down next to him. “About what?”

He seems to hesitate for a moment before finally deciding to tell me. “It’s always the same thing. I’m in the ministry, looking around and all of my friends are stuck, but I’m stuck too. Then Granger—bloody annoying Granger—gets everyone out and back to a hospital for some reason. Sounds odd, but I think you’re in it, too. I just can’t remember how. It’s more of a feeling, you know?”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry.

Those memories are really trying to work their way out.

“That is strange,” I settle on, though my tone is unconvincing.

Draco doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah. Had it every night for weeks.”

I keep my gaze fixed on the fire, willing my heart to slow. He remembers something, even if it’s buried under layers of magic. The thought sends a sharp pang through me.

“That must be frustrating,” I say quietly.

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. It’s not like dreams mean anything.”

I hum noncommittally, curling my legs beneath me. For a while, we sit in silence, the crackling fire the only sound between us. It’s almost peaceful, despite the unease curling in my chest.

Then, Draco speaks again, his tone oddly casual. “How do you feel about being arranged to be married?”

I blink, turning to face him fully. “Pardon?”

He shrugs, still looking at his book. “You know. The whole pureblood tradition thing. Parents deciding our future, all that.”

Something in my stomach twists. “Dunno. Doesn’t bother me, I guess.”

Draco finally glances at me, his expression unreadable. “So you don’t mind?”

I hesitate, studying him. He’s guarded—detached, almost—but there’s something else beneath it. Something careful. Calculated.

I take a slow breath. “I don’t mind,” I say softly, “if it’s you.”

His eyes flicker, something passing through them too quickly for me to name. But then, just as fast, it’s gone. He only nods, turning back to the fire.

“Hm.”

That’s it. No teasing, no smug remarks—just that.

I should feel embarrassed for saying it so plainly. I should feel something other than this strange, hollow anticipation.

But all I can do is watch him, waiting for a reaction that never comes.