The Pact

I keep my head down in my lessons for the next few days, hoping against all reason that the rumors will die down and people will leave me alone. I even redirect some of the attention to Harry—but to no avail.

I still have students tailing me, asking me for autographs, even Colin Creevey begging me for pictures. I indulge him of course, just to be nice, but I feel like my head is going to explode.

Thankfully for me, because of the reason I was out the last few weeks, I was exempt from all the work I missed. It just won’t be included in my final marks—meaning I have to do extra well on exams since I don’t have the extra padding.

Not that I don’t tend to do well, anyway. It’s just more pressure.

Shocker.

On Friday, I decide to go study in the Room of Requirement for a while. It’s private and always has what I need, hence the namesake of course, so it’s one of my favorite spots.

I’m about two hours in when I hear the door scrape open.

When I look up, I see Draco waltzing in, his nose held up in the air. “Lavigné.”

“Malfoy,” I reply nonchalantly, scribbling something down.

“Why the hell is everyone calling you my girlfriend?”

I freeze, my heart rate speeding up. “What?”

He crosses his arms, looking rather impatient. “You heard me. Have you been telling people that we’re dating?”

“What? No,” I reply quickly, trying to recover. “I wouldn’t.”

“Then why is everyone acting like we’ve been together for months or something? I can’t tell you how many people have asked me how it feels to be dating a celebrity.”

He taps his foot, waiting for my reply. I swallow, trying to brush it off. “Dunno. Rumor mill or something, probably. Did you tell anyone we’re engaged?”

“I—well, technically, yes. But my friends would never spread something like that,” he huffs, plopping down next to me. He rests his elbow on his knee, leaning closer as if to inspect me closer. “Have you told anyone about our little arrangement?”

Well, he just gave me the perfect out.

“Well, sure. A couple people,” I say sheepishly, acting apologetic. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

“Yeah, well, it is. I don’t need that kind of image,” he sneers, leaning back against the couch.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, so sorry. Didn’t know I was bringing the property value down.”

He wipes a hand over his face in exasperation. “This isn’t some kind of joke, Lavigné. As a Malfoy, I have a certain image to maintain. I’d say you do too, but…”

I pause, clenching my jaw. “But what?”

For the first time since he walked in, he looks almost embarrassed. “Nothing, I just… I heard you talking to your mother. After the funeral.”

My stomach turns at the reminder of the conversation he’s referencing. “And? What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, my voice rising involuntarily. “You think my name doesn’t matter now? That I don’t matter now because she doesn’t want me? Is that it?”

“Woah, relax. That’s not what I meant,” he replies, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just thought you might not care so much about your image anymore.”

I laugh humorlessly. “Wow. Eloquently put. ‘Yeah, your dad died and your mom hates you. Now you can do whatever you want!’ Fuck you, Malfoy.”

“That’s not what I—”

“Save it,” I hiss, grabbing my things. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to let everyone know exactly how you feel about me. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

He stands, walking towards me. “Lavigné, I—”

But I don’t wait to hear the rest as the door scrapes shut behind me.

Ugh. I forgot what a jerk he could be before I got to him. Softened his edges.

My Draco would have never.

The library is quiet when I arrive, which is exactly what I need. I settle into a corner, burying myself in books and parchment, hoping the weight of words will drown out the ache in my chest.

I know better than to let Malfoy’s words get to me. I know better.

And yet, I can still hear them echoing in my mind.

“I just thought you might not care so much about your image anymore.”

Like losing my father, like my mother turning her back on me, should somehow free me.

I grip my quill tighter, pressing the nib so hard against the parchment that it nearly tears.

“Piss off,” I mutter under my breath, though I’m not sure whether I’m talking to Draco or my own thoughts.

But, of course, fate isn’t that kind.

A shadow falls over my table, and I don’t need to look up to know who it is.

“You’re sulking,” Draco states plainly.

I don’t acknowledge him, flipping the page of my textbook. “Observant as ever.”

He sighs. “Look, I didn’t mean—”

I slam my book shut, glaring up at him. “Didn’t mean what, Malfoy?” I hiss. “Didn’t mean to remind me that my mother abandoned me? Didn’t mean to imply that I have nothing left to lose?”

His jaw tightens. “That’s not—”

“Then what did you mean?” I press, voice dangerously low.

He doesn’t answer right away, shifting uncomfortably. “I was being an arse,” he admits, running a hand through his hair. “Alright? I was frustrated, and I took it out on you.”

I stare at him, lips pressing into a thin line. “And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

He exhales sharply, sitting down across from me. “No. But I figured you’d want me to say it anyway.”

I narrow my eyes. “Say what?”

He looks away, clearly irritated. “You know.”

I tilt my head. “I really don’t.”

He glares at me, then mutters under his breath, “I’m sorry.”

I lean forward. “What was that?”

He grits his teeth, visibly restraining himself. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, louder this time. “There. Happy?”

A part of me wants to stay mad, to keep lashing out just because I can. But the truth is, Draco Malfoy just apologized to me.

And that is not something he does often.

I sigh, leaning back. “You’re still an arse.”

“Obviously,” he says dryly.

Silence settles between us, not entirely uncomfortable. I glance at him, expecting him to leave now that he’s gotten it over with. But he stays, tapping his fingers on the table.

“…So?” I ask after a moment.

He raises a brow. “So?”

I shrug. “You never told me your answer to the question.”

“What question?”

A small smirk tugs at my lips. “How does it feel to be dating a celebrity?”

Draco groans dramatically. “We’re not dating.”

“That’s not what everyone else is saying. You know, according to you.”

“Shut up.”

I roll my eyes, turning back to my textbook. “Brilliant response. Truly.”

He chuckles under his breath. “You’re insufferable.”

“Likewise.”

And yet, he doesn’t leave.

~

We seem to come to a truce for the time being, neither of us really talking about the fight after it’s resolved. He’s probably still bothered by the “rumors,” and I’m definitely not happy about what he said, but we’ve moved on.

After all, what I’ve done to him is so much worse.

I try not to dwell on it, instead focusing on making up for lost time with my friends over the weekend. There’s a trip to Hogsmeade on Saturday that I spend with Hannah, Neville, and Luna, the four of us partaking in some butterbeer and sweets. Luna points out some hidden runes etched in the stones around the shops, and Neville fills me in on some of the cool plants I missed out on in herbology while I was gone.

All in all, it’s rather peaceful.

The weather is warming up, too. We don’t need coats anymore, and we only need light jackets at night. It’s perfect for sitting around outside, talking each other’s ears off and studying for the upcoming week.

This morning, I woke up to a note from Ron asking if I wanted to meet the trio in the quad for some much needed quality time (that’s not what the note said, of course. He just asked, “Wanna hang out?” with two boxes to check yes or no). I sent it back with a resounding “yes” and a smiley face.

The quad is already bustling when I arrive, students scattered across the grass in clusters, some pouring over textbooks, others simply enjoying the sun. The air smells of fresh earth and parchment, and somewhere nearby, someone is playing a lazy tune on a lute—probably a sixth-year trying to impress a date.

I spot Harry, Ron, and Hermione near a low stone wall, their usual spot, with their books spread out in a half-hearted attempt at productivity. Hermione looks the most studious, naturally, while Ron is flicking bits of bread at Harry, who bats them away with an amused but exasperated expression.

“Decided to grace us with your presence, then?” Ron says as I plop down beside him.

“I had to mentally prepare myself for your nonsense,” I reply, swiping one of the chocolate frogs resting near his elbow.

“Oi! That was mine,” he protests, reaching for it, but I hold it out of reach.

Harry smirks. “She’s been here for two seconds and already stealing your food. Impressive.”

“She learned from the best,” I say, throwing a meaningful glance at Ron, who has the audacity to look offended.

“Unbelievable. I invite you out of the kindness of my heart, and this is the thanks I get.”

Hermione, barely looking up from Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms, sighs. “You sent a note, Ronald. It’s hardly a heartfelt invitation.”

I snort, and Ron mutters something about nobody appreciating his efforts. Harry, meanwhile, leans back on his elbows, squinting up at the sky.

“Hogsmeade was good, then?” he asks.

“Yeah, it was nice. Neville filled me in on all the plants I missed, and Luna found some hidden runes around the shops. Did you know some of the stones have protective enchantments from way back?”

Hermione perks up immediately, shutting her book. “Really? I’ve read about that, but I never thought to look for them.”

“You should go with Luna sometime,” I say. “She has a weird sixth sense for that kind of thing.”

“She has a weird sixth sense for everything,” Ron mutters, earning a pointed look from Hermione. “What? I mean it as a compliment.”

“Right,” I say, unconvinced.

Harry shakes his head, grinning. “I think I’m just glad you’re back. You’ve missed some of Ron’s best material.”

“Lucky me,” I deadpan.

“You are lucky,” Ron insists. “I had a brilliant joke about Snape and a cauldron last week—had the whole common room in stitches.”

“Did it involve Snape being inside the cauldron?” I ask.

Ron brightens. “It didn’t, but that’s even better.”

Hermione groans. “I’m begging you both to focus on literally anything else.”

I grin, leaning back and stretching my legs out in front of me. The breeze ruffles my hair, and the sun warms my skin, the banter between us easy and familiar. It’s moments like these that make everything else bearable—the stolen meetings, the secrets, the weight of my family’s expectations.

Well, not that I have to worry much about those anymore.

Hermione takes notice of my shift in demeanor immediately. “You okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” I reply unconvincingly. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” Harry asks, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sickle for your thoughts?”

I brush some hair out of my face before mindlessly tugging at the grass. “I got in a fight with Draco.”

“Big surprise there,” Ron snorts, shaking his head. “What did he do this time?”

I sigh. “It’s not what he did, it’s what he said.”

“Something brash and tactless, I assume?” Mione chimes in, quirking a brow.

“Yeah,” I reply, dragging out the word. “He, uh—well, he basically implied that I don’t need to care about my ‘image’ anymore because I don’t have either one of my parents around now.”

Harry stiffens, straightening up. “What do you mean, neither? I thought it was just your father who… you know.”

I draw my knees up to my chest, resting my forehead on them. “I sort of went off on my mother after his funeral. Told her I knew everything she was keeping from me and that I was seeing her mom and sister behind her back. She didn’t take it well.”

Ron sucks his teeth. “No, I imagine not.”

I shoot him a weak glare. “No, not at all. She basically told Narcissa to keep me. Said I was no daughter of hers.”

Silence settles over our little group, the weight of my words pressing down on the air between us. Hermione looks stricken, her mouth parting as if to say something before she closes it again. Harry frowns, his jaw tightening, and Ron—well, Ron looks like he’s trying to decide between cracking a joke or throwing a hex in my honor.

“She actually said that?” Harry finally asks, his voice quieter than before.

I nod, resting my chin on my knees. “Yep.”

Ron exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Bloody hell.”

“She doesn’t mean it,” Hermione says after a moment, always the rational one. “She was angry. Parents say things they don’t mean when they’re—”

“She meant it.” My voice comes out flatter than I intend, and Hermione flinches. “She’s always meant it. My mother only ever saw me as something to mold into a perfect reflection of herself, and the second I stepped out of line, she made her feelings clear.”

Harry nudges my foot lightly with his own. “Well, she’s an idiot, then.”

I huff out a half-hearted laugh. “Tell her that.”

“She’d probably hex me,” he admits.

“She’d definitely hex you.”

Ron leans back on his hands, blowing out a slow breath. “So, what? You’re just staying with the Malfoys now?”

I hesitate. “For now. It’s not like I have a lot of options.”

“Not true,” Harry argues. “You could stay with us over the summer. Sirius wouldn’t mind.”

My heart clenches at the offer, warmth creeping into my chest despite everything. “You’re staying with Sirius now?”

Harry nods, a smile blooming on his face. “Yeah. Well, starting this summer. That was always the plan, you know—Voldemort just got in the way.”

I open my mouth to respond, but I’m interrupted by the unmistakable sound of heavy, angry footsteps approaching.

Before I can even turn to look, Draco Malfoy storms up to us, looking equal parts livid and—if I’m not mistaken—desperate. His platinum hair is disheveled, as if he’s been running a hand through it repeatedly, and there’s a flush of frustration on his normally pale face.

“There you are,” he snaps, glaring down at me. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Ron groans. “Oh, brilliant.”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry says, already bristling, shifting slightly as if preparing for a fight.

Draco ignores him entirely, his silver eyes locked onto mine. “We need to talk. Now.”

I cross my arms, leaning back against the stone wall. “I don’t think we do.”

His jaw clenches. “Trust me, we do.”

Hermione looks between us, frowning. “She doesn’t have to go anywhere with you, Malfoy. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

Draco finally tears his gaze away from me to fix Hermione with a sharp glare. “It can’t, actually.” Then, as if just realizing how public this confrontation is, he exhales sharply and lowers his voice. “Please.”

That one word makes me falter. Draco Malfoy doesn’t say please.

I exchange a glance with my friends. Ron is already shaking his head, muttering something about “ferrets” and “not worth it,” while Harry looks wary, as if debating whether or not to physically stop me from going anywhere with Draco. Hermione, though clearly suspicious, studies me closely, waiting for me to make the call.

I sigh, pushing myself up from the ground. “Okay then. No need to get your wand in a—”

“Not the time,” he says sharply, grabbing my wrist and dragging me through the courtyard.

“Malfoy, what—”

He whips around, pushing my arm away forcefully. “Y/n.”

“Malfoy.”

“No, no. You’re not getting it. Y/n.”

I pause, studying his eyes.

He called me my name. Not Lavigné.

“I… Draco?”

He fishes something out of his bag before tossing it at my feet.

The scrapbook I made him for Christmas.

“How could you?” he asks me sharply, his voice breaking.

Holy shit. He remembers.

“Draco, please, I can explain—”

“Explain? Explain?” he shouts, throwing his arms in the air. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You think you can just obliviate me and explain your way out of it?”

I reach for him, but he steps away. “Draco, please. Just let me—”

“No, no, no! Absolutely not! Do you understand what you did? Do you not get the gravity of the situation?” He clenches his fists at his sides, his silver eyes burning with fury. “You took away the only thing that ever mattered to me like it was nothing. Just another fucking Tuesday for you, right?”

“I was trying to protect you!” I say frantically. “You wouldn’t stop following me! You left me with no choice!”

He scoffs. “There was always a choice,” he spits. “But as usual, you chose wrong. Do you only think about yourself? About what’s convenient for you?”

“No! No,” I say, defenseless. “I was trying to keep you out of it! Why does no one understand that?”

“Because that wasn’t your call!” he shoots back. “We knew the risks. I knew the risks. But I came anyway because I loved you! Because I wanted to help! You swore to me, you promised me that you’d stop hiding shit from me! That you wouldn’t keep trying to do everything on your own! And guess what? You lied. You fucking lied to me. Again.”

My mouth opens and closes again. I don’t know what to say. What could I say?

“You’re a liar,” he spits. “You’re a liar and a fucking coward. You’re selfish. You have the worst god complex I’ve ever seen, thinking you can make the decisions for everyone around you to suit your own little fucked up delusions. Did you even stop and think about what this would’ve done to me? Did you?”

“I—yes, of course I did,” I sputter. “But I’d rather you not know me, rather you be angry than dead.”

He steps forward, jabbing a finger into my chest. “You think if we were both there that it wouldn’t have been over sooner?” He hooks his finger onto the chain of his pendant beneath my collar, pulling it out. “We would’ve been fine! Had you told me what the fuck was going on, we could’ve killed Voldemort at my manor. But no, you had to go off and play hero, right?”

I push his hand away. “Draco, you would’ve gotten hurt. The bond got broken. You know that. My dad—”

“Your father would still be alive if you had just used your head for once in your goddamn life!” he shoots back, a ball of pure rage. “No one had to die except Voldemort! If you had just told me—”

“He would’ve killed you!” I say helplessly, a tear rolling down my face. “If I had brought you along he would’ve figured everything out and killed you! Don’t you understand that?”

“How?” he asks, manically laughing. “In case you forgot, we were literally fucking untouchable.”

I pause for a moment, wiping my face. “I… I don’t know, okay? I just—”

“Of course you don’t know! Because you never think anything through!”

My lip quivers as I drop my head. “I know. I’ve heard it from everyone, okay? I know. I’m so sorry. I was just doing what I thought would keep you safe. All I wanted was for you to be safe. Please, you have to believe me,” I plead.

Draco backs away a step. “Oh, I believe you. But I’ll never fucking trust you again.”

“Draco, please,” I say desperately. “I’ll do anything to make this up to you.”

His expression twists, something sharp and almost unbearable flashing across his face before it’s buried beneath another wave of anger. He lets out a breathless, bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“You really think you can fix this?” His voice is quieter now, but it cuts deeper than when he was shouting. “Like it’s just another mess you can clean up? News flash, Lavigné—” he practically sneers my name, like it’s something disgusting on his tongue “—not everything is fixable.”

I flinch. He hasn’t said my name like that in so long.

“Draco—”

“Don’t,” he snaps, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses, your justifications, your—” He makes a frustrated noise, running both hands through his hair before glaring at me like I’m the root of every single thing wrong in his life. Maybe I am.

“You want to know the worst part?” His hands drop to his sides, fingers twitching like he doesn’t know whether to punch something or just give up entirely. “Even now, after everything, I still—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply, nostrils flaring. “But it doesn’t matter, does it? Because the person I trusted more than anyone in the world ripped everything away from me, and I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

My throat tightens. “I’m still me.”

“No, you’re not,” he says, his voice hollow now, like he’s already mourning something that’s long gone. “The Y/n I knew—the one I…” He swallows hard, cutting himself off again. “She’s dead. Or maybe she never existed at all.”

Tears blur my vision. “That’s not true.”

He laughs again, but it’s empty. “You think I want to do this? You think I want to hate you?” His hands ball into fists at his sides. “I can’t do this anymore, Y/n. I won’t.”

I take a shaky step forward, reaching for him, but he jerks back like I’ve burned him.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice rough. “Just… don’t.”

I drop my hand uselessly at my side. “Draco, please,” I whisper.

His gaze flickers over my face, and for the briefest moment, something softer, something real surfaces—but then, just as quickly, it’s gone. He steels himself, straightening his shoulders, tilting his chin up.

“I want nothing to do with you. Stay out of my life.”

It’s not loud, it’s not dramatic—but it shatters something deep in my chest.

He doesn’t wait for a response. He just turns on his heel and walks away, his steps unsteady at first before he forces them into something sharp and deliberate. I want to run after him. I want to scream, to beg, to fix this.

But I can’t.

He takes off my ring, that he never seemed to register he had over the last few weeks, and chucks it at the ground with all of his strength. It bounces off the stone floor and a wall before it’s lost somewhere I can’t see.

I watch his figure disappear into the school corridors, a crippling silence left in his absence.

I don’t know how I didn’t notice, but Pansy, Blaise and Theo are standing against the wall, staring at me with complete disgust and contempt. Blaise shakes his head, Theo spits on the ground, and Pansy clutches her wand tightly like she’s about to hex me blind.

Part of me almost wishes she would. I deserve it.

Instead, the three just sneer and walk away, following after Draco.

I don’t move.

The world feels distant, blurred at the edges, like I’m standing underwater and everything else is just… drifting away. My breath comes in short, uneven gasps, my chest aching with the weight of something I can’t hold together anymore.

Slowly, I sink to my knees, the cold stone biting through the fabric of my uniform. My fingers tremble as I reach for the scrapbook, the one I spent hours making for him—hours thinking about every detail, every memory that made us us. Now it lies abandoned at my feet, discarded like it never meant a damn thing.

Like I never meant a damn thing.

I wipe at my face with the sleeve of my jumper, but the tears won’t stop. A broken sound rips from my throat, raw and unfamiliar, and I press a fist to my mouth to stifle it. The ring. He threw my ring. The one I gave him, that protected him, the one he wore every day without even realizing it.

I can’t bring myself to look for it.

I clutch the scrapbook instead, slipping it into my bag with shaking hands, as if that will somehow keep it safe, keep us safe, even when he’s made it clear that there is no us anymore.

The wind picks up slightly, rustling the pages of my journal peeking out from my bag. Somewhere in the distance, I hear laughter—other students carrying on with their day, blissfully unaware that my entire world just fell apart in the span of five minutes.

I was stupid to think I could fix this.

I was stupid to think I could fix him.

I pull my knees to my chest, pressing my forehead against them, trying to make myself as small as possible. The courtyard is empty now. No one is here to see me crumble.

“Accio Lavigné ring,” I whisper, waving my wand in the air. It flies into my open palm, the metal cool. I turn it over in my hands before slipping it back on my finger. One last thing I have to keep me close to him.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself break.

~

The next few days pass in a haze.

I go to class. I sit through lectures. I take notes. I eat when I have to. But I don’t speak.

The first time Ron asks me something at dinner, I only blink at him before turning back to my untouched food. He tries again, nudging my arm, but I just stare at my plate, unmoving. He and Hermione exchange a glance, concern clear in the furrow of her brows. Harry doesn’t say anything—just watches me carefully, like he’s waiting for me to crack.

I don’t.

In Potions, Snape calls on me to answer a question about the properties of asphodel, and I just look at him, hollow and expressionless. The silence stretches too long. He clears his throat awkwardly before moving on. Theo and Draco whisper something to each other behind me. I don’t hear it.

At dinner, the usual noise of the Great Hall presses in on me, but it all sounds wrong—too distant, like I’m not really here at all. Someone laughs loudly from the Ravenclaw table, and it grates against my skull. The clatter of plates, the hum of conversation—it’s all muffled, like I’m hearing it through glass.

I used to be able to find comfort in this. In my friends, in the simple routines of school. Now, it’s just… empty.

Even Luna’s voice—light and dreamlike—barely registers when she gently touches my hand in the corridor and tells me she’s here if I need her.

I nod. I don’t say anything.

The Golden Trio doesn’t push me, but I can feel their worry. Hermione hovers at my side in the library, Ron keeps shooting me wary glances, and Harry just lingers, never letting me be alone for too long.

But none of them say the one thing I dread hearing.

None of them say his name.

And for that, I am both grateful and utterly, utterly lost.

Hannah is worried sick, but that’s just her nature. She’s seen me go through my lulls before; that never makes her any less worried.

I spend a lot of time in the Room of Requirement, just staring into the fire or up at the ceiling. No one ever comes in. Even when I hope he will.

I’ve tapped my bracelet too, trying to get his attention. He’s either taken it off or he just ignores me. I like to pretend he just forgot it at the manor or something.

I’ve spent a lot of time by myself, just thinking.

Everyone was right. I have a problem. I don’t trust other people. I don’t let myself. And even when I do, I can’t let things go. I have to be in control.

Sometimes I blame mother for that. Sometimes I just accept that it’s my own fault.

Maybe Dumbledore was wrong. Maybe the prophecy was wrong. Maybe Draco and I aren’t soulmates after all.

Doesn’t matter, though. He wouldn’t want anything to do with me regardless.

On Thursday morning, I get a letter at breakfast. I open it mechanically, barely skimming it before I realize it’s from Francis LeBlanc and do a double take.

“Mademoiselle Lavigné,

I hope this letter finds you well. I apologize for the short notice, but there are pressing matters regarding your father’s will that require your immediate attention. Given the circumstances, I understand this may not have been at the forefront of your mind, but it is imperative that you come to France at your earliest convenience to go over the details.

There are things you need to see for yourself.

Please owl me as soon as possible with your availability. I will make the necessary arrangements.

Francis LeBlanc”

My stomach twists.

I haven’t thought about my father’s will. Not once.

Of all the things that have consumed my mind over the past few weeks, it never even occurred to me that there would be legal matters left behind. That there would be assets, documents, responsibilities—whatever my father had been entangled in—that now fall to me.

My hands shake slightly as I fold the letter back up, my appetite vanishing completely. I push my plate away and stand up from the table, ignoring the way Diana and Alice’s heads snap toward me.

“Where are you going?” Hannah asks.

I tuck the letter into my robes. “I need air.”

“Y/n—” Hannah starts, but I don’t stick around to hear the rest. I’m already weaving through the Great Hall, shoving the doors open and stepping into the cool morning air.

The realization hits me all at once.

I have to go to France.

I’m not ready.

Not to go through my father’s will. Not to face whatever secrets are waiting for me there.

But a sudden realization, a comforting thought hits me at the same time.

Aury.

Without a second thought, I trudge up to the Room of Requirement, relieved to see a floo waiting for me. I grip my bag tighter as I throw down the powder. “Bordeau Estate!”

The green flames engulf me, and within seconds, I stumble out into the familiar grand sitting room of Aurélien’s manor. The scent of sandalwood and citrus greets me instantly, the lingering fragrance of Geneviève’s enchanted candles. It’s warm here—safe—even though my chest still feels like it’s caving in.

The house is quiet, of course. Aurélien is at Beauxbatons. I knew that, but I came here anyway, drawn to the one place that doesn’t feel suffocating. I tighten my grip on my bag, my breathing uneven as I take a few steps forward.

I don’t get far before hurried footsteps echo down the hallway.

Étienne rounds the corner first, his sharp blue eyes widening when he sees me. He stops abruptly, taking me in—messy hair, hollowed expression, trembling hands.

“Mon dieu,” he breathes. “Y/n?”

Before I can respond, Geneviève appears beside him, clutching a silk shawl around her shoulders. Her expression morphs from confusion to pure concern in an instant.

“Chérie,” she murmurs, stepping forward, her delicate features pinching with worry. “What’s happened? Are you alright?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. The moment I try to form words, my throat closes up. I shake my head, and that’s all it takes.

Geneviève rushes forward, wrapping me in her arms before I can collapse entirely.

And I do—I break, the weight of everything catching up all at once. A strangled sob escapes before I can stop it, and suddenly, I’m crying harder than I have in weeks, months, maybe even years.

“I—I didn’t know where else to go,” I choke out between gasps, clutching the fabric of her blouse.

“Shh, ma fille, it’s alright,” she soothes, one hand smoothing over my hair while the other rubs my back. “You are always welcome here.”

Étienne steps closer, his usual composed demeanor faltering as he exchanges a glance with his wife. His voice is quiet but firm. “Whatever it is, we will figure it out.”

I nod weakly, though I don’t know if I believe it.

“I told that brother of yours to hold off,” Étienne grumbles, standing close. “This must all be so much for her right now.”

Geneviève sighs, her grip no less firm. “Yes, well. At least she’s here. We’ll handle it with her. Write Francis—and Madame Maxime. Aurélien will want to be here, too.”

“You don’t have to do that,” I say weakly, my voice watery. “He’s at school.”

“He’d never forgive us if we didn’t,” Étienne replies gently, dropping a kiss on the top of my head. “I’ll be in the study if you need me.”

I nod hesitantly, offering him a forced smile. As he walks out, Geneviève pulls back to look at me. “Come. Let’s get you cleaned up—and fed. You’re feeling rather thin, chérie.”

I let Geneviève lead me upstairs, her warm hand steady on my back as she guides me to one of the guest rooms. It’s familiar—soft white linens, a view of the gardens, delicate floral wallpaper. I’ve stayed here countless times before, but right now, it feels like I don’t belong anywhere.

She doesn’t let me dwell on it. She sits me down in front of the vanity, tutting under her breath as she takes a warm cloth to my face, wiping away the streaks of mascara and smudged eyeliner. Her touch is gentle, motherly in a way that catches me off guard.

“My poor girl,” she murmurs. “You’ve been carrying too much on those little shoulders.”

I swallow thickly, blinking at my reflection in the mirror. I barely recognize myself—pale, exhausted, eyes hollowed out from too many sleepless nights.

Geneviève hums under her breath as she brushes out my hair, smoothing down the strands with practiced ease. “There we are. Much better.” She presses a kiss to the top of my head, just like Étienne had, before straightening up. “Now—food.”

“Geneviève, I’m not—”

She levels me with a look. “I won’t let you up from that table until you eat.”

I sigh, knowing there’s no use arguing. Geneviève Bordeau always gets her way.

She takes me downstairs to the kitchen, where she sets out a proper breakfast—fresh bread, fruit, cheese, and a cup of warm tea. She sits across from me, watching expectantly as I hesitantly take a bite of bread.

“Good,” she says approvingly. “Keep going.”

I force myself to eat, my stomach still twisted in knots, but the food helps settle me. Geneviève keeps the conversation light—asking about school, my studies, anything to fill the silence without pressing me too hard.

And then, before I can even process it, footsteps echo down the hall.

A figure stumbles into the doorway in a flurry of motion—disheveled, frantic.

“Y/n!” Aurélien’s voice is sharp with worry as he straightens, his wild curls messier than usual. His green eyes dart across the room until they land on me.

I barely have time to react before he’s across the room, pulling me into the tightest hug I’ve ever felt.

I don’t even think. I just bury my face in his collar, breathing in his scent. I clutch his robes like a lifeline.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs into my hair, squeezing me impossibly tighter. “Mon étoile, I’m so sorry. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Tears threaten to fall again, but I don’t even care. I’ve needed this. Needed him. Some semblance of home.

“I—I’m sorry,” I croak, my voice hoarse. “I know I haven’t written. I should’ve said something, told you I was okay—”

“Shh, hey, don’t start. You have nothing to be sorry for. I knew you were okay.”

My shoulders shake as I breathe out, “How?”

I can’t see his face, but I just know he’s smiling. I can hear it in his voice. “I would have felt it if something was wrong. I know my girl.”

For a moment, I want to laugh along with him. Then, after actually thinking for a second, I pull back. “I… the pin?”

He smiles softly, gesturing to the matching star pin on his own robes. “Now you’re getting it.”

“Duh,” I say softly, chuckling at myself. “I’m guessing your uncle Florian enchanted them?”

Aury nods, tucking my hair behind my ear. “I had to have some way to know you’re safe when I’m not with you.”

My heart melts at the unspoken, “because I love you,” and all I can do is press myself back into his arms.

“What would I do without you?” I murmur, my lips brushing his neck.

“You’ll never find out,” he replies steadily, threading a hand through my hair. “Now, come on. Tell me everything. I’m listening.”

Geneviève nods, seemingly satisfied, and rises from the table. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I’ll be in the study, oui?”

“Yes, maman,” Aury and I say in unison, chuckling lightly. 

Once she leaves, I suck in a breath, and start from the beginning.