The Pact

Aury listens to me ramble for hours about how it all happened. He never stops me, never judges, and doesn’t try to offer solutions or advice. He just listens, his hand resting on my knee for comfort or pulling me into his chest when I have a hard time getting the words out.

It’s time for lunch when I’m mostly finished detailing the events that led to me showing up at his estate unannounced—and, for his part, Aurélien looks both sorry and angry for me.

“That Malfoy,” he grumbles under his breath, carding a hand through his curls. “Doesn’t know a good thing when he has it. I told him to stay away from you.”

I sigh. “It’s not that simple. He wasn’t wrong… I did completely and totally fuck up.”

“Language,” Geneviève tuts from the room over.

“Sorry, maman,” I shoot back, chuckling under my breath.

Aurélien shakes his head. “I’m serious, mon étoile. He doesn’t deserve you. He never did.”

“Maybe,” I shrug, looking off into the hearth of the sitting room. “Dunno. Doesn’t seem to matter, I guess.”

Aurélien sighs, moving closer to me to wrap an arm around my shoulders. “I know that’s not the only thing bothering you, though.”

I shake my head, pulling my knees up to my chest. “No. I miss Draco like crazy, but… Aury, do you think I’m a terrible person?”

“What?” he questions me, eyes wide. “Absolutely not. You’re the best person I know. Why would you think that?”

I rest my cheek on my knees, looking off at nothing in particular. “I think Draco is right. I think everyone is right. I don’t think before I do things—not enough, anyway. And I keep getting people hurt. My dad—” I stop abruptly, blinking back tears. “I feel like it’s my fault. If I had a better plan… maybe if I let Draco help…”

“It’s pointless to dwell on that now,” Aury says softly, playing with my hair. “You’re going to drive yourself mad with all these hypotheticals. I know this isnt what you want to hear, but… what’s done is done. There’s no going back now.”

“They’re all right to be mad at me,” I say softly, leaning into his touch.

Aury scoffs. “No, they’re not.”

“Aurélien, you’d be just as angry at me if you were in Draco’s place,” I reason, laying my head on his shoulder. “I mean seriously. Think about it.”

He huffs, refusing to say I’m right. “I don’t care. My love for you is stronger than anything you could ever do to me. You locked me in a room just like everyone else and you don’t hear me chastising you, do you?”

“No,” I reply, sighing. “But still. I just—”

“But nothing,” he cuts me off, his tone firm. “You did what you had to. You came up with the best plan you could off of way less information than you needed and you still won. Besides… that burden never should have been yours to bear in the first place. You never should have been involved.”

I shrug. “Yeah, well… look where that got me.”

Aurélien is silent for a long moment before he sits up, taking both of my hands in his. “Look at me. This was not your fault. None of this was your fault. The adults in your life failed you. Every last one of them—your parents, your teachers, even the Malfoys. They should have protected you. That was their job. It’s not your fault that people got hurt in a war you didn’t start. Do you understand me?”

I swallow, letting his words sink in. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Okay?”

I bite my lip, my thoughts threatening to swallow me whole. “I trust you.”

A flicker of a warm smile appears on my best friend’s face before he plants a kiss on my forehead. “Good. I promise, no matter what, I’m here for it all. The good, the bad, the terrible, and the worst. Always.”

My breathing settles just a fraction as I look into his piercing green eyes, flecks of gold catching the light. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you are to me.”

“You don’t need to,” he replies, smiling fully. “You’re the light of my life, soleil. As long as you keep me around, I’m content.”

My mouth tugs up at the corners as I roll my eyes playfully. “Like I could get rid of you if I tried.”

“There she is,” Aury laughs, tilting his head. “There’s my girl. I knew you were still in there somewhere.”

We sit together in companionable silence for a little while after that, playing with each others hands and just listening to the crackling embers in the fireplace until his parents come get us for lunch.

I feel lighter than I have in a long while—light enough to actually eat and enjoy a meal, much to Geneviève’s delight.

After lunch, we linger at the table, the remnants of our meal pushed aside as Étienne refills my tea cup with a practiced ease. Geneviève watches me closely, her discerning gaze softening just slightly when she sees that I’ve actually eaten this time.

“We wanted to speak with you about something important,” she says, setting her napkin down on the table. “Francis will be arriving shortly to go over your father’s will.”

My stomach drops. I should have expected this, but hearing it out loud makes it real in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

Étienne, ever the voice of reason, adds gently, “We know this is a lot, and you don’t have to go through it alone. Geneviève and I will sit with you through the whole thing.”

I nod slowly, my fingers curling around my teacup for something to ground me. “Okay,” I murmur, my voice smaller than I’d like it to be. “Thank you.”

Aurélien’s hand finds mine beneath the table, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in quiet reassurance.

“We know Francis will serve you well,” Geneviève continues. “If there’s anything to be uncovered, he will know.”

I swallow hard, feeling an uneasy swirl in my stomach. This is it. The last thing that will make my father’s death undeniably real is just a conversation away.

Aurélien squeezes my hand, grounding me.

I take a deep breath, holding onto his words as tightly as I can. “I had a question about that, actually. Not really about the will—well, kind of,” I stutter out, falling over my words. “I’ve seen part of it before. There’s something in there about a ritual I have to do to get my inheritance. What was it called? The one for the vault was like… the Rite of Ascension, I think. And before I can do any of that, something about Ancestral Bonding through the Conseil. What does that mean?”

Geneviève and Étienne exchange a look, one that speaks volumes in the silence that follows my question. It’s a look I’ve seen before—hesitation, concern, calculation. It makes my stomach twist.

“It’s… complicated,” Étienne says finally, setting down his cup with deliberate care. “And not something to be taken lightly.”

Geneviève sighs, her fingers grazing the stem of her wine glass as if choosing her next words carefully. “The Rite of Ascension is straightforward enough—it’s a formal magical process to claim your inheritance and prove your eligibility. But the Ancestral Bonding… that’s something different entirely.”

I frown, shifting in my seat. “Different how?”

Aurélien’s grip on my hand tightens, and I know whatever they’re about to say isn’t going to be good.

Étienne leans forward, his voice low. “The Ancestral Bonding is an old custom within the Conseil des Sorciers. It’s not just a ceremony—it’s an oath. A magically binding one.”

I blink. “Binding?”

Geneviève nods. “To your lineage. To your bloodline. To the responsibilities that come with your family’s standing in the Conseil.” Her lips press together. “Once you undergo the bonding, you are bound—not just to your inheritance, but to the legacy and obligations that come with it. There is no walking away from it after that.”

A chill runs through me. “And if I don’t do it?”

Étienne exhales through his nose. “Then your claim is forfeit. Your inheritance, your influence, your father’s seat… it will all go to the next eligible member of your bloodline.”

My pulse pounds in my ears. “Which means—”

“Which means someone else will take control of everything your father left behind,” Geneviève confirms. “And depending on who that person is, it could be disastrous.”

Aurélien stiffens beside me. “So if she doesn’t go through with this, someone else—someone she doesn’t even know—could claim her father’s power? Control everything?”

“Yes,” Étienne says grimly. “And given the way your family has operated… I don’t think it would be someone with your best interests at heart.”

A weight settles in my chest, heavy and suffocating. I came here for answers, but all I’ve found are more impossible choices.

“Francis will explain the details,” Geneviève says gently. “But you need to be prepared. This isn’t just about money or titles. It’s about power. And power, especially in our world, is rarely given without a price.”

I exhale shakily, pressing my free hand against my forehead. “And what happens if I do go through with it?”

Étienne and Geneviève exchange another glance.

“Then you won’t just be claiming your inheritance,” Étienne says. “You’ll be stepping into a role your father tried to shield you from.”

I swallow hard. “And once I do it… there’s no going back?”

“No,” Geneviève says softly. “There isn’t.”

The room feels colder suddenly, despite the fire burning steadily in the hearth.

Aurélien turns toward me, his voice quiet but firm. “Whatever you decide, you won’t be alone in it.”

I nod, but the certainty in his voice is something I can’t quite feel for myself. Because no matter what I choose, nothing about my life will ever be the same again.

~

True to his word, Francis arrives shortly after my conversation with the Bordeau’s. They clean off the desk in Étienne’s study for him to lay out all the paperwork—and there’s a lot of it.

My father’s will is a massive thing, probably half and inch thick. I’d only seen a portion of a copy when I went through his office, clearly.

Aury’s parents lead me inside, sitting me and Aurélien in the chairs in front of the desk while they stand behind us protectively.

“Y/n,” he starts, offering me a sympathetic smile. “It’s lovely to see you again. I’m so sorry about Castor. How are you… holding up?”

“I’ve been better,” I shrug, straightening my shoulders. “But I’ve also been far worse.”

He chuckles softly. “Yes, I’ve heard. I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but I did want to say… you’ve done a very brave thing, child. You can take pride in that.”

I swallow, forcing a smile. “I just… did what I had to. What was right.”

“Right indeed,” he says softly, before leaning back in his chair. “Now, onto the reason I’m here. Your father’s will.”

He pulls the bundle of parchments from the stack and holds it out to me, before grabbing his own copy to go over it with me. “Let’s start with the most important thing. Your mother will be given an ‘allowance’ as stated in section four, but that is about all. Castor left everything to you—the vaults, the properties, the artifacts, even your parent’s storefront. It was all in his name.”

I take the parchment with careful hands, my eyes scanning the words that now hold the weight of my future. My mother—reduced to an allowance. I should feel something about that, shouldn’t I? Vindication, relief, anything. But I don’t feel anything at all.

Aurélien leans slightly toward me, catching the tension in my posture. His presence is steadying, even as my mind reels.

Francis clears his throat, bringing my attention back. “That being said, Y/n, inheriting your father’s estate isn’t as simple as signing a document. His will is binding, magically and legally. As you already know, your claim is tied to the Rite of Ascension and the Ancestral Bonding.” He taps his parchment. “Both must be completed before you can access the family vault, take ownership of the properties, or remove Grace’s control of the properties and such.”

I nod slowly, my fingers gripping the edges of the will. “I understand. But what exactly does the Ancestral Bonding entail? Geneviève and Étienne explained the basics, but I need details.”

Francis leans forward, his expression carefully measured. “The Ancestral Bonding is an ancient process meant to ensure the continuity of power within the Alderwood—now Lavigné—lineage. It’s a ceremony conducted before the Conseil des Sorciers, where you will be tested.”

“Tested how?” I ask, my voice sharper than I intend.

He sighs. “A combination of magical and bloodline verification. You will be required to perform specific spells unique to your lineage—spells that only those of true Alderwood descent can wield. There may also be a trial, though the nature of it varies from heir to heir. It will be determined by the Conseil itself.”

A trial. Of course, there’s a trial. Nothing about this could ever be straightforward.

Francis watches me carefully. “If you succeed, your claim is solidified, and your inheritance is secured. If you fail…”

“The estate remains in limbo,” I finish for him.

He nods. “Or it passes to the next eligible heir.”

Aurélien shifts beside me, his voice laced with irritation. “Why does she have to prove anything? She’s Castor’s daughter, his only heir. That should be enough.”

Francis regards him calmly. “In most families, perhaps. But the Alderwood line is not like most families. Their power, their influence—it has always been tied to blood, to magic. The Conseil does not take such matters lightly.”

I inhale sharply, trying to ground myself. “And if I go through with it? If I succeed?”

Francis offers a small, approving nod. “Then you will take your place as head of the Lavigné estate. You will gain access to everything your father protected—including the knowledge and resources hidden within the vault.”

His words settle over me like a weight I’m still not sure I can bear.

Geneviève steps forward then, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to decide this instant, chérie,” she says gently. “But you should know—whatever path you choose, we will stand by you.”

I glance at Aurélien, who gives me the slightest nod.

I turn back to Francis. My hands are steady as I fold the parchment in front of me. “I actually have been thinking about this since I got your letter. I have a question.”

He nods. “Ask away.”

“Does… well, is there a deadline on this?” I ask hesitantly, placing the will back on the desk.

Francis quirks a brow. “Not necessarily, no. Of course, the legal sector of the Conseil would prefer to have it sooner rather than later.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank Merlin.”

Geneviève shifts behind me, absently moving my hair off my shoulders. “What, ma fille? What are you thinking?”

I look up at her with a small smile before turning back to Francis, crossing my legs. “I think I’ve dealt with quite enough this year. I’m only fifteen—I haven’t even taken my finals yet. If it’s alright, I’m going to wait until I’m of age to claim anything.”

A stunned silence follows my words.

Aurélien stiffens beside me, his grip on the armrest tightening. Geneviève’s fingers pause mid-motion against my shoulder, and Étienne, who has been quietly observing, lets out a slow exhale. Even Francis, ever composed, blinks in mild surprise.

“You’re… going to wait?” he repeats, as if needing to confirm he heard correctly.

I nod, shifting slightly in my seat. “Yes. I’ve had enough to deal with this year. Between my parents, the war, and everything else, I think I’d like to breathe before I throw myself into magical trials and political maneuvering.” I offer a small, wry smile. “Besides, I’m only fifteen. I don’t exactly need a manor and a vault full of artifacts right now.”

Aurélien huffs a quiet, almost incredulous laugh. “I mean, you have a point,” he mutters, leaning back. “I just didn’t expect you to say it out loud.”

Geneviève recovers first, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It’s a wise decision, chérie,” she says, though there’s an edge of relief in her voice. “You deserve time to grow into this, not be forced into it before you’re ready.”

Francis, however, still seems caught between surprise and approval. He nods slowly, tapping a finger against the parchment in front of him. “Legally, nothing prevents you from waiting. However, the Conseil des Sorciers may push for an earlier claim, especially given the weight of your inheritance.”

I offer him an easy smile, tilting my head. “I think they’ll make an exception. Considering I already sit on the Conseil.”

Étienne chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. Geneviève presses her lips together, clearly holding back a smirk. Even Francis looks a touch amused, though he tries to remain professional.

“Yes,” he concedes. “I suppose they would.”

Aurélien nudges my knee with his. “You just love reminding people about that, don’t you?”

I shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, it’s nice to finally have a little leverage.”

Francis exhales, but there’s a glimmer of approval in his eyes. “Then it’s settled. You will have time, Y/n. When you’re ready to claim your inheritance, we’ll reconvene.” He slides a folder across the desk. “In the meantime, I’ll ensure everything remains secure. And if anything changes… I’ll let you know.”

I nod, my shoulders easing for the first time since I sat down.

Before he can start to pack up, I shift. “There is one other thing I wanted to run by you, though.”

Francis nods, curious. “Yes?”

With a sharp inhale, I blurt it out. “I want to change my name.”

Another silence—confused this time—falls on the room.

Aury looks at me, his brow furrowed. “Your name? Why?”

“Not my first name,” I say quickly, turning back to Francis. “My last name. I want to reclaim what was supposed to be mine in the first place. I want to go by Alderwood—in his honor.”

Étienne lets out a low whistle, breaking the silence. “Alderwood carries a great deal of weight,” he muses, crossing his arms. “Especially in France. That name is tied directly to Merlin’s bloodline—his legacy. The Conseil des Sorciers will take notice.”

Francis nods, his expression turning thoughtful. “Indeed. You’d be making a bold statement, Y/n. One that will not go unnoticed.” He drums his fingers against the desk, considering. “Legally, the change is simple enough. Since Alderwood was your father’s rightful surname, it’s within your rights to reclaim it. But symbolically…” He trails off, eyes meeting mine. “It’s more than just a name. It’s a declaration.”

I straighten, already knowing that. That’s the point.

“For years, my family has hidden behind Lavigné,” I say steadily. “A name that was safer, more convenient. But that’s not who I am. That’s not who my father was. If I’m going to claim what’s mine, I want to do it under the name that was meant for me.”

Aury is quiet beside me, but I can feel his gaze, steady and searching. When I glance at him, he gives the smallest nod.

Geneviève smiles softly. “Chérie, I think Castor would be proud.”

Francis exhales, but there’s no hesitation in his response. “Then Alderwood it is.” He pulls a separate sheet of parchment from his stack. “I can file the request through the Conseil immediately. By the time you officially claim your inheritance, when you’re of age—the world will know you as Y/n Alderwood.”

A thrill runs through me at the words.

Y/n Alderwood.

I like the way that sounds.

Before I can dwell on it any further, Aurélien claps his hands together, startling me. “Bien! Now that that’s settled,” he declares, already tugging at my wrist, “I’m kidnapping you.”

I blink. “What?”

He grins, pulling me up from my chair. “You’ve spent far too much time buried in serious business. I’ve missed you, and you need a pick-me-up.”

I hesitate, glancing back at Geneviève and Étienne, but they’re both smiling knowingly. Geneviève waves me off. “Go, ma fille. You deserve a break.”

Francis simply chuckles as Aurélien drags me toward the door. “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

“No promises,” Aury calls over his shoulder, already steering me down the hall.

I huff a laugh, letting him pull me along. “Where exactly are we going?”

“That, mon cœur, is a surprise.”

I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my lips. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to school?”

“With you here? Please,” he scoffs, leading us through the halls. “Nothing could ever be more important than you.”

My heater flutters at the sincerity in his voice. “A lot of things are more important.”

“Not to me,” he replies, shooting me a smile over his shoulder. He abruptly stops, pulling out his wand and pointing it at my face.

I flinch involuntarily. “What are you doing?”

He pauses, cupping my cheek with his free hand. “Relax, mon soleil. I would never hurt you.”

Against my body’s better judgement, I relax into his palm. “I know.”

Aurélien smiles and starts to conjure something—when my vision is blocked, I realize it’s a simple blindfold.

“Is this really necessary?”

“Of course,” he chuckles, leading me once more. “You know the manor too well. If you see where I’m taking you, it’ll ruin the surprise.”

If I could roll my eyes at him, I would. Instead, I settle on sighing. “You’re not going to run me into a wall, are you? I feel like I’m going to trip over my own feet.”

“In that case,” he laughs, picking me up suddenly and throwing me over his shoulder.

“Aury!” I gasp, though I can’t contain my laughter. “What the hell?”

He chuckles, his grip secure as he carries me effortlessly through the manor. “I can’t have you doubting my navigation skills, mon cœur. This way, you won’t trip over anything—except maybe your own shock.”

I huff, half laughing, half exasperated. “This is not necessary.”

“Of course it is,” he says, utterly unbothered. “Besides, when’s the last time you let someone take care of you?”

That shuts me up.

I feel him slow as we pass through what I assume is the grand double doors of the ballroom. The air shifts—cool, open, and filled with a faint hum of magic. There’s a quiet muttering from Aury, soft and rhythmic, like a spell being woven into the very air around us.

Then, finally, he sets me down with surprising gentleness. My feet barely have time to settle before he’s kneeling in front of me, slipping something onto them—pointe shoes.

I inhale sharply. “Where did you…?”

He chuckles, already knowing what I’m going to ask. “You left these in your trunk at Beaux’s before you transferred. I thought it might be useful to hold onto them. Just in case.”

My chest tightens with something I can’t name. “You’re something else, troubadour.”

Aury’s hands linger as he ties the ribbons, his voice soft. “Alright, mon soleil. You can look now.”

With a careful tug, he undoes the blindfold.

The sight before me steals my breath.

The ballroom shimmers in enchanted light, the chandeliers casting a glow like falling stars. The polished floors reflect the illusion of a vast lake, the air rippling with the soft notes of an unseen orchestra. Everything around us feels dreamlike, ethereal—like stepping into a memory long lost and finally found.

Aury stands, offering his hand, his eyes warm with something unspoken. “Dance with me?”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Aury…”

He squeezes my fingers, his usual teasing replaced by something softer. “Just this once. The White Swan Pas de Deux—our favorite.”

A wave of emotions crashes over me, but I nod. How could I refuse?

I let him pull me into position, and as the first delicate notes of Swan Lake fill the air, I close my eyes and surrender to the movement, to the music, to the feeling of being free—if only for a little while.

The moment our bodies begin to move, muscle memory takes over.

Aury is steady, his hands precise yet careful as he guides me through each movement. His grip, usually playful and teasing, is different tonight—softer, more deliberate. It’s as if he’s afraid I’ll break.

The delicate notes of Swan Lake weave around us, and we become the story—me, the White Swan, fragile and doomed, and him, my partner, lifting me as if I weigh nothing, holding me like I’m something to be cherished.

His hands at my waist are careful, almost hesitant, as he lifts me into the air, the motion so seamless I could swear we were flying. When he lowers me again, his fingers brush against mine for a lingering second longer than necessary.

Something in my chest tightens.

Aury is always expressive—he wears his emotions like a badge, like armor. But this… this is different. There’s something raw in the way he moves with me, the way his eyes never leave mine.

As we near the final movement, the music swelling with aching beauty, he pulls me into the closing pose, my arms wrapped around his shoulders, his forehead resting against mine.

We’re both breathless, but Aury doesn’t let go.

Instead, he exhales a soft, shuddering breath. “Mon cœur… I’ve missed you terribly.”

His voice is barely above a whisper, but it vibrates through me like a spell.

I close my eyes for half a second, trying to steady myself. “I’ve missed you too.”

His fingers tighten, just slightly, as if he’s holding back from saying more. But then, after a pause, he does.

“If you don’t want to stay with the Malfoys over the summer…” His voice is careful, but there’s an unmistakable edge of protectiveness beneath it. “Stay with me instead.”

I pull back just enough to meet his gaze, my heart skipping. “Aury…”

“I mean it,” he insists, his green eyes dark with sincerity. “I hate the thought of you in that house. With them.”

I swallow hard, my emotions tangled. “It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he counters, his thumb brushing the inside of my wrist. “You don’t owe them anything, mon soleil. If you need a way out—I am your way out.”

His words settle over me, heavy and warm all at once.

For a moment, I let myself lean into him, let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, I could have something simple. Something safe.

I don’t have an answer yet. But the fact that he’s offering—without hesitation, without condition—means everything.

~

Hannah and I get to potions about five minutes early today—which is for the best, because she won’t stop asking me questions.

“I’m just saying, you seem awfully chipper today. Where’d you disappear to yesterday?”

I chuckle, sliding into my seat. I try to ignore Theo and Draco behind us.

“I just… had to go to France,” I reply, lowering my voice.

Hannah smiles widely. “So that’s why you’re feeling better. You saw Aury.”

Behind us, I hear Theo whisper, “Of course she ran off to him.” I don’t engage.

“It’s not like that and you know it,” I shoot back, playfully swatting at her arm. “He just… always knows how to make me feel better.”

“Because he loves you,” she teases, wiggling her eyebrows.

I groan, keeping my voice quiet. “Because he’s my best friend,” I shoot back, crossing my arms. “Don’t make it a thing.”

“Well it’s hard not to, now that you know who is off the table,” she whispers, briefly looking back at Draco and then at me again. “You literally ran off to France to see him.”

“No,” I say quickly, pointing at her, “I had to go to France to work out some things with our lawyer. Since my dad… well, you know.”

She nods, adjusting the star pin on my robes. “Yes, I know. That makes more sense.”

I sigh, resting my hand on my cheek. “You know—he left everything to me. Literally everything. The vaults, the properties, the storefront. All my mother gets is an allowance once I claim it all.”

“Serves her right,” she huffs, before pausing. “Wait… once you claim it? You didn’t claim it yet?”

“Oh, no, not yet,” I say, sitting up. “There are two rituals I have to complete and a lot of red tape to get through—I just told Monsieur Leblanc that I wanted to wait until I was of age to claim it all.”

Hannah tilts her head. “That’s smart, I suppose. Less chance of your mother trying to interfere.”

“Exactly,” I murmur, absentmindedly twisting my ring. “Besides, Aurélien said I could stay with him over the summer instead of going back to Malfoy Manor, so I won’t have to deal with her anyway.”

Silence.

It’s brief but heavy, like the moment before a storm.

Theo makes a low whistle behind us. “Well, that’s bound to go over well.”

I don’t turn around, but I feel Draco stiffen. There’s a sharp clink of glass, as if he’s gripping his vial of ingredients too tightly. He doesn’t say a word.

Hannah, ever the instigator, leans in slightly. “You know, you could always stay with me instead.”

I smile, appreciating the offer. “That’s sweet, Han, but I’ll probably be in France most of the time anyway. Aury’s place is closer to where I’ll need to be for all the legal stuff.”

Another sharp sound—this time, the scrape of a chair leg against the floor.

Draco still hasn’t spoken.

I flick my eyes toward him, but his expression is unreadable, his gaze fixed firmly on the empty cauldron in front of him. The tension radiates off him in waves, but he refuses to look at me, let alone acknowledge the conversation.

Theo, on the other hand, is clearly enjoying himself. “So let me get this straight—you’re spending the summer in France with dear Aurélien? How romantic.”

Hannah nudges me under the table before I can react, her expression warning me don’t take the bait.

I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that.”

“Mm,” Theo hums, clearly unconvinced. He glances at Draco. “What do you think, mate?”

Draco doesn’t even flinch. Doesn’t look up. Just calmly, methodically, begins preparing his potion ingredients as if the conversation never happened.

Theo smirks. “Right. Of course.”

I swallow, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. It’s not like I expected Draco to care—or at least, that’s what I keep telling myself. But his silence is somehow louder than anything Theo or Hannah could say.

I steal another glance at him, but his jaw is locked, his hands moving with practiced precision as he dices his ingredients.

Fine. If he’s not going to say anything, I won’t either.

I force my attention back to Hannah as Snape enters the classroom. But even as the lesson begins, I can’t shake the feeling that Draco is still seething, refusing to acknowledge me—because if he does, he might just say something he can’t take back.

As class wears on, I can hear the pair of snakes furiously whispering behind me. Theo is surely instigating, and I’m certain Draco is telling him to stop. But nothing can really stop Theo when he sets his mind to something.

While I stir my cauldron, a note flutters onto my desk from behind me. Just from looking at it, I can tell it’s from Theo. I don’t even open it—I just set it ablaze wandlessly behind my cauldron so Snape can’t see.

Hannah snickers beside me, barely suppressing a laugh. “That was dramatic,” she whispers.

I shrug, keeping my eyes on my potion. “He was asking for it.”

Behind me, Theo makes a noise of offense. “That was uncalled for.”

I don’t turn around. “Neither was whatever you wrote.”

There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of him chuckling under his breath. “Fair enough.”

Draco still hasn’t spoken.

The tension is suffocating. Even with Theo’s antics, I can feel Draco’s simmering anger pressing against my back like a storm cloud ready to burst. It’s childish, really. If he has something to say, he should just say it. But he won’t.

So neither will I.

I keep my attention fixed on my potion, stirring counterclockwise exactly four times before adding a crushed valerian root. Snape stalks around the room, glancing into cauldrons with his usual disapproving sneer.

When he reaches Draco and Theo’s table, he pauses.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawls, eyes flickering down to his cauldron. “Are you attempting to brew a Wit-Sharpening Potion, or a rather poor imitation of tar?”

I glance over before I can stop myself. Draco’s potion is a deep, sludgy black—completely wrong. I blink. Draco never messes up in Potions.

His jaw tightens, but his voice remains calm. “I must’ve miscalculated, sir.”

Snape narrows his eyes, as if considering whether to push further. “See that it doesn’t happen again.” With a swish of his robes, he moves on.

I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to face forward again. I don’t need to ask what distracted Draco enough to mess up his potion.

Hannah nudges me under the desk. “He’s losing it.”

I exhale slowly, focusing on my potion. “Not my problem.”

But I can’t quite ignore the way Draco’s hands are clenched into fists on the table behind me—or the fact that, even now, he still refuses to look at me.

“Mate, you have to fix that,” Theo remarks, an obvious smirk in his voice. “Or you’re going to fail this assignment.”

“Do tell, Nott, how do I fix this?” he snaps.

Theo chuckles lowly. “Don’t ask me.”

Hannah gives me a pointed look, and I shoot her a look back that says absolutely not. We argue with our eyes before I finally give in with a sigh.

I make sure Snape is thoroughly occupied with someone else before turning around and quickly adding a pinch of phoenix feather tendrils from my bag into Draco’s cauldron. The potion immediately starts to react, the phoenix feather reworking and fixing it, until the black sludge settles back into a shimmery blue.

Draco exhales sharply through his nose, staring down at his now-corrected potion. His grip on the table tightens.

I don’t wait for a thank you—I just turn back around and continue with my own work like nothing happened.

Theo, on the other hand, is clearly amused. “Well, well. Would you look at that? A miracle.”

Draco doesn’t respond.

I can practically feel him glaring at the back of my head.

Hannah nudges me under the desk again. “You are aware that he’s mad at you, right?” she whispers, half-laughing.

“Hmm?” I hum, feigning innocence as I grind up some dried billywig stingers. “For what?”

She gives me a look. “For interfering.”

I shrug. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Behind me, Draco scoffs. “Unbelievable.”

Theo bursts into laughter. “She’s actually going to pretend she did nothing.”

I flash Theo a pleasant smile. “You must be imagining things, Theo.”

Draco lets out a slow, controlled breath—the breath. The one he does when he’s barely restraining himself from saying something he’ll regret.

“You’re infuriating,” he mutters.

I smile sweetly at Hannah. “Did you hear something?”

Hannah presses her lips together, barely containing a laugh. “Nope. Not a thing.”

Theo is practically crying with laughter now. “Oh, she’s good. Your little girlfriend could’ve been a Slytherin after all.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I reply nonchalantly, flashing Theo a fake smile, “and I’m not a snake.”

Draco says nothing. But I know, without a doubt, that he’s seething.

I stir my potion delicately, the perfect picture of composure. If he’s going to be mad, he might as well work for it.

The moment class ends, I gather my things quickly, slipping out the door with Hannah before Draco can do or say anything.

Not that he’s going to. He’s made it clear that he has nothing to say to me.

Or so I think.

We barely make it three steps down the corridor before a firm hand grabs my wrist and yanks me to the side. Hannah lets out a startled noise, but I just sigh, already knowing exactly who it is.

Draco backs me into the wall, jaw tight, his stormy eyes burning with frustration. “I told you to stay out of my life.”

His voice is low, controlled—but I can hear the anger simmering underneath.

I blink up at him, my expression unreadable. “Maybe I didn’t think it through.”

His grip on my wrist tightens for a second before he lets go, exhaling sharply. “You can’t just—” He stops, dragging a hand through his hair. “You can’t keep fixing things for me.”

I tilt my head slightly, my voice even. “Why not?”

His eyes darken. “Because I don’t want you to.”

Silence.

I hold his gaze, my face carefully blank, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Then, slowly, I step to the side and slip past him, moving as if the conversation never happened.

Draco doesn’t stop me.

I don’t look back.

Hannah quickly falls into step beside me, glancing at me like she’s waiting for me to say something, to react, to feel something.

But I don’t.

Or at least—I don’t let it show.