The Pact

Getting on the train to leave Hogwarts after the year I’ve had here is bittersweet. I’m glad to be rid of Dumbledore for the summer—there’s no mistaking that. But everyone else?

I know Draco said I can go see anyone whenever I want, but I’ve never really had this many people I’ve wanted to visit before. What if there’s not enough time to see them all? Or worse, what if I have so much time to see them that I barely spend any time with the Malfoys? The last thing I want is for them to think I don’t want to be around them after everything they’ve done for me.

I shake my head and step onto the Hogwarts express, ready to go back to kings cross station with Draco. He puts our luggage up for the both of us and settles down beside me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders protectively. He knows how I’ve been feeling about leaving school; he’s probably trying to hold me together preemptively in case I break.

The first person to find our compartment is Hannah, with a very flustered Neville in tow. We welcome them in, and they sit on the beach opposite us.

Blaise and Pansy join shortly after, with Blaise settling in beside Draco and Pansy beside Hannah.

Pansy eyes the way Draco’s arm is slung around me but doesn’t comment, instead sighing as she leans her head back against the seat. “This train ride is going to be miserable,” she declares. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to survive an entire summer without seeing all of you.”

Blaise smirks. “Pans, you say that every year, and somehow, we always end up at Draco’s house anyway.”

Neville, still looking mildly overwhelmed, shifts in his seat. “I think I’m just now realizing how much I’m going to miss everyone,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Feels strange, doesn’t it? Leaving all this behind for months?”

Hannah nudges him playfully. “We’ll visit, though. I mean, we have to. What would we even do all summer without each other?”

Draco hums in agreement, his grip on my shoulder tightening slightly. “You’d all be completely lost without me,” he says, his tone full of mock arrogance. “It’s a miracle you even function during the summer.”

Pansy rolls her eyes but grins. “Oh, please. You’re just mad you’re going to miss us more than you want to admit.”

Before he can argue, the door to the compartment slides open again, and Hermione and Ron peer inside. Ron groans. “You lot took the only good compartment left, didn’t you?”

Hermione doesn’t wait for an answer before stepping in, nudging me lightly as she moves to sit on the floor. “Shift your feet,” she murmurs.

I pull my legs up to give them room, and Ron flops down beside her with a sigh. “This is already uncomfortable,” he mutters, though he makes no move to leave.

“Could be worse,” Neville offers.

Ron raises an eyebrow. “Could it, though?”

As if on cue, the door slides open again, and in step Theo and Harry.

Blaise groans. “No. Absolutely not. There is no more room.”

Theo, unfazed, grins as he plops down beside Ron. “Oh, but we’ll make it work. What’s a little personal space between friends?”

Harry just sighs, clearly resigned to the chaos, and settles down beside Theo. “This is a fire hazard,” he points out dryly.

Draco glares at him. “Then leave.”

Harry smirks. “And miss out on all the fun? Not a chance.”

There’s a moment of silence as we all take in just how cramped the compartment has become, bodies pressed together, knees knocking, absolutely no room to breathe. But no one moves to leave.

Because the truth is, as much as we bicker and complain, we don’t want to be anywhere else.

We’re all going to miss each other so much.

So, for now, we let it happen.

After a lot of overlapping chatter, Harry shifts to look at Draco and I. “So. What’s this Theo and I hear about you two still wanting to rebind?”

Draco quirks a brow. “Theo and I. Interesting choice of phrase.”

Hermione smirks to herself as I elbow Draco in the side. “Subtle.”

“What? I’m just saying,” he responds, feigning innocence.

Pansy, Hermione, Hannah and I giggle and the boys (except Draco) all look at us in confusion.

“What’s so funny?” Ron asks, seemingly feeling left out.

Hermione shakes her head. “Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, come on,” Harry chimes in. “What?”

Pansy smirks, her eyes flicking between Harry and Theo. “Oh, nothing at all. Just… you two have been spending a lot of time together lately.”

Theo, entirely unbothered, grins. “And?”

Ron, still looking clueless, shrugs. “I mean, we all spend a lot of time together.”

“But not quite like them,” Hermione points out, her smirk deepening.

Harry frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Draco leans forward slightly, clearly enjoying himself. “It just seems like you and Theo have gotten especially close. Always sneaking off together, whispering, sitting next to each other at every meal—”

Theo hums thoughtfully. “They do say prolonged eye contact is a sign of repressed feelings.” He turns to Harry, smirking. “Should we be worried, Potter?”

Harry’s face turns bright red. “That is not— we don’t— oh, sod off!” He crosses his arms, scowling, while the rest of us dissolve into laughter.

Theo, still entirely unphased, nudges Harry playfully. “You shatter me, darling.”

Harry groans, burying his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”

Draco, who’s been enjoying this a little too much, smirks. “Don’t be so dramatic, Potter. We’re just making observations.”

Ron, finally catching on, looks horrified. “Oh.” He points between Harry and Theo. “Wait. No.”

Theo throws an arm around Harry’s shoulders just to be a menace. “I wouldn’t say no.”

Harry shoves him off instantly, his face somehow getting even redder. “Merlin, Theo!”

I shake my head, still giggling as I lean into Draco’s side. “You lot are insufferable.”

Theo grins. “And yet, you’d all be bored without me.”

Despite his grumbling, Harry doesn’t actually look that upset. If anything, he’s fighting back a small smile.

And the best part? The conversation flows back into something else entirely—because that’s just how we are. Teasing, bickering, pushing each other’s buttons.

“Anyway, to answer your question, yes. We are still considering it,” I say at the tail end of a laugh. “But we don’t even know what ritual or spell was used. Could be ages before we figure it out.”

“Unless you ask the Malfoys,” Hermione says pointedly. “I know you can’t really ask your mother, Y/n, and I wouldn’t ask Dumbledore after what he pulled, but…”

Harry nods. “The Malfoys are the only other people who would know what it was. Not that I’m supporting this. I think you two are mental for wanting to repeat what’s probably a super dark and dangerous ritual.”

I shrug. “Our mothers did it while pregnant. It can’t be that bad.”

Draco scoffs. “That’s a ridiculous argument. Our mothers have done plenty of things that are, in fact, thatbad.”

Pansy raises an eyebrow. “He’s got a point.”

I sigh, leaning back against the seat. “Fine, maybe not the best example. But we’re still going to look into it.”

Neville, forever the anxious type, folds his arms. “And if it turns out to be some horribly twisted magic?”

Draco’s grip on my shoulder tightens slightly. “Then we’ll decide what to do with that information when we have it.”

The compartment falls into a contemplative silence. Even though we tease and joke, the topic of the blood pact is never one we take lightly.

Theo, ever the one to break tension, sighs dramatically. “Well, when you do figure it out, let me know. I’d love to make one with Potter.”

Harry, still flustered from before, groans. “Theo, please—”

Ron looks alarmed. “Oh, absolutely not. You can’t just— I’m putting a ban on all blood pacts. No more magical binding. Ever.”

Blaise chuckles. “Oh? And who put you in charge?”

Ron gestures wildly at Draco and me. “Look at them! They have no idea what they’re tied up in! This is exactly why people shouldn’t go messing with magic they don’t understand.”

“Agreed,” Hannah mutters.

Draco rolls his eyes. “You’re acting like we chose this in the first place. The difference is, we actually want to understand it now.”

I nod. “If we can figure it out, we can at least have control over it. Isn’t that better than being at its mercy?”

Hermione exhales sharply, clearly not liking it but unable to argue with the logic. “I suppose.”

Ron grumbles something under his breath but doesn’t fight it further.

Theo smirks. “Well, just remember, when it all goes wrong, we told you so.”

Draco glares. “So encouraging, Nott. Really.”

“You guys don’t get it. You can’t. We were part of each other before we were even born. To have that connection ripped away? It’s like losing the right side of your body. I hate it.” I drop my head onto Draco’s shoulder, playing with his free hand. “We were always meant to be two halves of a whole.”

“Like Potter and Theo,” Pansy quips, looking rather pleased with herself.

“I’m going to pitch myself off of Grimmauld Place and you’re all going to have to explain it to Sirius!” Harry grumbles, crossing his arms.

Theo, entirely unbothered, grins and languidly strokes Harry’s knee. “Don’t worry, love, I’ll make sure your eulogy is beautifully poetic.”

Harry shoves him off instantly. “Get off me, Nott!” His face is so red at this point, it’s a miracle he hasn’t combusted.

The entire compartment bursts into laughter, except for Ron, who looks deeply unsettled. “Can you not joke about throwing yourself off buildings? We already have enough to deal with.”

Hermione, shaking her head but clearly amused, pats Harry on the shoulder. “Oh, come on, you know they’re just messing with you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry mutters, still looking like he wants the floor to swallow him whole. “I’m not gay.”

“No, I don’t reckon so,” Theo says thoughtfully, tapping his chin.

Harry blinks. “You don’t?”

Pansy, seeming to catch on to whatever Theo is implying, agrees. “Nope.”

“Oh,” Harry says dismissively, like he’s not sure where this is going.

“I think you’re only half,” Theo finally supplies, grinning triumphantly.

Harry huffs and brushes through his hair with his fingers. “Shut up!”

Draco, smirking, glances at me. “You know, I never thought I’d see the day where Potter was the flustered one in a conversation.”

Theo leans back on his hands, smug. “It’s my specialty.”

Pansy, absolutely reveling in the chaos, flips her hair over her shoulder. “And you’re so good at it.”

Harry groans. “You’re all the worst.”

I chuckle, still absentmindedly playing with Draco’s fingers. “To be fair, you make it very easy.”

Harry just scowls, but there’s a reluctant twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he wants to smile but refuses to give anyone the satisfaction.

The conversation shifts again, the teasing settling as we all fall into comfortable chatter, the weight of impending goodbyes heavy in the background. But for now, we let the chaos continue, because the truth is—we wouldn’t trade any of this for the world.

~

“You will write, won’t you?” Hermione asks, crushing me in a hug.

I squeeze back. “Of course. As often as you want, Mione. You’ll mostly be at the burrow, I assume?”

Hermione turns a certain shade of crimson before nodding. “Yeah. I spend about half of my summer with my parents and the later half with the Weasleys. Easier to get ready for school again that way.”

“Makes sense,” I reply, digging a small piece of parchment out of my bag. “Here. It’s my brownie recipe. If you or Mrs. Weasley make them, I’m sure they’ll be a hit.”

She giggles, tucking it neatly in her pocket. “They’ll be gone in a minute.”

“Oi, we can hear you,” Ron groans, Ginny and the twins flanking him.

The train station is ear-splittingly loud and busy enough that we’re all pressed closely together. None of us really want to separate despite our (impatiently) waiting guardians.

“Y/n,” Hannah starts, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards her. “I meant what I said. You’re always welcome to come visit or stay with us for a while.” Before I can respond, her eyes get glassy and she pulls me in for one of her famously warm hugs. “I’m gonna miss you. Don’t do anything stupid while you’re gone, okay?”

I hug her back, my head dropping on her shoulder. “I promise I’ll come see you soon, okay? You know I can’t stay away from you too long. I think I’d go mental.”

“Just what the rest of us are worried about,” Pansy chimes in, her arms crossed but a certain fondness in her tone.

Hannah and I separate and I yank Pansy into a hug before she can protest. “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you, too. You can’t escape me anymore.”

Pansy groans but I can feel her smile pressed into my shoulder as she reciprocates, pulling away quickly. “Yes, well. I fear for Draco’s safety with you around. I’ll have to come visit—to do a wellness check of sorts, you understand.”

“Naturally,” I chuckle, squeezing her shoulder fondly before turning my attention to the boys.

“Harry, I expect to hear from you,” I say, my tone firm. He rolls his eyes before holding his arms out to me.

I grin and wrap my arms around his torso. “Yes, ma’am,” he mutters into my hair, trying and failing to sound annoyed. “Let me know when you want to stop by. Sirius is dying to meet you and Malfoy. And, oh—try not to get killed, yeah?”

“Who, me?” I ask, pulling back. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I like a nice, quiet life. You know.”

Neville and Blaise stand apart from the rest of the crowd, seeming a bit out of place. I take a few small steps towards them, leaving the rest of the group to say their goodbyes.

Blaise speaks first. “I’ll see you soon, Lavigné. As long as my mother isn’t keeping me overwhelmingly busy, I’m at Malfoy Manor a lot. Draco has a sort of codependency, you see.”

“I do not!” Draco chimes from somewhere behind me. I laugh.

“I look forward to it, then. And I’m sure we’ll cross paths at some fancy ball or something. Save me a dance, will you?” I ask, tilting my head.

Blaise offers me an easy grin. “Of course. You’re practically family now.”

Neville clears his throat, shifting his weight. “Everything alright?” I ask, raising a brow.

“What? Oh—yeah,” he splutters, seeming immensely more awkward than he was a few minutes ago. “Just wanted to tell you—my gran, she’s kind of a strict woman, but she loves company. If you ever want to visit, she’d love to hear about your work on the French Council.”

I blink, pleasant surprise spreading across my face. “I’d love to, Nev. Thanks.”

With that, I pull him into a quick hug, not missing Blaise muttering something about Hufflepuffs and their sentimentality before giving him one, too. Then I double back, realizing I missed Theo, Ginny and Ron, forcing everyone to give me a quick hug goodbye at the very least.

After all, we did sort of save the world together. There’s a certain level of closeness you get from that.

“Okay, all this affection is making me nauseous,” Pansy gripes, fixing her hair. “I’m off. See you lot later!”

As Pansy strides off, the group finally begins to disperse, each of us heading toward our respective guardians. I barely take a step before I hear a sharp, familiar voice call out.

“Draco. Y/n.”

Draco and I exchange a glance before turning toward his parents, who stand a short distance away, looking as poised and composed as ever. Narcissa Malfoy’s expression is soft, but expectant, while Lucius Malfoy’s is unreadable—stern as always, though his gaze lingers on me for a fraction longer than it does on his son.

Draco exhales, squaring his shoulders. “Come on,” he murmurs, tilting his head for me to follow.

I nod, gripping the strap of my bag a little tighter before stepping toward them.

“Mother. Father,” Draco greets smoothly, offering Narcissa a brief but genuine smile before looking warily at Lucius.

Narcissa’s gaze flits between the two of us before settling on me. “Y/n, dear,” she says warmly. “It’s lovely to see you again. I trust your trip back was pleasant?”

“As pleasant as any train ride with this lot,” I reply, lips twitching into a small smile.

Narcissa chuckles. “I can imagine.” Then, she turns slightly, glancing at Lucius before speaking again. “We wanted a word before we depart. Walk with us.”

There’s no room for argument—not that I would have, but I feel the weight of the request nonetheless. I glance at Draco, who looks just as wary as he does intrigued, before the two of us fall into step beside his parents, weaving through the bustling station.

Lucius remains silent at first, his cane tapping lightly against the floor with every step. Then, finally, he speaks, his voice smooth yet firm. “We know things have been tense between you two recently, but it’s important that it does not follow us home. We will not condone any unnecessary—”

“Father,” Draco says promptly, cutting him off. “We’re fine. I know. You don’t have to keep pretending.”

Narcissa and Lucius share a look before turning their gazes to me; I nod. “He remembers. Long story, but… we worked it out.”

Narcissa gives me that warm, I told you so smile and Lucius just nods curtly, his shoulders seeming to relax a fraction. “Good, good. That whole obliviation business was becoming tedious.”

“Yes,” Narcissa agrees, leading us out. “I’ve lost count of how many letters Draco sent us complaining about—”

“Mother!” Draco whines, incredulous. “Do we have to bring it up?”

Narcissa chuckles softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh, darling, you made it everyone’s business the moment you sent the fifth letter in a single week.”

Draco groans, running a hand down his face. “Unbelievable.”

I bite back a grin, nudging him slightly with my elbow. “It’s sweet, really. You were very dedicated to your grievances.”

He shoots me a glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. “I was frustrated.”

Lucius clears his throat, clearly done with the teasing. “Regardless, what matters now is that the issue is resolved. We have a great deal to discuss, and I’d prefer not to waste time on frivolous matters.”

Draco mutters something under his breath, but his father ignores him, leading the way through the station toward the apparition point. Within moments, we’re whisked away from the noise of King’s Cross and land in the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor.

The air is cool, and the familiar scent of polished wood and faintly lingering magic settles around us. Despite everything, the manor still manages to feel both welcoming and intimidating.

Narcissa steps forward, her expression composed but gentle. “Come. We’ll talk in the study.”

Draco and I exchange a glance before following them down the long corridors. My mind whirls with possibilities—what exactly do they want to discuss now that Draco has his memories back?

The moment we step into the study, Lucius waves his hand, and the doors close behind us with a soft click. He gestures toward the seating area near the fireplace, and we oblige, settling into the plush chairs across from them.

Lucius steeples his fingers, studying the two of us carefully. “Now that your memories have returned, Draco, I assume you two have fully worked things out, yes?”

Draco exhales, resting his arm on the back of the chair. “Yes. I understand why she did it, even if I don’t entirely agree.”

Narcissa folds her hands in her lap. “She only wanted to protect you.”

I nod, my voice softer now. “I appreciate that, Cissa. But we’re past that now, really.”

Lucius leans forward slightly. “Indeed. Which is why we must look forward. This summer is not just about readjustment—it is about preparation. Your position within our world is shifting, and you both need to be ready for what’s to come.”

I straighten slightly, recognizing the weight of his words. “You mean politically.”

Lucius inclines his head. “Precisely. The council, your involvement, your alliances—it all matters more than ever now. Despite our falling out with Grace, she’s made no move to pull Y/n out of the marriage arrangement. And, of course, you must both be aware of the expectations that come with that.”

I stiffen at my mother’s name, and Draco—suddenly seeming annoyed—tenses beside me. “Expectations?”

Narcissa sighs, giving Lucius a pointed look before turning back to us. “Nothing drastic, darling. But you know how our world works. Appearances, unity, strength—it all matters.”

Lucius nods. “Which means you will be making appearances together. Social functions, discussions with key figures—your partnership is an asset, and it must be presented as such.”

I glance at Draco, who looks somewhere between annoyed and resigned. I reach for his hand, giving it a squeeze before looking back at his parents. “We can handle that.”

Lucius studies me for a moment before nodding in approval. “Good.”

There’s a pause, heavy and stale, before Narcissa shifts. So small, it’s barely noticeable. “There is one other, more pressing matter we need to discuss.”

I swallow, already feeling the weight of whatever’s to come. “Yes?”

Lucius exhales slowly, his fingers still steepled together. “Now that the Dark Lord has fallen, there is… scrutiny.”

Draco freezes beside me, his grip on my hand tightening. “Scrutiny?”

Narcissa’s expression remains carefully composed, but there’s a flicker of unease in her usually serene demeanor. “The Ministry is conducting investigations into former Death Eaters. Those who bore the Mark, those who were seen as… sympathizers.”

A chill creeps down my spine. Of course, I should have expected this. The war may be over, but the consequences are only just beginning.

Lucius leans forward slightly. “We are under investigation. They have yet to make an official ruling, but if they find reason to believe we were truly loyal to the Dark Lord, we will be sent to trial.” His gaze darkens. “And if that trial does not go in our favor, Azkaban will be our fate.”

A heavy silence settles over the room. Draco’s entire body has gone rigid, his jaw tight. “They can’t—” He stops himself, exhaling sharply. “That’s ridiculous. We turned against him. We helped bring him down!”

Narcissa places a gentle hand on his arm. “We know, darling. But the Ministry does not trust easily. There will be people who want revenge, not justice.”

I sit up straighter, my mind already racing. “Then I’ll testify.”

All three Malfoys turn to look at me. Lucius’s expression betrays nothing, but I can see the calculation behind his eyes. Narcissa looks almost startled, and Draco—Draco is looking at me like I’ve just said something insane.

“You’ll what?” he asks, incredulous.

I meet his gaze evenly. “I’ll testify on your behalf. This wouldn’t have been possible without you playing both sides. And considering I hold a seat on the Conseil and—oh yeah—I was the one who killed Voldemort, I think my word holds some weight. Everyone knows it was me. Even though Harry helped, no one even looks his way anymore. It’s hard to refute that press.”

Lucius studies me for a long moment, his sharp, assessing gaze trying to find any trace of doubt. When he finds none, he nods slowly. “Your testimony would be invaluable.”

Narcissa exhales, her shoulders relaxing just slightly. “The Ministry will not be able to ignore the word of the very person who ended the war.”

Draco shakes his head, his grip still firm on my hand. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

I turn to him, squeezing his hand back. “I want to do that. You guys are… well, you’re family.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, his expression torn between gratitude and frustration.

Lucius clears his throat. “There will be trials. There will be scrutiny. This will not be simple, nor will it be swift.” He meets my gaze directly. “But if you are truly willing to stand by us in this, it may be the difference between exile and imprisonment.”

I nod without hesitation. “Then I’m standing by you.”

For the first time since the conversation began, Narcissa smiles—not her usual polite, practiced smile, but something softer. Something real.

Draco looks down at our joined hands before glancing back up at me, something unreadable flickering across his expression. Then, with a quiet sigh, he mutters, “Merlin, I hope you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

I smirk. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Lucius sighs, standing. “Then we prepare. The Ministry won’t wait forever.”

Narcissa nods, already shifting back into the poised matriarch she’s always been. “We’ll need to make arrangements. Y/n, we’ll speak with our solicitor about your involvement in the trial.”

I nod, steeling myself for what’s ahead. Because while the war may be over, the battle for the Malfoys’ future isn’t.

~

At the new revelation, and the crushing weight of being away from all of my friends for the summer, I don’t sleep well. I almost feel guilty; the spare room I always stay in, that still has all my things, was made up perfectly and comfortably for my return. But I just can’t relax.

I can’t imagine Lucius and Narcissa going to Azkaban. I may not know what all they were involved in before me—and I still carry some deep resentment towards them for not treating Draco better throughout his childhood—but I know what they did for us. What they sacrificed to help me defeat Voldemort.

Lucius let me lead pointless attacks in the ministry; he had taught me how to properly cast the Unforgivables, which saved my life; Narcissa taught me Occlumency, and helped me look the part whenever we had meetings; and they looked Voldemort right in the eye, after being tortured for information about me, and didn’t say a word.

I sigh, shifting in my chair as I stroke Hades’s sleek fur absentmindedly. The large black cat purrs contentedly in my lap, his tail flicking lazily as he soaks in the quiet warmth of the dimly lit kitchen.

The manor feels different now. Not unfamiliar—if anything, it’s exactly the same—but something about being back here after everything we’ve been through makes my skin itch. It’s too still, too silent. Like the house itself is waiting, holding its breath for the storm that’s bound to come.

I wrap my hands around the warm teacup in front of me, letting the heat seep into my fingers. The clock on the wall ticks softly, the only sound besides Hades’s quiet purring. It’s just past five in the morning. I haven’t slept, and I doubt I will.

The thought of Lucius and Narcissa being sent to Azkaban twists uncomfortably in my gut. I may not always agree with them, but I know they don’t deserve that. Not after everything.

I shake my head. Hades blinks up at me before stretching out and curling against my arm. I scratch behind his ear, my mind still turning over every possibility, every scenario of what’s to come.

Then, footsteps.

Soft, hesitant, but familiar.

I don’t have to look up to know it’s Draco.

He steps into the kitchen, his platinum hair slightly mussed, his pajama shirt wrinkled like he’s been tossing and turning. He doesn’t say anything at first—just crosses the room and wordlessly pours himself a cup of tea before settling into the chair next to me.

For a while, we just sit in silence.

Then, finally, he exhales, rubbing his forehead. “Feels weird to be back.”

I glance up at him. He looks tired, dark shadows under his usually bright eyes. “Yeah,” I agree softly. “It does.”

His fingers tap against the porcelain of his cup. “It’s like… I know it’s home. But after everything that happened, it doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

I nod, knowing exactly what he means. “Too much has changed.”

Draco lets out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Or maybe we’ve changed.”

I consider that for a moment, my fingers trailing along the rim of my cup. “Probably both.”

He watches me for a moment, his gaze steady. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

I shake my head. “Too much on my mind.”

His jaw tenses slightly, like he already knows exactly what’s bothering me. “It’s going to be fine.”

I arch a brow. “You don’t actually believe that.”

Draco sighs, leaning back in his chair. “No. But I need to believe it.”

I look down at Hades, who stretches again before hopping off my lap and slinking away into the shadows of the manor. “I told your parents I’d testify for them.”

Draco stares at me for a long moment before shaking his head with a quiet scoff. “You really are insane, you know that?”

I smirk tiredly. “I’ve been told.”

His expression softens, and for a brief moment, the tension in his shoulders eases. “Thank you.”

I reach across the table, lacing my fingers through his. “You don’t have to thank me.”

He squeezes my hand, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. “Yeah, I do.”

For a moment, the weight of everything fades, just a little. It’s still there, still looming, but we choose to ignore it for a little while.

Sometime closer to six, with Draco and I absently staring into our cups, I hear two familiar voices making their way towards us.

“—It’s not my fault, Lucius. Bella is my sister, but I can’t change what she did.”

“So that makes it alright?”

I hear Narcissa hum apologetically. “It was just an inch of your hair. It’ll grow back.”

“She better hope—”

The sleep-laced argument stops when they see us already in the kitchen, watching them curiously.

“Good morning,” I say quietly. “Hope we didn’t wake you.”

Narcissa blinks, clearly surprised to see us sitting at the kitchen island, half-empty tea cups in front of us. Then, ever the composed hostess, she offers a small smile. “Not at all, dear. We were already awake.”

Lucius, however, merely raises a brow at our presence before sighing, running a hand through his hair—what’s left of it, anyway. I bite back a smirk. It looks the same to me, but he’s clearly rather upset about whatever Bellatrix did to his precious locks.

“You’re up early,” he comments, moving towards the tea set without further acknowledgment of his apparent hair-related grievance.

Draco shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Narcissa hums knowingly as she begins filling a vase with fresh water from the sink. “Understandable.” She moves about the kitchen with effortless grace, plucking a bouquet of white roses from the counter and carefully arranging them. It’s such a normal, mundane thing, yet it feels oddly out of place given everything hanging over us.

Lucius pours himself a cup of tea, his sharp gaze flicking between Draco and me before settling, leaning back against the counter. “Since we’re all awake, we might as well have breakfast early.”

I glance at Draco, who gives a small, barely-there nod. The idea of food doesn’t seem particularly appealing at the moment, but I know we’ll need it.

Narcissa sets the vase of roses onto the counter and joins Lucius, smoothing down the sleeves of his robe. “I suppose it’s been a while since we’ve all sat down for breakfast together.”

Draco scoffs lightly. “Under normal circumstances, we usually had better things to do than eat together before noon.”

“Better things?” Narcissa repeats, raising a perfectly arched brow. “Like sleeping until ungodly hours of the afternoon?”

Draco doesn’t dignify that with a response, only taking another sip of tea.

Lucius, for his part, simply exhales and moves toward the pantry. “I’ll have the elves prepare something. No point in us all sitting here brooding on empty stomachs.”

I watch as he calls for one of the house-elves, issuing instructions in his usual composed but firm tone. It strikes me, not for the first time, how normal this scene would seem if not for everything looming over us.

I wrap my hands around my cup again, staring into the swirling remnants of my tea.

For now, we choose not to talk about trials, investigations, or Azkaban.

For now, we just move to the dining room and sit together, pretending—if only for a little while—that everything is okay.

“Cissa,” I say softly, looking up at her over my glass of water.

“Yes, dear?”

We all eat robotically, the tension heavy. I chew and swallow a small bite of toast. “This may sound odd, but… have you considered getting a smaller table?”

Lucius perks up, looking at me strangely. “Whatever for?”

“Well…” I start, setting my fork down, “it’s just so long. Everyone feels so far away.”

Memories of meetings with Voldemort flash through my mind—the Death Eaters filling every seat, the muggle on the table, Voldemort at the head of it.

Narcissa studies me for a moment, her expression unreadable, before her gaze flickers toward the length of the grand dining table. It is long—too long for just the four of us. The space between us feels cavernous, making the already heavy atmosphere all the more suffocating.

Lucius exhales sharply through his nose, setting down his utensils. “This table has been in the family for generations,” he says, his tone carrying the weight of tradition. “It is not so easily replaced.”

Draco, who had been poking at his food more than eating it, lets out a soft scoff. “Maybe it should be.”

Lucius’s eyes snap to him, but before he can say anything, Narcissa speaks, her voice quiet but thoughtful. “It is rather excessive now.”

That seems to catch Lucius off guard. He turns to her, brow furrowing slightly. “Darling—”

“I’m only saying,” she continues, dabbing at her lips with a napkin, “that the house feels different now. Perhaps… it’s time to make a few changes.”

Draco leans back in his chair, arms crossed. “That’s one way to put it.”

I glance at him before looking back at Narcissa. “It might help,” I offer. “Smaller table, smaller space… It wouldn’t feel so empty.”

Lucius remains silent for a long moment, fingers drumming lightly against the table. He looks around, as if seeing the dining room differently for the first time.

Finally, he sighs. “I’ll… consider it.”

It’s not much, but it’s something.

We return to eating, though the tension doesn’t quite dissipate. Still, I notice the way Narcissa seems lost in thought, her eyes drifting over the room as if envisioning something new. Draco looks almost amused, and Lucius—well, he seems resigned.

It’s mindless chatter, really. It doesn’t really matter if they get a new table or not. It won’t change what happened here, behind these walls.

After a few quiet minutes, I hear the familiar pop of a house elf and look over to see Dobby at the head of the table, handing Lucius what appears to be the day’s post. He takes it quickly and shoos Dobby away before sorting through the letters and such.

One, in particular, stands out—it’s addressed to “The guardians of Draco Malfoy and Y/n Lavigné.” Lucius turns it over in his hands and I see the familiar wax stamp with the Hogwarts crest on it.

“My word,” he says under his breath, “whatever could this be?”

If I’m not mistaken, there’s almost a playful lilt to his voice.

Surely I just imagined it.

“Is that…?” Draco trails off, squinting to try and get a better look.

“Your OWL’s results,” Lucius finishes for him, not even sparing us a glance.

My breath hitches. “Really? How’d we do? How’d I do?”

Lucius reads over the contents for an agonizingly long time before folding the letter, his hands folded on the table. “I must say, I’m rather… disappointed.”

My heart sinks. I thought I did so well. I studied for hours with Hermione and incessantly practiced my wand work with Harry, and when I took the exams I breezed through them. How could I fail? I must have—

“—That you two didn’t find it important to tell us you’re at the top of your class, second and third only to Miss Granger,” Lucius says suddenly, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I blink. “Wait—what?”

Draco, who had also gone stiff beside me, exhales sharply. “You could have led with that, Father.”

Lucius simply raises a brow, but there’s a glint of something almost smug in his expression. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I stare at him, half in shock. Did Lucius Malfoy just… tease us?

Narcissa sighs, shaking her head but smiling fondly as she reaches for the letter. “Let me see.” She scans it quickly before looking up at us, her expression softening. “I’m so proud of you both,” she says, and there’s so much warmth in her voice that my chest tightens. “Looks like Hermione Granger beat both of you on the written portions, but, Y/n—” she beams, setting the paper down like Lucius had. “You were top of your class on the practical applications for every subject. That’s incredible.”

Draco shifts uncomfortably, but I can see the hint of a pleased smile tugging at his lips. “Well, it’s not exactly a surprise, is it?”

“Oh, of course not,” Narcissa agrees, setting the parchment down carefully. “But I imagine it wasn’t easy, given everything else you two were dealing with.”

I glance at Draco, remembering all the late nights spent studying, the stolen moments in between chaos where we tried to focus on schoolwork, knowing full well it might not even matter if we didn’t make it out alive.

“No,” I say quietly. “It wasn’t.”

Lucius leans back in his chair, watching us with an expression I can’t quite place. “Regardless,” he says, “it is an achievement worth acknowledging.” A beat of silence, then: “You’ve both done well.”

For all his usual composed, calculating nature, I don’t miss the weight behind those words. Draco must catch it too because he sits up a little straighter, nodding once.

“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it.

Narcissa strides over, placing a hand over mine briefly before turning to Draco and brushing a strand of hair from his face in a familiar, maternal gesture. “We’ll celebrate properly soon,” she promises.

Draco huffs. “As long as it doesn’t involve another dreadful dinner party—”

“I make no guarantees,” Lucius cuts in smoothly.

Draco groans, and I can’t help but laugh. For the first time in a while, things don’t feel quite so heavy. Even if it’s fleeting, even if the weight of the world will settle back on our shoulders soon enough—

For now, we let ourselves enjoy the moment.