Chapter 1
August 1st, 1994
The halls of St. Mungo’s hummed with quiet conversations, jointed by the occasional clinking of potion bottles. Marialynne PenDragon sat quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her gaze was fixed on the pale face of her mother, Sofiana, lying motionless in the hospital bed. The Healers had assured her that her mother’s condition was stable, but the news wasn’t promising. Resources had run dry, and they had decided to pull out of her care. There was nothing more they could do.
By the window, Roland PenDragon stood with his brow furrowed, deep in thought. He’d been pacing for some time now, looking every bit of the protective father he is, but Maria could sense the weight of the words he was about to say.
“Maria,” he began, his voice steady, though tinged with regret. “I won’t be able to continue my potioneering work, at least not for the foreseeable future.”
Maria blinked, the words not quite settling in. “What do you mean?”
He turned to face her, his expression softening as he spoke. “I’ve found something…in Romania. A possible cure for your mother’s illness. I’ll be taking her there to help with her recovery, but that means…you won’t be able to apprentice under me anymore.”
Maria’s heart sank. Potioneering had always been their shared passion, the thing that bound them. Even the Ministry had approved her apprenticeship instead of her being sent off to a wizarding school. She couldn’t imagine not doing it anymore.
“I could go with you both, couldn’t I?” she asked, her voice betraying the small sliver of hope she clung to.
Roland shook his head gently. “I’m afraid not, darling.”
The reality of his words hit harder than she’d anticipated, but she swallowed her disappointment, nodding faintly. “So, what will I do?”
His smile was strained, the weight of his own burden visible in his eyes. “You’ll start at Hogwarts. The Ministry has arranged an entrance exam for you—both written and practical. I have no doubt you’ll do brilliantly.”
Maria blinked back the sting of tears, quickly wiping them away before leaning in closer to her mother. She clasped Sofiana’s frail hand, feeling the warmth of her father’s reassuring touch as he rubbed soothing circles on her back.
Later that evening, Maria stood in the grand foyer of Malfoy Manor. Roland had arranged for her to stay with the Malfoys while he accompanied her mother to Romania. She wasn’t a stranger to the manor. After all, the Malfoys had been family friends of the PenDragons for years. Narcissa, Lucius, and Draco were familiar figures in her life.
She arrived an hour before the Malfoys were due to return, leaving her in the company of Mippy, the Malfoys’ house-elf. The eager elf suggested they pass the time in the kitchen. Though Maria would have usually opted for the garden, today, Mippy had convinced her otherwise.
“Miss PenDragon is amazing at making croissants!” Mippy chirped happily as Maria rolled pastry the pastry in a crescent shape.
“It’s all in the wrist, Mippy,” Maria replied, managing a faint smile.
The kitchen was filled with the warmth of the oven, offering a distraction from the weight of the day. Just as they were setting the croissants to bake, the sound of footsteps echoed from the front hall. Narcissa and Draco entered the kitchen, their faces lighting up when they saw her. Mippy disappeared at the sight of the Malfoys, possibly tending to Lucius Malfoy.
“Maria, dear,” Narcissa greeted warmly, sweeping her into a soft, motherly embrace.
Maria exhaled, grateful for the comfort of the familiar gesture. “It’s good to see you again, Narcissa.”
When Narcissa released her, Draco stepped forward, his expression unreadable. Though he was not one for physical affection, he gave her a quick, somewhat awkward hug before stepping back, his signature smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “It’s been a while.”
“Too long,” Maria replied, her shoulders relaxing slightly. The last time they had seen each other was at a gala Narcissa hosted in April, and now it was August. So much had changed in those few months.
Just then, Mippy apparated at Narcissa’s side. “Mistress, Master Lucius needs you in the office.”
Narcissa nodded, excusing herself with a smile. “You two catch up. I’ll see you at dinner.”
As she left, Maria found herself alone with Draco, the faint smell of baked goods lingering in the air.
“Pastries?” Draco questioned, peering through the oven door, nodding in approval at the sight of the croissants beginning to rise.
“I needed a distraction,” Maria admitted, taking off her apron and moving to the sink to wash her hands.
Draco leaned against the counter, watching as she scrubbed the flour from between her fingers. His eyes caught a glimmer of something on her hand—a ring.
“You’re still wearing it,” he remarked once she’s finished drying her hands, his voice softer than usual.
Maria paused, glancing down at the simple ring on her finger. Her expression softened. “It reminds me of when things were simpler. Of the times when the four of us—Blaise, Theo, you, and I—were younger.”
As she mentioned the names of their two other friends, she sighed.
Her gaze shifted to Draco’s hands, noticing that he only wore his Slytherin ring now. “Looks like you’ve outgrown that phase of ‘childish promises.’”
Draco raised an eyebrow as he pulled a small chain from beneath his shirt. Hanging from it was a familiar ring, and Maria’s eyes softened at the sight. "Blaise has it hanging on a chain, attached to his school bag, while Theo's is also a necklace."
Maria’s eyes widened.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, rubbing her temple. “I’m not myself today.”
“What’s wrong?” Draco asked, his usual sharpness fading. “Mother told me you’d be staying with us, but she wouldn’t say much about your father’s owl.”
Draco’s brow furrowed as he watched Maria’s expression turned sullen. Her eyes, which moments before had softened at the sight of the ring, are now filled with worry.
“My mother’s illness…it’s gotten worse,” she said quietly, leaning back against the counter. “St. Mungo’s, they’ve pulled out of her care. Said there’s nothing more they can do.”
Draco didn’t interrupt, sensing she had more to say, his usual snark replaced by a rare look of concern.
“My father,” Maria continued, her voice wavering slightly, “he found a treatment. In Romania. Some ancient remedy or a rare potion ingredient, I don’t know, he didn’t tell me the specifics. He’s taking her there, and...they’ll be gone for a while.”
“And you’re not going with them?” Draco asked, surprised.
Maria shook her head, her fingers nervously twisting the ring on her hand. “No. He thinks it’s best for me to stay behind, to focus on my education. He said I'll start attending Hogwarts. I’ll be taking some kind of entrance exam the Ministry arranged, and I’ll probably have to catch up with the curriculum.”
Draco’s face brightened slightly at the mention of Hogwarts. “You’ll be at Hogwarts?” he asked, his tone shifting to one of excitement. “That’s brilliant. We’ll finally get to see you more often. It’ll be like old times again.”
Maria tried to smile, but it was a weak attempt. “Yeah, Hogwarts…”
Draco’s enthusiasm faltered as he noticed her expression. “But you’re not happy about it.”
Maria sighed, looking away for a moment before meeting his gaze again. “It’s not that I don’t want to be at Hogwarts. I’ve always wanted to experience it, to be around people my age, to learn magic the way you all do. But…my mother is so ill, Draco. I feel like I should be with them in Romania. What if something goes wrong? What if I never—” She cut herself off, unwilling to voice one of her greatest fears.
Draco was silent for a moment, processing her words. He wasn’t always the best at comforting people, but there was a part of him that understood the weight of family expectations, the fear of losing someone close.
“She’ll be alright,” Draco said softly, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince her or himself. “Your father wouldn’t take her to Romania unless he thought this treatment had a real chance. And she’s strong, your mother. She’ll fight it through.”
“I know she will,” Maria said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But it doesn’t make it easier, does it?”
“No,” Draco admitted. “But you being here…maybe it’s what they both want. Maybe they need to know that you’re safe, that you’re moving forward. It’s what my parents would want if it were me—more on my mother’s end, really.”
Maria looked at him, and for the first time that day, she felt a small sense of relief. Draco might not always show it, but he understood. He had grown up in a family with heavy expectations, with secrets and burdens that weighed him down. In that moment, he wasn’t the proud Malfoy heir; he was just Draco, someone who knew how it felt to carry more than you could bear.
“I just…I wish I could be with them,” Maria confessed, her voice soft. “I feel like I’m abandoning them, and I don’t know how to just…be okay with that.”
“You’re not abandoning them,” Draco said firmly. “You’re doing what they want for you. You’re giving them peace of mind by taking care of yourself. That’s not nothing.”
Maria sighed, the tension in her chest easing slightly. “Maybe.”
Draco’s expression shifted, his usual expression returning as he leaned casually against the counter. “You’ll be sorted into Slytherin, obviously.”
Maria raised an eyebrow, scoffing at his words. “And what if I don’t?” she asked, crossing her arms. “What if I get Gryffindor?”
The challenge in her tone caught Draco off guard. He blinked, clearly unprepared for the possibility. “Gryffindor?” he repeated, as though the word itself were foreign to him.
“Yes, Gryffindor.” Maria’s voice was steady, but there was an underlying tension there. “It’s possible, you know. My mother was a Gryffindor. What if I end up in the same house as her? You can’t automatically assume I’ll get into Slytherin like my father.”
Draco paused, then shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t care where you get sorted. I’ve known you for years. You’re still Maria, whether you’re in Slytherin or…Gryffindor.”
“Really?” Maria teased, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. “So, you’re telling me you’d treat me the same way if I were a Gryffindor? What about Potter? You certainly don’t hold back with him.”
At the mention of his rival, Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Potter? Please. That’s different.”
“Oh, is it?” Maria’s smile grew, her tone playful. “Because from what I’ve seen, you’ve made it your personal mission to torment him.”
Draco waved her off. “You’re not Potter, Maria. You’ve never done anything to wrong me. And besides, you’re a PenDragon. Not some…arrogant scarhead.”
“Arrogant?” Maria echoed, unable to resist laughing at the irony.
“Yes,” Draco huffed, crossing his arms. “Potter thinks he’s special just because he’s survived the Dark Lord. But you…you’re not like that. You’re—well, you’re you. I’ve known you long enough to know that whatever house you end up in, it won’t change anything between us.”
Maria softened at his words. Despite all of Draco’s bravado and snark, he had always been straightforward with her. It was one of the things she appreciated most about him.
“You really mean that?” she asked, her voice quiet now, the playfulness fading.
Draco gave her a firm nod. “I do. You’re Marialynne PenDragon, not Potter. Whatever house you’re in…doesn’t matter to me.”
August 24, 1994
“This is the last spell, Maria. We’ve gone over every spell we’ve learned from first to third year.”
Maria sighed, setting her wand down on the main table inside the Malfoy Manor library. “I know it’s the last spell, Blaise, but I’m not going to perform it on either of you.”
Weeks had flown by for Maria, her stay at the Malfoy Manor being far more pleasant than she’d anticipated. She often found herself enjoying quiet garden tea parties with Narcissa or tending to the countless varieties of blooms alongside the older witch. The tranquility of the manor’s lush grounds provided a serene backdrop for her otherwise busy days of study.
On weekends, Maria sent regular letters to her father, often including photographs she took of her time at the manor. His replies kept her informed about her mother’s condition, offering a small but steady comfort. Her mother’s health was improving, albeit slowly; color had returned to her skin, though she hadn't woken up yet. The hope lingered in the background, a quiet but persistent presence in Maria’s mind.
On days like today, her focus was entirely academic. The day after her arrival, Maria had sent an owl to Blaise and Theo, inviting them to join her for study sessions at the manor. They had arrived almost immediately via the Floo Network, thrilled to have their group reunited before the new school year. But their excitement had quickly turned to dread once Maria had politely 'forced' them into the first of many study sessions.
Studying in the Malfoys’ private library was nothing short of a privilege. Though the library was contained within a single room, its shelves seemed endless, and with a flick of a lever, the entire collection would shift and transform, revealing new volumes and novels. Maria had never seen anything quite like it, and with the added benefit of Draco’s meticulously kept notes from previous years, she was more than grateful.
“Just cast the spell, Mari. We all know the counter-spell,” Theo groaned from the sofa. He had been testing Maria’s patience all day. At lunch, he’d pestered everyone about taking their brooms for a test flight, fully aware of Maria’s fear of heights. And now, instead of helping with the review, he lounged on the couch, tossing an apple into the air with one hand and looking disinterested.
“Come on, Mari,” Theo continued, smirking as he caught the apple. “If you do the spell right, you’ll be done with the practicals-”
“Petrificus Totalus!”
Theo’s body went rigid, his limbs snapping to his sides as the apple bounced off his chest, falling to the floor with a dull thud.
Draco looked up from the book he was holding, amusement flickering in his eyes. “What’s the counter-curse, Maria?” he asked, testing her.
“Finite Incantatem,” she answered smoothly, though her wand remained on the table. Instead, a small grin crept across her face. “But I think we should leave Theo like this for a little while longer.”
“Evil, but entirely justified,” Blaise chuckled, sharing in her amusement.
Draco’s lips quirked into a rare smile. “Five minutes, then.”
Just as Theo’s muffled grunts began to fill the room, a soft pop echoed through the air, and Mippy, the Malfoys’ house-elf, appeared beside them. She held out three letters, her large eyes blinking as she addressed Maria.
“Mippy has three letters for Miss Marialynne PenDragon. Mistress Malfoy also says dinner is ready.”
Maria took the letters, immediately recognizing her family’s honey-yellow wax seal, stamped with a cicada. Another letter bore the familiar insignia of the Ministry of Magic.
“Thank you, Mippy. We’ll be down shortly.”
The elf gave a polite nod and vanished with a snap of her fingers.
“Are you going to open them?” Blaise asked, eyeing the letters.
Maria shook her head, the weight of her father’s letters heavy in her hand.
He must've written so much, she thought.
“Later,” she muttered.
She turned to Theo, suppressing a laugh as she finally said the counter-spell. Theo stumbled, regaining movement and standing up.
“You lot are absolutely ridiculous,” he complained, brushing imaginary dust off his robes. “Leaving me like that for so long.”
“It was less than a minute, Theo,” Blaise laughed, earning a light shove from Theo in response.
The four of them straightened up the notes and parchments, leaving the study material in a neat stack before leaving the room.
“I still can’t believe the Ministry lets her use magic outside of school,” Theo remarked as they made their way out of the library.
Maria rolled her eyes. “Only because my father was my educator. I’m sure once I step foot in Hogwarts, I won’t be able to do magic outside of the school’s grounds anymore.”
Theo and Blaise led the group down the manor’s dimly lit halls, their conversation turning to the upcoming school year, filled with anticipation now that Maria would be joining them at Hogwarts.
“Nervous for Friday?” Draco’s voice broke through the chatter as they trailed behind the two.
Maria gave a shy smile. “Is it that obvious? I’m definitely nervous. I’m not sure what I’ll do if I don’t pass.”
Draco’s expression hardened. “You’ll pass. They’d be fools not to accept you. The Ministry wouldn’t have approved your apprenticeship with your father if they didn’t believe in your abilities.”
“Maybe,” Maria said with a sigh, her nerves betraying her. “But I’m still not confident about the exams.”
“That’s why we’re helping you study. You’ve already mastered almost everything we’ve covered, except for—.”
“Herbology,” Maria groaned, her voice tinged with irony as they rounded a corner. The savory scent of dinner wafted toward them. “It’s a bit embarrassing, considering my mother is one of the most famous herbologists in the wizarding world.”
Draco shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. “You can’t inherit everything from your parents.”
Maria’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “I suppose you’re right. You certainly didn’t inherit Narcissa’s amiability.”
Draco nudged her in the side, earning a laugh from her. “I can be…nice,” he grumbled, the word feeling rare on his tongue.
“Mmm, sure,” Maria teased, her tone light. “‘Draco Malfoy’ and ‘nice’ don’t exactly go hand in hand, do they?”
Draco was about to retort when they reached the dining room, and Narcissa’s soft voice called out to them.
“We’re not finished with this conversation,” Draco muttered under his breath.
“Oh, we absolutely are,” Maria replied with a playful smile, as they stepped into the warm glow of the dining room.
August 25th, 1994
The next day, the manor was unusually quiet. Draco and Lucius Malfoy had went off to attend the Quidditch World Cup while Narcissa had business in Diagon Alley.
During dinner last night, Lucius had extended an invitation to Maria, urging her to attend the grand event. However, she politely declined, choosing to study. After all, she wasn’t as interested in Quidditch compared to the boys.
Maria sat alone at a desk in the Malfoy Manor library, a pile of books spread around her, though her mind was no longer on revising spells. Her eyes flicked to the unopened letters she had received the previous day. With a sigh, she finally decided to read them.
She broke the seal on the Ministry letter first. It was a brief, formal reminder about her upcoming exams on Friday. The anxiety that had been simmering under the surface flickered up once more, but she shook it off. She needed to focus. There were more important matters at hand.
Opening the first of the two longer letters, Maria felt a pang in her chest. Her father's careful handwriting filled the parchment, the words meticulously describing her mother’s condition. Healers in Romania had confirmed that her mother’s skin had fully regained its color, a hopeful sign that the worst might be over. They said the toxins that had ravaged her body were nearly gone. Slowly but surely, her mother was healing. Yet, the thought of her mother still lying unconscious after so long weighed on her.
The second envelope was not letters, but instead, pictures her father had taken at Romania. She carefully went through the pile, staring at awe in the beautiful landscapes.
In the last photo, a small dragon could be seen flying in the background, reminding her of home.
Maria stuffed the contents back in their respective envelopes gently, her fingers lingering on the wax seal for a moment.
After a minute passed, she picked up her quill, dipping the nib in a jar of ink and began writing her letter on a blank piece of parchment.
August 26th, 1994
Later that night, the manor was covered in darkness. The clock had just struck 1 a.m., but Maria was wide awake. She had snuck down to the kitchen with Mippy for a glass of water, her nerves too unsettled to sleep. The little house-elf was quiet as Maria stared at the hedge fields beyond the kitchen window.
While she was anxious for exams, she had a different feeling of anxiety. She felt as if something wrong was currently happening. Maria shook her head, trying to shake away the thoughts.
"Anything else Miss Marialynne needs?" Mippy asked, her wide eyes glancing up at her with concern.
"No, this is perfect. You can sit with me if you'd like," Maria replied with a smile, though Mippy simply gave a respectful bow and stood by the kitchen entrance.
As Maria took another sip of her water, she heard a faint noise from outside, like the rush of wind followed by a thud. Frowning, she stood and moved toward the window.
Suddenly, Mippy's ears twitched. "Young Master Draco is home!" the elf whispered urgently, disapparating with a crack.
Confused, Maria pressed her face against the window. In the dim light, she could just make out a figure in a black suit stumbling through the courtyard. A few moments later, the front door of the manor opened, and Mippy appeared beside a disheveled and pale Draco, guiding him inside.
Heart racing, Maria hurried to the foyer. When she saw Draco, her breath caught. He was out of breath, his hair disheveled, and his clothes were wrinkled, as if he had been running. His eyes were wide, filled with worry and fear.
"Draco?" Maria called, rushing forward. "What happened? Are you alright?"
Mippy looked between the two nervously, unsure of what to do.
"Get Narcissa. Now," Maria ordered the elf. Mippy nodded and disapparated with a soft pop, leaving the two alone in the grand foyer.
Draco leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. His face was pale, his expression panicked.
"Death Eaters," he whispered, his voice shaking. "They—my father—he told me to leave."
Maria’s blood ran cold at the mention of Death Eaters. "What do you mean? What happened?"
Draco swallowed, closing his eyes briefly as if trying to steady himself. "There was an attack. At the Quidditch World Cup. Death Eaters appeared—out of nowhere. My father—he...he gave me the portkey and told me to leave without him. I didn't know what to do—" His voice cracked slightly, and Maria could see the helplessness in his eyes.
Before she could ask more, Narcissa descended the stairs, her night robe flowing behind her. Her face was composed, though her eyes darted to Draco immediately. She rushed to her son, wrapping him in a tight embrace.
"Draco, my darling, are you alright?" she whispered, pulling back to inspect him, her hands cupping his face.
"There was an attack—Death Eaters. Father—" Draco began, but Narcissa cut him off, her voice sharp and firm.
"Lucius will be okay," she said, her tone brokering no argument. "He's likely with the Ministry, helping them sort everything out. Your father will ensure the situation is handled."
Maria stood frozen, horror creeping over her at the thought of Death Eaters freely roaming, wreaking havoc. The fact that Lucius had been there—right in the middle of it—unnerved her even more. Draco, too, was clearly shaken.
"But—" Draco started, his voice quiet, almost pleading.
"Draco," Narcissa interrupted, her voice softening, though her grip on him remained firm. "Your father is fine. He will return soon. You need to trust that. Now, it's late. Both of you should go to bed."
Draco hesitated, his brow furrowing. "Mother, I—"
"Go to bed, Draco. You too, Maria," Narcissa said firmly, though her eyes flickered with an emotion Maria couldn't quite place. She knew more than she was letting on, that much was clear, but whatever it was, she kept it to herself.
Draco glanced at Maria, who stood awkwardly nearby, still reeling from everything that had just been said. She could see the fear in his eyes, the unanswered questions.
"Come on," Maria said gently, nodding toward the staircase. "Let's go."
Draco cast one last glance at his mother, clearly wanting more answers, but Narcissa simply gave him a reassuring nod. "Lucius will be home soon," she repeated, though Maria couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong.
As they climbed the stairs, the manor was once again eerily quiet, save for the faint rustling of the wind outside.
As Maria and Draco ascended the grand staircase in silence, the air between them felt heavy, thick with unspoken fear and tension. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows along the walls, but Maria couldn’t shake the feeling that the darkness was closing in around them. She kept glancing at Draco, her brow furrowed with worry.
"Are you sure you’re okay?" she asked quietly, for what felt like the third time since they’d left the foyer.
Draco didn’t answer immediately, his hands stuffed into his pockets as he stared straight ahead. His jaw was tight, and his steps were slower than usual, like he was carrying an invisible weight. Finally, he spoke, his voice low.
"I'm fine, Maria," he muttered, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.
Maria stopped in her tracks, reaching out to gently tug his sleeve. "What about Theo? Did he make it home?"
Draco turned to her, the tightness in his expression softening just a fraction. "He disapparated with his father. They're safe." He hesitated, then added, "At least, I think they are."
Maria nodded, relieved but still unsettled. "Good. That's good."
As they reached the top of the stairs and turned toward their rooms—located right across from each other—the silence stretched between them again, thick and uncomfortable. Maria’s mind was racing, flashes of the words “Death Eaters” and “attack” circling relentlessly. She knew Draco was trying to stay composed, but she could sense the fear that was lingering just beneath the surface.
She opened her mouth to ask him again if he was alright, but before she could, Draco glanced at her, his usual sharpness dulled by exhaustion and something else—something more tender.
"You… You can sleep in my room if you want," he offered awkwardly, the words tumbling out before he could stop himself. "If you’re scared."
Maria blinked in surprise, not expecting the invitation. It had been years since they had shared a room together—back when they were ten, and sleepovers at the Malfoy Manor were nothing more than harmless fun. But now they were fourteen, and everything felt different. Still, the idea of being alone in her room, surrounded by thoughts of Death Eaters and the attack, was far less appealing than it used to be.
After a beat, she nodded. "Yeah…okay."
The awkwardness between them was apparent as they entered her room. Maria quickly grabbed her blanket and pillow from the bed, her heart pounding in her chest. When she turned back around, Draco was still waiting by the door, his face unreadable but his posture tense.
They didn’t speak as they made their way to Draco’s room. While he made a straight line towards his bathroom to freshen up, Maria awkwardly climbed to the right side of his bed. She tried to sleep, listening to the sounds of the wind outside the manor, but she was too anxious.
After some time, Draco returned, rid of the sweat he'd accumulated while at the Quidditch World Cup. The space between them felt immense as he climbed under the covers. There was a significant gap between them, a wide stretch that neither seemed willing to cross. Maria pulled her blanket up to her chin, her mind still whirling from the events Draco had said.
After a few minutes of silence, she turned her head slightly to look at Draco, who was staring at the ceiling, his hands resting on his chest.
"Can you… Can you tell me what happened?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draco shifted, his eyes flicking to hers before he sighed deeply, as if the weight of the question was too much to bear. "It all happened so fast," he began, his voice low and tight. "We were inside the Minister's tent, talking, laughing. Everything was fine—the match was brilliant, Ireland won…and then, out of nowhere, it was chaos."
Maria listened intently, her heart beating faster as Draco continued.
"People started screaming," he said, his voice wavering. "The Dark Mark appeared in the sky, and then they came. The Death Eaters. They just started attacking, setting things on fire, casting spells at anyone in their way. They even began torturing a family. I—" He paused, his throat working as he swallowed hard. "My father told me to leave. He gave me a portkey and told me to go."
"You're scared he won't come home," Maria said quietly.
Draco nodded, his jaw clenched. "Yeah. I don’t know where he is now. I don’t know what’s happening. He’s probably with the Ministry, like Mother said, but…"
Maria didn’t need him to finish the thought. The uncertainty, the fear, it was all there in his voice.
"You did the right thing," she whispered. "Leaving, I mean. Your father wouldn’t have wanted you to get hurt."
Draco didn’t respond, his face turned away now, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. They lay in silence for a while, the weight of everything settling in around them. After a few moments, Maria spoke again, her voice quiet but steady.
"I’m glad you’re home safe," she said, her words simple but sincere.
Draco turned his head slightly to look at her, his expression softening just a little. "Yeah," he muttered. "Me too."
Just as the silence between them began to feel more comfortable, a sudden commotion from outside broke through the stillness. Maria sat up slightly, straining to hear. It was faint at first, but then the voices became clearer—familiar voices.
"That’s your parents," Maria said, glancing at Draco, who had sat up as well.
They both listened carefully, and sure enough, they recognized Narcissa’s sharp but quiet tone, followed by the deeper, smoother voice of Lucius. He had made it home.
Maria exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Relief washed over her, but she was also tired—exhausted, really. She glanced at Draco, who was still sitting up, his face etched with worry.
"Draco," she said softly, lying back down and pulling the blanket over her. "I’m going to sleep. Goodnight."
Draco didn’t reply immediately, his eyes still fixed on the door as if he were waiting for something else to happen, something worse. His chest tightened with anxiety, the events of the night replaying over and over in his mind.
When her breaths grew soft and steady, Draco knew she had fallen asleep.
"Goodnight," he finally whispered, though he knew sleep wouldn’t come for him anytime soon.