pixiefairybloom

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

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Chapter Fifty-Two: Letters

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Draco's POV

The manor was too quiet now.

No footsteps. No orders barked across polished floors. No distant echoes of his father’s voice, brittle with pride. Just dust settling on furniture that hadn’t been touched in months and the low, incessant creak of the house remembering everything it had witnessed.

And me. Trying, once again, to write a letter I wouldn’t send.

The parchment stared back at me, still blank except for my name at the top—Draco Malfoy—as if mocking me.

I dipped the quill in ink. Paused. Wrote two words.

Astoria,

Then stopped.

I sat there, hand poised midair, as if the next sentence might break me.

How do you apologize for something you can’t name properly? For cowardice, for silence, for disappearing into the kind of boy she never believed he’d become? For surviving?

I tried again.

Astoria, I hope you’re—

No. Too distant.

I crossed it out.

Astoria, I know I have no right to ask, but—

Too desperate.

Crumpled it. Tossed it across the room. Watched it bounce off a half-unpacked trunk and fall flat. The others were already there—five? Six? I’d stopped counting.

I stared at the blank parchment again, like it owed me answers.

What was I even trying to say? That I was sorry? That I’d thought of her when the fire closed in? That I'd looked for her in the crowd as the castle burned down around us and wondered if I'd ever see her again?

Or that I saw her. That day.

She saw me too.

And I did nothing.

I let my mother take my arm. I let Voldemort embrace me like a prize pet. I walked away across that bridge like I didn’t care who was watching.

Like I didn’t care about her.

Truth was—I hadn’t said a word in weeks, but she had filled every silence anyway. In the stillness before sleep. In the mornings when the sunlight hit the window the way it used to in the Slytherin common room. In the ache I couldn’t name when I thought about the Room of Requirement and how close it had come to being the last place I existed.

I picked up the quill again.

Astoria, I wanted to tell you I’m alive. You probably already know. But that day—I didn’t get to say anything. I should have. I wanted to. I just—

I stopped. The ink was already starting to smudge.

This time, I didn’t crumple it. Just… folded it once. Set it aside.

Then stared at it.

Did I even deserve her reading it?

Would she?

I stood up and crossed the room, grabbed the letter, and held it in my hand just long enough to almost want to keep it.

Then tossed it into the fireplace. Watched the edges curl and blacken. Watched it vanish.

Ashes. Again.

Maybe tomorrow.

Maybe next time.

Maybe I’d find the right words.

Maybe she'd still want to hear them.

But for now, all I could do was sit back down.

And try again.

_

The parchment in front of me was already curling at the edges, like even it was tired of waiting for me to write something worth keeping. I stared at the ink drying in hesitant, useless strokes.

Astoria, I don’t know if I—

A thud at the window.

I turned.

There, pressed against the glass, was a pale, speckled owl—one I hadn’t seen since school. Small, fast, stubborn. Just like her.

My breath caught.

The owl stared at me, unblinking, with that particular kind of judgment only hers ever had. Then it tapped the window twice, sharp and impatient.

My heart moved before I did.

I crossed the room and opened the latch. The owl swooped in, feathers rustling softly like a secret, and dropped the letter neatly onto the desk before settling on the back of my chair like it owned the place.

I didn’t touch the letter right away.

I just stared at it.

Her handwriting. Her seal.

Not a dream.

Not a ghost.

I reached for it with fingers I didn’t realize were trembling.

Draco.

That was all the envelope said.

Not Mr. Malfoy. Not even To. Just… Draco.

Like I hadn’t disappeared. Like she still believed I was someone worth writing to.

I opened it slowly, careful not to tear anything.

Draco,

I don’t know what made me send this. I wasn’t sure I would until I tied the parchment to her leg.

You should know—I’ve written and rewritten this letter more times than I’ll admit. Burned most of them. I imagine you’ve done the same.

Maybe this is foolish. Maybe it’s a mistake. But I saw you.

That day. On the bridge.

I was so sure you’d died in the fire. And then there you were. Breathing. Walking away.

You didn’t look back.

I told myself I was angry. Maybe I still am. But mostly, I’m relieved. You’re alive.

That has to count for something.

I’m not writing to fix anything. I don’t know if we can. I’m just writing to say… I still see you.

I always did.

—Astoria

I let the letter rest in my lap.

I didn’t move for a long time. Just sat there with her words pressed to my palms like they might sink in through the skin.

The owl gave a soft, impatient hoot.

“Tell her I got it,” I murmured.

The owl stared at me, unimpressed.

“Fine. I’ll write back.”

It ruffled its feathers, almost smug.

For the first time in weeks, I didn’t look at the blank parchment in front of me with dread.

This time, I didn’t crumple the page.

This time, I picked up my quill, dipped it in ink—

And began.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆���𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

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Chapter Fifty-One: A Breath Apart

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Astoria's POV

The castle had never felt colder.

Even with the fires still burning in some halls, even with the bodies still warm, the chill was everywhere now—settled in our bones, in our breath. In the hollow space between heartbeats where we waited for the next tragedy to unfold.

And then it came.

A single scream shattered the silence.

The doors to the courtyard creaked open, and with them, a wave of dread.

Voldemort stepped through.

I felt Daphne’s hand tighten around mine, her nails digging into my skin. My lungs forgot how to work. Even the wounded sat up straighter, as if the very air bent beneath his presence.

And there—carried in Hagrid’s arms like a broken offering—was Harry Potter.

Still.

Limp.

Dead.

The collective gasp was a wound in itself. Someone sobbed. Someone else collapsed. My knees nearly buckled.

“No,” Daphne whispered.

But yes.

Voldemort’s face twisted into a grin that didn’t belong to any living thing. It was something carved from bone and shadow.

“Harry Potter,” he said, voice echoing unnaturally through the courtyard, “is dead!”

The words rang out like a curse.

The Death Eaters behind him laughed, jeered, shouted triumph into the morning. Bellatrix spun like a dancer drunk on blood, and Hagrid wept, cradling Harry as if he were still a boy who could wake up from this.

Narcissa Malfoy stepped forward.

Her movements were delicate, deliberate. Her eyes—too sharp, too calculating—searched the line of defenders, then flicked to the figure in Voldemort’s arms.

Or no… not Voldemort’s.

She moved to her son.

To Draco. He’s alive.

My breath caught. For a second, the world tilted. The Room of Requirement, the fire, the fear—it all rushed back and fell away in the same heartbeat.

He was bruised, haunted—but alive.

He stood stiffly near the front of the Death Eaters, pale and trembling like a shadow caught in the wrong place. He didn’t belong there. He never had.

“Draco,” she called, soft but unignorable. "come..."

He hesitated.

Everyone watched.

Then—slowly, like wading through tar—he walked.

Every step was agony to watch.

Voldemort opened his arms.

I wanted to be sick.

The hug was nothing but uncomfortable. I could see it in his eyes.

Draco didn’t flinch, but I saw it—his eyes, darting sideways, never quite meeting Voldemort’s gaze.

And then he was back at his mother’s side. She took his arm in hers, tightly, possessively. Like she might lose him again if she didn’t.

Lucius fell into step beside them. Hollow. Ashen. The mask gone.

The Malfoys turned.

And walked away.

No one stopped them.

They simply… left.

Slipping through the wreckage of a war not yet over, a family undone by the weight of its own choices.

Across the broken bridge they went—mother, father, son. Not victorious. Not loyal. Just done.

And I watched Draco’s silhouette disappear into the fog, unsure if I’d ever see him again.

But at least now I knew.

He’s alive.

In the breath that followed, everything broke loose.

And Harry Potter… opened his eyes.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

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Chapter Fifty: Ashes

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Astoria's POV

The war paused, but the silence screamed.

I walked down the corridor like I was sleepwalking, the hem of my robes dragging ash in their wake. I’d lost track of time—of how long we’d been fighting, how many spells I’d dodged, how many names I’d whispered like prayers under my breath.

When Voldemort’s voice had cracked through the air, cold and clear, it froze everyone in place.

He wanted the bodies buried. Said it like a mercy, like a favor. But there was no kindness in that voice. Only calculation.

And then he asked for Harry Potter.

I don’t remember deciding to go to the Great Hall. My feet just took me there. As if the castle itself pulled me toward the grief, toward the truth of what we were losing. The doors were open, and the moment I stepped in, the smell hit me.

Blood. Dust. Smoke. Grief.

The air was thick with it.

People were sobbing. Some cried silently, heads bowed over bodies on stretchers. Others wailed openly, shaking the stone walls with their sorrow.

My throat closed.

For a moment, I was terrified to look too closely. What if I saw Daphne? What if I didn’t?

But then—“Astoria!”

I turned just in time for my sister to pull me into a hug so fierce, I nearly lost my balance. Daphne clutched me like she hadn’t seen me in years, like this war had already taken us both and we were clinging to scraps.

“You’re okay,” she whispered, over and over. “I couldn’t find you, I thought—God, I thought—”

“I’m here,” I said, even though it barely sounded like my voice.

We didn’t let go for a while.

When we finally did, I looked around again—at all the families curled around the fallen, at the faces turned to the doors in wait for someone who would never walk in.

It didn’t feel real. And yet it felt too real.

“I heard something,” Daphne said, her voice quieter now, eyes darting around like she wasn’t sure if she should say it. “About the Room of Requirement.”

I turned to her, alert.

“What about it?”

“There was a fire. Some Gryffindors made it out, I think—Potter was there. Someone said Goyle cast Fiendfyre and couldn’t control it. The whole room… it’s gone.”

I stared at her.

Gone?

My mind reeled—because the Room of Requirement was where Draco always disappeared to for the past year.

“Did you hear… was anyone hurt?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

She shook her head slowly. “No one knows. I think some of them got out—Potter and Granger, I’m not sure who else. There was talk about Draco being seen, but it could be wrong. Everything is…”

She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to.

I turned away from her and stared at the flickering candles hanging in the air, thinking about a fire so wild it ate an entire room alive. And the people inside it.

Draco.

Was he there?

Did he burn?

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until Daphne touched my hand again.

“He’s probably fine,” she said gently. “He always finds a way, doesn’t he?”

I didn’t answer her.

Because Draco didn’t always find a way.

He just got better at pretending he did.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

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Chapter Forty-Nine: The War

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Astoria's POV

It started with the clang of iron and the rumble of stone shifting.

Professor McGonagall’s voice echoed through the corridors—firm, measured, and unshakably calm. But there was something final in the way she moved. In the way the suits of armor began marching into place. In the way the staircases stopped shifting. As if the castle itself had drawn breath and was holding it.

Hogwarts was locking down.

I stood just outside the Slytherin common room, my fingertips pressed to the cold stone wall. I didn’t know what I was waiting for. Maybe someone to tell me it was a drill.

Everyone knew.

The war had arrived.

I should have gone to my dorm. Should have found Daphne, or at least pretended I wasn’t shaking in my shoes. But all I could think of—through the rising hum of spells being cast, through the murmurs of professors gathering students into lines—was him.

Draco.

I hadn’t seen him in weeks. Maybe longer. He was hardly at school anymore, and when he was, he walked like a ghost. Pale and drawn, like his bones were too heavy for his body.

And I hated him for it.

Not really. But in that moment, I hated that he left me without saying goodbye. That he thought pushing me away would protect me. That he didn’t believe I could handle the truth of what he was drowning in.

He never let me love him properly. Not when it counted.

I knew it wasn’t his fault. I knew more than anyone how deep that fear ran in him. He wore it like a second skin. But none of that stopped the ache in my chest as I stood alone, surrounded by the ticking heartbeat of war creeping into the corridors.

A first-year started crying down the hall. Someone else shouted for their sister. I didn’t move.

Where are you, Draco?

I remembered the sound of his voice. The way he used to say my name like it tasted different in his mouth. Like I was a place he could rest.

Maybe he was at the Manor. Maybe he was somewhere deeper in the castle, forced to fight for people he didn’t believe in. Or maybe—just maybe—he’d come back.

We were all waiting for something we couldn't say out loud.

The floor trembled beneath me. The first cracks of spells being hurled against the outer wards. I pressed my hands flat against the wall, breathing through my teeth.

And then I whispered, more to myself than to the air:

“Don’t die, Draco.”

Because even after everything—even after the silence, the cold looks, the way he vanished from my life without explanation—I still loved him.

I always had.

And if tonight was the end of everything, I just wanted the universe to know that.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

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Chapter Forty-Eight: The Things I Never Said

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Draco's POV - Seventh Year

Avada Kedavra.

That sound haunts me more than the silence that followed. It didn’t come from me. It came from Snape. But it was supposed to be mine.

Dumbledore fell, and something in me cracked open. That moment lives behind my eyes now. It breathes in the quiet, in the corners of my thoughts, right between my ribs. And even now, I can't tell if it’s guilt that keeps it alive… or relief.

Everything else—what came after—feels like a blur painted in grayscale. I could list it all: the months spent shuffling between Hogwarts and the Manor, the way fear soaked into the walls like damp rot. The night Potter was brought to our doorstep. How I hesitated. How I couldn’t say it was him. How he disarmed me. How my mother handed me her wand.

But none of it ever weighed as heavily as what I did to her.

Astoria.

I thought I was doing the right thing. Ending things before they got too tangled, before she got too close to the fire I was already swallowed in. She never begged or cried. That made it worse. She just looked at me for a long time, like she already knew. I wanted her back.

I told her it wasn’t safe. That I had to protect her from what was coming. From me.

But the truth is, I was afraid.

Afraid she’d see me for what I was becoming. Or worse—what I wasn’t strong enough to become. I thought distance would keep her safe. That if I stayed away, she’d be untouched by all of this.

Except the world doesn’t work that way. Pain has a way of echoing through the cracks, even if you close all the doors.

I still catch myself looking for her.

In hallways. Across the Great Hall. On the rare days I’m at Hogwarts, I feel her presence before I ever see her. She’s different now. Sharper, quieter. There’s this stillness in her I can’t read anymore. Like she built her own armor the second I dropped mine and left her out in the cold.

I miss her in ways I can’t name. I miss the version of myself that only existed when she looked at me without fear.

But I stay away.

Not because I want to.

Because I have to.

Loving her now would be like pulling her into quicksand with me, and I’ve already done enough damage. I used to imagine a future with her—something distant and soft, a quiet life where my name didn’t feel like a chain. But that was before the world asked me to choose between survival and soul.

She deserved more than a boy haunted by a curse he didn’t cast. More than someone who flinched at his own reflection.

And still—I think of her every night.

I think of the way she would sit beside me in the library, close enough that our shoulders touched, but far enough not to crowd me. I think of the one time she touched my hand under the table, after a particularly brutal day, and didn’t say a word. Just warmth. Just presence.

She never needed me to be brave. Just honest.

And that’s the one thing I never truly was.

So I stay in the silence she left behind, wondering if there will ever be a day when I’m allowed to speak her name without tasting regret.

Astoria.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

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Chapter Forty-Seven: Smoke and Mirrors

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Astoria's POV

The whispers came before breakfast.

By the time I stepped into the Great Hall, they were already bouncing off the stone walls like hexes — half-truths dressed up as fact, eyes darting across the Slytherin table, curious, gleaming.

“Did you hear?”

“Potter, they say — Sectumsempra—”

“Blood everywhere.”

“Snape found him.”

“He almost died.”

I didn’t need to ask who.

My stomach dropped, untouched toast on my plate, the warmth from my tea suddenly too sharp against my fingers. I didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask Daphne, didn’t turn to Pansy, didn’t look at Blaise.

Instead, I waited.

Waited until classes ended. Until curfew crept closer and the corridors thinned. I took the long way toward the dungeons, wand clenched in my hand, breathing shallow and sharp.

They said he’d been healed. That Snape had gotten there in time. That Potter had attacked first, or maybe second — no one seemed to know the truth. But Draco hadn’t been seen all day.

Not at meals. Not in class. Not in passing.

Just—gone.

And it wasn’t like him to hide. Not unless he had something to hide.

The empty hallway outside the Slytherin common room felt colder than usual. I stood in front of the wall, not sure if I’d even be allowed in anymore — not sure if I wanted to be.

Then, I saw him.

Not walking. Not standing.

Just… sitting. Back against the wall, head bowed, hair falling over his face like a curtain. His school robes hung loose around his shoulders, pale knuckles clenched in the fabric.

He didn’t hear me at first.

“Draco.”

His head jerked up. His eyes — wild for a second — softened when they met mine. But the rest of him didn’t move.

I stepped closer.

“Is it true?”

He didn’t answer.

“Was it Potter?”

Still nothing.

I lowered my voice. “They said he used a spell that nearly—”

“Do you want to hear it?” His voice cut the air like glass. “Do you want all the bloody details? Would that make it easier to hate me properly and leave me alone?”

I flinched.

“I don’t hate you,” I said. Quiet. Honest. “I couldn’t if I tried.”

He exhaled, shaky and slow, like the weight of the world was pressing on his chest and he didn’t know how to lift it anymore.

“I wasn’t ready,” he whispered.

“For the fight?”

“For any of this.”

I sat down next to him. Not close enough to touch. Not yet.

His hand twitched like he wanted to reach for something — or someone — but stopped short.

“There was blood,” he said. “Mine. All over the floor. I couldn’t breathe. I thought—”

He swallowed hard. Looked away.

“I thought that was it.”

A beat of silence.

“Snape saved me.”

I nodded.

We sat in the hush of the dungeons, the only sound the quiet humming of the castle, distant and muted.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” I said finally. “I know you're scared.”

His jaw clenched. “I’m not scared.”

“You are. I see it. Every time I look at you.”

He didn’t deny it.

Instead, he said, “I wish I could forget what it feels like to bleed.”

I closed the space between us. Just barely. Just enough that our knees touched.

“You don’t have to bleed alone.”

I meant it. Every word. And for one flicker of a second, he looked like he might believe me.

His shoulder brushed mine. His breathing hitched. I saw the crack in him — a jagged fracture just beneath the surface, the boy I remembered clawing at the edges of the stranger he'd become.

Then it was gone.

He pulled away like I’d burned him.

The space between us reappeared — cold and sharp and deliberate.

“Don’t,” he muttered, barely above a whisper.

I blinked. “Don’t what?”

He shook his head, like the words hurt to say. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“You think pushing me away will protect me?” I said quietly.

“It’s the only thing I can do.” His voice cracked then. Not much. But enough.

“You nearly died.”

He didn’t look at me. Just stared at the wall like if he focused hard enough, he could vanish inside it.

His silence answered for him.

I stood slowly, the ache in my chest spreading like frostbite.

“You’re not the only one bleeding, Draco,” I said. “You’re just the only one trying to pretend it doesn’t matter.”

His hands curled into fists. His mouth opened, then shut again. Whatever he wanted to say — whatever part of him still wanted to hold onto me — he buried it like he buried everything else.

So I left.

I didn’t look back.

I wanted him to follow.

He didn’t.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

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Chapter Forty-Six: The Vow

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Draco's POV

It happened by accident.

I wasn’t meant to hear it — then again, I was never meant to survive any of this, so the rules stopped mattering a while ago.

I had gone to Slughorn’s office after hours. He owed me a favor, something about brewing supplies or ingredients I couldn’t be seen ordering through the usual channels. I wasn’t in the mood for company, but when I passed the dimly lit corridor outside the staff rooms, I heard Snape’s voice.

And then hers.

My mother.

“…you swore it, Severus.”

I froze.

“I did,” Snape said quietly. “And I intend to uphold it.”

I pressed my back to the wall, breath caught in my throat.

“I had no other choice,” she whispered. “If the Dark Lord fails to get what he wants from Draco, he’ll… he’ll kill him.”

My stomach turned to ice.

“That is why you asked me to make the Vow,” Snape replied evenly. “To protect him. And to complete the task if he cannot.”

My heart stopped.

No. No, no, no.

The stone beneath me might as well have opened up and swallowed me whole.

My mother — my mother — had gone to Snape. Had begged him to make the Unbreakable Vow.

And he had done it.

He would kill Dumbledore if I didn’t. And if he failed to do that? He would die too.

I stumbled backward, knocking something off a shelf. Glass shattered.

A silence cut the air like a blade.

“Who’s there?” Snape’s voice rang sharp.

I ran.

I didn’t stop until I was on the second floor, my lungs burning, my mind screaming.

So this was it. I had been handed a suicide mission. But now… now I wasn’t the only one trapped in it.

I collapsed in an alcove behind a suit of armor and buried my face in my hands.

It wasn’t just about me anymore.

Snape — cold, unreadable, powerful Snape — had bound himself by magic to carry out my task if I failed.

He would kill Dumbledore.

Or he would die trying.

All because my mother couldn’t bear to lose me. And because I’d been too much of a coward to admit I couldn’t do this in the first place.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until my throat burned and my fists trembled.

There was no way out. No escape hatch. No hero waiting in the wings to save me.

The path I was on ended in blood — mine, or someone else’s. And now Snape was walking it beside me.

♧

After that night, I stopped flinching.

I stopped hesitating. I stopped questioning.

If they were going to make me into a weapon, fine. Let them believe I’d sharpened myself gladly.

It was easier, somehow, to act like I wanted this. Like I wanted Dumbledore dead. Like I wasn’t drowning every time I looked at my own reflection. Like I wasn’t waking up in cold sweats, hearing screams that hadn’t happened yet.

Let them think I was a willing monster.

At least then, they’d stop trying to save me.

Snape cornered me a few days later — pressed me with those dark, unreadable eyes like he knew something had shifted.

“You understand what’s at stake,” he said.

“I do,” I replied. Calm. Even. Empty.

“I’m still willing to help you.”

I smiled — not kindly. “Don’t need your help, Professor.”

He studied me for a long moment. “Don’t be foolish.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’ve got it under control.”

That was the first real lie I told him.

But I kept lying.

To him. To everyone.

I strutted through the halls with my mask on straight. Smirked when I passed Potter. Let the Slytherins whisper about what I was doing, let them wonder.

Fear made people easier to deal with. Easier than pity. Easier than Astoria’s eyes on me, like she could still see the boy underneath.

I started skipping meals again. Skipped sleep, too. Some nights, I worked on the Vanishing Cabinet until my fingers bled. Every crack I repaired, every spell I cast, brought me closer to opening that door — and letting death inside.

The pressure was unbearable. I carried it like lead inside my ribs. Every second I spent pretending to be confident was another second I was closer to shattering.

But no one could see that. They couldn’t.

Because if I looked scared, if I looked broken, then it would all be real. Then I’d have to admit I was going to fail.

So I wore the sneer. I stood taller. I laughed when Blaise asked if I was nervous.

Nervous? No. Excited, I said.

What a performance.

Only when I was alone did the truth return. In mirrors. In reflections. In the dead eyes I didn’t recognize anymore.

There was blood on my hands already — metaphorical, for now. But I could feel it drying into my skin. A part of me wanted to scream for help.

But I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

Because I had made myself a promise, beneath the fear and the guilt and the exhaustion that clung to every inch of me like rot:

If someone was going to pay for this, it would be me — not her. Not my mother. Not Snape.

I would take this to the end. Alone.

Even if it killed me.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Forty-Five: Hollow

_____________________________________________

Draco's POV

I told her not to follow me.

She didn’t. But her silence burned more than anything she could’ve said.

I didn’t go back to the dormitory. Couldn’t. I wandered the castle like a ghost, hands shoved deep in my pockets, wand gripped too tight. I kept expecting the stone walls to collapse on top of me, just to finish the job already. Put me out of my misery.

When I finally made it back to the Room of Requirement, I locked the door behind me, dropped to my knees on the cold stone floor, and just sat there.

Astoria had looked at me like I was still something worth saving. That was the worst part. The cruelest part. She saw someone I couldn't be anymore.

She didn’t see the boy standing in a manor basement, surrounded by masks, choking on the smell of fear and iron. She didn’t hear the screams.

I did.

I heard them every night.

The first time I attended a meeting, I vomited in the corner after. I was lucky no one noticed — if they had, I don’t think I’d be breathing right now. The second meeting was worse. By the third, I stopped flinching when the Cruciatus Curse echoed off the walls.

And then — the assignment.

Not a test. Not a mission.

A sentence.

Kill Albus Dumbledore.

It sounded impossible the first time he said it. Even now, it didn’t feel real. How was I, Draco Malfoy, supposed to take down the greatest wizard Hogwarts had ever known?

I knew what it was, of course. I wasn’t stupid. Voldemort didn’t expect me to succeed. He expected me to fail. To die trying. It was a punishment, dressed up as duty. A trap set in my father’s name, and I was the bait.

Astoria would’ve told me to find a way out.

But there isn’t one.

If I fail, my family dies. My mother. Maybe even her, if they decide I cared too much.

If I succeed… what’s left of me doesn’t get to come back.

I stared at the wall, at the vanishing cabinet I’d spent weeks trying to repair. It taunted me. A door to destruction that I was too afraid to fully open.

What if it worked?

What if it actually let them in?

What if I led monsters into this castle, and people — students, everyone— died?

My hands shook. I gritted my teeth and slammed my fist into the floor, just to feel something real.

I hated him. I hated Voldemort. I hated my father. I hated Potter. I hated the mark on my arm. I hated the way I couldn’t scrub it clean no matter how hard I tried. I hated—

I hated that I missed her.

Her voice. Her fire. The way she’d look at me like I was more than this, not less. Like I still had a future worth fighting for.

But I couldn’t drag her into this. I’d rather she hated me than watched me become the thing I was pretending not to be.

So I let her go.

And now I was alone, in a castle full of people who wouldn’t cry if I disappeared tomorrow.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Forty-Four: Let Me Go

_____________________________________________

Astoria's POV

Draco Malfoy had always been distant with the rest of the world — but never with me. At least, not like this. He hadn’t said a cruel word, hadn’t staged a dramatic exit. He had just started disappearing. In little pieces.

First it was skipping breakfast, then leaving class the second it ended. Then it was the way he stopped waiting for me outside Arithmancy. The way he never met my eyes in the corridors. Like I was suddenly just another face in a crowd he didn’t want to be part of.

It started after that article in the Daily Prophet.

People stared at him differently after that. But not me. I still saw him.

Or I did, when he let me.

By October, I’d had enough. Enough of the silence, the space, the growing knot of dread in my stomach that tightened every time he walked past me like I didn’t matter. However there was something still bothering me ever since the train ride.

The Mark. The Dark Mark. Did he really have it? Was he actually a death eater now?

I didn’t sleep that night.

So I waited until I could find Draco alone. Not easy lately — he was always surrounded by Crabbe and Goyle like human barricades. But I knew his habits better than anyone. Knew the places he went when he didn’t want to be seen.

The Astronomy Tower, late. After curfew, after the castle had gone quiet.

I found him there, just like I’d guessed. Standing at the edge of the tower, hands braced against the stone railing, face tilted up to the stars like he was begging them for answers.

He didn’t hear me at first. Or maybe he did and just didn’t care.

“Draco.”

He flinched. Just a little. Then turned his head slowly, as if every movement cost him something. “Astoria.”

He said my name like it hurt. No sneer, no smirk — just that flat, exhausted voice I barely recognized anymore.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

No response. Just silence, and that cold wind tugging at his robes.

“You won’t look at me. You don’t sit near me. You don’t even try to lie about it. I’m not stupid, Draco — I notice when someone I care about disappears.”

His jaw tightened, but he still didn’t speak.

“I heard Potter,” I said quietly. “Talking about you. Saying you might have the Mark already.”

That got him. His shoulders went rigid, and his hand curled into a fist on the stone.

“I don’t care what he thinks,” I continued. “I care about what’s true. So tell me — is it? Is it true?”

He finally turned to face me, and the look in his eyes nearly knocked the breath out of me.

He looked like someone who was drowning — and had been, for a while.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said.

“That’s not an answer.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again. “It doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not. It’s too late either way.”

My heart clenched. “Too late for what?”

“For me. For us.” He looked away. “You don’t understand what I’m in, Astoria.”

“Then make me understand,” I snapped. “Because right now, it feels like you’re trying to vanish before my eyes and pretend it’s for my sake. Like I’m safer if you just… fade out of my life.”

“Aren’t you?” he said bitterly.

“No,” I said, stepping closer. “I’m not. I’m just angrier.”

He stared at me like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“You don’t get to protect me by breaking me first,” I said. “I want the truth. Even if it’s awful. Even if you regret it. I want you, Draco — not this ghost of you that walks around like he’s already gone.”

His hand hovered at his side, clenched and twitching like he wanted to reach out and didn’t trust himself.

“I didn’t want you dragged into this,” he said finally. “You’re the only thing I’ve ever had that wasn’t… poisoned.”

“Then stop treating me like a weakness.”

That landed. He closed his eyes again, exhaling through his nose. “I can’t tell you everything.”

“Fine. Then tell me what you can.”

A beat. Two.

He didn’t speak. But after a moment, his sleeve slipped back just enough for me to see the edge of something dark inked into his skin.

And then — just as quickly — he covered it again.

I didn’t move. I didn’t cry. I just stood there, heart thudding, as everything I’d suspected snapped into place.

“I see,” I whispered.

He looked at me like he expected me to run.

But I didn’t.

Instead, I reached for his hand — and when he didn’t pull away, I held it.

Tight. Certain.

If he was already falling, then I would be the one to remind him where the ground was.

His hand was cold. Not the kind of cold from the wind or the stone beneath our feet, but something deeper. A kind of cold that felt like it had seeped into his bones.

Still, he let me hold it.

I stared at our hands for a moment — his, pale and trembling, mine steady but only just. There were a thousand things I wanted to say. A thousand ways I wanted to pull him back.

But I didn’t speak. Not yet.

Neither did he.

When he finally did, his voice came out thin and sharp, like he’d had to cut it out of himself.

“I shouldn't have let this go on.”

I looked up slowly. “What?”

“This,” he said. His eyes were on our joined hands. “You. Us. It was selfish. I knew what was coming. I thought I could… hold onto you a bit longer before everything fell apart.”

My chest tightened. “Draco—”

“I thought I could keep you separate from it.” His voice cracked, just slightly. “But I can’t. I won’t. Not anymore.”

I let go of his hand, but he didn’t pull away this time.

“Don’t do this,” I said, even though I already knew I was losing.

“I already have.” He stepped back — just one step, but it felt like miles. “You need to stay away from me. This year, next year… after. It’s not safe. I’m not safe.”

“You think I didn’t know what loving you meant?” My voice was rising, and I didn’t care anymore. “You think I didn’t see the signs? I chose this. I chose you.”

“You chose someone I’m not anymore.”

That hurt more than anything.

He looked down, then back up at me — and in his eyes, I saw regret so sharp it felt like glass.

“You made me feel like I was still normal, like everybody else, when I'm not.” he said quietly. “That was your mistake.”

“No,” I whispered. “That was your proof.”

We stood in silence. Just us and the wind and the stars above that didn’t care what either of us were going through.

Then he turned.

“Don’t follow me,” he said.

And just like that, he was gone — down the steps, into shadow, into whatever darkness he’d already chosen.

I didn’t cry. Not right away.

I stood there with my arms folded tight across my chest, trying to remember how to breathe.

I had come looking for answers. I got them.

But nothing in the world prepares you for the moment someone you love decides you're better off without them.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Forty-Three: The Dark Mark

_____________________________________________

Astoria's POV

The small compartment felt suffocating. Too close quarters with Daphne, her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently against the worn carpet. The train rumbled on, carrying us back towards Hogwarts and the inevitable start of sixth year. I kept stealing glances out the window, towards the front of the train where I knew Draco would be. Every time the corridor outside seemed empty, I risked a longer look, hoping, dreading. Avoiding him felt like cowardice, but facing his newfound coldness felt like walking into a blizzard.

"Are you going to stare out the window all day, Astoria?" Daphne's voice was dry, edged with her usual, slightly impatient curiosity. "Or are you finally going to tell me what's got you so jumpy?"

I dragged my eyes back to her, forcing a semblance of normalcy. "Nothing. It's just… jitters, I suppose. The thought of all the work."

Daphne raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but let it drop. She pulled a chocolate frog from a bag, examining the card before taking a bite. The familiar crackle of the door being opened made me jump, and Daphne looked up, ready to shoo away whoever it was.

But it was just some third-year Ravenclaws asking if the compartment was full. Daphne nodded curtly, and they moved on. As the door clicked shut behind them, a wave of relief washed over me, quickly followed by a fresh wave of anxiety. Where was Draco? Why hadn't he come looking for me? Or perhaps more accurately, why didn't I feel brave enough to go find him?

I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes for a moment. The train gave a lurch, and the familiar chugging rhythm continued. Just then, a different sound filtered through the compartment walls – voices. Not nearby, but distinct enough to catch my attention. Familiar voices.

"Don't you see, it was a ceremony, an initiation," Harry said.

The words landed like ice. I couldn't catch much more, the sounds blurring together again. Then, another distinct sentence, Hermione speaking to Ron, her tone serious and matter-of-fact.

"Harry is under the impression," she said, "that Draco Malfoy is now a Death Eater."

The colour drained from my face. I stumbled back from the door, bumping into my seat. Daphne was fully alert now, concern etched on her features.

"Who's got what?" she asked, her voice low.

I couldn't answer. The implication of Hermione's words crashed down on me, amplified by Harry's earlier statement about a ceremony and an initiation. They thought Draco Malfoy, the boy I was trying desperately to understand, the boy I cared about, had undergone the horrific ritual of becoming a Death Eater. The coldness, the distance – it wasn't just him being difficult, it was the chilling aftermath of aligning himself with Voldemort.

My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, painful rhythm. The train lurched again, pulling us forward, but leaving me tangled in those specific, horrifying words, staring towards the front of the train where Draco stood. The figure I had thought I knew was now irrevocably altered in my mind, tainted by the terrifying reality they had just whispered. The unraveling had begun, and their voices had delivered the devastating first blow.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Forty-Two: The Silence After

_____________________________________________

Astoria's POV

We didn’t even get to say goodbye.

One minute, Hogwarts was full of summer warmth, golden sunlight spilling through the windows as students packed trunks and gossiped about break plans. And the next—

The Prophet headline hit like a slap across the breakfast table.

FALLEN FROM GRACE: MALFOY’S WIFE AND SON LEAVE THE TRIAL

The photo showed Draco and his mother walking out of the Ministry, stiff and pale, the usual Malfoy poise cracked just enough to be real. Narcissa’s gloved hand gripped her son’s wrist like she was afraid he’d vanish. Draco’s face was unreadable. Hardened.

Lucius Malfoy had been arrested — caught leading a group of Death Eaters in the Ministry itself. There’d been a fight. Rumors were flying faster than owls. Something about the Department of Mysteries, about Dumbledore showing up, about You-Know-Who finally being seen.

They were saying it out loud now. Voldemort.

I stared at the photograph until the page shook in my hands.

He hadn’t written in days.

I tried not to panic. At first. I told myself it made sense. A scandal like that — his father on trial, the entire country whispering his name — of course he wouldn’t be answering letters right away. Of course he’d be locked behind iron Manor gates, guarded by shame and reporters and fear.

But the silence stretched.

I sent owl after owl. Every day. Simple things. Thoughtful things.

“I’m thinking of you.” “Are you safe?” “I don’t care what they say. Write me back.”

No reply.

I stopped sleeping properly. I kept imagining his voice, writing responses he never sent, picturing what his letters would’ve said — how he would’ve joked about the Prophet’s photography or complained about being forced to sit through Ministry questioning.

But there was nothing.

Not even a scrap of parchment in return.

Daphne told me to stop. “You’ll only make it worse,” she said gently, folding my latest letter and setting it aside. “He’ll write when he can. He always does.”

But I knew something was wrong. Not just the scandal. Not just Lucius.

Draco.

Something in the picture haunted me — the way he wasn’t looking at the camera. The way his jaw was tight, like he was grinding down a scream. He looked… trapped.

And I felt it. Somewhere in my ribs, I felt the shift.

He was pulling away.

Not out of cruelty. Not out of anger. But something else entirely. Something colder. Something heavier.

I just knew he was gone.

And I wasn’t ready to let him be.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Forty-One: Winter

_____________________________________________

Astoria's POV

Draco and I didn’t get to see each other over the holidays.

He stayed at Malfoy Manor, and I was tucked away at Greystone with Daphne. It wasn’t unexpected — our families didn’t exactly holiday together — but this was the first time we’d been apart for more than a few days since we became official.

Still, we didn’t let distance steal anything from us.

We wrote every day. Sometimes twice. Letters layered in affection, ink-smudged and warm from candlelight, folded with care.

His owl came early, always early, tapping at my frosted window before the sun had even risen. It never waited for food — just a scratch behind the feathers, then off it went again into the cold.

“Mother’s hosting people I can’t stand. I’d rather be in Potions with you. Imagine that.” “Your last letter smelled like cinnamon. Is that you, or do you bathe in pastry now?”

I’d roll my eyes, grin, and scribble a reply in bed while my sister snored on the other side of the room.

“Cinnamon is dignified. You’re just jealous you don’t smell like Christmas.” “I miss arguing with you in person. Writing doesn’t let me win as easily.”

Some days I missed him so much it ached.

But I knew he was reading me. And that was enough.

When we returned to Hogwarts in January, it was like nothing had changed.

I spotted him on the platform through the steam and the rush of trunks, his blond hair catching the low winter light. And when he looked up and saw me, he smiled in that way he only ever did when it was just us.

I didn’t run to him. I walked, slow and steady, until our gloved hands met in the middle.

“You survived the Manor,” I said quietly.

“And you survived the Christmas tree incident.”

He smirked, tugged my scarf gently. “I missed you.”

I smiled back. “Prove it.”

By spring, things had grown brighter. Days stretched longer, snow turned to damp stone, and our secret world became easier to live in. We exchanged notes in the library, met in shadowy corridors, brushed fingertips during lessons when no one was looking.

We laughed. A lot.

Then came the day Hogwarts exploded in color.

Fred and George Weasley — in the most spectacular rebellion Hogwarts had ever seen — unleashed enchanted fireworks that danced through the Great Hall, turning staircases into slide-rides and Umbridge’s corridor into a joke shop warzone.

Students roared. Peeves saluted. Even McGonagall might have smiled.

And for the first time in weeks, it felt like something good had happened. Something that wasn’t soaked in dread.

The best part? OWLs were delayed. No exams. No tension. Just stunned disbelief and a bit of chaos in every hallway.

I sent Draco a note that night:

“A fireworks dragon nearly set my skirt on fire. I’m assuming that was its way of flirting.”

His reply came folded into my Charms homework:

“That, or it has exquisite taste. Either way, I’m now deeply jealous of a magical beast.”

There was no war in our world yet. No silence. No worry.

Just ink on parchment, winter behind us, and spring blooming softly at our feet.

I didn’t know then how much I’d come to miss the way he laughed when he thought no one was listening. Or the warmth of his shoulder when we sat too close in the common room.

All I knew was that we were still us. And that was enough.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Forty: Let Me In

_____________________________________________

[Trigger Warning: Mature Content]

Draco’s POV

The fire in the Slytherin common room had burned low, casting flickering gold shadows across the stone walls. Most of the others had long gone to bed, leaving the room in that perfect state of stillness I’d come to crave. Astoria sat beside me on the green velvet couch, curled up in a way that made her look even smaller than usual—knees tucked under her, arms folded across her chest like she was trying to hold something in.

She’d been quiet for a while. Too quiet.

I glanced at her from the corner of my eye, watching how her fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeve. She wasn’t reading. She wasn’t talking. She was thinking, and for Astoria, that often meant overthinking.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” I asked, my voice low and even.

She startled a little, blinking like I’d pulled her out of a daydream. “Nothing,” she said too quickly, too softly.

I raised a brow. “Liar.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, but it faded just as quickly. Her eyes dropped to the fireplace, to the dying embers. “I just…” she sighed. “Never mind.”

I shifted closer on the couch, letting my thigh press against hers. “You don’t get to say something like that and expect me to let it go.” I reached over and took her hand. “Talk to me.”

She looked down at our intertwined fingers, her cheeks flushing faintly pink. “You’ll think I’m being silly.”

“I already think you’re stubborn and dramatic. Silly would just round you out,” I teased, trying to coax that real smile out of her. “Come on, Astoria”

She bit her lip. That damned lip. “It’s not that I don’t want to say it. I just… don’t know how.”

I leaned in until my mouth was barely an inch from her ear. “Say whatever you want. However you want. I’m listening.”

She inhaled slowly. Then, barely above a whisper: “I want you.”

My chest tightened. “You have me.”

She shook her head, then finally met my eyes. “No. I mean I want you, Draco. The way you touched me before… I want more of that. I want you.” Her voice trembled on the last word, as if it cost her everything to say.

For a moment, I just looked at her. There was something painfully beautiful about the way she admitted it—like it hurt to be that vulnerable, but she trusted me anyway.

I didn’t say anything. I just stood and held out my hand.

Her eyes widened slightly. “Where are we going?”

“My room,” I said, my voice rougher now, touched by the edge of restraint. “Not here. Not like this.”

She hesitated only a second before slipping her hand into mine.

I pulled her to her feet, then—without warning—lifted her into my arms.

“Draco—” she squeaked, half-laughing, half-protesting.

“Shh,” I murmured against her temple, carrying her effortlessly through the common room and up the boys’ stairs to my dorm. “You said what you wanted. Now let me show you how much it means to me.”

Her head rested against my chest the whole way up.

She whimpered when I finally closed the door behind us and laid her down on my bed, her fingers clutching at my robes like she was afraid I might disappear.

“P-Please,” she whispered, her voice barely there.

“Shh... I’ve got you,” I murmured, brushing her hands away gently so I could peel the fabric from my body. My fingers brushed against her skin as I undressed, slow and deliberate. Every article that hit the floor felt like a silent promise.

“Look at me,” I whispered, catching her gaze.

Her eyes found mine—wide, trembling, so damn vulnerable I could barely breathe.

“Look at me,” I repeated, firmer this time. When she held my gaze, I leaned in and kissed her—deep and slow, like I could press every unspoken word into her mouth. My hands moved over her, memorizing every inch, savoring the soft whimpers and shivers.

“You’re mine,” I murmured against her lips.

“Please... I want you...make love to me,” she begged, voice breaking.

But I shook my head.

“Not tonight,” I said gently, kissing her again before she could protest. My touch stayed steady, slow, as I continued to explore her. “Tonight’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?” she whined softly, confusion tugging at her brow.

“It’s about you. About us,” I said, brushing kisses down her throat. “About showing you what you mean to me—with patience, not urgency.”

She hesitated, then whispered, “You already did that last time. Maybe I should return the favor…”

She tried to sit up, to reach for me, but I gently pushed her back.

“Don’t,” I said quietly but firmly, catching her wrists and pinning them softly above her head. “You’re not here to repay anything. You’re not an obligation. You’re everything.”

Her lips parted to speak, but I kissed her instead—slow, deep, reverent.

“Just lie here,” I whispered. “Let me love you the way you deserve. No expectations. No pressure.”

When I released her wrists, I cupped her face, brushing her hair back. “Good girl,” I murmured, and her cheeks flushed at the words.

I shifted onto my side and pulled her closer, skin to skin. My fingers slipped into her hair, combing it slowly while I kissed her temple, her cheeks, her mouth.

“You have no idea how beautiful you are,” I said softly.

My hand slid down her waist, pausing just at the hem of her underwear. I looked into her eyes. “May I?”

She blinked, surprised. “You don’t have to ask, Draco.”

“I do,” I said, voice low and sure. “And I always will.”

She nodded—small, hesitant—and I felt her shiver beneath my touch. I slowly slipped my hand under the lace, touching her where she was warm and wet. She gasped softly, her breath catching in her throat as I kissed her again, deeper this time.

“Fuck,” I muttered against her lips. “Can I take these off, sweetheart?”

“Mhm…” she breathed.

I slid the lace down her legs, slow and careful, never taking my eyes off hers. When I touched her again, her hips shifted, her thighs parting slightly.

She bit her lip and spread her legs wider.

My breath hitched.

She was trusting me completely—and nothing had ever undone me like that.

I leaned down to kiss her again, my fingers gliding along her slick folds, tracing every curve and dip. Her hips twitched and her muscles tensed beneath my touch.

“So fucking pretty,” I murmured, pressing my thumb gently against her clit. She gasped, her back arching at the new sensation. "Shh..."

“Please…” she whispered, breathless, nervous.

“Please what, baby?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as I circled her sensitive spot slowly.

“Do you want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

She nodded, biting her lip again. Her eyes locked onto mine—innocent and open, so trusting it nearly broke me.

“I will” I promised, and kissed her gently as I slid a single finger into her. She clenched around me immediately—tight and untouched.

She whimpered and clung to my free hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I’ve got you,” I murmured, brushing my lips over her forehead. I didn’t move at first. I just let her breathe, let her get used to the feeling.

Once she relaxed, I began to move—slowly. Her breath hitched with every glide in and out. I added a second finger when I felt her open for me, stretching gently. She moaned, her hips moving instinctively to match the rhythm.

“Just like that,” I whispered. “You’re doing so well.”

She gasped when I curled my fingers inside her, hitting a spot that made her eyes flutter shut.

“There it is,” I said with a soft smile, and began stroking that spot with purpose, my thumb returning to her clit.

“Come for me,” I whispered into her ear, kissing gently behind it. My fingers moved faster, deeper, curling just right.

She cried out into my shoulder as she came—tightening around them, trembling from head to toe.

When I finally pulled my hand out from between her legs, she turned onto her side and curled into me, burying her face in my chest.

I held her, heart pounding, overwhelmed by something far more than lust. I kissed her hair, her shoulder, breathing her in like she was the air I needed to survive.

She tossed one leg over my hip, draping herself across me possessively.

I couldn’t help but chuckle, wrapping her tighter in my arms. “Do you always get this clingy after you come?”

She looked up with those wide doe eyes that melted me from the inside out.

“My sweet girl,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”

She smiled but said nothing—just tucked her face deeper into my chest.

“Say it back,” I said, narrowing my eyes as I squeezed her hip playfully.

She giggled and shook her head.

“You’re such a brat,” I muttered, cupping her chin and tilting her face up. “I love you, Astoria. Now say it back or I swear, I’ll tickle you until you cry.”

Still giggling, she shook her head again.

So I attacked.

Her squeals echoed through the room as I tickled her mercilessly, pinning her under me while she thrashed and laughed and begged for mercy.

“Say it!”

“Okay, okay!” she gasped between giggles. “I love you! I love you! Just stop!”

I stopped, laughing breathlessly, heart so full it ached. I leaned down and kissed every inch of her face, and she giggled again, softer this time.

“Your laugh is… very attractive,” she whispered shyly once the storm had passed.

I blinked, then grinned down at her. “And yours is addictive.”

---

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Tangle and Thread

_____________________________________________

Astoria’s POV

The fire crackled low in the grate, casting warm golden flickers along the stone walls of Draco’s room. The shadows danced lazily across the ceiling, mirroring the rhythm of my breath as I lay tucked against his chest. His bed—rumpled and warm—had become a small haven, far from the whispers of the castle and the harsh truths that still haunted us both. Here, in this moment, there was only the hush of the room and the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my cheek.

Draco’s arms were around me, secure and easy. One hand traced slow, idle circles along the curve of my back, while the other—curious and delicate—began to glide gently through my hair.

“You always do something with this every morning,” he murmured, voice low and thoughtful, as his fingers combed through the strands. “Twisting it back just so, braiding it like it’s effortless. How do you do that, love?”

I smiled against his shirt, the heat of his body lulling me further into the softness between us. “Years of practice,” I said quietly, tilting my head slightly to give him more room to explore. “And a bit of charm. Though most days, it’s just me, my fingers, and a mirror that barely cooperates.”

He chuckled—a low, velvety sound that vibrated against my cheek. “Would you teach me?” he asked, voice more tentative now. “I want to learn how you do it. I like the way it looks… but I think I’d like it even more knowing it was my hands that made it so.”

My breath caught. Not from surprise, but from the sudden tenderness blooming in my chest. I leaned up, just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes, cool grey and so often guarded, were open now—unguarded and waiting.

“You want to braid my hair?” I teased, though my voice had softened, barely more than a breath.

“I do,” he said simply. “Teach me, darling. Let me try.”

I shifted, sitting up just enough to pull the small braid from behind my ear loose, letting the strands fall in a silken curtain over my shoulder. He propped himself up behind me, legs on either side of mine, his hands already moving to gather the hair again, uncertain but reverent.

“Start here,” I whispered, reaching up to guide his hands. “Split it into three pieces, just like this… that’s right.”

He followed closely, fingers clumsy at first, but careful. He furrowed his brow in concentration, the tip of his nose brushing the back of my head now and then as he leaned in.

“You make this look much easier,” he muttered, tongue caught slightly between his teeth. “How are your hands so damn nimble, love?”

“It’s all in the rhythm,” I said, smiling. “One over the other… like weaving. You’re doing fine.”

We sat like that for a while—his breath close, his touch growing more confident. The braid began to take shape, uneven in places, but beautiful in a way only he could make it. When he tied it off with the ribbon I passed him, his arms came around my waist and pulled me gently back against him.

“Not perfect,” he said into my neck, “but it’s mine.”

I turned in his arms, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “It’s perfect because it’s yours.”

His lips met mine fully then, slow and certain. He tasted like tea and warmth. When we broke apart, his forehead stayed against mine.

“I kept thinking,” I murmured after a long moment, “about the way you looked at me the first time you called me ‘love.’ Like you weren’t sure if I’d let you.”

He made a quiet sound in the back of his throat. “Because I wasn’t sure,” he said, brushing my hair back from my face. “You were still too good for me then. You still are.”

I tilted my head to look up at him, the light catching the tired edges of his expression. “That’s not true. You are good. You’re… good in the way that counts. You choose it, every day. Especially when it’s hard.”

He looked down at me like I’d handed him something precious and breakable. “You always say things like that,” he whispered. “Like I’m worth believing in.”

“Because you are.”

His fingers paused in my hair. “Teach me again.”

I blinked. “The braid?”

He shook his head slightly, then pressed a kiss to my temple. “No. The quiet magic. The way you see good when others don’t. The way you find light in everything, even me. I want to learn that. ”

I nestled in closer, letting my fingers play idly with the edge of his sleeve. “It’s not a spell, Draco.”

“Isn’t it?” he murmured. “Because every time you look at me like that, it feels like I’ve been enchanted.”

I laughed softly, heart warm and aching all at once. “You charmer.”

“Only for you, darling.” He kissed my hair, then rested his chin atop my head. “And maybe someday, I’ll deserve all of this.”

“You already do,” I said against his chest.

“I love you, Astoria.”

The words no longer startled me. They settled into my bones now, grounding me.

“I love you, too, Draco.”

He rested his chin atop my head, hands still tangled gently in the braid he’d made. The fire had dimmed, but the room was still full of light. Of us.

And somehow, that was enough.

_ _ _

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Light You Gave Me

_____________________________________________

Draco’s POV

It started with an offhand comment.

“I can’t believe you’ve never done one,” Astoria said, her fingers laced with mine as we walked the gravel path behind the greenhouses, the sun beginning to dip low behind the trees.

“A Patronus?” I asked. “It’s not exactly on my list of party tricks.”

She hummed. “Most people can by now.”

“Most people didn’t grow up being taught that emotions were liabilities,” I muttered, a little too sharply. She didn’t flinch.

Instead, she stopped walking and turned to face me. “Then maybe it’s time someone helped you learn otherwise.”

The way she said it—so matter-of-fact, so unsentimental—knocked the defensiveness right out of me.

“I don’t even know if I can,” I admitted. “I’ve tried before. It never—”

“Then try with me,” she said. “Just us. No pressure. No class. No audience.”

So we did.

She led me to a hidden alcove in the gardens, half-walled by hedges and quiet except for the wind combing through the leaves. It smelled of earth and growing things, and it felt safe.

She released my hand only to step a few paces away and draw her wand. “Watch.”

And with a breath, she lifted it, eyes closed, voice like sunlight.

“Expecto Patronum.”

The silver doe burst from her wand, radiant and fluid, landing softly beside her. I watched it move—quiet, alert, elegant—as if it had wandered out of a dream.

She opened her eyes and smiled. “See? Now you.”

I swallowed.

My wand felt heavier than usual. Like it knew this wasn’t just a spell—it was a test of who I am.

“What if I can’t do it?” I said, quieter than I meant to.

Astoria tilted her head. “Then we try again. And again. Until you can. You don’t have to force it, Draco.”

I hesitated. Then I closed my eyes.

What was the happiest memory I had?

Not as a child. Not at Hogwarts. Not even flying.

Then it came to me—not a memory, exactly, but a feeling. The moment in the garden when she gave me the chain. The sound of her voice, the way her fingers had touched the back of my neck. “I wanted you to have something that reminded you… that you’re loved.”

I could feel the chain now, warm against my skin, the ring tucked beneath my shirt. A reminder.

I raised my wand.

“Expecto Patronum.”

Light sparked, and for a heartbeat, I thought it would vanish like always.

But it didn’t.

It grew. Took shape. A small, lean body. Pointed ears. A bushy tail like smoke. An Arctic fox stood before me—bright silver, its coat glowing like frost under moonlight. It moved silently, gracefully, its pale eyes reflecting something that felt like quiet understanding.

I stared, breathless.

Astoria stepped closer, her voice hushed. “A fox…”

It turned its head toward her, then sat between us, tail wrapped neatly around its feet. Watching. Present. Almost… protective.

I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“I’ve never done that before,” I said. “Not once.”

“I know.” She reached out and touched the front of my shirt, just over the ring beneath. “But now you’ve got something to hold onto.”

I caught her wrist gently and pulled her closer, our foreheads nearly touching.

“I think it was you,” I murmured.

“What was?”

“The light.”

Her lips curved—not quite a smile, not yet—but something just as good.

She kissed me then. Not urgent. Not rushed. Just quiet and real and right.

And when we stood there afterward, fingers entwined again, the fox still sitting beside us in a fading shimmer, I didn’t feel like a boy pretending to be whole anymore.

I felt like someone who might, finally, be learning how.

---

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Thirty-Seven: A Gift

_____________________________________________

Draco's POV

It’s been three days, and I still feel like I haven’t touched the ground since the night she said it.

“I love you.”

It echoes in my head when I least expect it—walking to class, washing my hands, drifting off to sleep. I keep waiting for something to ruin it, to remind me that people like me don’t get to keep things like that. But it hasn’t come. Not yet.

In the days since, something between us has changed—quietly, but deeply. We touch more easily now. She’ll slip her hand into mine between classes without a word. I’ll pull her into my lap when we’re in the common room, just because she fits there. Sometimes, she strokes my hair with this absentminded tenderness, and it makes my lungs feel like they’ve stopped working altogether.

We don’t say much about that night. We don’t have to. It’s in the way she looks at me like I’m something she chose—not inherited, not tolerated. Chosen. And Merlin help me, I don’t know what to do with that kind of grace except keep showing up to it.

This afternoon, after Charms, she waits until our classmates start trickling out, then tugs at my sleeve.

“Come with me,” she says.

I glance around. “Where?”

She only smiles. “You’ll see.”

So I follow. Down the corridors, past the Great Hall and the moving staircases, out into the spring-thawed grounds. The breeze carries the scent of damp earth and blooming things, and I follow her toward the edge of the garden near the greenhouses—one of those quiet little corners most people don’t notice. There’s an archway of twisted ivy and stone, half-swallowed by bramble. A bench sits in the shade of an old hawthorn tree, petals scattered across the ground like a secret waiting to be found.

She leads me beneath the arch without a word and stops, framed in sunlight and green.

“I wanted to give you something,” she says.

I blink. “What for?”

Her fingers toy with the edge of her sleeve, then slip into her pocket. “I had it already. Before that night. But I wasn’t sure… and then I was.”

She pulls out a thin silver chain. Hanging from it is a small ring—simple, dark-stoned, quietly elegant. She steps closer, holding it up between us.

“It’s not for your finger,” she murmurs. “I charmed the chain. You’re supposed to wear it under your shirt. Close.”

I say nothing. I can’t. The wind rustles through the leaves above us, and everything feels suddenly suspended—soft, real, breakable.

“I wanted you to have something that… reminded you.” Her voice lowers. “That you’re loved. That someone sees you—even when you don’t.”

She steps forward, lifting the chain over my head. Her fingers brush the back of my neck as she fastens it—deft, gentle, sure. I feel the weight of the ring settle against my chest, warm from her hand.

“I spelled it so no one else can take it off,” she adds, stepping back. “Unless you want them to.”

I let out a shaky breath and look at her—really look at her. And I think: I’ve never been more seen in my life.

I take her hand and kiss her palm, then rest my forehead against hers.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “I don’t think I’ve ever been given something that mattered this much.”

“You have now.”

Around us, petals drift on the breeze, brushing our shoulders, our hair. She leans into me, her arms slipping around my neck. I draw her in by the waist and press a kiss into her hair, where it smells like lavender and parchment.

We stay like that for a while—two people hidden in the shade of something old and blooming. Her gift pressed close to my heart.

And when we finally walk back toward the castle, hand in hand, I keep reaching up to touch the chain through my shirt, just to make sure it’s real.

Because if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll never have to take it off.

---

[pixiefairybloom]

~ 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕮𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒~

𝔄 𝔉𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔫 𝔇𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔬 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔄𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔞

_____________________________________________

Chapter Thirty-Six: You're mine

_____________________________________________

[ Warning: Mature Content]

Astoria's POV

His lips traced slow, tender kisses along the delicate skin of my neck, each one sending sparks that danced beneath my skin. I closed my eyes, surrendering to the warmth of his touch and the steady beat of his heart against my back. The night wrapped around us like a velvet curtain, making everything else fade away until only he and I remained.

Draco’s hands moved with careful reverence, sliding from my waist to the small of my back, pulling me closer as if trying to meld our bodies into one. His breath was soft against my ear, a low murmur that sent shivers down my spine. “You feel so perfect like this,” he whispered, his voice thick with longing.

I tilted my head, offering my neck more, my pulse fluttering wildly beneath his lips. The cool night air mingled with the heat radiating from his body, creating a delicious contrast that made me ache for more. My fingers tightened in his hair, my body responding to the slow, deliberate exploration.

The scent of pine and earth surrounded us, mingling with the faint trace of his cologne and the warmth of his skin. I could hear the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant call of an owl, sounds that felt like a soundtrack written just for this moment.

He paused briefly to look down at me, his eyes dark and searching, full of unspoken promises. “Astoria,” he said softly, “I want to be with you like this… like I’ve wanted for so long.”

The honesty in his voice broke through any hesitation left in me. I reached up, cupping his face, tracing the line of his jaw with my thumb. “I want that too,” I whispered back, my voice trembling with all the feelings I’d held inside.

Slowly, he lowered me back onto the soft grass, careful not to rush, his hands cradling me like something precious. The world seemed to hold its breath as he hovered over me, his eyes locking with mine in a silent question. I nodded, giving him everything—trust, desire, and a heart laid bare.

His lips met mine again, softer this time, full of reverence and longing. The kiss deepened, every touch, every movement a conversation that words could never capture. Our bodies moved closer, fitting together like pieces of a puzzle finally found.

The night held us in its embrace, a quiet witness to the moment when everything changed, and nothing would ever be the same again.

My fingers trembled slightly as they brushed over the buttons of his shirt, the smooth fabric warm beneath my touch. Without thinking, my hand began to move slowly, inching toward undoing the first few buttons, wanting to feel him closer, to explore the hardness beneath the cloth.

But before I could go further, his hand covered mine, stilling it gently.

“Wait,” Draco murmured, his voice low and tender, almost reverent. He lifted his gaze to meet mine, eyes shimmering with an intensity that made my breath catch. “Tonight isn’t about me. It’s about you.”

A soft, almost shy smile curled at the corners of his lips. “I want to satisfy you, Astoria. To make sure you feel everything—every moment, every touch—before I ask for anything in return.”

His words sent a thrilling warmth rushing through me, washing away any lingering doubts. I looked up at him, heart swelling with a mix of affection and desire.

“I want that too,” I whispered, my voice steady despite the quickening of my pulse.

Draco’s hand lingered on mine a moment longer, then slid slowly down my arm, sending a delicious shiver through me. His lips found mine again, deepening the kiss with a patience and care that made me feel cherished, seen, and utterly adored.

The night around us was still and quiet, the world holding its breath as we surrendered to the slow, tender exploration of what it meant to be truly close—body and soul entwined, in a dance as old as time itself.

Draco’s lips left mine just long enough to trail a slow, lingering kiss down my jawline, his breath warm against my skin. His hands moved with deliberate gentleness, gliding over my shoulders and down my arms, memorizing every curve as if committing them to memory.

I shivered, both from the cool night air and the heat of his touch, feeling utterly alive in a way I hadn’t before. His eyes never left mine — dark, unwavering, full of an affection so profound it made my heart ache.

“Tell me what you want,” he murmured against my skin, his voice thick with sincerity.

I swallowed, my voice barely above a whisper. “To feel you. To be close to you. To lose myself with you.”

He smiled, a slow, tender smile that made my pulse race. “Then let me show you.”

Slowly, with infinite care, he began to explore, his hands tracing gentle paths over my skin, his lips leaving a trail of feather-light kisses that made me dizzy with anticipation.

Every touch was a promise, every sigh a confession. I felt myself melting into him, letting go of every fear and doubt, surrendering to the exquisite moment where nothing else mattered but us.

The night wrapped us in its quiet embrace, the world falling away until there was only the soft rustle of leaves, the gentle whisper of the lake, and the steady rhythm of our hearts beating together.

Draco’s hands moved with a reverent tenderness, tracing the line of my collarbone, then slowly sliding lower, as if discovering a new language through touch. Each movement was careful, deliberate, like he was learning the contours of my body for the very first time—and I felt like I was being seen in a way no one else ever had.

My breath hitched as his fingers brushed the edge of my dress, teasing the fabric before pulling it just enough to reveal the soft skin beneath. His lips followed, pressing gentle kisses along my shoulder, warm and slow, leaving a trail of fire that spread through me like wildfire.

“Astoria,” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly with raw emotion, “you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

The ache inside me softened, replaced by a sweet, aching longing that echoed in every part of my being. I reached up, tangling my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel him nearer, more real.

His lips found mine again, deep and demanding now, as if trying to express all the words he couldn’t say. The kiss was slow, tasting of promises and desire, a silent vow that this moment was ours alone.

The grass beneath us was cool, the scent of earth mingling with the faint sweetness of the evening air. Around us, the trees whispered softly, shielding our secret from the rest of the world.

I let myself melt into him, my body responding to the slow, patient exploration. Every touch, every sigh, every lingering kiss built a connection that went far beyond the physical—binding us together in a way that was tender, urgent, and utterly real.

The night air grew cooler, but the heat between us only intensified. Draco’s hands moved with a slow reverence, exploring the curves and planes of my body as if committing every inch to memory. I felt his breath against my skin, each exhale sending shivers that rippled through me.

I tangled my fingers deeper in his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel the full weight of him against me. His lips found mine again, softer this time, a tender reassurance that made my heart flutter with a sweetness I hadn’t expected.

He pressed his forehead against mine, breathing my name like a prayer. “Astoria,” he murmured

I smiled against his lips, my voice barely a whisper. "You’re mine.”

His hands slid beneath my dress, his touch both gentle and sure, igniting a fire that spread through every nerve ending. The world outside this hidden grove disappeared—there was only us, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of the night.

His eyes searched mine, asking silently for permission, for trust. I nodded, breathless, offering everything I had.

He kissed slowly down my stomach, lifting my dress higher with each movement to reveal more of my skin.

His lips trailed soft, reverent kisses along my hip bone, his thumbs hooking gently into the waistband of my underwear. He looked up at me through his dark lashes, his eyes searching mine for permission.

"Is this alright?"

"Mhm..." I nodded, glancing around instinctively to make sure we were alone. But in the darkness, it was hard to see anything—except him. All I could feel was his presence, so close, so real.

Draco slid my underwear down with deliberate slowness, his eyes locked on mine, never wavering. The shadows cloaked us like a secret, protecting us from the world beyond. He could hear the hitch in my breath as he exposed me fully, and he pressed a soft kiss to my hip before gently parting my legs.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my bare skin. His hands slid beneath my thighs, easing them apart to make space for himself. Our eyes met once more—his gaze steady, reverent—before he lowered his mouth to my center. I gasped as the first touch of his tongue ignited something deep inside me.

My fingers dug into the earth beneath us, grasping at the grass like it could anchor me to the moment. I heard him murmur something low and soft, then felt his arms wrap under my legs. He pulled me closer, his grip both grounding and giving. Then, without a word, he offered his hands—his touch, his comfort—for me to hold.

He buried his face between my thighs again, his tongue moving with growing urgency. His hands held mine tightly as I clung to him, moaning softly, trying to stay grounded in the wave crashing over me.

Then, in a voice muffled and tender, he whispered,

"I love you..."

The words stole my breath. My chest heaved, my heart pounding as he pressed himself deeper into me, redoubling his efforts. His tongue flicked faster, more deliberately, drawing trembling gasps from my lips with every pass. My fingers tightened around his as if they were the only thing tethering me to earth.

He looked up at me through heavy lashes, eyes full of heat and vulnerability, watching me unravel before him.

"Darling..." lick "I said..." lick "That I love you."

He didn’t stop. His mouth continued working me with devoted intensity, his confession lingering in the air—unanswered, but unmistakably sincere. I could feel the pressure inside me coil tighter, my legs trembling around his shoulders, my grip on his hands growing more desperate with every second.

"I love you... I love you... so much, darling... I-I... love... I love you," he murmured again, his voice breaking and reverent, and I opened my mouth to reply, but all that came was a gasp.

I was too overwhelmed—by his touch, by his words, by the overwhelming sensation of being seen, wanted, loved.

"Ah—I love you too," I finally choked out, the words catching on a broken whimper just as my climax hit. My thighs shook around his head, and he held me steady, his hands stroking slow, soothing lines along my legs as I came undone.

He smiled against me, soft and satisfied, and continued to kiss me gently, like a vow sealed with every breath.

---