Summary: Your plans to bake cookies for your boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, go up in flames (literally). Can this get any messier? Well, in the middle of a panic attack, you accidentally call him your husband-
A little angst and tooth rotting fluff
CW: Brief description of a panic attack, Reader is an ex-HYDRA experiment, but doesn't play a huge part in the plot, Brief mentions of abuse from HYDRA, PTSD, Grief (mentions of Bucky's Ma), overall ends up super fluffy
Note: I wrote this in a rush last night as it just came to me - feedback would be nice since idk if it's good or not
This was supposed to be as easy as following a recipe, just a few steps and ingredients to perfection. It had been simple enough- buy the ingredients, follow the steps you found online, and get the cookies baked before Bucky got home.
So how did your plan go up in flames? Literally.
The kitchen was usually the most organized room in the apartment, thanks to your meticulous skills. Bucky had kept his room in the Tower messy, with piles of clothes and other junk around. Now, with the two of you sharing an apartment to split rent, he made sure things stayed neat enough. The two of you had moved in a month ago, deciding it was best to stick close to help with both your nightmares and the aftereffects of being an asset. A table for two where often you shared meals, the counter next to the spot where you danced with him slowly to old music you didn’t recognize on Friday evenings, and a row of coffee mugs all lined up in a row. At least, this was how the kitchen normally looked instead of a warzone with a lost battle to sugar and butter.
Flour was all over the counter, along with a trail of white pawprints from chasing Alpine off the counter after she had managed to escape from the bedroom again. A failed batch of salt, mistakenly dumped into the wrong bowl instead of sugar, was resting on the edge of the kitchen table, along with two eggs that had been dropped by accident. Using a stand mixer had been a mistake, since somehow you had managed to splatter batter all over the walls, dripping onto the countertop.
A buzz as your screen lit up from your friend Amanda, who was asking yet another question about whether a theory about the Avengers all being aliens was in fact true or wasting no time to inquire about every detail of your life as one ever since the two of you reconnected.
“Not now, Amanda!” You quickly tried to ignore the message, swiping away to look at the recipe in your notes.
It had taken weeks of research and trying to pry any information out of Bucky on what kind of sweets he liked or what kind of recipes his Ma had made. That had been a task in itself, since the two of you both were trained to avoid interrogation tactics, not to mention the walls Bucky put up around his past. Yet, every day, those walls crumbled more and more, revealing the soft eyes beneath it all with each question or passing touch of reassurance. He talked so fondly of his Ma, eyes crinkling up in a sad smile every time he brought her up, especially the little things she had done for him as a boy. Baking cookies for him to find after school had been one of his sweetest memories of her, a little piece of himself he could remember before HYDRA had stolen it away. So, you wanted to give him a little bit of that sweetness he’d had, from a life without harsh edges, before the cruelty of others had sharpened them away along with his own name. Trying to get him to recall what ingredients she had used, along with a few other details, you quickly got to research, finding recipes from the 1940s online. Who knew the data finding skills you’d used for targets once would be used for a batch of snickerdoodle cookies? The gesture was small, even if it meant a lot in the eyes of people who had suffered the ways you two had. It was the least you could do.
Bucky had done so much for you, taking you out of that lab and believing in you when it felt as if the world turned against you. If it took turning the world around, Bucky wouldn’t hesitate to switch it on its axis. Not as if you were any different, willing to burn it down to keep him safe if that’s what it took, a spark within ready to light up the match.
Well, now, the only thing that was about to burn down was the apartment as the cookies literally burst into flames.
“No, no, no!” You quickly turned off the oven, opening the door as a flame leapt out, looking for the fire extinguisher. Smoke filled the air in a gray cloud, the mood becoming grayer, turning the kitchen into a suffocating fog. “Alpine?! Where’s Alpine?!” A warning meow came from below, somewhere near the door. Training kicked in, as if a machine had replaced a human, opening the cabinet and grabbing the extinguisher, putting out the fire in a matter of seconds. Now the snicker doodles inside the oven dripped in white foam, like a pathetic, failed icing. Smoke was slowly clearing from the air, as you choked back a cough. The whole idea had been a disaster!
“No!” you pulled them out of the oven, tears threatening to fall past your lids, “How could this happen again!” As a super soldier, taking down enemies or handling complex tech came easily, so why did the most normal tasks become difficult? Normal seemed so out of reach most days. Just now, you had begun socializing more easily with the rest of the Avengers, growing slowly into the spotlight of your new position. Eye contact was still difficult, except with Bucky. Other things, like moving into this apartment with him, had been a big step towards a fraction of a normal life. Now you couldn’t even bake some cookies!
“Why can’t I be normal?” you sobbed, as Alpine nudged her head against your leg, trying to comfort you.
The day couldn’t get any worse until the smoke alarm went off, ringing off the walls. A ringing filled your ears, one from long ago in the darkest parts of HYDRA.
“Containment breach! Get the experiment! Stop at nothing!”
Stumbling back, you gripped the counter, nails digging into the marble as memories flooded back.
Running away from HYDRA. Gunshots rang off the walls along with the alarm. Blood beneath Bucky’s almost dying body as you had tried to save him, begging him to just wake up.
“Not now,” you begged nobody in particular as you felt the past take possession of the present.
The smoke in the air became the explosion as the two of you had left the base, fire reaching behind you, burns still lingering on your wrist. Sinking to the floor, you looked down, trying to breathe. Slowly, the apartment faded away into a cold lab, leaving nothing but HYDRA around you as the dark swallowed you whole.
Alpine meowed again, but it didn’t register; only screams and explosions in your ears. Neither did the front door open as someone rushed inside…
Smoke curling underneath the door was the first thing Bucky had noticed, before dropping the groceries in the middle of the apartment complex’s hall, cat food spilling out. The second he saw it, his heart dropped at the recognition of the door it was spilling from. He hadn’t hesitated, opening the door, storming inside without a second thought. Smoke was in the air, an alarm beeping through the apartment, making it difficult to see clearly. At least there was no heat in the air, a sure sign of a fire. Jaw set, eyes wide, and moving with purpose as if the Winter Soldier had possessed his body again, with only one mission in mind - one of protection for once. Alpine was at her usual spot, waiting at the door for him with a worried meow, before he scooped her up under his metal arm.
One down, one more to go.
Sputtering from the smoke, he called out, “Doll? Where are you?” Rounding the corner, he saw a worse sight than he expected, one where you were lost again. Ingredients were everywhere, along with pawprints and at least three dozen cookies lying around, covered in the spray of the extinguisher. A scorch mark near the oven indicated somehow the cookies had caught fire. In the middle of it all, as the smoke cleared, was your crumbled form, eyes distant and far from here. It was a look he recognized, one so heartbreaking yet so familiar.
A sound caught your attention, and as you reached for the closest thing for a weapon out of instinct, you took the extinguisher to aim. Bucky had come in expecting a fire, not a sudden spray of cold at his eyes. The extinguisher dropped to the floor with a clatter, as Bucky stood there dripping in white foam, confusion written across his face. Wiping the foam away from his face, Alpine ran off, leaving him with foam clinging to his hair and a mess to clean up. “What the hell happened here?” he asked in bewilderment, not accusation. As his eyes met yours, he knew exactly what was going on once he saw the terror hiding in the unrecognizing glance as you backed off into the corner. Another panic attack. The confusion gave way to sympathy as his jaw slacked, softening into a gentler look.
“Doll? It’s Bucky,” he said softly, stepping closer with caution. Catching you in the middle of one of your panic attacks could either lead to a breakdown or a punch to the face, neither of which he wanted. “Are you alright?”
“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled in a quiet voice, not quite recognizing his own yet. Tremors racked your body as your words spilled out. “I messed up, please don’t be angry.”
“Why would I ever get angry?” he asked, trying to reassure you as he crouched down to your level.
“I messed up,” you protested, tensing up in expectation of a punishment, as mistakes were always punished in HYDRA. Bucky reached out towards your shoulder, letting the cool metal of his arm touch you, hoping you’d recognize him. You fliched, causing him to pull back.
“Stay away!” you cried in a voice laced with rage, “Don’t. Touch. Me.”
A small part of him felt his heart sink again at the tone, struggling to see what was before him. So much progress had been made over the past year, as he’d watched you push past each panic attack, through the programming HYDRA put in your head, growing into the shining star you were becoming. Setbacks were to be expected, as he’d had his own, but it didn’t make them any less difficult.
“I won’t touch you,” he sighed, “Can you start by telling me what happened here?”
“I wanted to make cookies for Bucky,” you whispered, voice distant, as if talking to someone else. Bucky knew who it was you thought you were speaking to- a monster. The Handler who had programmed you at HYDRA for years, one he was glad he'd gotten rid of when he had the chance. Usually, when these panic attacks came, it was who you confused him with, until his presence and voice could bring you back to realizing he was there instead. “They ended up burning instead.”
“Why would you try that?” he asked. The two of you had experienced a fair share of your cooking disasters, leaving you to nothing more than mac n’ cheese and the microwave. “You and I both know I do most of the cooking.”
“I wanted to do something special,” you choked out, finally glancing up to look at him, “Make cookies like his Ma used to make.”
So that was what you had been up to? Bucky felt a small part of him break, all while igniting a light that had faded so long ago. A bit of the one inside that boy who had run through the streets of Brooklyn, only to come home to a warm meal from his Ma, who had a warmer heart. He was aware you knew how sensitive he was to the topic of home-cooked meals, throwing out anything in the Tower’s shared fridge that even resembled her cooking, growing angry at even a simple reminder. Wanda had baked cookies once he’d seen, unaware she’d made them, tossing them out in a rage. Of course, he’d apologized after he’d realized Wanda had made them share with Vision. He wasn’t a jerk after all. To think, you knew he’d eat them if you made them. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him.
“Oh, doll,” he whispered, reaching out to test the waters again, as he placed a hand on your shoulder, before pulling you against him. At least this time, you hadn’t pulled away, meaning you finally recognized him. Curling against him, a wave of relief filled you, bringing you back to the present. Safety could always be found in his arms, as there was this way he had of grounding you. His breath lingered against the side of your head, warm as he kissed the top of it, letting his lips stay a moment longer. “This is the nicest thing anyone’s done for me.”
“They’re burnt,” you stated bluntly as you turned against him, putting your head where you could hear the steady rhythm of his heart.
“Some burnt cookies ain’t gonna ruin the day,” he mumbled against your forehead, “How about we make some together? I’ll handle the mess.”
Glancing up, you met his piercing blue gaze with a disappointed look, “Why can’t I do normal things? Stupid cookies couldn’t even work for me.”
“Normal doesn’t come to people like us,” Bucky answered, bringing his hand to yours, “What about our relationship has ever been normal?”
A small laugh escaped you, “I guess we never have been a normal couple.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he gave you a light squeeze, savoring the closeness.
“I just wanted to do something nice for my husband-” you cut yourself short, the words slipping out, unable to be taken away. Embarrassment crept up, heating your cheeks, temporarily distracting you from the remaining fear.
Bucky froze a moment, hand squeezing a firm grip, unsure if he’d heard correctly.
“Doll? Did you just?” he stared at you with wide eyes, “Call me your husband?”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” You averted your gaze, “It’s just crossed my mind a few times, is all…and I started thinking about it after what we said down in that bunker.”
Carefully, he turned your face back to meet his, eyes wide in disbelief, along with something akin to hope lying underneath, “You wanna marry me?”
“I think so, eventually,” you admitted as the room went still, “Not right now. I’m too young and have so much ahead of me to do that now. And only if you do.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t expect it now. We’ve only dated a bit over a year now,” Bucky squeezed your hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. A bright, genuine smile crossed his face. “And I’m gonna marry you one day.” The thought had crossed his own mind more than he’d like to admit, often replacing the nightmares he had at night. Instead, he now found himself dreaming of weddings, a nice house with the two of you, and Alpine all together in a life he never thought he’d have. If anything, he’d wanted to bring it up lately, but worried about scaring you off. Couples didn’t marry as quickly in the 21st century, and a few didn’t at all, as you informed him.
“Really?” A flutter filled your chest, along with a warmth, melting away the cold of the earlier memories. “You would want to marry me?”
“Don’t want anything more,” he confessed, before kissing your forehead, then your cheek, then your nose. Each was more gentle and sincere than the last, closing up the open wounds of the memories earlier. Tugging him closer, you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him with all the strength of the super soldier you were, pressing a deep kiss to his lips.
Bucky returned the gesture, moving his lips softly to your own, sweet and slow. Brushing a hand across your cheek, he wiped away a bit of flour left behind, mumbling between kisses, “You’re a mess.”
Pulling back, you tugged at the remaining foam in his long hair, “And so are you.”
“And whose fault is that?” he smirked, raising an eyebrow. Rolling your eyes, you dipped your hand in the batter on the counter and tapped it onto the end of his nose with a scoff, “At least one of us is more of a mess now.”
Suddenly, Bucky scooped you up bridal style, carrying you away from the kitchen.
“Is this really necessary?” you argued, “Put me down!”
“I’m just getting some practice in for the wedding,” Bucky answered, “And you need to get some rest. Plus, if you really wanted me to let go, I would already have been pinned to the floor by now.”
“It’s not exactly like I ever do anything I don’t want to,” you agreed with a grin.
“Exactly, Doll,” he replied with a smile, “Don’t think anyone could keep you from what you want.”
Nothing could, yet out of all the people in the world, you wanted to marry him.
“Do you think we could bake those cookies this weekend?” you asked, leaning into his secure hold, “And we can watch a movie after.”
“Sure, sounds good to me,” he held you closer for a moment, just for the sake of it, “From now on, we’re going to bake together.”
Feedback is always appreciated!
I'm not sure how good this is, so I'd really like an opinion - it felt like my worst writing
If you would like to learn more about Bucky and this reader's backstory, check out my fic "In Your Eyes" on Ao3 here: In Your Eyes - Chapter 1 - daily_delulu - Marvel Cinematic Universe [Archive of Our Own]
We are often told that conflict is a sign of unhealthy relationships or relationships that are doomed to end. We're here to help with the unlearning of that - conflict is very normal and resolving conflict in relationships can actually help us grow together, foster stronger bonds, and deepen our connections.
We know dealing with conflict can be hard but you don't have to do it alone. We're here to support you and give you some things to keep in mind for those tough conversations:
Take a minute or two: Sometimes whether we react doesn’t even feel within our control — but it is. When conflict arises, center yourself for a sec: take a few breaths and remind yourself of who you want to be at your best.
In before out: Try and internally process before you speak or act. Do a check-in with yourself and what you’re feeling. Remember you can always ask someone to give you a minute and/or space to process.*** If anyone tries to force you to stay in conflict, they aren’t ready — or don’t want — to resolve conflict with you. It’s time to run, then, not walk, to get the space and emotional safety you need.”
Use “I” statements: It’s important to own and express our experience of things rather than to put our focus on the other person. Sometimes conflict is one person not getting the impact of their behavior on someone else, so now and then an “I” statement can solve the whole issue.
When and where: Resolving conflict is often thorny and requires energy and focus from everyone involved. Choose mediums of communication where no one has to shortcut or multitask. Set things up so everyone has the time, energy & ability to pay close attention to each other.
Patience, grasshopper: When a conflict requires negotiation, or when someone involved is really struggling, resolution is an ongoing process. Instant forgiveness isn’t realistic. Resolution takes time and mutual work.
Be accountable: Taking responsibility clearly and earnestly for our own stuff goes a long way. Acknowledging ways we may have intentionally or carelessly created conflict, or how we can handle conflict better, are kinds of accountability that create space for resolution.
Know that practicing these six tips may feel awkward or clunky at first, but like with anything else, the more we practice resolving conflict together, the more natural it will feel. Trust in the process.
These six tips are from the Rebel Well Series: a Starter Survival Guide to a Trumped America for Teens and Emerging Adults by Heather Corinna and s.e. smith.
Bucky doesn’t ask for help. He never says he needs you. But when the nightmares hit, you’re the only one who can reach him. In the silence of the early hours, you hold him through the shaking, the memories, the guilt. He says he doesn’t deserve love — but you stay anyway. Because he’s yours. And you’ve never needed him to be perfect — only real.
Bucky Barnes x reader
It always started with the silence.
Not the kind that came with peace — the kind that held its breath. That heavy stillness just before something breaks.
You felt it before you heard him move.
Bucky jerked upright in bed with a sharp gasp, body tense, back bowed, lungs desperate for air that refused to come. He was already drenched in sweat, chest heaving, metal hand curled tight in the sheets. The muscles in his neck were straining, like he was still bracing for impact.
He wasn’t there. Not with you. Not yet.
Your heart cracked.
You didn’t say his name immediately — you’d learned not to. Too sudden and it startled him. Too loud and it pulled him under.
So you moved carefully.
“Bucky,” you whispered, voice soft as breath, like a hand reaching out in the dark.
He didn’t turn.
The moonlight through the window caught the edge of his scars — the silver glint of metal at his wrist, the faint shimmer of sweat along his spine.
You sat up slowly, sheets slipping from your skin. Reached out. Let your fingers hover just above his back. He was trembling.
When you finally touched him, he flinched. Just barely. But he didn’t pull away.
“It was just a dream,” you murmured. “You’re safe.”
He let out a breath that sounded like a sob held too long in his chest. His shoulders dropped, just a little.
“I couldn’t stop it.” His voice was wrecked. “It was happening again. I couldn’t— I didn’t know where I was—”
You moved behind him, pressing your body to his back, wrapping your arms around his chest like a shield. You felt his heart pounding beneath your palm.
“You’re home,” you said quietly. “You’re not there. Not anymore.”
Bucky shook his head. “But it’s still in me.”
You pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck. He shuddered.
“I still hear the screaming,” he whispered. “I can feel the blood on my hands. I wake up and I can’t breathe because it still feels real.”
You closed your eyes. God, how many times had he woken like this? Alone, before you ever touched his bed. Before he ever let you stay.
“You didn’t choose any of it,” you said, holding him tighter. “You were never what they made you.”
Bucky’s breath hitched. He twisted slowly in your arms, like he was afraid of what you’d see. His eyes were wet, jaw tight.
“I’m afraid,” he whispered. “Of what I’ve done. Of what I still could do.”
You cupped his face gently, both hands holding him like something precious. Something fragile.
“I’m not,” you said. “I know you. I know every part of you — even the ones you hate.”
His throat worked. “You shouldn’t love someone like me.”
You kissed the scar just beneath his eye. Then the hollow of his cheek. His temple.
“I don’t love someone like you,” you whispered. “I love you.”
His hands gripped your waist like he didn’t know what to do with that — like the weight of being loved so completely made his ribs ache.
“I don’t know how to be soft,” he said. “Not like you deserve.”
“Then don’t be soft,” you said. “Just be here. With me.”
He leaned in, slowly. Hesitantly. His lips brushed yours — tentative, almost shy. But when you kissed him back, his hands found your back, your jaw, your hair — pulling you closer, like he needed to make sure you were real.
When you pulled him down into the bed with you, his head rested against your chest. One of your hands slid through his hair. The other held his metal hand, fingers curled gently between his.
“I’m still here,” you whispered.
Bucky closed his eyes.
“I don’t deserve this,” he said.
You kissed the top of his head. “That’s not your call to make.”
He was asleep within minutes — still holding your hand like he was afraid you’d disappear.
"Draco Malfoy stands trial before the Wizengamot for his role in the war.
The defense tries to prove that he acted under duress, calling witnesses who reveal his fragility and the weight of family expectations.
Among them, Helena Beckingham, a key figure from his past, whose testimony could change the outcome of the verdict."
WORDS: 4,381 words
MASTERLIST
The Ministry of Magic had been in turmoil for weeks.
Public opinion demanded justice, wanted exemplary punishments, and the Malfoy family seemed like the perfect scapegoat to throw to the wolves.
After the first guilty verdict for Lucius, who had been sent to Azkaban for fifteen years, it was now time for his only heir and his wife, Narcissa.
Unfortunately for them, the Malfoy family had become the symbol of a fallen blood purity, the aristocratic face of those who had chosen the wrong side of the war.
And now, beneath the gloomy vaults of the Wizengamot courtroom, their fate was being decided.
The courtroom was vast, with high dark stone walls and magical torches casting long, flickering shadows over the rows of witches and wizards seated on the elevated benches.
The limited public in attendance murmured among themselves, whispering judgments before the verdicts were even announced.
Draco Malfoy sat at the center of the room, surrounded by Aurors armed with wands, though his wrists were still free of chains or cuffs.
He wore dark clothes, stripped of any emblem that could recall his family’s past.
Even his beloved Malfoy ring was gone from his long, cold fingers.
His jaw was clenched, his hands resting loosely on his legs.
He looked like a wax statue, with slightly too-dark circles under his eyes, motionless.
Behind a tall stone bench, the judge lifted his gaze from the scroll in his hands.
He struck the gavel three times, calling for silence before speaking in a firm, measured voice:
“Draco Malfoy.
You are here today to answer for the crimes attributed to you during the Magical War.
The Wizengamot has examined the evidence and will hear testimonies before deliberating your fate.”
The courtroom was still.
The judge looked up at the accused and continued:
“You are charged with complicity with the Death Eaters and facilitating the entrance of hostile forces into Hogwarts, enabling the attack that led to the death of Albus Dumbledore.
You are also charged with the attempted murder of Professor Albus Dumbledore using the Avada Kedavra curse, as well as the torture and coercion of other students under the regime imposed by the Death Eaters at Hogwarts.”
A heavy pause fell over the room.
“However,” the judge continued in a measured tone,
“the court acknowledges that, at the time of the events, you were still a minor and under threats and pressure from You-Know-Who and his followers.
This will be taken into account in the final verdict.”
Draco did not move.
No sign of defiance, no gesture of defense.
Just one long, slow breath and an extreme stiffness.
“The defense may proceed with the witnesses.”
One of Draco’s three attorneys, a middle-aged man with a calm, composed air, stood up.
“The defense calls Mr. Theodore Nott.”
A murmur spread through the courtroom as a young man with an elegant bearing stood and approached the witness stand.
Theodore Nott, Draco’s classmate at Hogwarts and son of a known Death Eater, was no stranger to this court.
But unlike his father, he had not been actively involved in the war, and his name was not among the main suspects.
The young man took his place at the stand, and the defense attorney stepped closer.
“Mr. Nott, can you tell the court what Draco Malfoy’s behavior was like during his final year at Hogwarts?”
Theodore did not hesitate.
“Draco was… distant. Different. He didn’t talk to anyone about what was happening, but it was clear he was deeply uncomfortable.”
“Did you ever see him commit acts of violence or abuse toward other students?”
“No,” Theodore replied firmly.
“To be honest, he looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown.”
A light rustle went through the room, but the judge motioned for silence.
The defense attorney nodded.
“So, in your opinion, was Draco Malfoy enthusiastic about what he was doing?”
Theodore let out a short breath.
“No. I saw him every day. It was like he was rotting from the inside.”
But the prosecution was not easily swayed.
When it was their turn to question, the prosecutor, a tall man with a commanding presence—crossed his arms and studied Nott carefully.
“Mr. Nott, was Draco Malfoy alone in all this?”
Theodore hesitated for the first time, his fingers lightly gripping the edge of the stand.
“He didn’t talk to anyone about what he was doing,” he repeated.
“And yet, he couldn’t have done all this alone,” the prosecutor pressed.
“Not for a plan like that. He needed help. Did someone help him?”
Nott’s jaw tightened.
He was under oath”he couldn’t lie.
Everyone knew it.
In the end, with a long breath, he answered:
“Crabbe and Goyle.
A murmur rippled through the courtroom, and the judge banged the gavel to restore order.
“And in what way did these two boys contribute to the matter?”the prosecutor continued, and Theodore swallowed hard.
He had thrown himself into a dead end from which there was no easy escape.
“...He made them transform into girls using Polyjuice Potion to guard the room while he worked on his plan.
“He made them?”pressed the prosecutor.
Nott shifted in his seat and shook his head.
“He didn’t threaten them, if that’s what you mean! He didn’t hold a wand to their throats!”he snapped, his tone laced for a moment with frustration.
“But what were they supposed to do? Say no? When You-Know-Who expects someone to carry out a task, you just do it!”
The tension in the room spiked.
“So you admit that Draco Malfoy used his companions to further his plan?
Nott remained silent for a long moment.
Then he lowered his gaze slightly.
“Yes.”
The prosecution exchanged a satisfied look with the members of the Wizengamot.
It felt like the tide had turned, that the jury had just found a new angle from which to judge the entire case.
And it only got worse when Theodore was dismissed and the prosecution called their next witness.
“The court calls Miss Katherine Lucie Bell.”
The name hit Draco like a whip, and he flinched imperceptibly.
He forced himself not to squint as Katie stepped forward slowly, her face pale but determined.
She sat and swore to tell the truth, her hands tightly folded in her lap in a nervous gesture.
The prosecutor approached, scanning the parchment in his hand.
“Miss Bell, could you tell the court what happened to you during your sixth year at Hogwarts?
Katie closed her eyes briefly, as if gathering her thoughts, then answered in a controlled voice.
“I was cursed... Someone gave me an object, a necklace, and when I touched it, I was cursed. It almost... cost me my life.”
“And who gave you that necklace?
Katie looked up.
“Draco Malfoy.”she whispered.
The tension erupted.
Draco felt his muscles tense.
He forced himself to stay still while she continued.
“Did he do it of his own free will?”
Katie hesitated.
“I don’t know. I think I was just a pawn... an unplanned collateral damage.”
“No further questions, Your Honour,”the prosecutor said with a nod, and the judge scratched at his greying goatee.
Draco’s defense attorney stood and addressed Katie.
“Miss Bell, did you have any direct contact with the accused before or after the incident?
Katie shook her head.
“No.”
“And do you have any proof that Mr. Malfoy intended to harm you?”
Another hesitation. Then, in a faint voice, she said:
“No.”
The lawyer took the opportunity to underline that Draco had never intended to hurt anyone directly, that he had been forced.
But the damage was done.
Katie Bell’s testimony had reawakened doubts in the jury.
The air seemed to turn against Draco.
The three defense attorneys huddled briefly, heads bent and pointing at something on their papers, before nodding in agreement.
The lead attorney stood and addressed the judge with composure.
“The defense would like to call a second witness,”he said, and after the judge’s nod, continued:
“I call Helena Beckingham to the stand.”
The name swept through the room like a cold shiver.
Helena walked forward with measured grace”tall and poised.
Her hair, dark as midnight, fell in disciplined waves down her back, framing a sharp, aristocratic face.
But it was her eyes, almost hypnotically intense, that captured more than a few glances in the room.
She stopped at the witness stand, chin slightly raised, her cloak casting long shadows on the floor.
When asked to swear to the truth, she nodded imperceptibly, her voice steady as she spoke the oath.
From the corner of the room, Draco looked up.
For a fleeting second, their eyes met.
Then he clenched his jaw and looked straight ahead.
They hadn’t seen each other in a year.
They hadn’t spoken in two.
The defense attorney approached, flipping through his parchment before fixing his gaze on her.
“Miss Beckingham, you’ve known Draco Malfoy for quite some time, correct?
“Yes.
“How long, exactly?
“Roughly eleven years. We studied together from childhood.
“And how long were you in a relationship with him?
“Two years.
“More precisely?
“Fourth and fifth year at Hogwarts.
“So you’d say you know him rather intimately?
Helena hesitated a moment, then gave a slight nod.
“Yes.”
“Can you describe to the court who Draco Malfoy truly is, beyond the accusations made against him?”
Helena remained composed, her voice steady and unwavering.
“A boy raised under the weight of impossible expectations. Extremely protective, extremely ambitious.”
A heavy silence fell over the courtroom.
The lawyer studied her for a moment before continuing.
“Have you ever seen him commit any acts of violence?”
“No.”
“Has he ever expressed the desire to hurt or kill anyone?”
“No.”
The lawyer nodded, then paused, allowing his words to settle.
“Miss Beckingham, based on your knowledge of Draco Malfoy, would you say he acted out of personal conviction, or out of fear?”
It was at that moment that Helena’s voice cracked, ever so slightly, for the first time.
“Out of fear, she said, her fingers tightening just a little.
Draco closed his eyes for a second.
No other reaction, no movement.
The lawyer turned to the judge.
“No further questions.”
The judge nodded toward the jury while Helena remained still, her face impassive, though her shoulders had stiffened slightly.
The prosecutor stood with composure, adjusting his robes with a precise gesture.
A man with sharp features and a piercing gaze, whose job was not only to reveal the facts, but to cast doubt, to fracture certainty.
He approached the witness stand and lifted his eyes to Helena.
“Miss Beckingham, you've described Draco Malfoy as a boy raised under great pressure, ambitious and protective,but surely this boy has his flaws, wouldn’t you say?”
Helena didn’t flinch.
“Of course.”
“Could you name a few?”
For a moment, silence.
Then, with her usual composed voice, Helena answered:
“Proud. Stubborn. Sometimes arrogant. He shut down when things went wrong instead of asking for help.”
“And towards you? Was he ever cruel?”
Draco remained still, eyes downcast.
“Never deliberately.”
The prosecutor raised an eyebrow.
“So he was cruel unintentionally?”
“I mean that I considered it cruel the way he would shut me out whenever something troubled him.”
“Like when he cut off all contact with you after Lucius Malfoy’s arrest, without explanation?”
Helena’s fingers tensed slightly around the edge of the stand, but her face didn’t change.
“Yes.”
The prosecutor gave a small smile, as if confirming something he already suspected. Then he went on.
“You said Draco Malfoy has a deep instinct to protect those he cares about. Could you elaborate?”
“I saw with my own eyes how much he was willing to sacrifice for his mother. She was his priority, always. And not just her. Even when he didn’t want to admit it, there were others he would’ve done anything for.”
“Including you?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation.
Draco tensed just slightly, as if those words had struck him cleanly, but he didn’t lift his gaze.
The prosecutor appeared to weigh her answer, then his tone sharpened.
“Interesting, Miss Beckingham. You come from a rather well-known family in our community.”
Helena gave no reaction, but she felt the weight of his words.
“...Though not involved in recent events, your family was among those prosecuted after the First Wizarding War. Your surname is no stranger to this courtroom.”
A hush moved through the audience.
It wasn’t new information, but saying it here, in this context, made it feel like a shadow cast over her credibility.
Was this young woman actually a conspirator? Had Draco Malfoy perhaps been aided by her all along?
Helena clenched her fingers briefly, then responded with icy precision.
“My surname has no relevance to what I’m saying here today. I’m not the one on trial.”
“No, but you come from a family that once supported He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So the question naturally arises: how objective is your testimony truly? Could it be influenced by a certain… alignment with the Malfoy family’s ideals?”
Helena’s jaw tightened slightly.
Not because the question had hit a nerve, but because of how deliberately it had been phrased. She didn’t raise her voice, didn’t let indignation show,only a cold, measured certainty in her reply.
“My testimony is based on facts, not assumptions. My surname doesn’t change the reality of what I’ve seen and lived.”
The prosecutor stared at her for a long moment, then paused deliberately, letting the silence stretch like a wire about to snap.
“Did Draco Malfoy ever speak to you about his Dark Mark?”
A shiver rippled through the crowd, a shockwave spreading like a wave, while the members of the Wizengamot exchanged subtle glances.
Helena remained still.
A shadow of tension flickered in her dark irises, but her face betrayed nothing.
“No.”
The word sliced through the heavy air like a sharp blade.
“When he received it, Draco had already cut off all contact with me for months.”
The prosecutor didn’t flinch.
“So, you found out the night Albus Dumbledore died?”
“No.”
A split-second pause.
The prosecutor raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly with an expression that seemed to analyze every inflection in Helena’s tone.
Then he smiled.
“Very interesting. So, you knew Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater before Albus Dumbledore’s death?”
He let the words linger in the air, articulated with near venom.
Then he tilted his head a little more.
“…And despite that, you didn’t think to report him? Silence out of affection, perhaps?”
The audience shifted restlessly on the benches, some jurors exchanged glances, and Helena felt the wave of judgment crash against her back like icy water.
“Objection! He’s implying guilt without evidence!”
The defense lawyer’s voice sliced through the tension with surgical precision.
“Sustained” the judge said, striking his gavel and casting a stern look at the prosecution.
The prosecutor wet his lips slightly, then rephrased the question with a less insinuating,but equally pointed,tone.
“When, then, did you discover Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater?”
Helena inhaled slowly, her fingers tightening around the edge of the stand.
When she spoke, her voice carried a hint of restrained anger, a quiet flame burning beneath her icy composure.
“I found out one evening in the Hogwarts infirmary.”
The prosecutor remained motionless, waiting.
“The same night Harry Potter decided to attack Draco with a Dark Magic spell.”
The prosecutor moved quickly.
“Objection!” he barked.
“The witness is making an implausible accusation against the boy who saved us all! This statement is irrelevant to the case!”
The judge didn’t flinch. His gaze drifted momentarily over the parchment in front of him, then he lifted his chin.
“Overruled.”
His voice was firm.
“The event has been confirmed in a separate hearing. The witness may continue.”
Helena allowed one eyebrow to lift slightly.
She turned back to the prosecutor, her face impassive, but with a subtle spark in her eyes.
“Word spread quickly among the Slytherins… Everyone said Draco Malfoy had been gravely injured, if not nearly killed. I went to see for myself that very evening.”
She paused briefly, as though she were there again, in the infirmary, among the sterile white sheets, the floor smelling of healing potions and iron.
“There was blood everywhere.”
Her voice was flat, descriptive, as if painting a scene.
“Draco was covered in bandages and filled with sleeping potions, I assume. It only took a glance under his sleeve to see the Mark.”
From his seat, Draco stiffened.
The tension in his body was subtle, almost imperceptible, but Helena noticed.
Everyone noticed.
He hadn’t known.
He had never known that Helena had visited him in the infirmary that night.
“The following night, Albus Dumbledore died. I couldn’t have told anyone… There wouldn’t have been time.”
The courtroom was silent.
No more whispers, no murmurs, no hushed comments.
The prosecutor remained still for a long moment, then finally lowered his gaze to his parchments.
Helena didn’t look away.
“No further questions?”
The prosecutor didn’t respond immediately.
Then, with a small nod, he murmured:
“No further questions.”
The judge struck the gavel.
Helena remained still for a few more seconds.
Then, with the same calm she had entered with, she rose from the witness stand.
As she passed Draco, she felt his gaze on her, a silent weight resting on her shoulders.
She didn’t turn around.
She had said all there was to say.
Her part there was over.
❖✧✦✧❖
Helena pushed through the crowd of journalists and onlookers gathered beyond the courtroom doors.
The air was thick with excited voices, quills fluttering overhead to capture every detail, camera flashes lighting up faces,some exultant, others outraged.
The trial had lasted three days, and now that it was over, Helena had Apparated straight to the courthouse steps.
She didn’t stop for even a second.
She didn’t turn around, not even when she heard someone say Draco Malfoy’s name with a mix of awe and disapproval.
She already knew the verdict.
Innocent.
The relief had hit her like a punch to the gut.
A knot she hadn’t known was there had suddenly loosened, but there was no time to process it.
She pushed forward with determination, ignoring the elbows bumping into her and the questions bouncing off her like hail.
She knew exactly where she was going.
She crossed the main hall and headed decisively toward the wing reserved for the lawyers.
She didn’t knock.
She opened the door with the same bold confidence she’d displayed during her testimony.
Inside, the scene was nothing like the chaos outside.
There was calm.
Quiet and low whispers, in stark contrast to the clamor of the press.
The three people in the room turned to her, and the lawyer lit up with a pleased smile.
“There’s our impeccable witness” he said with satisfaction, offering her a glass of champagne.
Across the room, Narcissa Malfoy rose slowly to her feet.
Relief was etched into her refined features, and for a moment, hesitation passed through her gaze before she nodded, a gesture that was almost a sign of recognition.
They had never truly known each other, but Narcissa knew who Helena was.
And perhaps, she also knew how important she had been.
“Thank you” Helena murmured, casting a vague glance around the room.
Draco, on the other hand, didn’t move.
He stood beside the lawyer, one hand resting on the table.
Visibly more relaxed and without the jacket he had worn in court, but his face was exhausted, marked by hours of strain.
He didn’t even look at her.
“I only stopped by to say hello” Helena said, her voice impeccably composed.
“And, of course, to congratulate...”
She was about to say more when Draco spoke for the first time.
“Mum. Kingsley. Leave us alone for a moment.”
He was cold. Direct.
Helena felt a sharp pain in her chest, subtle but cutting, as if she were bracing for the final blow, as if she already knew what was coming.
As if Draco was about to say, “Thank you, and now goodbye.”
As if he were about to drive the knife even deeper into the emptiness that had grown inside her over the last two years.
Narcissa murmured something and gave her son a quick glance before heading toward the door.
The lawyer looked at them both, almost amused, but said nothing.
When the door closed behind them, Helena opened her mouth to speak.
But she didn’t get the chance.
Draco was on her in an instant.
His hands buried themselves in her dark hair, his grip firm, and he kissed her with a passion that overwhelmed her.
Her body reacted before her mind could.
Her fingers clutched at Draco’s shirt, pulling him toward her with the same urgency he held her.
She felt the glass slip from her hand, champagne spilling across the floor, but she didn’t care.
It wasn’t a hesitant kiss, nor a measured one.
It was hunger. It was desperation. It was pain and relief woven into a single gesture.
Two years of silence exploded between them, two years of unspoken words, of stifled thoughts, of sleepless nights.
Draco didn’t even pull away to breathe.
Between kisses, his voice tangled with ragged breaths, broken phrases Helena could barely make out.
“I’m sorry…”
Draco’s lips pressed against hers again, as if trying to erase lost time.
“…so sorry…”
His hands still cradled her face, feverish, almost possessive, as if afraid she might slip away at any moment.
“I missed you… every day…”
Another kiss, slower, deeper, as his fingers slid behind her neck, tangling in her hair.
“Every fucking day.”
Helena threw her arms around his neck, holding him in a desperate embrace.
She felt his chest rise beneath her hands, the quick pulse of his heart beating against her own.
Only then did she realize how thin he’d become.
Under the shirt, his body was no longer what she remembered.
More bony, more tense, the build of someone who had carried a burden too heavy for too long.
Helena closed her eyes, holding him tighter.
She felt him bury himself against her neck, his arms around her as if trying to fuse her to his own body.
Then, in a soft voice, she whispered:
“Stop.”
Draco tensed slightly.
Helena loosened her grip just enough to look into his eyes.
“There’s no need.”
“I love you…”
“I know.”
“I couldn’t involve you…”
“Draco” she interrupted, stroking his hair, searching his gaze.
“You don’t owe me an apology. It’s over… let’s go home, now.”
That was all she said, and at the word home, Draco closed his eyes as if he’d been hit by something too vast to express.
Helena felt him tremble slightly under her hands, his breath catching in a small pause. That word, home,had shattered him more than any sentence ever could.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
Grey, tired, heavy with everything he had endured.
“Home…” he repeated quietly, as if afraid the word might vanish if said too loud.
Helena gently caressed the back of his neck, brushing the skin beneath his pale hair, and offered a small smile, one filled with all the love she could show him.
Draco moved first.
He pulled away slowly, but didn’t let go.
Not yet.
He let his hand slide into hers, their fingers intertwining in an instinctive, almost unconscious gesture.
With the other, he grabbed the jacket he’d left on the chair, the movement tense, burdened by unspoken thoughts.
“The journalists…” he muttered, not even trying to hide the disdain in his voice.
Helena looked him straight in the eye, a silent challenge flickering in her gaze and a defiant smirk curling on her lips.
“Screw them.”
Draco hesitated for a moment, then the ghost of a smile, light, almost incredulous, touched his face.
He had missed that reckless spark in Helena more than he could say.
“Let’s go,” Helena whispered, and, ignoring the flashes and shouts in the hallway, they walked out together.
Side by side.
As if the last two years had never happened.
