HPB, Chapter 6 - Room of Requirement
Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader
Warnings: aftermath of Sectumsempra (it's pretty tame but still)
Masterlist
Word Count: ~5,300
Note: it's finally happening
A pop and quick sizzle signaled the imminent arrival of dinner, and a moment later a tray, laden with bread, pumpkin juice, a bowl of stew, and a treacle tart materialized over your legs as you lay in bed in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey managed to mend your collarbone within a few days, but the bruising was more stubborn. After Zacharias’s visit, during which he’d asked no less than five times when you’d be cleared to resume Quidditch practice to gear up for next year, she’d extended your stay out of spite to “monitor” the bruise that painted your chest from shoulder to shoulder.
All told, you weren’t complaining.
You ripped a slice of bread apart and dipped half in the stew, practically salivating.
The door to the hospital wing banged open, and you startled at the noise, cursing quietly at the hot stew splattering your blankets. Hushed voices argued in a hurry; you peeked out from behind the privacy curtains around your bed.
It was Draco Malfoy. And he looked terrible. Worse than usual. Professor Snape drug him over to a bed, where he slouched over, barely conscious. You took an unsteady breath in - his tidy, white shirt was pink with bloodied water.
Madam Pomfrey flitted about around him, preparing various concoctions.
“He needs dittany,” Professor Snape commanded, eerily calm. “Immediately.”
“What happened?” Madam Pomfrey asked, already halfway to her apothecary cabinet.
“He was attacked.” Your heart stuttered, and you almost stepped out into view.
“No!” she gasped.
Professor Snape’s eyes swept over the room, and you ducked back behind the curtain just in time. He said something else you couldn’t hear, and swept back out the door.
You continued to listen intently as Madam Pomfrey prepared the dittany for consumption, and grimaced at the sound of Draco’s incoherent groaning at having to take it. Then, his groaning stopped, and Madam Pomfrey left the hospital wing at a trot.
You took your chance, snuck over to where Draco had been laid, and slipped behind the curtain. He was sleeping now, sort of. But his face had been sliced in several places by something thin and sharp, and the rips in his shirt suggested the same had been done all over his torso. If you had to guess, you’d say he’d been set upon by an unnaturally large bowtruckle.
The dittany seemed to be taking effect quickly, though, and you pulled up a chair to watch as his flesh knit back together over the wounds. You pulled your knees up to your chest and waited, unsure what else to do, but unwilling to return to your own bed.
A clock ticked relentlessly as the minutes passed.
Eventually, the lines marring Draco’s face were only silvery scars, and his eyes fluttered open with a groan. He set his eyes on you and started.
“Sorry!” you blurted, rising from your chair.
He took a shaky breath and sat up. “Merlin’s bloody beard,” he swore, feeling the lines across his cheeks.
“Professor Snape said you’d been attacked.”
“I-“
Before he could answer, a shrill voice wailed down the hallway, “Draco! Don't worry, I’m coming!”
You shared an alarmed look, and as footsteps grew louder just outside, he grabbed your hand and pulled you with him behind the curtain along the wall behind the bed.
The door burst open, and you recognized Pansy Parkinson’s voice as she continued to wail, “Where are you hiding him?”
Madam Pomfrey huffed in behind her. “Please, Miss Parkinson-“
Pansy continued to badger Madam Pomfrey, while you became acutely aware of how close you were standing, looking up at Draco’s face, and the unnerving fact that he had not yet dropped your hand.
He noticed a moment later and released you. With a pleading look, he pressed a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shh.”
You raised your eyebrows at him, but complied. Unsure what to do with your hands, you crossed your arms in front of you. He frowned at your chest; you glanced down, self-conscious. By crossing your arms, the neck of your jumper had puckered. Your bruise was on full display.
His fingertips reached for you, face full of concern, and lightly brushed your skin. You shivered.
“Does that hurt?” he mouthed.
You shook your head.
“What did this?”
The tension in your arms relaxed. “Bludger.”
Pansy and Madam Pomfrey continued to bicker, but you could barely untangle their words amidst the ebb and flow of your pulse that you were sure Draco could hear. There was no denying it, not now that he was here, touching you so casually, gently, even.
His jaw tensed, and his fingertips traced over your collar bone.
You knew you could spend minutes, hours maybe, behind this curtain.
Then, Madam Pomfrey’s tone reached its limit. “Miss Parkinson. Mr. Malfoy is not receiving visitors at the present time. Please, return to your dormitory at once, or I shall have to involve Professor Snape!”
Pansy huffed, and stomped away, declaring, “I know he must want to see me! I’ll be back in the morning, mark my words.” The door slammed shut.
Madam Pomfrey sighed. “You may come out now, both of you. She’s gone.”
Draco followed you out of your hiding place to face Madam Pomfrey, and asked, “How did you know?”
“Please,” she said, waving a hand, “you weren’t in bed, and Miss Y/L/N never came out to observe the spectacle. I am glad you have recovered so quickly, Mr. Malfoy, now kindly lay back down. And Miss Y/L/N, you may return to your own bed for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”
Madam Pomfrey provided Draco with a clean shirt, and put fresh sheets on your bed, grumbling about stew, then locked you in for the night.
Inside your privacy curtains, you couldn’t manage to take more than a few bites of dinner; your stomach squirmed. Once you finished the bread, you gave up, and pulled out your Transfiguration textbook to prepare for your impending O.W.L.
There was a quiet whistling above your bed, and a piece of parchment that had been folded into a bird flapped its paper wings into your lap. You smiled and unfolded it, where Draco had written, “Who was it? Crabbe or Goyle?”
Well, that answered one question. You scribbled back, “Urquhart, actually,” and sent the bird back across the hospital wing.
He sent another bird, which said, “Who won?”
“Who do you think?” you wrote. “It knocked me off my broom, and Summerby’s got butterfingers. Why didn’t you play?”
This time, a thestral alighted on your open textbook. “I was preoccupied, Prefect stuff.”
Now that sounded like a lie if you’d ever heard one, but you didn’t press the issue, and simply replied, “I wish you’d been there.”
Draco didn’t respond for a few moments, during which you considered how difficult it would be to sneak out a window and flee the country. Then, “Me too.”
“Are you gonna tell me what happened to you?”
“I can, but you won’t like it.”
“Why not? Was it someone I know?”
“It was Potter.”
You gasped. “What did you do?”
He tsked from across the room. “Why would you think it was me and not him?”
“Well, was it him?”
“No. I may have attempted to curse him.”
“Draco!” you said aloud, then covered your mouth with your hand. Before you could write a response, a paper dragon appeared that said, “In my defense, he was eavesdropping.”
“And so he sliced you open? I’m sure he didn’t mean to do that. You looked awful.”
“Why is it that you assume the best of him and the worst of me?”
“Am I wrong? And don’t get so jealous, you’re the one-“ You stopped yourself. You’d almost written ‘the one I kissed,’ but neither of you had spoken about it since it happened. “I’m passing notes with like we’re eleven again.”
“Lucky me, and I only have Potter to thank for that.”
You could hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice, and smiled as you wrote back, “And Urquhart. We’ll have to send them fruit baskets.”
“I’ll get right on it.”
“So, who was that? Girlfriend?”
“No. Pansy wishes.”
“Clearly.”
A paper dragonfly flitted around your head. “I should have let you talk about it. I’m going mad trying to figure out what you were going to say.”
“Talk about what?”
“You know what.” Oh, you did. He spelled it out anyway. “The kiss.”
You stifled a groan, and buried your burning cheeks in your blankets, overwhelmingly grateful Draco couldn’t see your face. At least you weren’t the only one still thinking about it. “I’m not sure I knew what I wanted to say then, let alone now,” you wrote back.
“Now now, don’t lie. Tell me.”
“I’ve made an awful mess of things.”
He only responded with a single question mark.
You bit your lip and scribbled, “Well, we’re friends, right?”
“All the evidence seems to suggest it.”
“And friends don’t usually go around snogging each other.”
“I’d hardly call what we did snogging. Was that your first kiss?”
“No! What makes you think that? Was it that bad?”
He snorted, and wrote back, “No, no. Sorry, continue.”
“For goodness sake, you’re really going to make me say it?”
“Y/N. Say what? You’re killing me with the suspense.”
“You’re about to be impossibly smug.”
“Am I?”
You shook the tension out of your hands, preparing yourself for what you had to write. “I kissed you because I wanted to.” Then, much smaller, “I still kind of do.”
You sent the enchanted bird flying with your wand, and pulled your legs against your chest to wait for a response. However he’d respond. But he’d wanted to know. So you’d told him. Merlin’s beard, he was taking a long time to reject you. Or maybe he’d fallen asleep? You padded to the edge of the curtain to peek over, when it was wrenched aside.
“Oh!” you yelped.
Draco had appeared, indeed looking incredibly smug, and without a word slipped an arm around your waist to pull you into him. You melted together as his lips came down upon yours. His mouth tasted like blood and dittany, but you weren’t about to complain.
Then, his wrist brushed a sore point on your bruise and you winched. “Ouch.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled against your lips.
You drew your own hands up his chest, where you must’ve brushed a tender scar, and he hissed.
“Ouch.”
You pulled back and laughed. “Maybe now’s not the best time.”
“I thought you regretted it,” he accused quietly
Still coming out of a bit of shock, cheeks still burning, you looked up at him and asked, “Why would you think that?”
He gave you a look. “You kept apologizing and ran away, what was I supposed to think?”
“Well, why didn’t you tell me?”
“You may recall I kissed you back, I thought that was sufficient given the circumstances. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Herbert may have suggested you’d only been surprised.”
“Herbert should focus on his own feelings for that mu-ggleborn friend of yours. The chaser.”
“Feelings, eh?” you teased, sliding your fingers into his snowy hair.
He rolled his eyes. “Obviously. You’re about to become insufferable aren’t you?”
“No more than you are, I’d bet.”
“Fair enough, now keep your hands where they are. That’s the only part of me that doesn’t hurt.”
The door to the hospital wing banged open once again, and Madam Pomfrey stomped in shouting, “Mr. Malfoy! Are you going to return to your own bed or am I going to have to confine you there?”
Thoroughly chided, you untangled yourselves from each other, apologized to Madam Pomfrey, and retreated to your respective beds.
“Teenagers,” she muttered, before exiting the hospital wing once again.
There was a part of you that felt embarrassed for breaking the rules and being caught, but most of you still crackled with excitement as you tried to stop thinking about what this could mean for you, for Draco, and when you’d get the opportunity to kiss him again.
In the morning, after a night of tossing and turning, Madam Pomfrey came by to check on both of you and pull the curtains back for the day. She gave you a knowing look, and the same one to Draco. It was clear what she meant - she’d be watching for the duration of your stay.
He winked at you from across the room once she went into her office, and you smiled, face burning again. Then he sat up, clearly in pain, and your face fell. You pulled on a pair of slippers and pulled up the chair by his bed.
“Good morning,” he said with a grimace.
“Should I get Madam Pomfrey?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s not so bad when I don’t move. But, listen. Pansy will be back, and if she finds out about this,” he gestured between him and yourself, “she will not hesitate to make your life very difficult.”
“Ah,” you said. “So you’re saying we should keep this a secret.”
“For the time being, I think that’d be best.” You frowned and crossed your arms in front of you, feeling quite small. He saw your expression and clarified, “This will also make my life easier, but it’s ultimately for your benefit. I’d like nothing more than to strut about the castle with you, but…”
You nodded. While he could easily reign in Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini, anyone else from his house may make themselves a problem for you. Not to mention Ginny, or anyone else you knew who’d been in the D.A., and if that friendship was still salvageable you didn’t want to throw it away.
“Okay then, for now. But if this is going to go anywhere,” you said slowly. Draco’s eyebrow quirked. “We can’t hide forever.”
“I know, just give me a little time to figure something out.”
Quick footsteps approached the hospital wing, and you retreated to your bed just as Pansy burst through the doors for the second time in twenty-four hours. You pulled your curtains shut again, and tried to ignore the jealousy roiling in your gut as you listened to her fawn over him.
Once you had been released from the hospital wing, you threw yourself back into deciphering Castle Fortifications in the Medieval Magic Era, and studying for your O.W.L. exams. The Quidditch Cup went to Gryffindor, again, since Ginny had taken Harry’s place as seeker so the latter could complete a mountain of detentions for cursing Draco.
Donna was the only one who noticed immediately that something had gone on between the two of you, and pestered you until you relented.
She looked at you slyly once you confessed. “Their Quidditch captain has been looking rather green at breakfast. I wonder why.”
You rolled her eyes at her back as she retreated, still smirking, but you couldn’t stop the warmth blossoming in your chest. That Draco’s willingness to punish slights on your behalf made your cheeks heat and stomach flip in such a delicious way was something you resolved never to tell him. It’d go right to his head.
Draco himself had been content to milk the concern you had for his recovery, and once his own stay in the hospital wing drew to a close he insisted on resuming your study sessions in the Room of Requirement. They had, in part, become a welcome opportunity to snog each other, since you’d both agreed you wouldn’t on the stairs, or the great hall, or by the lake, or anywhere else someone could catch you. It was the season for snogging, apparently, and on more than one occasion you’d stumbled into the common room with a grin and swollen lips to find Donna and Wanda curled up together by the fire. Rumor had it, Ginny had recently begun dating none other than Harry Potter, but she hadn’t spoken to you since the night of Slughorn’s Party.
Just as the chill lessened from the spring breeze, every fifth-year received an appointment to meet with their head of house for career planning.
Professor Sprout was pleased to see you, and began by asking about your mum’s garden shop.
“It’s doing well,” you said, sitting in her office, watching an enchanted pair of pruning shears go to work on an overgrown vining plant.
“Good, good. Now then, what would you like to be when you grow up?” her eyes twinkled.
“I know I’d like to do something with magical creatures, but I’m not sure what my options are.”
She waved a hand. “There are reserves for dragons, unicorns and the like all over the world. If you wanted a more administrative role, there’s also the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures with the Ministry. I know dragons are a favorite of yours, and they have an entire team dedicated to their study and conservation.”
You nodded. “That sounds good.”
Professor Sprout began writing. “You’ll want Care of Magical Creatures, of course, and Herbology, History of Magic, and Transfiguration - it’s a good thing you’ve been doing extra studying there, I’ve heard from Minerva that you’ve improved significantly. I wouldn’t worry about Astronomy, Arithmancy, or Potions. But, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts wouldn’t hurt, especially if you’d like to do any field work.”
You nodded again, all of that had been what you expected. “That sounds doable, Professor.”
“Excellent. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
“No, Professor.”
“Well, then back to studying with you!”
You received your exam schedule shortly after, and while Ernie and Wanda both made efforts to encourage you and the other fifth-years, you approached your first with trepidation.
Draco noticed your falling spirits the next time you met him in the Room of Requirement. He frowned at you over a teapot you’d been trying to vanish.
“You’re distracted.”
You tried again, and the teapot turned transparent so you could see the liquid inside. “What gives you that idea?” He gave you a look. “Fine, my Defense Against the Dark Arts exam is in two days. I’ve barely had time to study for it, and we’ve wasted way too much time snogging.”
He tsked. “’Wasted’ she says. I thought Professor Sprout said you didn’t need that one, and you didn’t learn enough from Potter last year?”
Nerves rolled through your shoulders. “I thought I had,” you confessed, “but I just feel rusty. And she said it wouldn’t hurt. I want to do well.”
“Well, alright then.” He waved his wand and the teapot vanished. You rolled your eyes - show off. The room popped, and suddenly instead of a cozy parlor, you stood on a dueling platform. “Show me what you’ve got.”
You grinned and flourished your wand. “Try not to get too sad when I kick your arse.”
He smirked and raised his eyebrow at you. “In your dreams. Do you know how to duel?”
You bowed low, wand upright at your face. He returned the gesture, and you both settled into a dueling stance.
Before you had a moment to remember you should have a plan, he cast the Disarming charm wordlessly.
“P-Protego!” you stuttered out at the last moment, and countered, “Expelliarmus!”
Draco swelled, pleased, but he was anything but deterred, and continued to outmatch you. He deflected your attack with a wave of his wand.
“Well this isn’t fair,” you remarked. “We haven’t gotten to wordless magic yet.”
“You could give it a try now.”
“Isn’t that dangerous?”
“Of course, that’s what makes it fun,” he quipped with a wink.
You laughed, and his distraction worked. Before you understood what was happening, your wand was plucked from your hand by an invisible force and you landed a few feet backwards on your behind.
Draco laughed as he caught your wand. “Point mine.”
Well, that had been impressive. Despite all your bravado, you’d expected to lose, but maybe not quite so decisively. He offered you a hand and pulled you to your feet.
“Let’s go again.”
All told, your O.W.L. examinations had gone about how you’d expected them to. You didn’t hold out much hope for Astronomy, but all of your Transfigurations succeeded within the three attempt limit, and your full bodied wolf patronus served to impress the evaluators for Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Which left you with one more problem to solve - the common room. Try as you might, Draco was still being incredibly tight lipped about the whole thing, and you still hadn’t determined how to hide an effective trap in plain sight.
The common room had emptied for the night, and you sat slouched over the great cherry wood table, listening to the roaring fire, watching the candle light get lower and lower as the wax melted. Wilbur curled himself into your lap, and purred contentedly. Idly, you swirled your wand, making the flames undulate.
Then, an idea came to you.
You waved your wand again, and the flames hopped off their wicks and swirled together, spiraling up and up, until pop! A little ball of fire exploded.
Alright, this could work. You lit the candles again and prepared to cast the spell. A simple version should do, just to test it out. Wilbur sniffed and tossed his tail in annoyance when you removed him from your lap, then slunk off to wait for you in bed.
You repeated the incantation over the candle, then over the door to the common room. When you swung it open, the magic triggered, and the candle flared. You ducked just as a bolt of candle light hissed over your head and splattered on the stone wall in the hall. Finally, you were getting somewhere.
Summer term was drawing to a close, and you’d taken to spending most of your evenings in the Room of Requirement. Draco had his head in your lap while you read in companionable silence. The Room had taken its usual shape as a parlor, but the armchairs had slowly been replaced by cushioned benches, and eventually the plushy couches you lounged on now. The fireplace across from you burned low, since the castle had warmed significantly in the summer.
Draco had given up pretending to read, and splayed his book open on his chest. His eyes were closed, and even though he looked more disheveled than usual, his tie loose and off center, the sunken look of them had lessened in the last week. Disheveled wasn’t the right word, he looked like he’d finally gotten a full night’s sleep. The corners of his mouth quirked up.
“So,” he said, eyes still closed, “who was your first kiss then? Should I be jealous?”
You continued reading. “Justin Finch-Fletchley.” Draco snorted. “I went with him to the Yule Ball, we kissed, then I started laughing, and we’ve not spoken about it since.”
“Y/N,” he groaned, smirking, and clutched his chest like you’d wounded him. “You eviscerated him. What is a man without his pride?”
You snapped your book shut. “Oh, like you wouldn’t have brushed it off and been flirting with someone else within the hour.”
He sat up. “Did he do that?”
Your cheeks heated, and you reopened your book. “Maybe.”
Cold silver pressed against your chin as he turned your face towards him. His storm grey eyes bore into you as he said, matter-of-fact, “I would have faked my death and fled the country.”
His eyes held you in a trance with the sincerity of his words. Then, a slow smile crept across your face. “No, you wouldn’t have. You’d have been sulking quietly, plotting your revenge.”
He barked a laugh. “You’re right.” He shifted to throw his right arm over your shoulders. “I wish I’d known you back then. We could’ve gone together instead.”
“We wouldn’t have gone to anything together; you didn’t even like me when we met.”
“I didn’t like anyone when we met,” he corrected. “There’s a difference.”
“Yeah, yeah, ok. There should be another dance next year, think we’ll still be hiding then?”
He frowned and took a deep breath. “I don’t think I’m coming back next year.”
You sat up, out of his grasp, and turned to him. “What? Why not?”
He shifted uncomfortably under your stare. “I won’t need to take any N.E.W.T.s, and… well.”
You were afraid of the answer, but you asked anyway, “What does that mean for us, then?”
“I don’t know,” he said softly, fingers lifting your chin. “It’ll be your sixth year, you’ll be busy.”
“Ah, so it’s my fault then?”
“No,” he snapped, then deflated slightly, desperation creeping into his voice, “but, I’m trying to be realistic here. It’ll be even more difficult to see each other once I’ve left Hogwarts.” You crossed your arms. He had a point. His mouth quirked into a half smile. “Now, don’t tell me you’d wait for me.”
“Would you wait for me?”
He shrugged. “If you asked nicely.”
You took both his hands. “Let’s wait then. What’s one more year?”
He raised his eyebrows at you, pulling you in. “That wasn’t asking.”
You grinned. “No, it wasn’t,” you said before putting your lips on his.
He hummed and sucked your bottom lip into his mouth. Heat ignited between you, and you drew your hands up his arms, aiming for his neck, when your fingers brushed over his forearms and he jerked away from you.
He leapt from the couch, barely avoiding the low table between it and the fireplace.
You reached for him instinctively. “Did I hit a scar? I thought they’d all healed.”
“No, no,” he said, shaky.
“Let me see.”
“No,” he said forcefully.
You leaned away from him, surprised, “But, Draco if you’re still hurt you should see Madam Pomfrey.”
“Drop it, Y/N.”
Something in your gut twisted, and you asked, “Why?”
“Why?”
“Why?” you repeated. He blinked at you, anger mixed with something else knitting his eyebrows together. “Why won’t you show me your arm?” You stood, noting with frustration he stood between you and the door. But not between you and your wand.
He tracked the movements of your eyes and sighed. “Go ahead.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re going to want it. Your wand.”
Your eyebrows narrowed, and you angled towards your bag, plucking your wand from where it stuck out of the top. As Draco rolled up his left sleeve, you felt your stomach fall to your feet.
A dark tattoo had been branded into his pale skin. A Dark Mark.
Your pulse pounded in your ears, and you raised your wand.
Draco’s hands came up in surrender. He spoke calmly, “I didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”
You laughed mirthlessly, “So you planned to tell me, then? Are you planning to tell Dumbledore?”
“No, and you can’t either.”
“Why not? You have to know, if you let me live, that’s where I’m going.”
“Y/N, I’m not going to hurt you. Just listen-“
“Did you curse Katie Bell?”
“Huh?”
“Did you. Curse. Katie Bell?”
He waffled. “Technically.”
“Shit. I defended you, you arsehole! And now Ginny won’t even speak to me.”
“You’re better off without that Weasley anyway.”
You stamped your foot, furious. “She’s my friend! At least, she was, before you had to go cursing people!”
“I know how it looks, but I have only been trying to keep you safe.”
You blinked. “’Keep me safe’? You are a Death Eater. You are what I need to be kept safe from!”
“I know, I know, just. Will you stop talking and listen to me, please?”
The Room around you faded quickly, torn between your need to escape and Draco’s need to keep you here, and soon it became a void of white walls, a white floor, and a single door behind Draco’s back. The absence of the fireplace set you to shivering, and your breath came in short bursts as you reeled. He was unarmed, you could take him. Until he got his hands on his wand, which he would, and then you were done for.
You cursed your own stupidity over and over. That you’d let him touch you, kiss you, into your home, where you’d unleashed him on everyone you loved. Who all remained suspiciously uncursed and alive. Unless he’d placed them under the Imperious Curse.
You lowered your wand an inch. “Start talking,” you said coldly.
“He has my mother.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think?”
“Oh. I thought she-“
He shook his head. “Once my father was thrown in Azkaban, the Dark Lord saw his opportunity, and he took it.” He laughed bitterly. “All this time, the Ministry’s been hunting for him, and he’s been right under their noses.”
“At Malfoy Manor.” He nodded. “And without your father there…”
“He’s as bad as a rabid dog. He bites anything that moves, friend or foe.”
“The peacock feather?”
“A reminder of the cost of disobedience,” he spat. “I’ve been given a task I’m meant to fail, punishment for my father’s shortcomings. But I’m not going to fail.”
“Dumbledore could help you.”
He gave you a look. “I’ve taken every opportunity, given him every hint I could think, and the old man hasn’t spoken to me once. Dumbledore can’t save me.” His brow softened into something like sadness. “Neither can you. But I can keep you out of the crossfire, and I plan to.”
“What have you done?”
He shook his head. “You know I can’t tell you.”
“You asked me to fortify the common room, you’ve known what’s coming this whole time because you bring it with you, is that it?”
“Yes. I know you think you can’t trust me, but you can.”
“Just tell me, and it’d better be the truth, whose side you’re on.”
He stepped towards you, hands still up. “I am on your side. I will be on whichever side I need to be to get us both out of this mess alive.”
“I’ll need you to prove it.”
He nodded. “Anything.”
You poked your head into the common room. Yvette looked up from her place on the sofa where she’d been polishing the handle of her broomstick. She quirked an eyebrow at you. You waved her over.
“What?” she whispered.
“Can you get everyone out of the common room but us?”
“Uh,” she waffled, scanning over the groups of second and first years trading chocolate frog cards and playing gobstones. “Sure, give me a sec.” She approached the first group. “Oi! Go enjoy the sunshine you loafers, yeah I’m talking to you, get lost!” They filed out of the common room past you and where Draco had hidden himself in the shadows beside the casks.
Herbert looked up quizzically as you came in, Draco just behind.
“Hey, Malfoy,” he said slowly. “What’s up with you two?”
“Don’t freak out.”
“That’s usually what people say right before they do something that makes me want to freak out.”
“Yeah, I know.” You pointed at the fireplace. “Draco, if you would.”
You readied your wand. You’d have to time this right.
As he rolled up his sleeve, Herbert’s eyes narrowed. He moved protectively towards Yvette.
You looked at him and said, firm, “I know what I’m doing.”
Donna and Yvette shared a look, but said nothing as you cast the spell on the fireplace, then on the Dark Mark, then on the door. When you uttered the last incantation, and the spell was fully cast, the fireplace undulated as if from a strong wind.
“Time to go,” Draco said, yanking his sleeve back down. You followed him out of the common room quickly, before the spell could loose a fireball. “Be ready, be safe, don’t leave the common room more than you have to.”
You nodded. “Don’t do anything too stupid.”
He smirked, then pecked your cheek before disappearing down the hallway.
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