ME AND THE DEVIL- Dramione

TW: Knife, attempted murder

Ravens descended in silence, their sharp beaks tearing at the mangled remains with an almost ritualistic precision. The sickening sound of flesh and bone breaking filled the air, mingling with the acrid stench of blood. Malfoy stood in the shadows, his silver eyes reflecting the dim light of the moon as he watched the macabre spectacle. His expression was carved from stone—cold, unyielding, utterly devoid of remorse.

"Are you certain he's dealt with?" his voice was low, a measured murmur that carried a deadly weight.

Titus, the infamous Butcher of Manchester, took another drag from his cigarette and exhaled through his nose, his tone devoid of anything resembling empathy. "Dead men don't talk, Malfoy."

The corpse—a minor Ministry official who had dared to sell secrets to the wrong people—lay in a growing pool of his own blood, his face frozen in a grotesque mask of terror. It was a brutal, unspoken warning to anyone who might entertain similar betrayals.

He didn't look away, his gaze fixed on the body as though memorizing every detail. By day, he played the part of a penitent heir, navigating the delicate politics of the wizarding world with charm and poise. By night, he was a predator, stalking the underbelly of society with unflinching precision. Tonight was no different.

"Fear takes time to set in," he muttered, more to himself than to Titus. "It festers, spreads like a plague. Let them wonder who's next."

Titus chuckled darkly, flicking the spent cigarette to the ground and grinding it under his heel. "You've got a taste for this now, don't you? Revenge suits you."

His lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. "This isn't revenge," he said, his tone almost clinical. "This is control. And control is everything."

The Butcher tilted his head, studying him with a mixture of amusement and admiration. "Call it what you want, mate, but you're bloody good at it."

The pair began their retreat, their footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones. The ravens remained, their black feathers slick with blood as they picked apart the remains, their eerie caws fading into the distance. The alley, now steeped in death, felt as though it had absorbed the malice of the night, becoming a silent accomplice to the crime.

Back at their safe house, Draco poured over their next steps. Names and faces littered the parchment in front of him—potential threats, liabilities, and those whose mere existence posed a problem to his carefully curated future. His quill moved with deliberate strokes, crossing out names as he calculated each move with surgical precision.

Titus leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his grin as sharp as the blade he carried. "You're building something, Malfoy," he said, his voice filled with grim admiration. "A bloody empire, brick by brick, body by body."

He didn't respond immediately, his focus unbroken. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, laced with a menace that sent a chill through the room. "This isn't about an empire. It's about security. About protecting what's mine."

What was his. Hermione. Their future. A child he'd vowed to have with her—a future he'd sworn to safeguard, no matter the cost. The image of her face, framed by the firelight in their penthouse, was etched into his mind. The softness of her smile, the warmth of her touch—these were things he would burn the world to preserve.

But she didn't understand. Not yet. She believed in mercy, in redemption. He knew better. He had seen the world's true face, its capacity for cruelty and betrayal. Mercy was a luxury he couldn't afford.

"Someday," he murmured, more to himself than to Titus, "she'll see that everything I've done—everything I will do—is for her."

Titus raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. "For her, eh? That's a new one."

Draco ignored him, his quill pausing over the next name on his list. The ink seemed to bleed into the parchment like a blot of spilled blood. The person it belonged to didn't matter—not really. What mattered was that they posed a threat, and threats had to be eliminated.

He set the quill down and leaned back in his chair, his eyes cold and resolute. "We strike again tomorrow. Let the Ministry choke on their fear."

As the clock chimed midnight, the room fell into silence once more. Outside, the ravens circled, their cries echoing through the night like an omen. He leaned forward, his hands steepled under his chin. His expression was serene, but his mind was a tempest.

There would be no hesitation, no regret. Every move he made was a step closer to securing the world he envisioned—a world where she was safe, where no one would dare threaten what was his.

He would destroy anyone who stood in his way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cormac McLaggen had become a problem—a problem Draco intended to solve. With his effortless charm and perpetual presence, McLaggen hovered too close, talked too much, touched far too often. Every lingering glance and easy smile sent a surge of cold rage through his veins. It wasn't just infuriating—it was dangerous. Cormac didn't know it yet, but he had crossed an invisible line, and he never allowed trespassers to walk away unscathed.

This wasn't simple jealousy. This was territory, dominance, survival. Hermione was his, bound by more than vows or love—by something far deeper, more primal. And McLaggen, with his presumptuous familiarity, had become a thorn that needed extracting. His mind moved with dark precision. He wouldn't merely put an end to this nuisance—he would make it so that Cormac McLaggen never dared approach her again.

He needs an exorcism.

Tonight's Ministry gala was the perfect opportunity. McLaggen would be there, and he already knew how it would end.

As they dressed, he found himself standing still, entranced. The moment she emerged, it was as if time itself hesitated, pausing in reverence. She was ethereal, her gown rippling like liquid starlight, casting a soft glow that made her seem otherworldly. But it wasn't just the dress or the elegance with which she wore it—it was her. She radiated a quiet power, an unspoken command over the world around her.

And Draco, despite his pride and carefully constructed walls, was utterly helpless before her. His love for her wasn't the fiery, consuming kind that left ash in its wake—it was enduring, steadfast, like the pull of gravity itself. She had, over time, woven herself into his being, so intricately that he could no longer tell where she ended and he began.

To the world, she was flawless—a vision of grace and poise. But to him, she was more. She was every breath he took, every thought that anchored him. She was chaos and calm, a storm and a sanctuary. Where others saw a poised witch, he saw the Hermione who stayed up late with ink-smudged fingers, fiercely chasing answers in dusty tomes. He saw the woman who smiled at him in quiet moments, a smile that lit something deep within him, something he hadn't known existed until she came into his life.

There were times, like tonight, when he wondered how he had come to deserve her. How a man who had once been so consumed by darkness could find himself standing beside the brightest star in the room. And yet, despite all his musings, one thing remained clear—she was his, just as he was hers.

As they entered the grand ballroom, he couldn't help but watch her, mesmerized by the way she moved. She didn't merely walk; she commanded the space, effortlessly drawing every eye without even trying. Her laughter rang out, light and genuine, a melody that made his heart ache in the best way.

He trailed a step behind her, content for a moment to simply watch her, as though he could commit every detail to memory. But the spell broke when he caught sight of him, already making his way toward them. The sight set something primal alight within him, a possessive instinct he could barely contain. McLaggen's easy smile and self-assured manner grated on his nerves more than he cared to admit.

Without thinking, he closed the distance between him and her, his hand finding hers and clasping it tightly. She glanced at him, surprised by the sudden gesture, but before she could question it, he leaned in and murmured, "You are dazzling tonight, my love. Every glance sent your way reminds me just how fortunate I am to call you mine."

Her eyes softened, her expression melting into something tender. "You always know just what to say," she whispered back, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

His jaw clenched the moment his eyes landed on McLaggen. It wasn't the first time he had tested his patience, but tonight, his jealousy simmered dangerously close to the surface. The man was always too close to Hermione—smiling, leaning in just a little too much, and finding excuses to touch her arm or brush a stray lock of hair from her face. Every interaction set his nerves on edge.

He watched McLaggen from across the grand ballroom, seething as the man's gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. Who does he think he is? He thought bitterly, tightening his grip on the champagne flute in his hand until his knuckles turned white. He forced himself to remain composed, though every fiber of his being screamed to storm over and stake his claim in a way that would leave no room for misinterpretation.

Hermione, of course, was oblivious to his inner turmoil. She moved through the room with effortless grace, charming everyone she met with her wit and elegance. Dressed in an exquisite midnight-blue gown that hugged her figure perfectly, she looked every bit the queen he knew she was. And yet, all he could focus on was the unwanted attention she was garnering—not just from strangers, but from him.

"Mon cœur, are you alright?" her voice broke through his reverie as she returned to his side, concern flickering in her eyes.

"I'm fine, darling," he replied smoothly, though the tension in his posture said otherwise. He placed a possessive hand on the small of her back, pulling her closer as though proximity alone could shield her from McLaggen's attention.

Just as he feared, rat face chose that exact moment to approach, his ever-charming smile plastered across his face. "Malfoy's," he greeted, his tone infuriatingly pleasant. "You both look splendid tonight."

"Thank you, Cormac," she responded with a polite smile. "It's a lovely event."

He barely managed a curt nod, his eyes narrowing as he sized up the other man. McLaggen was charming, yes, and unfortunately easy on the eyes. But what truly grated on his nerves was the way he spoke to Hermione—as though he had every right to her attention, as though Draco himself didn't exist.

"May I steal Hermione for a dance?" the rat asked, his tone light but his intention unmistakable.

He didn't give her a chance to respond. "Actually, no," he said, his voice cold and clipped. He wrapped an arm firmly around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. "My wife and I were just about to enjoy the dance floor ourselves."

She blinked in surprise at his sudden possessiveness, but before she could object, he was already leading her toward the center of the room. The music swelled, and he spun her into his arms with a practiced ease, holding her close as they began to waltz.

"What was that about?" she whispered, her brow furrowed in confusion.

"That," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "was me ensuring that McLaggen knows exactly where he stands."

She sighed, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips. She knew him well enough to recognize his jealous streak, and though it could be exasperating at times, there was something endearing about the intensity of his feelings for her. "You know we are just a friend, right?"

His eyes darkened. "A friend who looks at you like he wants to be something more. And as long as he keeps doing that, I'm not going to pretend it doesn't bother me."

She leaned in closer, resting her head against his shoulder. "You don't have to be jealous, you know. You're the only one I want, love."

Her words eased some of the tension in his chest, but his eyes still flicked over her shoulder, tracking McLaggen's movements like a predator watching his prey. "I trust you. It's him I don't trust."

As they continued to dance, his possessive grip on her waist didn't loosen. He wanted everyone in the room—especially Cormac McLaggen—to see that she belonged to him. Every twirl, every step, was a silent declaration: Mine.

But Hermione, sensing his lingering frustration, decided to soothe him in her own way. She leaned up on her toes, brushing a soft kiss against his jaw. "Relax, love. You're ruining your own evening by letting him get to you."

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to release some of the tension coiled in his muscles. "I can't help it," he admitted quietly. "The thought of losing you… it drives me mad."

"You're not going to lose me," she assured him, her voice steady and sure. "But you might lose your mind if you keep glaring at him like that."

His lips quirked into a reluctant smile. "Fair point."

As the dance came to an end, he kept her close, unwilling to let her out of his sight. McLaggen lingered at the edge of the room, and his jaw tightened once more. But this time, he didn't let it consume him. He had her in his arms, and that was all that mattered.

Still, as they made their way back to their table, he leaned in close to her ear, his voice low and possessive. "If McLaggen tries anything else tonight, I'm not responsible for what happens."

A plan coiled in his mind like a snake ready to strike. He would wait for the opportune moment, when the hum of the crowd faded to background noise, and they could speak without eyes watching. It had to be clear, brutal, final. No ambiguity, no second chances. This was his wife. His to protect. His to keep.

He caught Cormac by the balcony, far from the glittering lights of the ballroom, the cool night air sharpening the tension between them.

"McLaggen," he greeted, his voice a blade cloaked in ice.

He turned slowly, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he'd been expecting this. "Malfoy. I was wondering when you'd stop skulking and come say hello."

He ignored the jibe, stepping closer, his gaze fixed and unyielding. "Stay away from my wife," he said in a low, dangerous tone. "Consider this your only warning."

McLaggen's smirk widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. There was something darker lurking beneath the surface. "Warning? That's rich, coming from you. Jealousy doesn't suit you, Malfoy. Makes you look... desperate."

His jaw tightened, his patience thinning to a razor's edge. "This isn't jealousy," he said, voice cold enough to frost the air. "This is a boundary. One you've already crossed."

He chuckled, low and mocking. He took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between them. "Boundaries? Interesting word, coming from a man who thinks owning someone is the same as loving them. She's not a trophy, Malfoy."

His eyes darkened, a storm brewing beneath the surface. "You don't know anything about what she is to me. But I'll tell you what she is not—yours."

His amusement flickered, replaced by something sharper, more dangerous. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper, every word laced with venom. "You can't keep her locked up in your gilded cage forever. She'll get tired of you. And when she does, I'll be there."

His fists clenched at his sides, every instinct screaming at him to put an end to this right now. But he didn't move. Not yet. "Say that again," he said, his voice low, deadly calm.

His smirk returned, but there was no warmth in it. "You heard me. You're not as untouchable as you think, Malfoy. Maybe it's time someone reminded you."

He stepped closer, their faces inches apart, tension crackling in the air like a live wire. "Try it," he whispered, his voice a lethal promise. "And I'll remind you why no one crosses a Malfoy and lives to tell the tale."

For a moment, they stood there, locked in a silent battle of wills. McLaggen's eyes gleamed with something almost predatory, but he didn't flinch. He didn't blink.

Finally, Cormac pulled back, his expression unreadable. "Careful, Malfoy. Possessiveness can be dangerous. It makes men reckless. Vulnerable."

He watched him retreat, his own heart pounding with tightly leashed rage. This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.

As Cormac disappeared back into the crowd, he stayed rooted to the spot, the air around him electric with tension. He didn't trust him—not for a second. He had seen the glint in the rat's eyes, the promise of escalation.

Tonight, a line had been drawn. And he knew that before the night was over, one of them would be forced to cross it.

McLaggen's glare burned into his back, but he didn't bother to glance over his shoulder as he strode away, each step measured, purposeful, his heart hammering in his chest like a war drum. Protecting Hermione wasn't just a promise he'd made to her—it was his entire existence. And if that meant confronting every threat, dismantling every challenge, then so be it. He would do it without hesitation, without mercy.

Returning to her side, his eyes softened as they fell on her. She turned to him, her brows knitting together in concern as he reached for her hand, his grip steady but firm.

"Everything alright?" she asked, her voice low but edged with curiosity, her gaze searching his face for answers.

He forced a calm smile to his lips, though the tension lingered in the set of his jaw. "Yes, love. Everything's fine," he replied, his tone smooth but clipped. "Let's enjoy the rest of the evening."

She didn't press, but her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer before she nodded, a soft smile gracing her lips. "Alright. If you're sure."

The rest of the night unraveled in a blur. He stayed close to her, his hand never straying far from hers, his gaze a constant sweep of the room.

Cormac was still there, lingering like a shadow at the edges of his vision. Every smile the rat sent her way, every polite laugh she gave in return, felt like a thorn burrowing deeper into his skin. His instincts were on high alert, a predator scanning the room for the slightest sign of danger.

Hermione, seemingly unaware of his turmoil, floated through the evening with her usual grace. Her laughter was light and unburdened as she charmed their friends, but he could barely hear it. His mind was a battlefield, warring between the need to keep his composure and the overwhelming desire to rip the rat out of the room entirely.

As the gala finally drew to a close, he escorted her to their waiting carriage, the cool night air offering little solace to his restless thoughts. The city lights shimmered in the distance, casting fleeting patterns across the cobblestone streets. Inside the carriage, as the world outside blurred past, he pulled her into his arms. He held her tightly, as if doing so could shield her from every threat, every shadow that sought to harm her.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice raw with emotion, the words almost trembling as they fell from his lips.

She tilted her head back, meeting his gaze with those warm, honey-brown eyes that always seemed to steady him, even in his most chaotic moments. "I love you too," she replied, her tone soft but unwavering, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As they arrived home, the warmth of their living room welcomed them, but he wasn't ready to let the evening's game end just yet. The moment she turned to hang up her cloak, he grabbed her by the jaw, his touch firm but controlled.

"Do you enjoy teasing me, my love?" His voice was low, smooth, but laced with a dangerous edge that made her breath hitch.

She blinked up at him, feigning innocence with wide eyes and a trembling pout. "Draco," she whispered, her tone a perfect mix of surprise and defiance. "Whatever do you mean?"

He leaned in, their faces mere inches apart, the intensity of his gaze making her pulse quicken. "You know exactly what I mean," he growled, his breath warm against her lips. "The way you touched his arm, the way you laughed at his pathetic jokes. Do you think I didn't notice? Do you think I didn't feel it?"

She bit her lip, suppressing a smile as she played along, her voice soft but defiant. "I was just being polite. You were the one ignoring me half the night. What was I supposed to do? Stand in the corner and wait for your attention?"

His eyes darkened, a devilish smirk curving his lips. "You're supposed to remember who you belong to," he said, his voice dropping to a velvety whisper. "And it's not McLaggen."

Her cheeks flushed, but her chin lifted defiantly. "And if I enjoyed watching you squirm a little? What then?"

His grip on her jaw loosened, his hand sliding down her neck to rest lightly at her throat. The touch was possessive, intimate, sending a thrill down her spine. "Then I'll have to remind you, won't I?"

Her smile finally broke through, playful and inviting. "I'd like to see you try," she whispered, her voice dripping with challenge.

He let out a low chuckle, dark and full of promise. "Oh, you'll see," he murmured, pulling her closer until their bodies were flush against one another. His lips brushed against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "By the time I'm done, you won't even remember his name."

Her eyes sparkled with mischievous defiance as she tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. "Is that so?" she teased, her voice sultry. "You think you can make me forget?"

His grip on her waist tightened, his fingers pressing just enough to remind her who was in control tonight. "I don't think," he whispered, his lips curving into a wicked smirk. "I know."

She let out a soft laugh, stepping back just enough to grab his hand. "Then prove it, Malfoy," she challenged, leading him toward their bedroom.

Once inside, she began to undress him with deliberate slowness, her hands gliding over his chest and abs, her touch both soothing and electrifying. "I've missed this side of you," she murmured, her tone softening for just a moment.

He caught her hands, stilling her movements. His eyes, filled with a mix of passion and lingering jealousy, locked onto hers. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I let myself get carried away."

She cupped his face, her thumbs brushing against his cheeks. "It's okay," she assured him, her voice warm and forgiving. "I love how passionate you are. But right now, I just want to feel you."

She kissed him deeply, her tongue tracing the seam of his lips until he surrendered completely to her. His hands roamed her body, rediscovering every curve as if it were the first time.

She stepped back, her eyes never leaving his as she let her robe fall to the floor. The sight of her took his breath away, and for a moment, he simply stared, his lips parting slightly. "You're a goddess," he said, his voice reverent.

She climbed onto the bed and straddled him, her movements confident yet teasing. As her warm, wet heat pressed against his growing arousal, she leaned down, her breath hot against his ear. "Do you like the way I feel?" she whispered, her voice dripping with desire.

He groaned, his hands gripping her hips to steady himself. "You drive me mad," he admitted, his voice rough.

She began to move, her hips rolling in slow, deliberate circles. She kissed him again, their connection deep and unrelenting. His hands slid up her back, pulling her closer as he buried his face in the curve of her neck.

When she finally guided him inside her, they both gasped, the intensity of the moment washing over them. Her pace quickened, her breath hitching as she rode him, their movements perfectly in sync.

"Yes," she moaned, her head falling back. "Just like that.

He sat up, wrapping his arms around her as he thrust into her, his movements urgent yet controlled. "You're mine," he growled against her skin.

"Forever," she whispered, her nails digging into his shoulders as she neared her peak. "Don't stop. Please."

Her plea pushed him over the edge. "I'm close," he warned, his voice strained.

"Cum in me," she begged. "Please, cum in me and give me a baby."

He couldn't resist any longer. He felt himself reaching the brink, and he thrust into her one last time, his cock pulsing as he came inside her.

She cried out, her body trembling as her orgasm consumed her, the sensation magnified by the warmth of him spilling inside her. Their breaths mingled as they clung to each other, their bodies still entwined as the waves of pleasure slowly ebbed away.

He collapsed on top of her, his forehead resting against hers, their hearts pounding in unison. For a moment, the world was silent except for their ragged breaths.

"Darling," he murmured, his voice soft but tinged with a vulnerability that made her heart ache. "Don't say things like that unless you truly mean them."

She reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his damp forehead. Her lips curved into a tender smile, her eyes glowing with love and certainty. "I love how protective you are. And I mean every word. Give me a baby," she said, her voice steady and sincere.

His eyes searched hers, as if seeking confirmation that this wasn't some fleeting moment of passion. "Are you serious, love?" he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper, a mixture of hope and disbelief flickering in his silver gaze.

"I am," she replied, her tone resolute. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but they were tears of joy, of unbridled anticipation. "I want your baby, Draco. Only yours. You're the only man I've ever imagined building a family with, the only one I trust to be the father of my child."

Emotion welled in his chest, making it hard to breathe. He cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down her cheek.

"Hermione," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "From the moment I fell in love with you, you've given me more than I ever thought I deserved. Your strength, your compassion, your brilliance... I'm in awe of you every day. You've changed my life in ways I can never fully express."

She placed her hands over his, holding them against her face as she smiled up at him. "And you've changed mine," she said softly. "When I look at you, I see my future. A future filled with love, laughter, and a family we'll build together. I want to share everything with you, Mon cœur. Every moment, every joy, every challenge. So please, let's take this next step. Give me a baby."

Her words broke through the last of his restraint, and he felt a swell of happiness so profound it brought a lump to his throat. Unable to contain his joy, he sat up, pulling her with him as he wrapped her in a fierce embrace.

"You've made me the happiest man alive, love," he said, his voice trembling with emotion. He pressed his lips to her temple, then her cheek, before capturing her mouth in a kiss full of promise and love.

She pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. "I love you," she said, her voice steady and filled with conviction. "Forever."

"And I love you," he replied, his silver eyes shining with determination. "Forever. Let's start our family, love. Together."

They held each other close, the room filled with the warmth of their love and the unspoken promise of the life they were about to create.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione furrowed her brow as she entered the library, a large bouquet of crimson roses waiting for her on the desk. She set her tea down carefully, her mind immediately racing. Draco wouldn't send her roses, not red ones, at least. He knew her tastes better than anyone. Red roses were far too cliché for his refined style.

Picking up the bouquet, she inhaled their heady fragrance, a frown tugging at her lips. Nestled between the velvety petals was a card. No, not just a card—a folded letter. Her heart sank.

She unfolded the paper, its texture heavy and luxurious, and began to read.

Dearest Hermione,

The roses—how they brought to mind the delicate blush of your cheeks when we danced. That enchanting hue has lingered in my thoughts, a memory both vivid and haunting. How cruel that our time together was cut so short. Your husband's possessiveness, I daresay, is suffocating. He clings to you with such fervor, as though terrified the world might snatch you from his grasp.

Last night, you were radiant—a beacon of light amidst the gloom he casts. Your laughter, darling, was like a melody, rising above the noise and filling the room with warmth. But tell me, does he truly see you? Does he notice the way your eyes sparkle when you speak with passion, or the soft nibble at your lip when deep in thought? Somehow, I cannot imagine he does.

I find myself preoccupied by thoughts of you—trapped, I fear, in the gilded cage he has constructed. A woman as remarkable as you should not be confined, her wings clipped, her song heard only by the one who guards her jealously.

Do you ever wonder, darling, about what might have been? About what should have been? The years that have slipped through our fingers, the distance that never should have existed between us—it weighs heavily on my mind.

Allow me to correct this.

Join me for dinner. Let us talk, not as polite acquaintances constrained by circumstance, but as two souls who once shared something extraordinary. You deserve laughter unfettered by glances over your shoulder. You deserve to speak freely, without fear of eavesdropping ears. You deserve liberation and I wish to offer it.

Tomorrow evening at eight, I shall be waiting for you. There's no need to respond; your presence will speak louder than any words.

Yours, eternally,

Cormac

P.S. Wear gold, if you will—it flatters you in ways words cannot describe.

She stared at the letter, her fingers twitching with irritation. The sheer audacity of him. What kind of delusional fantasy was he living in? Did he seriously think she'd swoon at his creepy little overtures?

She huffed, tossing the letter onto the desk and glaring at the bouquet of roses as if they were personally responsible for this nonsense. Red roses? Really? How unimaginative. He might as well have sent her a singing telegram and a box of chocolates shaped like hearts.

Cormac's words swirled in her mind, each sentence more insufferable than the last. "Malfoy can't keep you in a cage." Oh, please. If Draco had her in a cage, she'd happily lock the door herself and throw away the key. Forced marriage or not, she was deeply and irrevocably in love with him. End of discussion.

She knew better than to show the letter to him. Not because she feared his reaction—although she had no doubt he'd storm his house and hex him into oblivion—but because she refused to give him the satisfaction of even a second of their time. He didn't deserve that kind of attention.

The idea of meeting him for dinner was laughable. What would they even talk about? His fragile ego? His inability to take a hint? Honestly, the man needed to find a hobby that didn't involve pining after other people's wives.

She smirked as she picked up a pen, her mind already crafting the perfect response. If he thought he could unsettle her, he was sorely mistaken. With steady hands and a sharp wit, she penned her reply:

Cormac,

Thank you ever so much for the bouquet. The roses were… quaint. Draco and I had a good laugh deciding where they'd best fit in our home, and ultimately, they found a charming place—in the guest bathroom. It's always nice to add a touch of humor to the decor.

I must say, I'm flattered by your attention, though slightly concerned about your persistence. I can assure you, however, that my husband doesn't need to "keep me in a cage" to ensure my devotion. Unlike some, Draco has my love, respect, and every part of me willingly. No locked doors necessary.

As for catching up over dinner, I'm afraid I'll have to decline. My time is better spent with people who know where they stand in my life: firmly outside of it.

I do hope you find peace. And perhaps someone who appreciates roses more than I do.

Sincerely,

Mrs. Hermione Malfoy

She folded the note neatly and tucked it into an envelope. As she sealed it, she imagined the look on his face when he read it, and the thought brought her a wicked sense of satisfaction.

"Let him stew on that," she muttered to herself, feeling smug as she returned to her day, leaving him and his absurd little fantasies firmly behind.

For now, she'd keep this to herself. She had better things to do—like planning an evening that would remind her just how much she loved the man she called her husband. Cormac and his ridiculous fantasies could rot in irrelevance.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He arrived home with blood splattered on his clothes, the crimson stains stark against the crisp white of his shirt. She froze in the doorway, her stomach twisting at the sight. She had grown accustomed to the shadows that clung to her husband's life, but it didn't make moments like this any easier.

His gray eyes flicked to her, a flicker of guilt passing over his features. "I'm sorry, my love," he said quickly, his voice strained. "I didn't have time to change." Without waiting for a response, he brushed past her and headed straight for their bedroom, leaving a faint metallic scent in his wake.

She exhaled deeply, her hands tightening into fists at her sides. Her mind raced with unspoken questions, but she knew better than to ask them. Instead, she followed him, her footsteps silent on the wooden floors.

When she entered the room, she found him already pulling at his bloodied clothes, his movements hurried and tense. His shirt fell to the floor with a wet thud, and he fumbled with his belt.

"Draco," she said softly, her voice cutting through the tense air.

He paused, his shoulders stiffening before he turned to face her. The hardness in his expression wavered when he saw the mixture of concern and sadness in her eyes.

"We've talked about this," she said, her voice calm but laced with disappointment. "I know what you do. I've accepted it, but… coming home like this? It's too much."

His jaw tightened, and he reached out for her hand. "I know, love. And I'm sorry. I swear, I never want to upset you." His tone was earnest, almost pleading.

She let him take her hand, but her gaze was sharp as it searched his face. "I don't need apologies, Draco. I need you to understand what it feels like for me. For us."

He sighed, pulling her closer until their bodies almost touched. His hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin. "I understand more than you think. I hate bringing this part of my life home, but you know I do this for us—for our future."

She frowned, her lips pressing into a thin line. "For us? Or for you?" Her words hung heavy in the air, but he didn't flinch.

"For you," he said after a moment, his voice soft but steady. "Everything I do is for you."

Her eyes softened, though the tension between them remained. She hated how easily he could sway her, how his words could ease her anger even when she wanted to hold on to it.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'm trying," he murmured.

She sighed, her hands moving to rest on his bare chest, her fingers brushing against the faint scars that told stories she'd never fully know. "I don't have to like it," she whispered. "And I know you won't change your ways. But… try not to bring it home like this again. Please."

"I promise," he said, his tone resolute.

He kissed her then, slow and deep, a silent plea for forgiveness and an unspoken vow of devotion. She melted into him despite herself, letting the warmth of his embrace momentarily overshadow the darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

Out of nowhere, a Patronus appeared in the room—a small unicorn.

"Come quickly, Mimi, Ginny's trying to kill Theo," Luna's voice was frantic.

They Apparated into the Nott mansion, their eyes widening at the sheer chaos in front of them.

The scene was pure mayhem. Ginny, her eyes blazing with rage, wielded a knife as she charged at Theo, her furious shouts reverberating through the air. Theo was ducking and weaving, narrowly dodging each attempt as shattered glass and broken furniture scattered beneath his feet. Blaise, hands outstretched, was desperately calling Ginny's name, trying to reason with her, while Luna, equally disoriented, was pulling a blanket around herself, clearly caught off guard.

Draco, seeing the madness unfold, didn't waste a moment. With a quick motion and a flash of intent, he froze Ginny in place with a spell, her body suspended mid-stride, the knife still raised threateningly.

"What the fuck is happening?" Hermione yelled, taking in the destruction—the upturned couch, broken vases, and an oddly familiar chaos that was almost surreal.

Luna, pulling the blanket tightly around herself, hurried to Theo, her eyes filled with worry. They'd clearly been interrupted in their intimate moment, adding an odd layer of absurdity to the situation.

He looked around the destroyed living room, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief. "Blaise, what is this?" he demanded, gesturing at the wreckage.

Blaise's shoulders slumped as he gave a resigned sigh. "She knows," he muttered.

His brow furrowed as he rubbed his temples. "Know what, exactly?"

"Come on, babes, let's get you dressed," she said softly, guiding a visibly rattled Luna toward the hallway and away from the madness.

"Explain," he demanded, his voice low and deadly as he turned back to the men.

Theo pointed toward the couch indignantly. "This madwoman barged in while I was making love with Moon—"

"Not you, Nott," he interrupted, his eyes narrowing. "Zabini, tell me why your pregnant wife just chased Nott around the room with a knife!"

Blaise's gaze dropped to the floor, looking every bit like a man who had been defeated. "She... she asked about things, and I thought I owed her honesty," he said, the words barely a whisper.

Draco let out a humourless laugh, rubbing his temples as he tried to grasp the absurdity of it all. "Explain to me, Zabini, how a woman with a pale ass and a temper like a hurricane has managed to utterly control every decision you make. After 25 years, did it not occur to you that maybe, just maybe, we're leaking sensitive information?"

Theo, still trying to process what had just happened, opened his mouth to speak but quickly closed it when he caught his glare.

He shook his head in frustration. "For Merlin's sake, Nott, get dressed. I'm tired of looking at you strutting around like some sort of exhibitionist. We get it—you have a huge cock. So am I. Congratulations."

Theo glanced down at himself, still in the remnants of a dishevelled state, and turned to grab his clothes. As he dressed hastily, the tension in the room settled into an awkward silence.

Meanwhile, Hermione returned with Luna, both of them dressed, though Luna looked slightly flushed. She glanced at Theo, her eyes warm despite the chaos, and offered him a small smile.

Blaise finally looked back up, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Look, I was just trying to be honest with her—about everything. But it's…complicated."

He sighed, crossing his arms. "Complicated? Zabini, she nearly gutted your best friend like a fish. I'd say we've moved past complicated."

"What, you don't understand, Malfoy?" Blaise's voice rang out, thick with frustration and defiance. "I'm not going to lie to my wife the way you do."

His expression twisted, his voice low and cutting. "I don't lie to her, not anymore. So leave my wife out of this. I tell Hermione everything—every bloody detail of what I do, every dark piece of my work that most people couldn't stomach. She knows it all because she can know. She doesn't like it, but she understands. We have a bond that you and Red will never come close to experiencing in your lifetime." He paused, his eyes glinting with a dangerous edge. "Maybe if you stopped hiding your sins, maybe if she knew the worst of you, you'd understand what real honesty and trust look like."

Get your wife to kill your mother, you'd understand what real honesty and trust feels like," he said, his voice edged with a dark, cold snarl

Blaise looked stunned. "What the hell are you talking about?"

His gaze was unrelenting, fierce. "You heard me. Sometimes you have to confront the ugliest truths to move forward. Set Ginny free from whatever's haunting her, and maybe—maybe—you'll get close to what Hermione and I have."

He straightened, a look of sheer impatience crossing his face. "Now, for Merlin's sake, handle her. I'm done with this mess. I don't care if she's my second-favourite Weasley; she can't just tear through here with a knife like a lunatic."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Parkinson sunroom, a gilded cage of opulence and elegance, seemed to shrink under the weight of tension. Sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting fractured colors across the gleaming mahogany and marble surfaces. Pansy, perched on a velvet chaise, exuded an icy poise that only the closest of friends could see right through. Dressed in a fitted black cocktail dress, her heels tapped a soft rhythm against the floor as she surveyed the gathered crowd. The family. Her family—both by blood and by the bonds they'd chosen over the years. And tonight, those bonds were fraying.

The relentless ticking of the grandfather clock punctuated the silence, each second a countdown toward an inevitable confrontation. Pansy's gaze flicked around the room, landing on familiar faces—Draco, stoic yet simmering with barely-contained frustration; Hermione, her hands tightly clasped in her lap, eyes serious; Blaise, whose usual smirk was absent, replaced by a rare vulnerability; and Ginny, with her jaw set in defiance, eyes a fiery blend of resentment and hurt. Luna, ever serene, stood at the center, a gentle calm to Pansy's storm.

"Well," Pansy finally broke the silence, her voice a brittle whisper. "Let's get this over with." Her eyes narrowed, sweeping the room with a look as cold as steel. "Care to explain why everyone's gathered in my home for this… intervention?" The words dripped from her lips like venom, daring anyone to respond.

Luna took a breath, her gaze unwavering as she looked at Pansy, then the others, her calmness a soothing balm to the tension. "There's a rift in this family. It's tearing us all apart, even if some of us refuse to admit it." She took a deep breath, her eyes sweeping over each face. "I invited everyone here to neutral territory so that we can have a civilized conversation. It's time to confront everything we've buried."

Pansy's jaw clenched, her fingers curling around the edge of the chaise as she forced herself to remain seated. She cast a quick glance at Neville, who stood behind her, his eyes filled with quiet support. His hand brushed her shoulder, and for a fleeting moment, she felt grounded.

"Go on," Neville encouraged Luna, his voice gentle but firm, though he looked just as tense as the rest. He'd always been the peacekeeper, the steady rock in their turbulent circle, and tonight was no exception.

Luna took a deep breath, steeling herself as she surveyed the room. Her usually gentle demeanor was now resolute, her gaze steady as it traveled from face to face. "We're here to address the escalating tension that's tearing us all apart," she began, her tone leaving no room for evasion. "Ginny, I need you to explain your actions toward Theo. Blaise, we need clarity on why you confided in her so completely. And Draco…" Her voice hardened as she fixed her gaze on him. "I expect a justification for why you involved everyone in this turmoil."

A heavy silence followed, thick with unspoken grievances and wounded pride. Ginny shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her hand instinctively moving to her swollen belly as if to shield herself. Her eyes flicked to Blaise before she spoke, her voice wavering with a mix of frustration and pain. "I needed to know the truth," she said, her tone laced with an edge of desperation. "I couldn't go on pretending everything was fine, surrounded by lies. I felt like I was suffocating, and no one seemed to care."

Blaise's expression softened, but a deep sigh escaped his lips, as if he bore the weight of the room's tension alone. "I told her the truth because I felt she deserved to know, not just as my wife but as part of this… family." His voice grew quieter, tinged with regret. "But I hadn't anticipated how much it would unravel her. I thought knowing would bring her peace, but it only added fuel to the fire."

Draco's face remained a cold mask of frustration, arms crossed as he leaned back, seemingly unaffected by the storm around him. "I owe no explanations to anyone," he said, his tone defiant, though a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—passed over his eyes as they locked with Hermione's for the briefest of moments.

The silence shattered as Ginny's voice rose, raw and trembling. "How can you possibly deny killing my brother?" Her words echoed through the room, a blade cutting through the collective pretenses they'd all tried to maintain. Her eyes blazed with a desperate plea, a fury that masked the deep hurt beneath. "You all talk about family, about loyalty. But you're all complicit in hiding the truth—each one of you!"

Hermione, who had been silent until now, flinched as Ginny's words struck a nerve. She held little Lysander in her lap, who slept peacefully, oblivious to the storm raging around him. Her hand moved to stroke his downy hair, her eyes a mask of tense restraint as she looked away, her composure cracking but barely held together.

Blaise took a deep breath, his gaze unwavering as he looked at his wife. "Baby girl, listen to me," he began, his voice gentle but firm. "I know Ron was your brother. I know you loved him, and you saw the best in him. But sometimes… sometimes the people we love aren't who we think they are."

Ginny's face twisted in a mix of disbelief and anger, a storm of emotions she was barely containing. "You're telling me my brother was a monster, just like that? Without giving me a reason to believe any of this?" Her voice was edged with defiance, but Blaise could see the hurt beneath.

Theo, who had been silently observing from the corner of the room, crossed his arms and let out a quiet sigh. "Ask Saint Potter, why he hadn't spoken to Ron in years," he said flatly, his voice devoid of emotion. "Ask him what Ron did to sever that bond. You might think we're biased, but ask him and see if you still think Ron was perfect."

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, her fingers nervously twining in her lap. She looked at Ginny, her expression one of sorrow rather than accusation. "Ginny… he was your brother, but he wasn't a saint. He was... complicated." Her voice wavered as she chose her words carefully, not wanting to wound Ginny but knowing she couldn't hide the truth anymore. "Ron… wasn't always the best partner. Not for me, not for anyone."

Ginny's face contorted in rage and disbelief, her voice rising to a scream that shattered the tense silence. "So that's your excuse? That's why you had him killed?"

The accusation hung in the air like poison, and for a moment, no one moved or spoke. But then Hermione's gaze sharpened, and a fire ignited in her eyes. "No one 'had him killed,' Ginny. He was abusive. Abusive, not only to me, but to every woman he ever claimed to care about. You can sit there and cling to this idealized memory of him, but that doesn't change what he did." Her voice grew raw, each word cutting through Ginny's defenses like a knife. "How can you not see that? How can you be pregnant, ready to bring life into this world, and still look at all of us—the people who have done nothing but support you—with so much contempt?"

Ginny's face fell, the fury draining from her expression as the reality of Hermione's words took root. For a moment, she looked like a lost child, and when she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "What… what did he do?"

Draco, who had been watching the exchange with barely contained frustration, softened as he saw the hurt and confusion in Ginny's eyes. Without a word, he scooted closer to her, his hand reaching out to grasp hers in silent support.

Hermione took a shaky breath, her voice dropping as she began to reveal the painful truth she had kept hidden for so long. "He… he was cruel, Ginny. Manipulative. It wasn't just me, but all the women he was with. He controlled us, belittled us. And when we tried to stand up for ourselves, he'd… make us pay for it. Have you never noticed Lavender's bruises? The excuses she made for her 'clumsiness'? How she pulled away from everyone who tried to get close?" Hermione's voice cracked, her pain visible as she relived the trauma. "I can't count the times I covered up my own bruises. Made excuses to myself and to others. And I kept thinking, 'This is my fault. Maybe I'm just too difficult, maybe I just don't understand him.' But it wasn't my fault, Ginny. It wasn't any of ours."

The weight of Hermione's confession hung heavy in the room, and Ginny staggered, the ground beneath her feeling as though it had been ripped away. Her hands trembled, her vision blurring with tears, and with a strangled sob, she turned and stumbled toward the door. The room was silent as they heard the heavy slam, the sound of her footsteps echoing as she fled from the truth.

In the stillness that followed, Hermione slumped back, her face a mask of pain and exhaustion. She pressed a hand to her forehead, her voice breaking as she murmured, "I wondered for a long time what my life could have been if I'd healed, instead of just coping with things that were never my fault." 

Her voice was barely audible, her words tumbling out like a confession. "And then… I found Draco. The true Draco. The one who saw me, not the broken pieces, but the person I was beneath all that pain."

Draco's face softened, and without hesitation, he reached out, taking Hermione's hand in his own. "Darling, you don't have to wonder anymore," he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet intensity. "None of this was ever your fault. You are brave, Hermione. Stronger than anyone in this room." He squeezed her hand, his thumb gently brushing over her knuckles as he offered her the comfort and support she had so long been denied.

Theo, who had been silent, let out a quiet sigh as he looked around the room. "We all carry our own scars," he said, his voice uncharacteristically solemn. "Some of us bear them on the inside, some on the outside. But they're all a part of us, part of this… family we've chosen. And right now, Ginny's carrying more than she can bear alone. She'll need time, but she'll come back to us. We just have to be ready when she does."

Blaise nodded, his expression grave. "Ginny's world just shattered, and it's going to take her time to rebuild. But she's not alone. We're here for her, whether she realizes it yet or not."

Lady Lemongrass stirred from her spot by Hermione's feet, snuffling softly and resting her head on Hermione's lap, as if sensing the pain in the room. Hermione smiled faintly, stroking the dog's soft fur as she took a deep breath, letting the comfort of her friends wash over her.

"I think that's the point," Hermione whispered. "Found family. People who stay, even when it's hard. Even when everything feels impossible."

Pansy, who had been silent until now, looked around at each of them, her gaze fierce yet compassionate. "We all have our sins, our regrets. But it doesn't make us unworthy of love. We've all made mistakes, and we'll probably make a thousand more. But this family… we chose each other. And that means something."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts, their own wounds. But in that quiet, something shifted—a bond that, though bruised and tested, held firm. For the first time, it felt like they could heal. Together.

And somewhere beyond the closed door, Ginny walked, her thoughts swirling like a tempest, but her heart still bound to the family waiting inside, ready to catch her when she fell.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione arrived at the Zabini mansion, her heart pounding in her chest. The once elegant house was now a chaotic battlefield. Furniture was overturned, shards of broken china littered the floor, and an eerie silence hung in the air. It was as if a storm had raged through the house, leaving destruction in its wake.

She found Ginny sitting alone on a garden bench. Her voice was firm as she began, "Ginerva, listen to me. I've had enough. You're going to listen, whether you like it or not. I know you're incapable of doing that on your own, so I'm going to cast a silencing charm on you."

"Ron forbade me from attending social events, especially if he couldn't come. He intercepted my letters, scrutinising both Magical and Muggle communications, cutting me off from my support system. His possessiveness deepened, alienating me from friends by accusing you all of being bad influences or trying to lure me away. When confronted, he flatly denied his controlling behaviour, insisting I was exaggerating or delusional. He blamed me for his outbursts, claiming my behaviour provoked him or that I was the problem. He eroded my self-confidence by questioning MY intelligence, memory, and judgement, making me doubt my own sanity. He would shower me with affection and attention, creating a false sense of security that made leaving impossible. And then, he imprisoned me, Ginerva. Your brother is no saint." 

she revealed the harsh truth.

"Your brother was a monster. I was ecstatic to break free. It seems he's found solace in Lavender's arms."

Exhausted and vulnerable, her chest heaved. The truth, once locked away, now hung heavy in the air. A swift movement of her wand cast a silencing spell over Ginny.

"Blaise found out everything about your brother. He told Draco, and now Ron is dead. This is why all of this happened." she had a cold mask on. 

The area was heavy with tension. Her voice, when it came, cut through the silence like a knife. "I am not going to surrender myself to you. You used my accident as a weapon. You keep attacking my husband because all he has done this entire time is to keep me safe." Her words were laced with anger and defiance. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears.

Her voice was cold, calculated. A stark contrast to the warmth of the garden. "Your own husband took part in it, yes, but all he has done this entire year or so is keep you in your princess tower. Locked away from the truth. Locked away from your brother's miserable life and the family business that all of the Slytherin's appear to do." Her eyes seemed to bore into her, demanding a reaction. 

Her expression softened, the sharp edge of her demeanor giving way to something rawer, more vulnerable. "I'm not trying to be cruel," she said, her voice quiet but steady. "But it's agonizing to see someone live comfortably in a gilded cage, oblivious to the world that's falling apart just outside. You have a responsibility—not just as a wife, but as a person—to open your eyes. To see the truth. To understand how your choices ripple outward."

Her tone hardened, resolve sharpening each word. "I care about you, Ginny. But I care about my family more. I can't stand by while you choose ignorance over accountability."

She took a step back, her voice dropping to an icy whisper. "And if you find it easy to speak ill of me, it's only because if you spoke honestly about yourself, no one would listen—or care."

Her gaze lingered for a moment before she turned away, her parting words cutting like a blade. "Goodbye."

Her eyes flashed with anger as she turned on her heel. The conversation was over. There was nothing more to say. With a sharp flick of her wand, she disappeared in a blinding flash of light, leaving Ginny standing alone in the garden, their words hanging unanswered in the still air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hermione arrived home with a cold mask of her own. He paced the room, his anxiety palpable.

"My love, how did it go?" he asked gently.

"As you can imagine, dearest. But I didn't let her talk; I needed to say my piece," she answered, walking to the wine cellar.

She returned with two glasses and a bottle of their favourite wine. As she poured, he watched her closely, concern etched in his features. She handed him a glass and met his gaze, her eyes speaking volumes.

Without uttering a word, the look they exchanged was enough. It conveyed the exhaustion, the pain, and the unspoken understanding that no words could fully capture. She took a deep breath and sat beside him, feeling the weight of the day lift slightly as they found solace in each other's presence.

"In the grand scheme of things, we are just tiny specks that will one day be forgotten," he said, pulling her close to him. "So it doesn't matter what we did or how we'll be remembered. The only thing that matters is right now."1

"Amen," she agreed, nestling into his embrace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sharp crack of thunder shattered the stillness of the night, dragging her from the depths of her dreams. A second later, a desperate cry ripped through the air, cutting straight to her core.

"Hermione!" The voice was hoarse, raw with terror—a sound she'd never heard from him before.

She bolted upright, her chest tightening with a mix of dread and adrenaline. Throwing off the covers, she sprinted down the dimly lit corridor, her bare feet skimming across the cold floor. The soft glow of a single nightlight barely pierced the darkness, casting long, eerie shadows against the walls.

When she reached him, the sight before her sent a bolt of fear through her heart. He was slumped against the wall, his head tilted back as if it was too heavy to hold up. His face was ghostly pale, beads of sweat clinging to his brow, and his chest heaved with shallow, labored breaths. A deep, jagged gash ran down his arm, blood pooling on the floor in a dark, viscous puddle.

"Draco!" her voice cracked as she dropped to her knees beside him. Her hands shook as she reached out, carefully cradling his uninjured arm to steady him. "What happened? Who did this to you?"

His eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, she thought he might lose consciousness. Then, with a strained effort, he opened his eyes, the familiar stormy grey now dulled with pain. "I'm fine," he rasped, his words barely audible. "It's... it's nothing. Just... got careless."

But she found no comfort in his words. The sheer amount of blood made her pulse race with panic, her fear clawing at her chest. She pressed her trembling hands firmly against the wound, desperate to staunch the flow. "You're not fine. You need help. Now."

His hand moved, weak but deliberate, to cover hers. He gave a faint squeeze, his touch surprisingly steady despite the pallor of his skin. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice a rasp of regret. "I didn't want to wake you."

Her breath hitched, tears blurring her vision as she looked into his dimming eyes. "You stubborn, infuriating man," she choked, her voice trembling with emotion. "Don't you dare apologise. Just... stay with me. Stay with me, and I'll fix this."

She forced herself to focus, forcing the panic into a distant corner of her mind as she steadied her hands against him. Her thoughts raced, rifling through every healing spell she had ever learned, searching frantically for the one that would save him. But the sight of his blood—thick, dark, and warm as it seeped between her fingers—made her hands tremble despite her resolve.

She inhaled deeply, steadying herself, and began to whisper the incantation, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her own heart. Her magic surged to her fingertips, faintly luminescent in the dim corridor, illuminating the wound as it responded to her efforts. Slowly, agonisingly slowly, the torn flesh began to pull together, knitting itself under the gentle force of her spell.

It wasn't enough. The bleeding hadn't fully stopped, and his shallow breaths grew weaker with each passing second. The oppressive fear in her chest threatened to break free, but she swallowed it down, her desperation sharpening her focus.

"Come on," she whispered, her voice raw and pleading, the words trembling as they escaped her lips. Her eyes never left the wound, watching every agonising fraction of progress. "Please, Draco. Don't leave me."

The edges of the gash continued to mend, inch by painstaking inch, the bleeding finally slowing to a sluggish trickle. Sweat dampened her brow, her breathing shallow as the effort drained her reserves, but she pushed on. There was no other option—there never had been.

As the wound began to close completely, her hands still shook, her magic pulling at the last reserves of her strength. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't easy, but she didn't stop until the gash was sealed.

Finally, the wound began to knit itself closed, the torn edges drawing together with an almost seamless precision. Relief crashed over Her as the last drop of blood darkened the fabric of her robe. She pressed a clean cloth firmly to the wound, her fingers trembling with residual fear. The relentless pull on her magic left her drained, but she didn't falter. Nothing mattered except making him whole again.

His grip on her hand tightened, a subtle yet reassuring gesture. When she looked up, his gaze met hers—pale and strained, yet filled with pain, gratitude, and something else. Something raw and unspoken that made her chest tighten. "You're doing it," he murmured, his voice barely more than a rasp, yet laden with quiet awe. "You're saving me, love."

Tears blurred her vision, but she forced herself to hold steady. "Don't talk," she whispered, her tone soft yet pleading. "Just stay with me, Draco. Please."

The gash continued to close under her careful ministrations, the bleeding slowing to nothing. Soon, only a faint line remained where the deep wound had been. She felt the last reserves of her strength wane, her magic ebbing dangerously low, but she pushed through with sheer determination. Failure wasn't an option.

At last, the wound sealed entirely, leaving behind only a faint scar, a testament to their ordeal. She exhaled shakily, relief flooding her as she withdrew her hands, though one remained on his shoulder, grounding her.

His tension seemed to melt away, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm as the pain subsided. Slowly, he reached up and brushed a stray curl from her face, his touch featherlight despite his exhaustion. "You did it," he whispered, his words brimming with reverence. "You saved me, my love."

Her throat tightened as her emotions surged to the surface. Tears spilled over, and she nodded, her voice trembling as she replied, "I'll always save you. Always."

Later, he lay sprawled on the couch, his torso wrapped in makeshift bandages she had hastily applied after healing him. His breathing had steadied, colour returning to his once-pale face, but the sight of him so vulnerable still gnawed at her.

She curled up beside him, draping a blanket over them both as though shielding him from any lingering threats. His warmth seeped into her, grounding her in the quiet stillness of the room. Gently, she reached out, her fingertips tracing the curve of his jaw and the rough texture of his stubble.

"You're safe now," she whispered, her voice tender but firm. "I won't let anything happen to you."

His hand found hers, squeezing weakly, his eyes closed but his expression soft. "I know," he murmured, his gratitude palpable even in his exhausted state. "Thank you."

She sat on the floor beside him, knees drawn to her chest, her fingers still trembling faintly from the adrenaline that lingered in her veins. She rested one hand on the edge of the couch, close enough to feel the reassuring warmth of his skin, as if needing proof that he was still there—still alive.

She had never truly considered the possibility of losing him—not like this, not to the perilous life he led every day. But now, the weight of it crashed over her in relentless waves, each one heavier, more suffocating than the last. The thought of a world without Draco—her world without him—was too unbearable to fully grasp.

She leaned her head against the couch, closing her eyes in a desperate attempt to steady her breath. The earlier chaos had given way to a heavy silence, the kind that settled deep into her bones. The only sound was the soft, even rhythm of his breathing, a fragile lifeline she clung to with everything she had.

Exhaustion surged through her in waves, leaving her body aching and her mind foggy. She had faced danger countless times before, but never like this—never with stakes so personal, so irrevocably tied to her heart. This wasn't just another threat. It was an attack on their life, their future.

Opening her eyes, she looked down at him, his face pale but peaceful, his chest rising and falling in a steady cadence. A fierce protectiveness welled up within her, sharp and unyielding. She wouldn't let this happen again. She couldn't.

He stirred, his fingers brushing against hers in a light, reassuring touch. His eyes fluttered open, exhaustion etched into their depths, yet a faint smile curved his lips. "I'm not going anywhere, love," he murmured, his voice rough but resolute.

She gripped his hand tightly, her own trembling as she fought back tears. "You better not," she whispered, her voice barely audible but carrying the full weight of her resolve.

His gaze softened, his thumb tracing slow circles over her knuckles, a silent promise in his touch. "I mean it," he said, his voice steady despite the weariness that clung to him. "I'm not going anywhere."

His sigh was deep, heavy with unspoken thoughts. He could see the fear etched in her expression, the way her eyes searched his face, pleading for an honesty he had always withheld.

"You know I've never told you what happens during my work," he began softly, his tone betraying an exhaustion far deeper than physical pain.

Her jaw tightened, frustration flickering across her face as she held his hand firmly. "Yes, because I asked you not to. I didn't want to know. But this—this is different, Draco. I need to know now because the thought of you not coming home..." Her voice broke, the raw emotion in it slicing through him.

His gaze shifted, his eyes distant as he grappled with the decision. It wasn't about trust—she was the only person he trusted completely. But the world he operated in was ruthless, filled with shadows and secrets he had always kept from her to shield her from its darkness. He believed keeping her in the light was protecting her.

But now, staring into her tear-bright eyes, he saw the cracks in that logic. He realised that his silence, his efforts to shield her, were only driving a wedge between them. It wasn't protecting her—it was isolating them both from the truth they needed to face together.

He exhaled deeply, his breath heavy with the weight of her words. He could see the fear etched into her face, the way her eyes searched his, pleading for answers he had always kept hidden. She deserved more than his silence, but the truth was a weapon he wasn't sure she was ready to bear.

"You know, my love," he began, his voice low and tired, "I've never told you what happens during my work hours." His words carried a weariness that ran deeper than his injuries, a burden far heavier than the moment.

Her grip on his hand tightened, her frustration breaking through her fear. "Yes, because I asked you not to. I thought not knowing would make it easier. But this is different." Her voice cracked, trembling with desperation. "I need to know now. I can't stand the thought of you not coming back to me."

He looked away, his gaze unfocused as he wrestled with the decision. It wasn't about doubting her strength—she was the strongest person he knew. But the world he navigated was merciless, cloaked in shadows and brimming with danger. Keeping her apart from it had always been his way of protecting her, of keeping her untouched by the darkness he waded through.

But now, seeing her pain, her fear, and her unrelenting determination, he realised the shield he had built was crumbling. His silence was no longer a barrier to protect her; it had become a wedge between them.

With a resigned sigh, he met her gaze. "It was a trap," he admitted, his voice hollow but steady. "Someone I've been hunting for a long time made their move. I got careless, and they got to me."

Her breath hitched, her heart racing as a chill settled over her. "Who?" she demanded, her tone a mix of anger and terror. "Who did this to you?"

He hesitated, the name on his tongue heavy with implications. After a long pause, he shook his head. "It doesn't matter," he said finally, his voice rough. "What matters is that I'm here. I made it back to you."

She shook her head fiercely, tears spilling down her cheeks. "It does matter. I can't just sit here and watch you get hurt. I need to know who's doing this, who's putting you in danger. Please," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Let me help you."

His heart ached at the love and fire in her eyes, a combination so uniquely hers it made him want to shield her even more. Yet, he couldn't ignore the strength behind her words. Gently, he reached up and cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a tear that traced its path down her cheek.

"I'll handle it," he said softly, his voice steady despite the storm within him. "I promise you, my love, I'll take care of it. But you have to trust me."

She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. She wanted to believe him, to let his words ease the ache in her chest. But the thought of losing him, of waking up one day to a world without him, was a fear she couldn't escape.

"I trust you, darling," she whispered, her voice fragile and raw. "But I can't lose you. I can't."

"You won't," he said, his voice firm with quiet resolve. "I'll do whatever it takes to make sure you never have to."