Y/N's cheeks had never burned so much in her life as Draco stared at her from the doorway. "I didn't for that. I don't know why he did that."
"Did I ask?" Draco's lips had twisted into a sneer.
"Well, um," she stuttered. "I just thought..."
"You just thought what?"
"Christ, Draco, can we not do this right now?" she said, bending down to pick up the bag of decorations off the ground. Her heart was hammering in her chest. "We literally just made up. Can we just be friends again and skip you being weird?"
"We were never–"
"We were friends," she said sternly. An accusatory finger raised and pointed towards him. "I'd go as far as to say that we are friends, even though I don't quite understand why lately you insist on throwing a hissy fit every time we talk. Don't even try to pull that with me."
"I do not throw hissy fits–"
"I rest my case," said Y/N, brushing past him. She wasn't quite sure where this boldness was coming from. She was just so, so sick of Draco constantly slipping through her fingers, even if it meant having to fight him every step of the way. She was just about to ascend the steps to her room when Draco caught her wrist.
"Wait."
She spun. "What is it now?"
He let go. "Do you have a moment? I wanted to talk more about Merlin's box."
"It depends. Are you going to be nice?"
"Are you?"
"I'm hardly the problem here," Y/N retorted.
Draco sniffed. "Fine. I'll be an angel. Happy now?"
They sat down at the table. Y/N looked at the papers strewn over his desk. Only some of them were the recognizable Physics worksheets—the others were notes written up on yellow parchment in his elegant, swooping cursive.
"What's this?" she asked, picking up one and peering. She couldn't recognize most of the words. They were all magical terms.
"Notes on Merlin's Box," answered Draco. He was poking through the pile closer to him, and she tried her best not to notice that he'd cuffed his sleeves, revealing forearms that looked, simply put, very good. "I've been trying to do some research. Some of my friends have been sending me books from their home libraries on the subject."
"What have you found?"
"Not much. I was wondering if you happened to know anything about the owners of the shop. I don't understand how something as powerful as Merlin's Box could just end up in the middle of Muggle Ohio."
Y/N hummed, tapping a pen to her lip. "I'm sorry. I wish I knew. I think they sold it a bit ago. We can try looking online?" She tugged her laptop from across the table and started typing in, "My Grandfather's Attic Cincinnati" into the search bar. A few options came up, but most were dated long before anything was relevant and the most recent was an article on the state of the store after the snowstorm, the event being tied to the rise in crime. "Nothing. Damn."
"Maybe the owners didn't know," mused Draco. "They must have been magic. But the box is one of the most powerful magical objects in the Wizarding World. It's, like, the Elder Wand or the Philosopher's Stone or something equivalent. If they had known, there was no way they would have put it on display, especially without wards."
"I'm not sure if I understand what you're saying."
Draco snapped to attention. "Er, sorry. The Elder Wand and the Philosopher's Stone are special magical objects. The former is the most powerful wand in existence. The latter can bring the dead back to life, or something of the sort. I never bothered to learn much about it."
"What's a ward?"
"It's a series of magical protections," explained Draco, seeming rather helpful for once. "Like, a forcefield or something. They can be charmed to repel certain people and let in others."
"So that's what's on the door?"
"Yes." Draco's jaw was tight. "Exactly what's on the door."
"Why do you think they left?"
"I'm not sure," he said. "They left almost everything behind. Maybe whoever is looking for Merlin's Box scared them away."
Y/N carded through the parchment he had been examining, letting the rough texture of the paper slide under her fingertips. She felt a deep, sad pull in her gut as she looked up at him. He was distracted, looking over his own notes. She permitted herself the privilege of examining him unnoticed.
Sometimes she was convinced that what happened on New Year's Eve was a dream after all, or perhaps an elaborate hallucination. It was impossible to reconcile the soft, affectionate Draco she'd known with the one sitting across from her. He was untouchable. Logically, Y/N knew that all she had to do was reach out a hand before she felt the warmth of his skin through the expensive fabric of his shirt, but it was so much more complicated than that. It was like there was a force field erected around him, an unspoken rule that she was not to come near him again, that it was, in his own words, "not correct".
It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. The sickest part of all was that it didn't matter what happened after all—he was going to return home one day, and she would have to carry around this heavy secret for the rest of her life.
Sylvia was the only person she could ever speak freely to about the entire situation. Y/N had had a few bare conversations with her as they walked to and from Art History, but they never made her feel any better, no matter how many times Sylvia assured her that he most certainly felt the same way.
"So what do you suggest I do?" Y/N would always ask, quirking an eyebrow.
Sylvia would normally sigh before responding with some iteration of, "I never said I knew that, now, did I?"
"Why aren't the American magical authorities helping?" asked Y/N, manually shaking herself out of her thoughts.
Draco peeked up at her from his mound of books and notes. "They did look into it briefly, apparently. But nothing came of it. I think this is hardly at the top of their priority list if I'm to draw any conclusions from their behavior. I don't think they believe there's a real Merlin's Box floating around Ohio."
Y/N snorted. "That's fair. I probably wouldn't believe them either. Do you think we even need to worry about it anymore?"
"I think it'd be nice to know where the box is," said Draco.
"Why, do you want it?"
"In another life, maybe," mused Draco. "I wouldn't turn down the opportunity to become one of the most powerful wizards in the world. But the Ministry wouldn't let me have it, I don't think. It needs to be specially bonded somehow. I'd probably need a curse-breaker or something that's given confidential government training."
"Sylvia's dad works for MACUSA, apparently," said Y/N, rather light-heartedly.
"I'm aware." Draco's tone was flat. "I don't think that Grimauldis are too fond of me."
"I'm sure you were a most gracious houseguest."
"You know me." He sent her a wry smile and went back to writing on his parchment. Y/N resumed staring. She wasn't quite sure what had gotten into her—maybe she was fatigued from finals, confused about Simon, or just so elated to finally be in his presence again without feeling like she was one half of an interpersonal Cold War. Whatever it was, she could've sworn that he had never looked more perfect than he did at that moment, the slanted winter sun illuminating the white-blond hairs that fell over his forehead and reflecting off of the silver that adorned his long, tapered fingers. She ached to reach out and touch them.
Before she did anything she regretted, she stood up and left.
After that, she could feel herself unabashedly staring at him for far too long. She couldn't help it. Her interest in him had long since grown from attraction to a warm affection that spread through her whenever she saw him do, well, anything. It didn't help that the dust had finally settled between them, the one mark on her collarbone long since faded and their tepid friendship rekindled. There was no, "Hey, are we ever going to talk about it?", no "But what did you really feel? Is there something you're not telling me?". The window for real inquiry had long since passed, growing smaller and smaller as if she were riding away from it in a train.
She often wished that she could go back in time, just once, just one time to experience that night all over again. This time, it would be with the knowledge that it would be her last time kissing him. She supposed that a part of her had always assumed that it would eventually snowball into something more. Who could blame her? How could she not when she remembered every word that he said?
~
Everything was back to normal. On paper, everything was back to normal. Draco and Y/N went to school together, studied together, and then threw ideas around as to where Merlin's Box went. Neither of them ever made much progress, regardless of the copious amounts of books Draco was getting in the post. Shamelessly, she felt herself hoping that he was changing his mind. Sometimes he'd be especially soft with her, like when she needed his help with French.
"I can't believe I conned my way into AP French," she moaned from her place at the foot of his bed. It was late, almost 11, and the sun had long since set. Draco was sitting across from her, his legs neatly folded in front of him and his head tilted back onto his pillows.
"You'll be fine," he said primly. "You have a good grasp on grammar. For an American, your vocabulary isn't awful."
"I'm not worried about the writing portion of the exam," she said, flopping down on her back and staring up at the ceiling. "I know I'll do fine. I think the speaking portion is going to kill me."
Draco was silent for a few seconds. "Do you want to talk to me? In French?"
"Oh, god." She hid her face in her hands. "My accent is awful compared to yours."
"I hardly think that's unique to French," he teased.
"Shut up." He dodged the pillow she launched his direction. "Are you going to keep bullying me until I say yes?"
He shrugged.
"Okay. Fine. You start. Say something."
Draco was different when he spoke French. Y/N had heard rumors of people who spoke multiple languages developing different personalities in each one, but she'd never seen it confirmed until she heard him speak. He complained a lot, but he was surprisingly straightforward.
"You're less sarcastic in French," she told him. He responded rapid-fire, ignoring her switch to English. She rolled her eyes. "Je comprends pas—"
"I normally am, I'm just being nice to you," he interrupted.
"Telling me I sound like your cousin's toddler is nice to you?"
The corner of his mouth twitched. "So you did understand that, after all."
"Obviously!"
"I just don't want to add another layer," he explained, languidly reaching up a hand to inspect his cuticles. "I don't imagine that the exam is going to make you unpack tone on top of the literal meaning."
"Oh." As much as she wanted to be miffed at him, it made sense. And it was rather considerate for him to think of that. "Thanks."
"De rien."
It was creeping upon midnight when Draco finally cast his gaze away from her and stopped speaking in French. She couldn't remember the last time they'd had such a casual conversation. He had told her stories of growing up in England, of his childhood friends, of living in his manor and the places he had traveled. He asked her questions about her family, about any pets she may have had, about her dreams for the future.
"The stars look really nice from your room," she admitted. "I had no idea you had a better view than me."
"Yeah. It's nice."
"What do you want to do after all of this?" she asked him. "After you go back home, that is."
He blinked, apparently not expecting the question. "Well, er, I'm not sure. I would like to go into a Potion's fellowship. I've always thought it was interesting. I don't know if I'd be able to, though. I might not be able to work at all."
"Why not?"
He wordlessly lifted his left shirt sleeve, exposing the tattoo on his pale skin.
"Oh." She swallowed. "I'm sorry. I forgot about that."
"My father's sentence is being reconsidered," offered Draco.
"Is that a good thing?"
"I think so," replied Draco. "I won't know until the trial."
"When's that?"
"August."
They fell into a comfortable silence. Y/N remained on her back, her head tilted so she could see the bright expanse of the stars in the winter sky. The concept of "August" seemed unimaginable. Draco would be long gone by then. She would be getting ready to leave for Chicago.
The bed shifted, and she felt the briefest brush of his arm against hers as he laid down beside her.
"Do you know what you want to do?" he asked finally.
"I think I want to study astrophysics," she said. "Or astronomy. Or something like that. I've always liked the stars, and I like physics. UChicago has a good program."
"And after?"
"I don't know yet. Maybe I'll decide against astrophysics and study medieval lit or something. Who knows."
She could see a smile slowly stretch across his face in the dim light. "Do you have a favorite constellation?"
"Yeah," she said, surprised he was so interested. "Not to be basic, but mine is Orion. I like how it's only visible in the winter. What about you?"
"Draco."
"God, you're such a narcissist."
He turned to face her, a smug grin plastered across his features. There was hardly any space between them. She could feel heat radiating off of his form. He was so close, so close.
"If you were named after the stars, you would be too," he said, his tone light.
"I suppose."
She wasn't sure when she fell asleep. The next thing she knew, she was blinking her eyes open after distantly remembering dreams of French grammar rules floating past her eyes in a dreamlike haze. Draco's breathing was deep and slow beside her, his chin delicately tipped up so his head rested on the comforter. There was a delicate pressure around her arm, which she quickly found to be the result of Draco's hand tucked under her wrist, his fingers pressing into her skin.
A glance at the clock confirmed what she already knew: it was late. Y/N was torn. She wanted to stay. She wanted to pretend like it was just a mistake and that they'd fallen asleep next to each other. She wanted to take what she could get.
Her chest was tight with affection as she gazed down at him, the stress lines in his forehead long gone and his features relaxed. It struck her, then, that she was on borrowed time. It had already been roughly 6 months since his arrival. She hated how attached she'd become in so little time.
There was nothing left for her when it came to Draco Malfoy. Even with a set deadline, he didn't want her. He never would. Could she blame him? She supposed that she couldn't.
Y/N pulled herself away from the bed, careful not to move too quickly in case she woke him. Her efforts were futile. His grip tightened as she pulled away.
Draco made an uncharacteristic groan as he sat up, ruffling his hair in the process. She mentally beat back the wave of infatuation that washed over her with a broom. He dropped her hand when he felt her tug once more.
"Sorry," she whispered honestly. "I didn't mean to wake you. I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep."
His eyes were soft when they met hers. The typical guardedness in his expression was entirely gone. She wondered if he was even fully conscious.
"That's okay," he murmured, laying back down.
"I really am sorry," she said again. "I don't mean to make it a habit to fall asleep here. I don't even remember what happened."
"You fell asleep right after you called me a narcissist," he relayed. "Just passed out."
"Oh, god." She frowned. "I'm so sorry. You should've woken me up. Next time—I mean, there won't be a next time, but in theory—please wake me up, okay?"
He gave no indication of hearing her, his eyelids lowering once again.
"Just say you will."
He shushed her, holding a hand up to wave her away before letting it fall onto his forehead, covering his eyes. His breath began to slow once again. He was asleep.
Y/N hovered by his bed. "Draco?"
He didn't stir.
"Can you hear me?" She couldn't believe herself. She shouldn't have thought to do this.
He remained silent, his fingers further splaying out on his forehead.
The words were out before she could think to stop. "I—I still think about that night. I wish it had happened again. I understand why you don't want me, but I really wish you did. And I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me."
His exhale rattled in his windpipe at his awkward angle. She watched him carefully for any signs of lucidity, but he was long gone.
That night, after retiring to her respective room, she dreamt of nothing.
~
It snowed the day of Sylvia's party. Y/N woke up, her alarm blaring bright and early as she rose from her blankets to the surprise of an entirely white garden. A brief twinge of panic filled her before she saw that their road had been plowed—the party was still on.
With her parents out of town and Draco doing god-knows-what, it was easy for her to finish putting up the decorations uninterrupted. Streamers hung from the balcony, staircase, and the mantle above the fireplace. She'd unpacked all of the decorations that Simon had dropped off for her, pinning pictures of Sylvia as an ugly, blobbish baby to the wall above the drinks table with the caption "Pick ur fighter."
For someone who had never actually thrown a party in her own home beyond her occasional New Year's escapades, she was rather impressed with the state of the room.
She had just finished hanging up the last streamer when someone knocked on her door. Y/N started. It was 5pm—she'd explicitly stated that the party started at 9! What if Sylvia had swung by for some reason? She couldn't let her see all of the decorations. It was, after all, supposed to be a surprise.
"You look relieved to see me," said Simon once she swung open the door. He stood with his hands in the pockets of his dark cloak, his warm eyes sparkling and the corners of his mouth turned up.
"I thought you were Sylvia," admitted Y/N. "You scared me."
Simon laughed. "No, don't worry. I made sure that Sylvia wouldn't stop by beforehand. I assumed that'd spoil the surprise."
"Uh, yeah. That would really, um, suck." Y/N was confused. Simon wasn't invited to the party. Everyone knew that. He himself admitted that he wouldn't come since he didn't know any of her friends, instead deciding to celebrate his birthday with his Ilvermorny classmates. So why was he at her doorstep? They had been texting some since, but it had mostly been to plan Sylvia's birthday. She couldn't say that she missed speaking to him.
"I brought the cake," explained Simon, holding up the box in his hands.
"Oh! Thanks." Y/N held a hand out expectantly. "That's really sweet of you to pick it up. I can take it, if you'd like. I don't want to take up any more of your time."
"No, no. I'll take it in. If you don't mind, that is. I know I can't come to the party, but I was hoping to see the decorations."
"Yeah, of course. I get that. I'm sorry you can't go." Y/N stepped away from the door to give him room to enter.
He flashed a grin at her as he brushed past. His smile showed too many teeth.
"Our favorite blondie isn't here?" mused Simon as he set the cake down on the table.
"He's on a walk," said Y/N.
"Hm. Shame."
It occurred to Y/N that he never once mentioned anything about the decorations she'd painstakingly strung up over the foyer. He didn't spare so much as a glance. Something twisted in her gut.
"He says hi," joked Y/N. "He wanted me to tell you that he misses you and loves you very much."
Simon chuckled. "Tell him I say thanks, but I'm not into men."
Y/N didn't quite know what to make of that as he drew closer to her. She'd stupidly chosen to position herself by the corner of the kitchen, making it painfully obvious if she shifted away from him. He stopped a few paces away from her, gazing down.
It wasn't like how Draco looked at her. At least his eyes looked warm. The way Simon was looking at her was making her heart race, and not in a good way. There was no warmth in his eyes—no, what she had originally dubbed as endearment and kindness was cold amusement.
He took another step closer, this time lifting an arm to trace up hers. She felt frozen, glued to the wall. She knew that she needed to say something, to tell him no, she didn't want this, but she couldn't bring herself to speak.
"Don't worry," said Simon finally, his voice a low murmur. The gentleness of his tone did nothing to quell the nervousness in her chest as he ghosted up her neck. She could feel the heat of his breath on her face. He was so close that she thought he might kiss her properly.
Then his fingers wrapped around her throat and began to squeeze.
She gasped, suddenly coming to life and thrashing in his grip. It was futile. He had an iron-strong hold on her neck, forcing her to look up at him.
"The box," he said simply, his lip curling. "I know you have it." He squeezed harder, and she whimpered in his grip. "Tell me where it is. Tell me now."
She let out a whine—the only sound that could escape her mouth with the intense pressure on her trachea. She absentmindedly wondered if he was crushing her windpipe.
Simon seemed to realize this as his fingers slowly loosened around her neck, but not dropping his grip. It was a gentle pressure, a threat. When she thrashed and kicked and tried to pull away from him, he squeezed harder. "If you just tell me where it is, I'll let you go. There's no need to make this such an ordeal."
"I don't—I don't—" she wheezed through his grip. "I don't know—"
He squeezed harder, cutting her off. She stomped on his foot as hard as she could, but he waved his wand, her legs going limp.
"I didn't always feel bad for Sylvia," he mused, far too casual for someone currently cutting off her air supply. "She told me she had friends, a life, a future waiting for her without magic. I always used to wonder why she didn't let me meet you all."
Her head felt like it was full of static.
"Now I know," he continued. "Now I know how fucking pathetic her life is here. She could've been great. She could've had everything she ever wanted. And now she has a chance. Just tell me where the box is."
His grip loosen once again, just as she thought she was going to faint. "You want—for her? It was—you?" Her voice was hoarse, unrecognizable.
"Pathetic and slow," he remarked. "I can't believe Merlin's Box ended up in your hands. But I suppose that's a tale as old as time, huh? Muggles getting to rule the world at their whim while the rest of us fall to the wayside and hope they'll spare a little of their greed."
"I don't know." She was silently crying now. Her mouth was dry, but she could taste the salt of her tears collecting at the corner of her mouth.
Simon's stare bore into her. "Very well, then. I didn't think it'd have to come to this."
His grip resumed. Y/N knew that she was turning purple from lack of oxygen. It was miraculous that she hadn't passed out, but the fuzziness of her vision as dark edges creeped into her peripheral told her that she wouldn't have to wait long. Simon looked almost bored as he watched her struggle against him, clawing at everything she could reach.
Just as her vision almost lapsed, she remembered something. She still had her keys in her pocket from her grocery run earlier. It had...If only she could get...
Simon had clearly gotten cocky and was just waiting for her to fall limp. It was easy for her to maneuver her hands into her windbreaker pocket and clutch the bedazzled aerosol container.
Y/N prayed that it was pointing the right direction. Then she flicked the safety and pressed on the lid.
Simon immediately let go of her, howling in pain from the pepper spray canister she'd just deployed into his eye sockets. She dropped to the ground, clutching at her throat. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't make a noise come out of her mouth, not even a whimper. Her throat must've been absolutely wrecked from how long he had choked her. It was a wonder that she was still alive.
The edges of her sight were still fuzzy as she saw Simon, swiping desperately at his eyes, disapparate from the room with a resonant pop. Distantly, she wondered if he was going to find Draco and hurt him too. The thought was too much for her to bear.
Y/N soundlessly gasped when she heard the front door open. If she had been less dazed, she would've scrambled to hide, but she couldn't bring herself to. Simon was a wizard. If he wanted to find her, he probably could.
She almost started crying in relief when she saw a moonbeam blond head peek into the kitchen.
"Do you need any—" He froze, taking in the scene, the chairs that Y/N had kicked over while trying to escape, the crackle of magic in the air, and her form, lying on the floor. "Merlin, what happened?"
She opened her mouth to try and explain, but nothing came out. Horror struck her. What if Simon came back? What if Draco let him in and she couldn't tell him what happened?
Draco dropped to his knees in front of her, reaching out and tilting her face towards him. His eyes roved over her petrified expression before pausing on her neck. "Who did this to you?"
His tone was pure acid.
Y/N opened her mouth, trying her best to tell him, but her voice refused to cooperate.
"You were silenced," he said, realization creeping into his tone. "Whoever did this to you silenced you."
She stared up at him, not even trying to hide the terror on her face. Had he silenced her with magic?
"You're shaking too much to write," he deduced, his free hand grazing her own. "I–I don't have a wand to unsilence you. Do you think they're going to come back?"
Y/N nodded.
"Okay." He shut his eyes for a moment, sucking in a deep breath. "I know something I can try. It might hurt a little. You just can't resist, okay? Or else it'll be worse. I just...I need to know."
She nodded again, meeting his eyes with a desperation in her look.
"I'm sorry," he said honestly. "This is going to feel intrusive."
Then he met her eyes and whispered, "Legilimens."
Y/N had thought that he had a wandless magic trick that would allow her to speak again. She didn't think that he meant that he was going to dig through her mind. All of a sudden, she was snapped into the realm of her mind, but this time she could feel Draco's presence with her as he lived through the same memories that she had made. Physically, she was still staring up into his eyes and feeling the kitchen linoleum on her palms, but her mind was entirely consumed by images of the past.
Draco was moving through her head rapidly, but he didn't seem to know where to look. Y/N tried her hardest to push forward the memory of Simon, but in her franticness, she grabbed the first memory that came to mind—the day they made up, right after Simon kissed her neck.
To her horror, she felt all of her internal musings and emotions resurface, this time under the watchful eye of Draco—the shame and confusion at what Simon had done, then her mental monologue of Draco. He saw and felt it all, from the pathetic longing she felt for him to the desire she had to reach out and touch him. She tried her hardest to squirrel away from that memory, but he held fast. The memory that followed was of their French study session. She burned with humiliation as he watched her stand over him and tell him, in no uncertain terms, that she wanted him to kiss her again.
Finally, finally Draco found the memory of Simon. She couldn't even find it in her to be embarrassed at the immense relief he saw when she realized it was Draco coming through the front door.
When he finally resurfaced from her head, he was still staring at her. She couldn't read the expression on his face. He opened his mouth, about to say something.
Then the tell-tale pop of apparition sounded behind him.