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A house.
A noble and ancient house, full of rules and obligations.
Where purity always prevails,
and anyone who dares to break it faces exile.
***
Three sisters.
Two brothers.
An only child.
Different eras, same bloodline.
Shaped by duty, morality, prejudice, and values—each in their own way.
A life of confinement, within and beyond its walls.
Years lost, lives shattered. Erased.
To fulfill their duty—and suffer, if necessary—to keep the Black legacy unblemished and pure.
And yet, one day, one of them would dare to question it all.
***
Draco grows up in a perfect environment.
The grand manor, the abundant meals, the tailored suits.
Everything in its place, except him.
One, two, three.
Chin up. Steady gaze.
One, two, three.
Back straight. Don’t slouch.
The pain in his chest doesn’t matter.
One, two, three.
Can anyone hear the heartbeats in the drawing room?
Louder each time.
One, two, three.
He can’t breathe.
One, two, three.
Please.
Sometimes the silverware rattles. It slips from his hands.
Books end up open and spilled across the floor—proof of what should have been, but wasn’t.
What a disappointment. Always that same word.
Let's try again.
As if starting over could fix what’s already broken.
And so, cruelty hides behind perfectly polished manners.
***
The castle rises as young eyes watch it from the boats.
A moment of relief after so much pressure.
He sees her in the distance.
Frizzy hair. Buck teeth.
She won’t stop talking, her small hands moving in twitchy little gestures.
Where are the manners?
She's Muggle-born.
Hmph, no. Wrong. Let’s start again.
She’s a Mudblood.
This year, the cold seeps under his skin.
He ignores her. Rejects her.
She’s everything a pure-blood shouldn’t be. Everything an heir shouldn’t be.
Who the fuck does she think she is, showing up in a dress like that?
And why the hell is no one talking about the heartbeats pounding through the Great Hall?
Why does she need to be everywhere?
Always with her nose in a book, taking up that same spot in the library.
Playing the fucking hero for a group of misfits.
Although… to be fair, the old pink toad deserved it.
***
One, two, three.
Stay still, stay quiet.
One, two, three.
Close your fucking mind.
Right. Now.
One, two, three.
Please.
Everything.
Is.
Wrong.
***
This year is complete shit.
Potter doesn’t help, poking around where he shouldn’t, leaving his messes behind.
If it weren’t for Granger, they’d have expelled him by now, or at least detained him.
Granger.
He’s drowning in his own miserable life when he sees her.
Her hair is more controlled this year.
Freckles standing out against the hint of summer tan, laughing like the world isn’t falling apart around them.
She’s… at least a little more presentable than in previous years.
And now she’s looking at him. Fuck. She’s looking at him?
And the look that she gives him…
What in Merlin’s—? Is it pity?
Hmph. As if this Mudblood would ever feel pity for him.
***
The silence of the dungeons soothes him and helps him quiet his mind and work on his Occlumency.
Just as Aunt Bella taught him.
In the distance, a murmur.
Pansy, Theo, and Blaise are debating who bloody knows what now.
And who the hell cares, by the way?
He's fucking dying inside.
Lost in his own thoughts, he ignores the look that Theo gives him.
***
This demented task is impossible.
And the obnoxious Scarhead doesn’t stop following him everywhere he goes.
He’s losing his mind, running out of time.
Tic. Tac. Tic. Tac.
Get it together, Malfoy.
Just focus.
***
He sees her at the library, just a few minutes before curfew.
Same spot as always, just like every year before.
As if nothing had changed.
Except it had. Everything changed.
She’s biting her lower lip, her brow furrowed.
Probably an Arithmancy or Runes problem. Who cares.
She's probably going to figure it out. She’s proved it countless times.
Smarter than everyone else.
What in Merlin’s name is he thinking about now?
But she really is. Smart, capable.
Nothing like the things Father said about Muggle-borns.
“Draco?”
What. The. Fuck.
Oh. Great. It’s Pansy, calling him back and dragging him out of his miserable thoughts.
For less than a second, he swears he saw Granger’s lips saying his name.
Bloody Salazar, his mind is going to explode.
***
The Common Room. Firewhisky. Friends.
This is how Sixth Year is supposed to feel.
Unless you have a psychopath playing with your head.
Then you don’t get to enjoy it at all.
“So you honor us with your charming presence, but not with your attention?”
“Neither of us meets our prince’s standards, I suppose,” says Blaise as he refills their glasses.
Draco huffs, exhausted.
“For the love of Merlin, would you two ever piss off?”
“Oh, but Granger does?” Theo continues, clearly ignoring him.
What the hell is he up to now?
He’s convinced he’s going to murder Theo someday.
“Listen—you can sulk all you want, but we’re still your best friends, Drakey.
And we can see you, you know. Even behind that shitty armor of yours.”
“Theo’s right, mate.” Blaise’s calmer voice contrasts with Theo’s biting tone.
“We don’t believe in that pure-blood nonsense anymore.
You can look at whoever you want.”
Pansy enters the room with effortless sophistication.
“And don’t you dare forget we’re here.
Whether you need to drink till oblivion, or just sit in silence while this shit goes on.”
Deep down, he’s glad he has them.
And Granger? For Merlin’s sake.
He sees her everywhere lately.
Watching him. Hunting him—but not the way Potter does.
He tells himself it means nothing.
That they haven’t spent weeks exchanging glances in the corridors.
Maybe the pain in his arm is finally making him delirious.
***
He was killing time at the library.
Counting the minutes until everyone went to sleep, so he could sneak into that shithole of a room
and deal with the task that lunatic sociopath had given him.
And there she was.
Of course.
Granger.
What the fu—
She’s bleeding. Her hand is bleeding.
He doesn’t know why. And honestly, he doesn’t care.
All he can see right now is the blood falling from her arm.
Red. Blood.
And that’s all. That’s the moment his last wall finally breaks.
Boom.
It falls apart—the wall he tried so hard to keep up.
Because that only means that all the things Father taught him, all that he has suffered in silence,
everything he’s worked for all those years ends up being fucking nothing.
Oh fuck. Salazar help him.
One, two, three.
He can’t breathe.
One, two, three.
Close your mind.
Come on, you bloody bastard.
One, two, three.
Behave just like Father taught you.
Like everyone expects you to.
One, two, three.
What the hell is going on?
Please.
“Malfoy?
Malfoy what on earth—”
“Malfoy, please, listen to me. Get up!
Look at me—oh gods, why me…”
“Malfoy, fuck. What is wrong with you?
Come on, Malf—Draco!”
And that was all. It was like the darkness he’d been falling through just disappeared the second his name was on her lips.
His name. Coming from Granger’s fucking lips—just as he had imagined a few months ago.
There were no more walls. Not even the broken pieces of them.
His vision cleared. And the next thing he could remember was the explosion.
Boom.
It was his lips against hers, his hand gripping the back of her neck and pulling her closer.
As if he were afraid she’d realize what was happening and run away—leaving him alone on the ground,
thinking that his whole fucking life had been a lie.
But that wasn’t the scene.
She grabbed him firmly by the shirt.
Lost in the moment.
Euphoric.
“Fuck. Fuck. Granger, fuck.”
What. The. Hell.
“You’re fucking bleeding, for the love of Merlin.”
***
Weeks passed.
And still, the memory kept slipping in.
Granger.
Her eyes on him while he healed the cut on her hand.
She’d tried to take a cursed book from the Restricted Section.
How stupid of her.
But her lips. Merlin and Morgana.
Flushed, swollen from the kiss.
He couldn’t handle it.
His mind had been petrified—and he was so fucking hard he’d had to run away like a fucking teenager.
Again.
What. The. Fuck.
***
Her face.
Salazar help him.
Bent over the poisoned Weasel.
Insufferable, yes. But he doesn’t mean to kill him.
Her eyes fixed on his.
The anger, the confusion, the pity.
Hmph. Please. How pathetic you are, Malfoy.
What a disappointment.
What was it like, when he could still control himself?
Footsteps. Far away.
Following him. Shit.
She’s there.
Looking at him through the mirror.
And why the hell—tears. On his bloody face.
No. No. No.
Fucking control yourself.
You’re in front of a Mud—
Fuck.
“Draco.”
Don’t say it.
Please.
“What’s going on?
I just—I’ve been watching you these past months.”
She steps closer. An inquisitive look on her face.
“Look—we both know you were a pain in the ass all these years.
But now it’s different. I know it.”
Always so stubborn.
Why does she like to play the fucking hero all the time, for Salazar’s sake?
Oh, Merlin, she keeps talking.
“And I know you’re not a bad person.
You’re just still making the wrong choices. Choosing the harder path.”
Closer. Her hand on his left arm. Holy shit.
And now he can’t look anywhere else but her caramel-shiny eyes, searching for his bloody soul in them.
Fuck it.
He grabs her, his hands sliding from her face down to her waist.
His fingers squeezing so hard they leave marks.
He loses himself when he kisses her. Forgets about the shit he’s been living through this year.
All the do’s and don’ts explode in his head.
That life of mandates, obligations, and requirements is gone while he’s in the hands of this short, brave, obstinate witch.
The one who turns his fucking world upside down.
Bloody Salazar. She’s like a drug.
Her hands are everywhere. Kissing him like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do in her fucking life.
No. No. No.
This is ridiculous. Absolute nonsense.
What the hell is he playing at?
“Granger.
Granger, I—we need to stop.
Please.”
She looks at him. Mouth open, her brow furrowed. Merlin.
Her hair is so messy it looks like it could come to life and strangle someone.
“Granger, look, this isn’t—”
“No. You shut up. Don’t you dare come up with a silly excuse.
You’re either in or you’re out. That’s all.”
He’s bloody petrified, the same way he was the first time he kissed her.
Unable to speak a fucking word.
What is she doing to him?
“Fine. If we’re going to do this, we have to be really careful.
And sooner or later, you’ll have to tell me what’s wrong with you.”
And then she starts planning where and when they can meet, as if it’s the prelude to a bloody exam.
For Merlin’s sake, what is he getting himself into?
This witch was going to be his fucking death.
***
From then on, time begins to flow differently.
Breakfast. Class.
Lunch. Sneaking off with Granger.
Class again. More snogging.
And the end of the day with Pansy, Theo, and Blaise.
He usually sees Scarhead and the Weasel clearly wondering where his witch has been.
Uh-oh. Let’s see. The Prefects’ Bathroom, broom cupboard, that abandoned room on the third floor?
He finds himself smirking.
“Careful, Drakey. I see a smile over there.” Of course, that’s Pansy, the bloody traitor.
Theo’s and Blaise’s eyes are on him—then on each other.
Grinning.
***
But reality hits like a Bludger.
Tic. Tac. Tic. Tac.
“I’m worried about you,” she says one day.
The words he wants to say are stuck in the middle of his throat.
And I’m bloody terrified—I’ve been falling for you this whole time.
“This is a fucking catalyst, Granger. All of it.”
Her tears—and his—falling as she grips his left arm tightly.
“Hermione.”
***
Draco grows up in a perfect environment.
But it doesn’t feel that way anymore.
Compassion. Mercy. Green light.
A fall—but not his own.
Time’s up. Decisions.
His soul, held beneath those caramel-shiny eyes.
She had always been kind.
He had learned to survive by being cruel.
Explosion. Fire.
A war.
Where is the happiness he found only months ago?
Hidden inside a Divination room, or a dirty broom cupboard.
A golden galleon in his pocket.
Shining with words of hope.
Please.
Please—let them win.
Let us win.
***
One, two, three.
Behave yourself. Everything’s in your favour.
One, two, three.
The heartbeats don't hurt anymore.
One, two, three.
Breathe. She’s here.
And that’s enough for now.
***
Days become months.
And then years.
He once learned that purity would always prevail.
That the Malfoy bloodline could never be weak, nor ever tainted.
But now—
When he looks at Scorp. At Cassie.
At the faithful, unwavering love in Hermione’s eyes.
At the quiet joy in his mother’s face.
At the freedom of his friends.
There is no counting anymore.
No need to hold back his feelings.
The line ends here.
And begins again.
For all of them.