𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙥 | DRACO MALFOY

secrets in the light

Harper Malfoy

The library at Malfoy Manor was my sanctuary long before it became my hiding place.

It was midnight when I slipped inside, barefoot, the hem of my silk nightgown brushing the marble floor. I hadn't bothered with a wand as I didn't need one. The shelves knew me. They welcomed me. And I knew exactly where to look.

I lit a single floating candle with a murmur and crossed to the far left side of the room. The Black family's medical tomes were buried in the section behind the old cursebreaking journals—dusty, brittle things, but thorough.

My fingers hesitated at the spine of a book titled Ancient Healer's Guide to Magical Anomalies of the Female Body. Elegant. Obvious. I pulled it anyway.

The candle hovered behind my shoulder as I flipped through the index.

Signs of Magical Pregnancy.

There. Page 173.

I sank into the chaise by the window, breath tight in my lungs. My fingers moved over the list slowly, ticking off symptoms in my mind. Fatigue. Sensitivity to magic. Nausea when using wands. Unstable emotional responses. Heightened magical interference.

It was all there.

I leaned back and placed a hand over my lower stomach, still flat. Still mine. For now.

A storm twisted behind my ribs. I should've told Draco. I should. But what would he do? We were barely surviving under Voldemort's thumb. What if this made him reckless? What if he told his mother, or tried to protect me?

I couldn't afford protection.

I needed control.

The next morning, I walked into the drawing room like nothing had changed.

It was the usual crowd—Lucius reading The Daily Prophet, Narcissa arranging potions by color (for aesthetics, not practicality), and Pansy whispering to Theo in the corner like school gossip mattered here.

I made it halfway to the armchair by the fire when Pansy called out, "You look like death."

"Thanks," I said dryly. "You look like you stayed up trying to hex your split ends again."

She laughed, and the tension in the room broke. Slightly.

Narcissa didn't look up, but her voice was sharp. "You're not eating."

"I'm fine."

"You're not," she said simply, and that scared me more than anything. Because if Narcissa noticed...

Draco arrived late, hair still damp from a shower. His eyes found mine instantly, a flicker of concern buried deep behind practiced indifference. I knew he wanted to ask what was wrong. He always knew something was wrong. But he didn't ask.

Instead, he took my hand.

And I let him. Because pretending was easier than telling the truth.

That night, I stole another book from the library.

Warding Spells for Magical Infancy.

I slid it under my bed before I slept. I didn't even open it. Just knowing it was there made something inside me feel less alone.

I didn't sleep.

Not really.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my father's face and the way he'd react if he found out. Not with anger, no. That would be too merciful.