𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙥 | DRACO MALFOY

pillow talk

Harper Malfoy

The corridors of the Manor grew colder with each passing hour. I didn't know if it was the chill of rain beyond the enchanted windows or simply the Dark Lord's presence seeping into the stone.

It didn't matter. Both cut straight through to the bone.

Voldemort had returned in flesh and shadow, slithering through our halls like a sickness that never lifted. I kept my head low when he passed, just like everyone else. Only Bellatrix ever met his eyes. Even Draco had stopped trying.

We all lived in fear, though some were better at hiding it than others. I wasn't one of them.

I had learned long ago not to show emotion under his gaze, but that didn't stop the thoughts from racing in the dark corners of my mind—louder at night, when the manor fell quiet and only the creak of floorboards reminded us we were still alive.

He was preparing. You could feel it in the air tighter and tenser. Like the moment before a string snaps. Something was coming, and we all knew what: Hogwarts.

He was going to finish this. Whether we were ready or not.

Tonight, though, before the world could end, I had one last task—one final thing to say. I stood outside my father's room, fist raised but hesitating. My knuckles hovered just above the door.

"Enter," came his stern voice.

I stepped inside. The room was dim, lit only by the orange flicker of a fire that never gave warmth anymore. He looked up from his seat by the hearth. His face was thinner. There was a time I would've flinched under his gaze, but now... he just looked hollow.

"Harper," he said, stiffly. "I didn't expect you."

I sat in the chair across from him, careful not to let my hands tremble.

"I needed to speak with you before..." I trailed off, glancing toward the window where the wind clawed at the glass.

He nodded, as if he too knew that it would. "Well go on. I don't have all night."

"I'm pregnant," I said quickly and quietly wanting to be done with this conversation as quickly as possible.

He didn't react. Not at first. Then something flickered across his face—shock, maybe. Or was it relief?

"So. It's done."

"It's started," I corrected, my voice sharper than I expected. "There's a difference."

He exhaled, running a hand down his face. "You've done what was asked of you. What was needed."

I stood. "Don't pretend this was noble."

"I never claimed it was."

The silence between us crackled like the fire. I turned to leave.

"You've always been such a good listener," he said, and I paused, hand on the doorknob. "Never been a good liar though. I knew you were with child the week that it happened. Be grateful I need you for this war or I would've ended you and your child's life for your disobedience."

I didn't respond. Because I wasn't sure what I would say. My hands shook as I left his room.

When I returned to my room, the halls were darker than before. A storm had begun outside and the Manor hummed like it was mourning something it couldn't name.

I stood by the window of our room, staring out into the dying light. The sky looked like it was bleeding streaks of red torn across a purple bruise of clouds. I pressed a hand to my belly, not yet showing, but still there. Still real.