firecracker ???

1-9

Draco walked just behind Elestara, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He was still grumbling about the point deduction, glaring at McGonagall's back. Ron occasionally muttered under his breath, which only stoked the fire.

But Elestara was quiet.

Too quiet.

When they reached the infirmary doors, they swung open before them. Waiting inside—elegant, severe, and already pale with worry—stood Narcissa Malfoy.

And beside her, tall and unreadable as always, was Lucius.

Elestara stopped short. Her breath hitched.

"Mother?"

Narcissa's arms were around her before she could say another word. "Darling girl."

Lucius placed a hand on her shoulder. "You are unharmed?"

"I—yes. Mostly. Just—"

Her voice cracked.

Draco looked away as she buried her face in their mother's shoulder.

"I missed you," she whispered, barely audible.

Narcissa smoothed her hair. "We know."

"It was stupid. I wouldn't have left the hall if I hadn't—"

"Shh," Lucius said. "You are safe. That is all that matters."

When Madam Pomfrey swept over to tend to Elestara properly, Lucius turned to Draco, whose shoulders were still tense with frustration and guilt.

"I should've protected her better," Draco said, voice low. "I waited outside—I didn't know the troll was there—but I should've—I should've done more."

Lucius studied him for a moment. Then, with surprising gentleness, placed a hand on Draco's shoulder.

"You did exactly what you should have done," he said. "You ran for help. You went to your godfather. You trusted someone to protect her. That is strength—not recklessness."

Draco blinked, stunned.

Lucius's expression didn't soften, but his voice held a rare trace of pride. "Continue what you are doing. You did well tonight. I'm proud of you."

Draco beamed.

Lucius gave his shoulder a final squeeze, then nodded once.

He and Narcissa excused themselves with a final, quiet promise to write again soon.

Harry stepped into the room just as the doors closed behind them.

She was still seated on the cot, dabbing at her cheek with a fresh cloth. Her braid was half-unraveled, and she looked tired in a way Harry hadn't seen before.

He hovered awkwardly before approaching.

Draco stood by the window, arms folded tightly, glaring at Ron as if his presence alone were offensive.

"Why's the blood traitor still here?" he muttered.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Nice to see you too, Malfoy."

"Don't talk to me."

Elestara groaned and sank back against the pillows while Ron and Draco continued bickering in the background, voices rising again.

Harry pulled up a stool and sat beside her, elbow on his knee, chin in hand. It struck him that this was the first time they'd properly spoken. And now that he was close—close enough to see the faint cut on her cheek, the stubborn lift of her chin despite it—he realized he wasn't entirely sure what he'd expected.

She wasn't smiling. She wasn't grateful. She looked annoyed, tired, and mildly offended that he was breathing in her direction.

"So," he said casually, trying not to sound like he was rehearsing it in his head, "saved you. That makes me your knight in shining armour, right?"

She gave him a flat look. "You shoved a wand up a troll's nose."

"Heroically," he replied, puffing his chest slightly.

"Disgustingly."

"It worked."

"Barely."

He leaned in slightly. "Still, rescued you. That counts for something, doesn't it, Malfoy?"

Her face turned. Instantly. "It's Black."

Harry blinked, then mentally kicked himself. "Right. Sorry. I mean—Black. Elestara."

"You're not allowed to use that either."

"So what am I supposed to call you?"

"Nothing. Preferably."

He grinned, unable to help himself. "So you'd rather I just stand here silently basking in the glory of being your saviour?"

"I'd rather you disappear."

He tilted his head. "Tempting. But I'm sort of enjoying this."

He was, actually. More than he wanted to admit. Something about her snide sharpness made him want to push just a little further. He didn't even know why. Maybe because she wasn't swooning. Maybe because she clearly didn't care who he was.

Maybe because she was the only one who didn't look at his scar when she talked to him.

And that felt oddly refreshing.

In the background, Draco and Ron were still arguing—louder now, over who was more useful.

"You're lucky I didn't hex him," Elestara muttered, glancing sideways.

"I'm lucky you didn't hex me," Harry countered, grinning. "Yet."

There was a flicker in her expression, something between exasperation and disbelief.

Before either could say more, the door creaked open and a cluster of Slytherins entered—Theo, Blaise, Daphne, and Pansy among them.

Harry glanced up, deflated.

"Show's over, I guess," he said, getting to his feet.

As he turned to go, he caught her watching him.

Not coldly.

Not warmly either.

Just watching.

He grinned to himself as he reached Ron and grabbed his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get out of here before you start dueling her brother."

Ron muttered something rude about Draco, but followed.

And Harry walked away, strangely energized. Like he'd won something without knowing what the prize was.