firecracker ???

The fire in the Malfoy Manor study crackled low, casting long shadows across the ancient carpet and the carved oak furniture. The storm outside hadn't yet broken, but the clouds were thick with the promise of it, pressing down on the manor with weight that felt nearly prophetic.

Regulus stood near the hearth, still wearing the robes he'd arrived in—torn, scorched at the hems, the scent of graveyard ash still clinging faintly to the fabric. He didn't speak at first. He simply poured himself a glass of wine, set the decanter down with controlled precision, and waited.

Lucius sat in the armchair closest to him, long fingers steepled beneath his chin, a mirror of the calm he wore like armour. Narcissa stood by the window, moonlight tracing the edge of her cheekbone. And Snape leaned against the bookcase with arms folded, face unreadable.

"He's gone," Regulus said at last. "The Dementors took him. Crouch is no longer a threat."

Lucius inclined his head. "And Potter?"

Regulus turned, face carved from something sharper than stone. "He survived. Shaken. Wounded. But... steady."

Narcissa frowned. "And the Dark Lord?"

"Whole. Restored." Regulus didn't flinch as he said it. "He summoned the circle. Rewarded loyalty. I was named his most faithful."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "And he suspects nothing?"

"Nothing," Regulus confirmed. "As far as he knows, I played my role to perfection. Potter was marked. Cedric is dead. The ritual is complete."

There was a knock at the door.

Snape turned his head slightly. "That would be your son."

Lucius didn't call out. He rose himself and crossed to the door, opening it with a quiet creak.

Draco stood in the hall, shoulders stiff, his expression guarded in that way he'd clearly learned from both of his parents. But there was something behind his eyes. Something unsettled. He wasn't sure why they had him back home early when Lyra would be taking the train.

Snape gave a subtle nod. "He's ready."

Draco stepped in.

He took in the room with quick glances. His mother's stillness. Snape's silence. Regulus, looking like he'd walked out of a war. And his father's gaze, steady and expectant.

"What happened?" Draco asked.

"You're here to learn the truth," Lucius said. "All of it."

Regulus gestured for him to sit.

And so they told him.

About the cave. About the Horcrux. About the lie they spun to protect it all.

Regulus laid out the plan: his defection, his loyalty worn like a mask, the years of walking the line between servant and saboteur. Snape filled in the rest—how Dumbledore had played his part, how the Order protected the illusion.

Lucius added the final piece: "There are few that know this. Myself, Severus, Dumbledore, your Mother, Potter."

Draco sat very still.

Then, after a moment: "I already knew."

Everyone turned.

He met his father's gaze. "Not all of it. Not like this. But... Lyra told me. Last year. When she found out. She went quiet for days. Didn't speak. Didn't hex anyone. It was terrifying."

Regulus' mouth twitched into the faintest ghost of a smile.

Draco looked between them, something shifting in his posture—not just understanding, but acceptance.