firecracker ???

The Room of Requirement reformed itself quietly tonight.

It had no grandeur — no sweeping arches or haunted corridors. Just a flat, grey floor and the looming shell of the Vanishing Cabinet, sulking in the far corner like an unfinished threat.

Draco was already there.

He stood with his back to her, hands behind him, not touching anything. The overhead lanterns cast sharp light over the edge of his collar. His school tie had been loosened but not removed. A Slytherin half-knot, rigid and neat.

He didn't turn when the door closed behind her.

"You're late."

"You're brooding."

He huffed under his breath. "You're not wrong."

Lyra crossed the room slowly, the familiar sound of her boots echoing through the vast, open quiet. She didn't speak right away — not until she was close enough to see the tension in his shoulders.

She stopped just beside him, looking straight at the cabinet.

"Don't kill him."

Silence.

He didn't flinch. Didn't look at her. Just stood still.

"I mean it, Draco."

"I know what you meant."

"Don't even think about it."

That earned her a look. Not angry. Not surprised.

Just tired.

Draco turned his head, finally meeting her eyes.

"Do you really think I would?"

"I don't know what you've been told."

"That's just it," he muttered, the bitterness biting through now. "I haven't been told anything."

Lyra paused.

He gave a dry laugh. "You've always been in the room, Lyra. You were the one who got the extra lessons. The one who went to meetings with Father. The one who stood beside Regulus and got whispered things I was never meant to hear."

She didn't interrupt.

"You were always trusted with more," he said, staring at the cabinet now. "Even when we were twelve."

Lyra stayed silent.

Draco went on. "Father's always loved us, I know that. But you—you're the one Voldemort noticed. You're the one he watched. Me? I was background. Barely tolerated."

"You were never—"

"Don't," he said, not sharply, but not softly either. "You don't have to comfort me."

There was a beat.

And then, quietly, Draco continued.

"Do you know why he gave me this task?"

Lyra didn't answer.

"Because he thinks I'm the weakest link," Draco said. "Because I'm the safest one to test. Because if I failed, no one would be surprised. And if I died—"

He laughed, once, hollow.

"Well. That wouldn't really matter to him, would it?"

Lyra felt something sharp twist in her chest. She opened her mouth to object but Draco held up his hand.

"Father's clever," Draco continued. "Mother is terrifying. You're..." He paused. "You're you. Ice and fire and everything in between. But me?"

He looked down at his hands.

"I'm still the boy who got nervous at duels. The boy who fumbled his spellwork when anyone was watching. The one who let Potter beat him in first year."

"You were eleven."

"That doesn't matter in this family."

His voice wasn't bitter anymore. Just flat.

"He gave me this task because it was a punishment. A test. And a message. He wanted to see what the Malfoys would do when cornered. When given something impossible."

"And what did we do?"

"We gave him you," Draco said, finally looking at her again. "To spy. To smile. To win Potter's heart and look into Dumbledore's world." 

His face was blank, too tired, too many words he couldn't be bothered speaking.

"I didn't mean to—"

"I know," he said. "But it worked."

Lyra shifted. "So you're angry I was chosen?"

"No," he said immediately. "I'm grateful. You're stronger. Smarter. You belong in those rooms."

"Then what are you saying?"

He exhaled, long and shaky.

"I just... I want you to know that I'm not stupid. I know what side we're on now. Even if they haven't said it aloud."

Lyra's gaze softened. 

"I'm not blind," Draco said, voice low. "I know you're not just helping me fix the cabinet. I know Father's loyalty has... shifted. I know Regulus doesn't answer immediately when the mark burns."

He tilted his head. "And I know you've been looking for something else in here."

Lyra froze.

"You're better at hiding it than most," Draco said. "But not from me. Never from me."

She didn't respond.

He stepped closer.

"I'm not going to kill Dumbledore, Lyra. Even if the cabinet works. Even if he's right in front of me. Even if Dumbledore himself orders me to."

Her lips parted slightly. "You're sure?"

"I'm not an idiot."

"I had to ask."

"I know."

A pause.

"No cursed necklace?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Still in the box. Covered in dust, at the shop."

"The mead?"

"Untouched. Sealed. I haven't laid a finger on any bottle."

Lyra didn't realise she'd been holding her breath until it escaped all at once.

Draco's voice turned gentler. "I'm not good at saying these things. But I need you to hear me anyway."

"I'm listening. I'm always listening to you, Draco."

"I'm proud of you. Even if I'm jealous. Even if I'm constantly annoyed and tease you, annoy you. I'm proud you were the one chosen. I'm proud you're the one he loves."

Lyra blinked. "Who?"

"Potter," he said, exasperated. "Honestly, do I have to spell out everything?"

She actually laughed. "Who on Earth would know what you meant when you refused to say the name like that."

Then she stepped forward and without a word, wrapped her arms around his neck.

Draco didn't hesitate.

His own arms curled around her waist and pulled her in, the hug grounding and real in a way few things had been all year.

"You're not weak, you know," she murmured against his shoulder.

"I am."

"No," she said. "You're not."

They stood like that for a long time, breathing in sync with the quiet hush of the room.

No curses lingered.

No poisons waited.

Just trust, long overdue, and the knowledge that—for the first time in their lives—they were standing on the same side. No petty arguments, no taunts, no bickering.

And they weren't alone.