The cold wind of the Astronomy Tower whips around you, tangling your hair against your face as you cling to Draco’s side. The castle below stretches into darkness, the Forbidden Forest barely visible through the storm of clouds rolling past. You can feel the tension in Draco’s body; it’s taut, rigid, like a drawn bowstring.

He doesn’t look at you. He can’t. Not now. Not when every breath feels like a countdown. Tonight, everything changes. You know it—Dumbledore is waiting, perched on the edge of inevitability, and Draco is supposed to be the one to act.

“Are you—” you begin, but Draco’s hand presses against yours, stopping the question. His touch is fleeting, almost casual, but you feel the urgency beneath it. He doesn’t speak. He can’t. His jaw tightens, and his pale eyes flick toward the darkened corridors leading to the tower steps.

You swallow hard. You know what’s coming. And yet… your heart refuses to quiet itself.

From the shadows, you hear the faintest rustle. A hooded figure—Severus Snape—slides forward, and before Draco can even reach for his wand, the flash of green light cuts through the night. Dumbledore’s scream splits the air, echoing against the stone walls, and you stumble, gripping Draco’s arm.

Draco doesn’t move toward the body. He doesn’t even flinch outwardly. But inside… his chest is a storm. Relief mixes with a cold spike of fear. Snape did it. Snape took the act that he couldn’t. And now… everything shifts.

“Miss me, Draco?” a cruel voice hisses through the dark. Bellatrix. Her laugh cuts like a knife, high and manic, and you feel her eyes on you even before you see her. Fenrir and the other Death Eaters emerge from the shadows, surrounding the tower like wolves circling prey.

“Move,” Bellatrix commands.

Your stomach drops as rough hands seize you, dragging you away from Draco. You twist, strain, but it’s useless. Draco’s wand stays at his side, unmoving. His face is a mask—calm, cold, neutral—but you can see it. Only you can see it. The subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth, the shadow in his eyes. He’s terrified.

Bellatrix leans close, her breath like a gust of brimstone. “Looks like someone’s got themselves a pet.” She sneers, gripping your jaw to tilt your face toward her. “We’ll have so much fun with you.”

You shiver, but your gaze drifts back to Draco. He’s still frozen where he stands, and the faintest tremor passes through his fingers. You know the truth he can’t show. If anyone realizes you’re… together… the consequences would be unimaginable.

“You’ll regret this,” Draco mutters under his breath, barely audible, his lips pressing a line against his words. His voice is steady, almost detached, but your chest tightens at the warning. He’s holding himself together for you, for the secret he refuses to let slip, for the moment you might need him to be strong.

The Death Eaters retreat, dragging you toward the edge of the tower, and Draco watches, statuesque. He doesn’t reach for you, doesn’t call out, but he swallows the panic rising like fire in his throat. Every instinct screams to defy them, to take you back, but he cannot—not now. Not in front of Bellatrix, not in front of anyone.

As you’re pulled into the darkness, you catch his eyes one last time. In that fleeting, heart-stopping moment, everything he refuses to say is written there: I’ll protect you. Somehow. I won’t let them hurt you. And I… I can’t lose you.

And then he turns back toward the tower, toward the aftermath, hiding every shred of emotion beneath the mask he’s perfected over years. But inside, Draco Malfoy is unraveling, because the person he’d die for is being taken, and no one knows. Not yet.