The room was quiet, dimly lit by the soft glow of candlelight. You and Draco were sitting across from each other at a large, polished table in the manor. A few stray parchment scrolls were scattered around, and Draco was idly twirling a quill between his fingers. The silence felt comfortable, but there was a certain tension hanging in the air. You decided to break it with a teasing question.

"So you said your dad doesn’t like non-wizard people, right?"

Draco glanced up at you, his face shifting slightly as he took a moment to respond.

"Yeah, no, not really… but he’s kinda accepted you for who you are."

You raised an eyebrow, a sly smile forming on your lips. "That’s your mom doing though… But anyway, never mind that. Do you think he’ll still like me if I’ve… accidentally… broken that stick he always has?"

Draco froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. The quill slipped from his fingers, hovering in mid-air for a moment before falling to the table. His expression shifted rapidly from surprise to dread, and then, without warning, panic set in.

"Girllllll, you better run!" he said, standing up so quickly that his chair nearly toppled over. He looked around as though searching for an escape route. "And I am running with you. I am definitely going to get blamed for bringing you over today."

You laughed at his reaction, though you could tell he wasn’t entirely joking. He wasn’t about to let you take the fall alone. You stood up too, following his lead, both of you halfway between trying to keep the situation light and bracing yourselves for whatever came next.

"It was completely accidental, you know," you said with a grin, mimicking the motion of dropping the stick. "It just slipped out of my hand."

Draco shot you a mock glare, throwing his hands up in the air as if to say, you’re not helping. "That’s exactly what I’m going to say when they come for us. 'It slipped.' Oh, sure, they’ll buy that," he muttered.