You and Draco are sitting in the common room, trying to focus on your potions essay. Draco leans back in his chair, twirling his quill lazily, clearly not doing anything productive.

“You’re so funny,” you tell him after he mutters some sarcastic comment about Snape’s teaching methods.

Draco’s usual smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. But there’s something different in his eyes.

“Thanks!” he replies, his tone laced with mock enthusiasm. “My dad got sent to Azkäban when I was 16, and I had to get the Dark Mark. Hilarious, right?”

Your smile falters immediately, as the playful tone in the room disappears in an instant.

“Draco… I didn’t mean—” you start, but he cuts you off, waving his hand dismissively.

“Relax,” he says. His smirk fades into a bitter smile. “It’s a joke. A terrible one, sure, but it’s the only way I can stomach it sometimes.”

You stare at him, unsure of what to say.

“I didn’t know it still… affects you like that,” you admit softly.

He lets out a dry laugh while running a hand through his platinum blond hair. “Of course it does. How could it not? I had my whole life planned out for me before I was old enough to understand what that even meant. All to pay for my father’s shortcomings with the Dark Lord. And now, here I am, the punchline to my own tragic joke.”

You place a hand gently on his arm. “You don’t have to joke about it, you know. You can just… talk to me.”

Draco glances at your hand, then back at you. He nods, just slightly, before leaning back in his chair.

“Maybe someday,” he says quietly. “But not tonight. Tonight, I’ll settle for being funny.”