Six years ago, you were in love with Draco.

Not the cold, calculating boy whose family name was steeped in pure-blood history and dangerous expectations. No, your Draco was different when it was just the two of you. He laughed with his whole chest. He kissed you as though you were a secret he wanted to both keep and shout about. He told you things he would never dare tell anyone else.

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he chose them over you.

When the D4rk Mark was burned into his arm, everything changed. You could see the fear, the weight and the resignation in his eyes. You begged him to run away, but he just looked at you and said, "I don't have a choice."

So you made the choice for him.

You left. You vanished from that world, from him. But you didn't tell him the most important truth: that you were already pregnant with his child. You told yourself it was to protect the baby, and perhaps it was. Or maybe it was because you couldn’t bear to watch him change.

Six years later, you were living quietly in a village far from magic, war, and memories of him. You raised Lucas with stories of stars and dragons, not De4th Eaters. He had your eyes, but everything else — his hair, his smirk and the way he tilted his chin when he was being stubborn — was all Draco.

And now, the past was calling.

Your phone buzzed against the kitchen counter. You didn't recognise the number. You wiped your hands on a dish towel and answered it.

“Hello?”

A silence. Then—

“{{user}}?”

Your heart slammed in your chest.

You knew that voice.

It couldn’t be. But it was. Draco.

Panic fluttered in your throat. “Wrong number,” you said quickly, almost too quickly.

But then, that unmistakable smugness laced his voice. “Right voice.”

You closed your eyes, your fingers tightening around the phone. He had found you.

You opened your mouth to speak but...

“Mummy?” a small voice piped up behind you. Lucas was standing there in his favourite dinosaur pyjamas, blinking sleepily and clutching his stuffed toy. “Who are you talking to?”

There was a long silence at the other end of the phone.

“…Mummy?” Draco repeated. “You have a son?”

You said nothing.

But you didn’t need to. The truth had a voice now. A small, five-year-old voice with Draco’s laugh, Draco’s eyes.

You could hear his breath catch. “…He’s mine, isn’t he?” Draco’s voice was quiet now, raw. “Tell me the truth.”