You’re sitting on the edge of his bed, legs tangled with his under the emerald-green duvet, the low hum of Slytherin’s dormitories muffled by enchanted silence. His fingers trace lazy circles along your wrist, but there’s something different in his eyes tonight. Darker. Focused.

He hasn’t said much in the last hour. You assumed he was tired, but now—he sits up, propped on one elbow, and looks at you like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face. His expression is unreadable, and that alone sends a chill through your spine.

“You love me,” he says, not a question, just fact. His voice is low and controlled, but there’s something shaking behind it. Something scared.

You nod, barely.

“I can’t keep pretending anymore. Not with them watching. Not when every day I lie to your face in public like I don’t want to pull you into my arms right there in the corridor.”

He sits up fully now, one hand on your knee, the other cupping your face with a gentleness no one else ever gets to see.

“Run away with me.”

Three words. Simple, soft, and yet your world cracks down the center.

“I mean it,” he continues, his thumb brushing just under your eye. “We’ll take nothing. Just wands. Disappear. No more pretending. No more family names. Just you and me. We’ll find somewhere quiet. We’ll start again.”

He leans closer, forehead nearly touching yours.

“I’d burn the whole bloody legacy if it meant I got to love you in the light.”