Draco's Point of View


Pansy slides her hand around my neck, pulling me closer. Her fingers slip beneath the cuff of my shirt, ice cold against my skin.

"Are you really not going to tell us anything?" she whines. Blaise and Goyle lean in, pretending to talk amongst themselves but clearly listening. I glare at Blaise, who just smirks. Bloody fool. I've got a strong feeling he's the one who put Pansy up to pestering me today.

"Unfortunately, I can't. Dumbledore charmed me," I lie, flicking the page in my History of Magic book.

"Charmed?" Pansy repeats. "He didn't say anything about that during the announcement yesterday." She sounds suspicious already. I sigh, bracing for more questions.

"Yeah, well," I say, running a hand around the back of my neck. Pansy drops hers from my collar.

"Dumbledore felt, under the circumstances between the mudblood and me, that it would be best. As if he knows anything," I add.

Pansy still stares. Her eyes could draw blood from a stone. Whatever I say to her might as well be shouted from the tower, the way she spreads gossip. I need to feed her something—enough to keep her occupied and to make sure no one thinks I'm protecting Granger.

"He said I couldn't give away too many details about what I saw, but I can tell you it was boring as hell. She marries some poor, unlucky fool from the Ministry and has a couple of ugly half-bloods. Nothing we didn't already know. Nothing useful." I sigh and glance at Pansy. She lowers her head just enough for me to know I've said what she needed to hear. She excuses herself—far from subtly—and heads straight to the nearest Slytherin girl. Gossip wins over loyalty every time.

I rake a hand through my hair, using the motion to shield myself from the dozen eyes still watching me. Blaise takes the opportunity to slide onto the two-seater beside me.

"Zabini, I've got a pounding headache from Pansy. Whatever you've got to say—save it until the throbbing stops," I mutter.

Blaise smirks, lounging casually as he surveys the room. "She's making her rounds fast, wouldn't you say?"

I glance at the gaggle already forming around Pansy. I sigh again.

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" I ask, glaring at him. He chuckles.

"Call it punishment."

"Punishment? For what?"

"You missed the meeting last night. My father said the Master wasn't pleased."

I scoff. "Did you miss what happened last night? I was with Dumbledore. With the mudblood. I couldn't exactly excuse myself without raising suspicion."

Blaise shrugs like it doesn't matter. "Just saying. The Dark Lord notices absences."

"He can notice all he wants. He knows where my loyalty lies," I snap, though my back breaks into a cold sweat. Blaise raises his hands in mock surrender.

"Don't bite the messenger. Just giving you a heads-up."

"Message received," I mutter. The mark on my arm burns. I press my hand to it, squeezing until the sting dulls.

"Hm." Blaise sneers. "Usually sore when it's new. Could mean he's not too happy with you."

"Piss off, Blaise. I'm not in the mood," I growl. He shuts the book Pansy left behind and eyes me knowingly.

"I'm just trying to help. I want you to succeed with this," he says, clapping a hand on my shoulder.

I jolt. The touch is too familiar—too close to the way Dumbledore touched me last night. It sends a ripple of discomfort through me.

"Relax," Blaise laughs, patting my back. Pansy watches for a moment before turning back to her crowd. She must have decided we're not interesting enough—this time.

"Convenient how close we've gotten, isn't it?" I mutter.

Blaise smirks. "If you're suggesting I'm envious—don't. I don't envy you. And I wouldn't want to be burdened with murdering one of the greatest wizards of all time."

I scowl. "Keep your voice down."

A few students glance our way. The tension in our tone is clearly visible.

"You should know—he asked about last night," Blaise says.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, word spread fast that it was Granger's future you saw."

"So?"

"I figured that story you gave Pansy was just that—a story."

"It's the truth. Nothing useful. If there had been, I'd have contacted the Dark Lord immediately," I lie, cool as ever. Blaise considers it for a second.

"I'll let my father know, then. I think the Master hoped for something—maybe intel on Potter."

"He wasn't in her future," I say quickly. A partial truth. Ihadseen Potter, but not in a way I understood. If the wrong people found out, it could change everything. If they believed Potter would survive, we'd all be pulled out of school and tossed into the war early. I want the time I've got left.

"That's good, then," Blaise replies, smiling.

Too good.

"But it was justherfuture," I add, trying to steer him away. "No one else. Just her. And a few annoying half-blood kids."

"Waste of time then," Blaise says with a shrug. "Must've been awful, watching all that."

"I'd have given you my place in a heartbeat," I joke a little too forcefully. Blaise laughs, and the tension begins to lift. We've found common ground in disdain. Classic Slytherin bonding.

"I'm good, thanks."

He stands, scanning the room again.

"Let me know if you need anything. I've got your back."

"Yeah. For sure," I nod.

Checkmate.


Hermione's Point of View


I slam my hand down gently over Ginny's wrist.

"Ginny, please. Can we just pretend none of it happened?" I beg quietly.

She looks at me like I've grown another head. "How can yousaythat, Hermione? You won a prize—and now you don't even get tohaveit because ofhim? It's not fair. You should go to Dumbledore and make Malfoy tell you what he saw. This isnotfair on you!"

"I don't mind. Really," I say, though my voice falters slightly. I don't want to talk about it. I want to turn back time and pretend it never happened at all. Just go back to being normal. Go back to not knowing anything about my future—or his.

"Now we're exactly the same," I add, trying to smile. "We both don't know what's coming, and maybe that's how it's supposed to be. Muggles live that way every day. It's calledgoing with the flow, remember?"

She scowls, unimpressed.

"Maybe if Harry went to Dumbledore—"

"I don't want Harry getting involved. He has enough to deal with. This isn't his fight." I pause. "And what did you expect, Ginny? That Malfoy would suddenly forget he hates me and start spilling all the details? That he'd write me a summary and tie it with a bow?"

Ginny crosses her arms. "No, I didn't expect him to bereasonable, but I thought someone—Dumbledore, McGonagall—someonewould make him say something. Even if he didn't want to. He should have at least written it down. Anything! I expectedmorethan this."

"So did I," I admit softly.

She stares at me a beat longer, then stands, collecting her bag. "Thendosomething. Or I will."

She storms off, out of the Great Hall and toward class. I sigh, watching her go. I glance over at the Slytherin table, searching instinctively for Malfoy—but he's not there. Neither are Blaise or Pansy. A tightness curls in my stomach.

I head to Potions, ignoring the stares that trail behind me.


Draco's Point of View


In Potions, Slughorn pairs us off for a new assignment. I get stuck with Blaise—who looks far too smug about it.

Worse still, our table connects with Granger's.

She sends Weasley out to the gardens with a basket and a list of ingredients. Blaise follows shortly after, rolling his eyes but going all the same. I set up the cauldron and try to concentrate.

Slughorn clears his throat at the front of the classroom and pulls a tiny glass vial from his robes. The entire class quiets.

"Whoever is lucky enough to brew this potion correctly will receive this," he announces, holding it up for all to see.

"Sir, what is it?" Granger asks in her usual irritating tone. Of course.

But I already know by the vial alone.

"Why, Miss Granger," Slughorn chuckles, "I'd have thought you'd recognise it. Given that you currently hold the highest marks in the class."

Her cheeks flush pink. I smirk. Serves her right, know-it-all.

"Felix Felicis," he proclaims. "Also known as—?"

"Liquid Luck," she says quickly.

"Yes, indeed. I must say, I've only used it twice in my life, and both were ratherextraordinarydays." Slughorn beams, setting the vial on his desk beside his inkwell.

"I'll leave it here as a motivator. Whichever pair brews the potion correctly first will win the vial. You've got until the end of the class."

Granger immediately gets to work, rolling up her sleeves and starting the flame beneath her cauldron. Her brows knit together as she studies the instructions.

Blaise returns, handing me the basket of ingredients. I snatch it from him.

"Someone's keen," he mutters with a grin. Granger glances up briefly. I scowl and she shifts her gaze to Weasley, who's just now struggling back through the door with a bundle of half-mangled plants. She rushes over to help him while he leaves a muddy trail behind. Slughorn sighs in disappointment.

I lean toward Blaise. "I need to get this right."

He eyes me curiously. "Why?"

I nod toward the vial on Slughorn's desk. "I need that Liquid Luck."

Blaise's smirk widens. "Don't look at me like that," I snap.

"I didn't say a word."

"You werethinkingit."

"I was under the impression you weren't struggling with your task," he says casually.

"I'm not," I mutter. "I just… need to finish it. Master's waiting. That vial will make sure I do."

Blaise raises his eyebrows but says nothing more. I start chopping ingredients, eyes flicking occasionally to Granger.

Her bean-like ingredient is darting around the table, resisting her blade. Weasley reaches in to help, clumsy and useless. She sighs and performs a cleaning charm to erase the trail of dirt he tracked in.

I watch her, silently.

Her hair is a mess. Bigger than usual. The more flustered she gets, the more it frizzes.

She's focused, lips pressed together, hands steady. She's good at this.

I look at Weasley again—then down at the table.

I remember the necklace under my bed. The cursed one. The one I'm meant to pass on.

I remember his hand in hers in her second future.

I remember her body, lifeless, being dragged away at the Manor.

One future, she lives.

One future, she dies.

If I keep her away from Weasley, maybe the second future never comes true.

If I warn her. Convince her. Anything. She can still choose another path—just not one with me in it.

That's not the point.

Maybe saving her… makes up for what I have to do.

An eye for an eye.

"Malfoy. Hello?" Blaise waves his hand in front of my face.

I snap out of it, realising I've been staring.

"What?"

"You need tocutthe thing, not just glare it into submission."

I look down at the squashed remains of the ingredient. "You crushed it," I accuse.

"My knife slipped."

"Well, put it in then. We're out of time."

Just as Blaise drops it into the cauldron, Slughorn lets out a triumphant laugh.

"Oh,congratulations, Mr. Potter!" he cries. "Everyone, come gather round!"

I throw my book onto the table. It bounces, hits Granger's bag, and knocks it onto the floor.

"Malfoy, you did that on purpose!" Weasley snaps.

"So what if I did?" I ask, stepping toward him. I tower over him. He doesn't back down.

"Do youhaveto be such a dick all the time?" he hisses.

"Only when it comes to her," I reply with a smirk, nodding toward Granger.

Her cheeks flush as she bends to pick up her books.

"Ron, just leave it," she pleads, pulling at his sleeve.

I glance down. His hand closes gently around hers.

A spike of heat rises in my chest. My jaw clenches.

"Easy, Malfoy," Blaise murmurs. "Not here."

"Another time, Weasley," I sneer.

"Anytime."

Granger pulls Ron away, but her eyes flicker toward my exposed wrist as my robe shifts. She's searching for the mark.

Clever girl.

I glare at her. She looks away.

I laugh, the sound hollow as Blaise tugs me back.

She joins the rest of the class surrounding Potter, who's grinning like the bloody hero he thinks he is.

What a joke.

As if a future like that could ever happen.

As if she and I couldeverexist in the same one.

"Let's get the fuck out of here," I mutter.

Blaise grabs his books and follows. I feel eyes on my back as we leave.

One pair more curious than the rest.