The steam from the Hogwarts Express rose in thick, white clouds that clung to the floor of the platform. Draconia stood beside her trunk, watching the frantic movement of students and parents. Every trunk was heavy with the weight of the term ending, a finality that felt more like a physical pressure against her ribs. She could feel the parchment of the contract tucked into the inner pocket of her robes, the ink of her mother's handwriting feeling like a brand against her skin. It was a cold, elegant script that made the marriage terms feel undeniable and ancient.
Harry Potter stood several yards away, surrounded by the usual crowd of his friends. He did not look like a man who had just been given the most precious thing a Malfoy could offer. He looked like Harry, standing there with his hair messy and his eyes tired from the long term. Draconia watched him and felt a sharp, stinging sensation in her throat. The debt was paid, or at least she had tried to pay it, but the currency was messy and left her feeling hollowed out.
"Are you ready, Draconia?" Greta asked, stepping into her line of sight.
"I am ready," Draconia said, though she was not entirely sure if she was lying.
Greta reached out and squeezed her hand, her grip firm and grounding.
"It is going to be a long summer," Greta remarked, her voice dropping so only Draconia could hear.
"It is always a long summer," Draconia replied, looking past her friend toward the station clocks.
The movement of the crowd seemed to slow as she watched Harry Potter. He was laughing at something Ron Weasley said, but his gaze drifted toward the Slytherin group. For a second, his eyes found hers, and the connection felt like a physical strike to her stomach. She wondered if he could see the way her composure was fraying at the edges. She had given him a piece of herself that she could never retrieve, a nameless thing that felt like a permanent loss.
"Draconia, your father is waiting by the carriage," Pansy said, appearing at her side.
"I see him," Draconia said, nodding toward the end of the platform where the Malfoy carriage sat waiting.
Lucius Malfoy stood by the carriage, his cane gripped in a gloved hand. He looked as though he had not aged a day in the heat of the term, his posture perfect and his expression unreadable. He was a man of contracts and certainties, and the document in her pocket was a testament to his control. Draconia felt a sudden urge to rip the parchment out and tear it into a hundred pieces. The marriage was a chess move, a way to secure a future that felt increasingly dictated by voices other than her own.
"You look as though you are going to a funeral," Pansy whispered, leaning in close.
"Perhaps it is," Draconia said, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.
"Do not let him see you falter," Pansy advised, her eyes darting toward Lucius.
"He never sees me falter," Draconia said, which was the truest thing she had said all day.
The station was a cacophony of shouting and whistling as the engines hissed. Draconia moved toward the carriage, her boots clicking on the stone floor of the platform. She felt the eyes of the school on her, a weight of stares that she had grown accustomed to over the last year. They saw a girl who was poised and untouchable, but she felt like a glass vase that had been dropped and glued back together.
"Draconia!"
She turned to see Harry Potter moving through the crowd. He was walking toward her with a purpose that made her heart skip a frantic beat. He was not part of the frantic scramble of the departing students, but he moved with a deliberate, quiet strength. He stopped a few feet away from her, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers.
"You're leaving," Harry said, his voice barely audible over the roar of the steam.
"It is the way of things, Potter," Draconia replied, using his name to create a distance she desperately needed.
"Everything is different now," Harry said, and the bluntness of it made her breath catch.
"Things are rarely different, they are only revealed," Drac via said, her eyes searching his.
"I didn't say it was bad," Harry added, stepping closer so the crowd was between them and the departing students.
"You don't have to say anything at all," Draconia said, her voice softening despite her best efforts.
She looked at him and saw the boy who had seen her at her most vulnerable, the boy she had tried to pay a debt to with a currency he didn't deserve. She wondered if he knew that she had given him more than she had intended. She wondered if he knew that the debt was actually a gift she had given to herself.
"Draconia, come, the carriage is waiting!" a house-elf called out from the vicinity of the Malfoy luggage.
"Go, Harry," she said, though she wanted to grab his collar and pull him into the shadows.
"I will see you in September," Harry said, his gaze intense and unwavering.
"That is a very long time away," Draconia said, her eyes stinging.
She turned to walk toward her father, her heart feeling heavy and bruised. The walk felt longer than it should have been, each step a struggle against the urge to turn back. She could see Lucius Malfoy watching her approach, his eyes sharp and observant. He knew she was changing, even if he could not name the reason.
"Did you find everything to your satisfaction?" Lucius asked as she reached the carriage.
"It was a productive term, Father," Draconia said, her voice smooth and practiced.
"The contract is waiting for your signature, of course," Lucius said, gesturing to the small leather folio held by a waiting attendant.
"I am aware of my obligations," Draconia said, her hand brushing the pocket where the parchment lay.
She felt the eyes of the crowd still on her, but she focused only on the man before her. She was a Malfoy, and she would play her part, even if the part felt like a cage. She would sign the name, she would accept the marriage, and she would pretend that the debt was finally settled.
She turned her head one last time to look back at the platform. Harry Potter was still standing there, a solitary figure amidst the chaos of the departing students. He was watching her, his expression a mix of longing and something that looked remarkably like a question. Draconia felt a surge of defiance, a need to reclaim the power she had given away in the dark of the winter months.
"You'll pay for this, Harry," she muttered under her breath, a small, secret promise.
She stepped up into the carriage, the velvet upholstery feeling soft and decadent against her skin. She looked out the window at the steam and the disappearing faces of her peers. She saw Harry one last time, standing perfectly still as the train began to lurch forward. She saw the way he looked at her, as if he were memorizing the shape of her face.
"You'll pay for this," she said the line to him across the platform in front of Lucius, and her father's head turned, slowly, to look at the boy.