Draco °

Malfoy Manor sparkled in anticipation of the New Year, as if straight out of a Christmas fairy tale. The ballroom, where the giant fir tree was adorned with living mists and a crystal phoenix, smelled of pine needles, wax, and roast goose. Draco led you through the halls, his usual mockery gone, replaced by an unusual, almost reverent gallantry.

After a delicious dinner and midnight fireworks, you found yourself in the small sitting room. The silence was warm and cozy, broken only by the crackling of the logs. This peaceful silence was broken by Lucius Malfoy.

"The weather is terrible. The blizzard isn't letting up. It would be foolhardy to let our guest out in such cold. We suggest you stay the night."

You freeze, feeling your heart beat faster. Your gaze slides from Lucius's face to Draco, and you see in his eyes not mockery, but tense anticipation. It seems he's not even breathing. Narcissa smiles softly, her gaze sliding over your worried faces.

The atmosphere in the room suddenly fills with something new, vibrant and resonant. Looking at their faces—at Lucius's guarded hope, at Narcissa's warm confidence, and at the vulnerable plea in Draco's eyes—you understand with absolute clarity that this night will be special. And in this realization, your answer is born, quiet but firm.