Malfoy Manor stood regal beneath the Solstice moon, its vast halls illuminated with golden candlelight and enchanted nterns, their glow casting long shadows against ancient stone. The Yule gathering was in full motion—a convergence of the influential and the cunning, where conversations were measured in weight rather than words, and every interaction carried an unspoken price.

  Severus Snape had long since learned to endure these nights, his presence expected but never particurly relished. Lucius Malfoy pyed host with his usual charm, a carefully banced mask of elegance and dominance, while Narcissa moved through the room with a quiet grace, observing rather than engaging, her mind always two steps ahead of those who thought themselves clever.

  But it was not Lucius nor Narcissa who held Snape’s attention tonight.

  It was Draco.

  The boy had excused himself early, his presence barely missed in the din of polite conversation and whispered intrigues. Snape had noticed the shift in his posture throughout the evening, the tension that sat just beneath the surface of his usual self-assured mask. More importantly, Narcissa had noticed.

  "You should speak with him," she had murmured when their paths briefly crossed. "Lucius would not understand, but I think you will."

  Snape did not need further prompting. He had known Draco Malfoy since the boy could walk, had seen his sharp mind shaped by his father’s expectations and his mother’s quiet guidance. If something had unsettled him, it was worth investigating.

  He found Draco where he expected—in the private study, the glow of the firepce flickering against the dark mahogany shelves, a tumbler of firewhisky in his grasp, its contents barely touched.

  "You’re sulking," Snape said ftly as he stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  Draco gnced up briefly, then let out a short, humourless chuckle. "I prefer to call it thinking."

  Snape took the seat opposite him, studying the boy’s face in the dim light. Draco was troubled, but it was not the usual kind of worry that pgued a child burdened with expectations far beyond his years. This was something more introspective.

  "Then share your thoughts," Snape prompted, voice quieter now.

  Draco let out a slow breath, setting his gss down with deliberate care. "My father told me once that Hogwarts—especially Slytherin House—is about building allies and cataloguing weaknesses. He said that when I leave school, the alliances I forge here will determine my future. That friends are a weakness, and true Slytherins don’t have them—only pawns, only tools, only those who can be used."

  Snape remained silent, waiting.

  Draco leaned forward slightly, frustration cing his words. "But Granger doesn’t follow those rules. She doesn’t seek allies, yet people defer to her. She doesn’t manipute, yet she always wins. She doesn’t even try, and still, everyone listens to her."

  Snape tilted his head slightly. "And that troubles you?"

  Draco scoffed. "It confuses me." He ran a hand through his hair. "She’s not… like us. Not in the way my father meant when he talked about power. But she has it anyway. It’s maddening."

  Snape studied him for a long moment. "You sound jealous."

  Draco’s jaw tightened. "Maybe I am." He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Daphne has managed to befriend her. I want to, too. But it’s… difficult."

  Snape raised an eyebrow. "Difficult?"

  Draco let out a bitter chuckle. "My father would never approve. He says friends are for the weak, for people who don’t understand power. But—" He hesitated, then finally admitted, "I don’t want to be her ally. I don’t want a strategic arrangement. I want to be her friend."

  Snape leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Friendship is a different kind of power, Draco. One your father never valued because he never understood it."

  Draco’s gaze snapped to his, startled.

  Snape exhaled slowly, the firelight flickering against his sharp features. "I had a friend once."

  Draco frowned slightly at the shift in Snape’s tone.

  Snape continued. "She was… unlike anyone I had ever known. Brilliant, fierce, unshakable in her convictions. She challenged me in ways I never expected. We were children together, but we were more than that. We were each other’s sanctuary, in a world that often felt too cruel. She was the best thing I ever had, and I—" He hesitated, his voice growing colder. "And I destroyed it."

  Draco sat up slightly. "How?"

  Snape met his godson’s gaze. "I forgot that friendship is not a tool. It is not an arrangement of convenience. It is a bond that, once broken, cannot always be mended."

  Draco’s expression was unreadable.

  Snape exhaled, voice lower now. "Your father will tell you that friends are a liability, that they weaken you. He is wrong. A true friend will stand beside you when power fails you. A true friend will make you stronger, not weaker."

  Draco swallowed, looking toward the fire again.

  Snape watched him closely before adding, "Granger will never support the Dark Lord, nor his ideals."

  Draco turned back sharply. "What?"

  Snape did not eborate. "She will never stand with Him. And your mother—she shares that opinion."

  Draco’s fingers twitched against his gss.

  Snape let the words settle before continuing, his voice softer now. "There may come a time when you will have to choose, Draco. Between your father’s expectations and your own convictions. Between what is expected of you and what is right. Between your mother and your father. Between power and loyalty. Between your House and your friend."

  Draco looked down at his drink, deep in thought.

  Snape did not push him further. He let the silence sit between them, heavy with unspoken truths.

  After a long moment, Draco finally spoke. "I don’t know what I’d choose."

  Snape inclined his head slightly. "Then consider your choices carefully before the time comes. Because when it does, hesitation will cost you."

  Draco was silent for a long moment, staring into the fire, his expression unreadable.

  Snape let him think. Some lessons could not be taught through lectures or orders—some had to be understood through experience.

  Finally, Draco spoke, his voice quieter than before. "I’ll think about it."

  Snape inclined his head. "Good." He turned toward the door but paused just before opening it. "Whatever choice you make, Draco—make sure it’s truly yours."

  Draco nodded once, but Snape could already tell. The boy’s mind was working, weighing possibilities, seeing the world in a way he hadn’t before.

  That was enough for now.

  Snape left him there, alone with his thoughts, and returned to the gathering.