The castle corridors were calmer in the late evening.
Most students had already returned to their common rooms, leaving only the distant echoes of footsteps and moving portraits whispering softly between themselves.
Mira walked beside Draco near the staircase leading toward the library, her Silverthorne Constellation Choker catching faint glimmers of candlelight as they passed beneath enchanted sconces.
Pip rested on her shoulder.
Briony trotted happily at her side.
Draco glanced sideways at her, “You realize the Gryffindors practically worship you now.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You gave Weasley a dragon.”
Mira considered that, “…Fair point.”
Before Draco could continue, hurried footsteps echoed from the opposite corridor.
Percy Weasley appeared moments later, clutching several books tightly against his chest.
He slowed abruptly when he spotted them, “Oh—Mira. Malfoy.”
Draco gave a slight nod, “Weasley.”
Percy adjusted his grip on his books awkwardly.
For a moment, it looked as though he might continue walking.
Instead, he stopped.
“I was actually looking for you,” he admitted to Mira.
She blinked softly, “For me?”
Percy nodded.
His usual prefect composure remained mostly intact, but there was genuine sincerity beneath it tonight.
“It’s about Ron.”
Draco leaned casually against the stone wall nearby while Mira listened quietly.
Percy exhaled once.
“He’s been… better lately.”
A faint smile touched his expression.
“Much better.”
Mira’s shoulders softened slightly, “I’m glad.”
Percy looked down briefly before continuing, “When the truth about Pettigrew came out, Ron tried pretending he was fine.”
Draco snorted softly, “A terrible strategy.”
“Very,” Percy agreed immediately.
“But it shook him more than he admitted.”
His gaze lifted again.
“And then Scorch showed up.”
Almost despite himself, Percy smiled.
“He hasn’t laughed that much in weeks.”
Mira could picture it easily.
Scorch stealing toast.
Curling around Ron’s shoulders.
Chewing chess pieces.
Setting Fred’s sleeve on fire accidentally.
Twice.
“Well,” Mira said gently, “Scorch seems happy with him too.”
Percy gave a quiet huff of amusement, “That dragon follows Ron around like he’s a nesting site.”
“He basically is,” Draco muttered.
Percy laughed softly at that before growing more serious again.
“I know Fred and George joke about everything,” he said. “And Harry and Hermione tried helping in their own ways.”
A pause.
“But you gave Ron something none of us really knew how to.”
Mira tilted her head slightly, "What do you mean?”
Percy’s expression softened, “Something good to hold onto after something terrible.”
The corridor fell quiet for a moment.
Even Draco didn’t interrupt.
Percy adjusted the books in his arms again.
“Scorch doesn’t erase what happened,” he said carefully. “But Ron doesn’t look haunted anymore.”
Mira looked down briefly at Briony, who had curled around her ankle sleepily.
Then back at Percy, “I didn’t want him blaming himself forever.”
“He won’t,” Percy said quietly.
Then, after a small pause:
“So… thank you.”
Simple words.
Earnest ones.
The kind Percy rarely spoke casually.
Mira smiled softly, “You don’t need to thank me.”
“Yes,” Percy replied immediately. “I do.”
Draco glanced between them before folding his arms, “This is becoming alarmingly wholesome.”
Percy rolled his eyes, “You’re spending your free time walking around Hogwarts with Mira Silverthorne and a pair of Nifflers.”
Draco looked personally attacked, “That’s different.”
“It really isn’t,” Percy said.
Mira laughed quietly before either boy could continue.
The sound eased something in the corridor instantly.
Percy smiled faintly at hearing it.
Then from somewhere several floors above—
a tiny roar echoed through the castle.
Followed immediately by Fred shouting:
“SCORCH, NO—THAT’S PERCY’S ESSAY!”
Percy went pale, “Oh no.”
He bolted down the corridor at full speed.
Draco watched him disappear.
Then sighed dramatically.
“The dragon’s definitely a Weasley now.”
From somewhere overhead came another burst of smoke—
and George yelling triumphantly:
“HE ATE THE FOOTNOTES!”
The rain had finally stopped over Hogwarts.
Soft evening light filtered through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, turning the floating candles warm gold while students finished dinner in clusters of laughter and conversation.
Near the Gryffindor table, Scorch darted between goblets with alarming speed.
“Ronald!” Hermione hissed.
“I’m trying!”
The tiny teacup dragon had somehow stolen a sausage from Seamus, half a bread roll from Dean, and Percy’s napkin within the span of thirty seconds.
Ron lunged for him.
Scorch leapt gracefully onto Harry’s shoulder instead.
The Gryffindor table erupted into laughter.
Even a few Slytherins nearby were watching with poorly hidden amusement.
Mira sat beside Draco farther down the hall, smiling faintly into her tea.
Pip rested in her lap while Briony sat proudly beside her chair wearing a tiny ribbon someone from Hufflepuff had tied around her neck earlier that day.
Draco watched Scorch set Fred Weasley’s sleeve smoking again.
“That creature is a public menace.”
“He’s adorable,” Mira replied.
“He’s arson with wings.”
Before Mira could answer, a familiar voice spoke from behind them.
“Miss Silverthorne.”
Both Mira and Draco turned.
Professor McGonagall stood beside the Slytherin table, hands folded neatly behind her back.
Her expression was composed as always.
Though there was unmistakable softness in her eyes tonight.
“Professor,” Mira greeted politely.
Draco straightened slightly.
McGonagall glanced toward the Gryffindor table where Ron was currently trying—and failing—to retrieve Scorch from atop a chandelier beam.
The tiny dragon chirped victoriously.
A puff of harmless sparks rained down onto Fred’s head.
Fred applauded.
Percy looked moments away from collapse.
McGonagall sighed, “Mr. Weasley’s dragon has caused six disruptions this week.”
Draco smirked slightly, “Only six?”
McGonagall ignored him expertly, “He has also chewed through two essays, attempted to nest inside a suit of armor, and somehow ended up in the staff room tea cabinet yesterday.”
Mira blinked, “…I didn’t hear about that one.”
“Professor Flitwick found him asleep in the sugar bowl.”
Draco actually laughed aloud.
McGonagall’s lips twitched faintly despite herself.
Then her attention returned fully to Mira.
“But,” she continued quietly, “Mr. Weasley has smiled more these past few weeks than he did after the Pettigrew incident.”
The warmth in her voice deepened slightly.
“He was deeply hurt by that betrayal, though he tried hiding it.”
Mira glanced toward Ron.
He had finally managed to grab Scorch—
only for the dragon to climb directly onto his head.
Harry nearly fell off the bench laughing.
Hermione buried her face in her hands.
Ron grinned helplessly.
And just like that—
McGonagall’s expression softened completely.
“You gave him something honest,” she said gently, “A creature capable of affection without deceit.”
Mira looked down briefly at Pip and Briony.
Then back up.
“I just didn’t want him hurting alone.”
McGonagall regarded her quietly for a long moment.
There was something profoundly fond in her gaze now.
Not merely approval.
Pride.
“You remind me,” she said softly, “that kindness is not weakness, Miss Silverthorne.”
The Great Hall noise seemed strangely distant around them.
“Many people underestimate compassion because it is quiet,” McGonagall continued. “But some of the strongest magic in this world begins with someone choosing to care.”
Draco glanced subtly toward Mira.
He had heard words like this before.
From Snape.
From Dumbledore.
From Myraleth.
From people older and wiser than either of them.
And every time—
they said it with the same certainty.
McGonagall’s gaze flicked briefly toward Draco.
“And you, Mr. Malfoy.”
Draco blinked.
“Yes, Professor?”
“You’ve also been helping Mr. Weasley adjust.”
Draco looked genuinely alarmed.
“I object to this accusation.”
Mira laughed softly.
McGonagall’s mouth twitched again.
“Nevertheless,” she said dryly, “I suspect your presence has been beneficial.”
Draco muttered something under his breath about suffering reputational damage.
Then suddenly—
a loud shriek echoed across the Great Hall.
Everyone turned.
Scorch had somehow gotten hold of Percy’s prefect badge and was sprinting across the Gryffindor table with it dangling from his mouth.
“SCORCH!”
Ron chased after him immediately.
Fred and George cheered.
Lee Jordan began loudly providing commentary.
“And the dragon takes the lead—absolutely phenomenal maneuvering—”
“Mr. Jordan,” McGonagall warned automatically.
“Yes, Professor.”
A beat.
“Still brilliant though.”
McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose.
Mira quietly hid her smile behind her teacup.
And despite herself—
Professor Minerva McGonagall smiled too.
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and then Add to home screen.