Late afternoon sunlight poured through the tall arched windows of the Serpent’s Wing, turning the silver-green room warm with fading gold. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air while the distant sounds of Hogwarts preparing for summer echoed faintly through the castle walls—moving trunks, laughing students, owls fluttering through open windows carrying letters home. Mira sat cross-legged on the carpet beside her open trunk, surrounded by carefully organized piles that had gradually overtaken nearly half the room. Books were stacked in neat towers beside her bed, parchment sketches and invention blueprints spread across a nearby table, and folded robes rested in orderly piles beside several enchanted pouches labeled in elegant silver ink. Her sanctuary suitcase sat quietly near the fireplace, faint magical sounds occasionally drifting from within; somewhere inside, Pip and Briony were likely helping themselves to stolen snacks again. The room itself felt strangely different now compared to the beginning of the year. Less like a temporary dormitory. More like somewhere lived in. Mira’s gaze lingered briefly on the shelves and corners of the Serpent’s Wing as if quietly memorizing them before summer arrived and scattered everyone home again.
Across from her, Draco Malfoy sat beside another pile of books with the expression of someone pretending not to care very much while very clearly caring a great deal. His sleeves were rolled neatly to his elbows as he sorted through Mira’s sketches with surprising gentleness, occasionally pausing to stare at one longer than necessary before placing it carefully into the trunk. The late sunlight caught against his pale blond hair and turned it almost silver for a moment. He looked far more relaxed here than he usually did in the Slytherin common room downstairs, where expectations and family names seemed to constantly linger over his shoulders like invisible weight. Here, in the Serpent’s Wing, there was quiet. Safety. Familiarity. Draco glanced sideways toward Mira as she carefully wrapped the Silver-Lark Music Box in protective cloth, and something softened almost imperceptibly in his expression. The year had changed both of them in ways neither fully understood yet. Hogwarts itself seemed different now because Mira had walked through it. And Draco suspected—though he would never say it aloud—that he was different too.
“You’re bringing half the library home with you,” Draco remarked eventually, breaking the comfortable silence as he lifted another heavy stack of books into the trunk. His tone carried its usual dry amusement, but there was warmth beneath it now that hadn’t existed months ago. “I’m beginning to suspect you’re secretly trying to outsmart Ravenclaw House entirely.”
Mira looked up from folding one of her cloaks and laughed softly under her breath. “Only half?” she teased lightly.
Draco placed a hand dramatically against his chest. “Merlin preserve us.”
The room settled back into quiet laughter for a moment before Draco reached into the inner pocket of his robes with unusual hesitation. That alone caught Mira’s attention immediately. Draco Malfoy rarely hesitated unless something genuinely mattered to him. He avoided her gaze for a second longer than normal before holding out a dark green notebook trimmed in silver thread.
Mira blinked in surprise as she accepted it carefully. The notebook was elegant but understated, the leather soft beneath her fingertips while faint silver runes shimmered quietly across the corners of the cover.
“It’s charmed,” Draco explained quickly, suddenly very interested in adjusting the cuff of his sleeve instead of looking directly at her. “If you write in yours, it’ll appear in mine.” He paused awkwardly before adding, quieter this time, “I thought… it might be easier than waiting for owls.”
Something warm and painfully fond settled quietly in Mira’s chest at those words. Draco was not someone who expressed affection easily or openly. Most of the time, his care existed in quieter things—walking beside her when he thought she looked tired, making certain she ate during long invention sessions, silently placing books beside her desk because he noticed she’d been searching for them earlier. And now this. A way to speak to each other over the summer whenever they wished. Mira traced her thumb gently over the silver runes before looking back up at him with unmistakable softness in her teal eyes.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Draco shrugged far too quickly. “It’s practical.”
Mira smiled knowingly. “Of course it is.”
Draco cleared his throat and shifted slightly closer as though trying to appear casual despite the faint pink creeping into the tips of his ears. “So…” he began carefully, “are you actually planning to rest this summer?” Mira immediately looked guilty, which answered the question long before she spoke. Draco narrowed his eyes. “Mira.” 20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡH36pznBqMH
She laughed softly and tucked a loose strand of silver-white hair behind her ear. “I’ll rest some,” she promised. 20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4YkWbjK2op
Draco looked deeply unconvinced. 20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSiCk1yTJrf
Mira leaned back slightly against the bedframe and glanced toward the scattered sketches nearby. “I have a few invention ideas I want to work on,” she admitted honestly. “And I want to visit the Silverthorne Sanctuaries. I haven’t been able to go there because of school.” Her voice softened instinctively at the mention of the sanctuaries. Mira always spoke differently when discussing the children there—gentler somehow, quieter in the way people spoke about things they loved fiercely enough to protect forever.
Draco listened carefully while pretending not to. He had heard from Mira that children are laughing without fear. Magical creatures resting peacefully beside gardens. Homes filled with warmth rather than silence or expectation. It had unsettled him at first because he realized, painfully, that very little in the pureblood world resembled that kind of kindness.
“I think that’s a good idea,” he admitted after a moment.
Mira smiled softly at him again before continuing to sort through her belongings. Draco hesitated afterward, fingers tapping lightly against his knee while an unfamiliar nervousness crawled unpleasantly into his chest. He disliked nervousness. Nervousness implied uncertainty. Yet somehow Mira made him feel uncertain in ways he didn’t entirely hate. “Could I…” He stopped immediately, irritated with himself. Mira looked up curiously. Draco exhaled sharply before forcing the words out. “Could I visit with you?” The question came out quieter than intended. Almost careful.
Mira stared at him for half a heartbeat before her entire expression brightened with genuine happiness. “I’d like that,” she answered immediately. Not hesitant. Not polite. Honest. Draco felt something unclench quietly inside his chest at her response.
“Really?” he asked before he could stop himself. Mira laughed softly.
“Of course, really.” Her smile turned teasing afterward. “The children would probably adore you.”
Draco looked horrified. “That sounds dangerous.”
Mira’s laughter filled the room properly then, warm and bright enough to make Draco stare at her for a moment longer than he should have. Because Merlin—he liked hearing her laugh. Too much perhaps. The realization settled awkwardly inside him while Mira returned to sorting her belongings completely unaware of the storm quietly unfolding in Draco Malfoy’s head.
A sharp knock interrupted the moment before the door opened without waiting for permission. Severus Snape stepped inside with the presence of someone who could silence an entire room merely by existing within it. His black robes swept behind him like shadows while his dark eyes immediately took in the disaster zone of books, inventions, clothes, parchment, and magical artifacts occupying the floor. His gaze lingered briefly on the organized chaos before settling on Draco.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawled smoothly, “a word outside.”
Draco blinked once in confusion before immediately standing. He glanced briefly toward Mira as though checking whether she required rescuing from her own guardian. Mira only smiled faintly and nodded once. Draco reluctantly obeyed, slipping quietly from the room while Snape closed the door behind him. The silence afterward felt different. Heavier somehow. More personal.
Snape remained standing for several moments, eyes drifting slowly across the room again before finally landing on Mira herself. She looked small surrounded by all the scattered pieces of her year. Inventions. Sketches. Healing notes. Books about magical theory stacked beside unfinished designs. Evidence everywhere of how relentlessly she worked. How relentlessly she cared. Snape’s expression tightened almost imperceptibly at the sight. “You are supposed to rest during summer holidays,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual.
Mira immediately looked sheepish. “I will,” she promised weakly.
Snape’s stare sharpened. “That was not convincing.”
Mira sighed softly and looked down at the parchment beside her. “I just have ideas,” she admitted. “And if I don’t write them down or start planning them, they stay in my head and keep bothering me.”
Snape understood that far more than he wished to admit. Obsession with ideas. Endless curiosity. The inability to stop creating once inspiration took hold. He knew precisely where she inherited that trait from. He moved quietly toward the window after that, hands folded behind his back as evening sunlight painted long shadows across the room.
“I am aware,” Snape said slowly, “that preventing you from inventing things is likely impossible.” Mira smiled faintly at that. Snape glanced back toward her then, expression stern despite the exhaustion lingering beneath it. “I ask only that you take things slowly.” His voice lowered further. “Eat properly. Sleep properly.” Mira’s guilt deepened immediately because she knew very well that she had neglected both repeatedly this year. Snape noticed the expression instantly. Of course he did. “You are not useful to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion,” he added sharply.
Mira nodded quickly. “I know.”
Snape’s eyes narrowed. “Do you?”
She winced slightly. “…I’m trying to.” The honesty in her answer eased something in him despite himself.
Mira looked down quietly at the half-packed trunk before speaking again, much softer this time. “I’m sorry, Uncle Sev.” The title alone made Snape still briefly where he stood. Mira twisted the edge of one parchment between her fingers anxiously. “I know I’ve been a headache this year.” Snape stared at her for several long seconds in complete silence. Headache. As though she thought that was the correct word for what she had become to him. Worry. Terror. Pride. Relief. Fear every time she ran toward danger instead of away from it. He exhaled slowly through his nose before walking back toward her.
“Little Serpent,” he said quietly, “do not apologize for caring too much.” Mira looked up at him immediately. Snape’s expression softened in that rare subtle way only a handful of people ever witnessed. “I was worried,” he admitted carefully. “Because I did not want anything to happen to you.”
The sincerity in his voice broke something tender open inside Mira’s chest. Before she could overthink it, she stood and wrapped her arms around him tightly. Snape froze instantly. Completely. Somewhere outside the room, distant students shouted down the corridor while trunks rolled noisily across stone floors, but inside the Serpent’s Wing everything felt strangely still. Mira held onto him carefully, cheek pressed lightly against his shoulder. “Thank you,” she whispered shakily. “For being there for me while I was here.” Snape’s throat tightened painfully at the words. Slowly—awkwardly—he rested one hand lightly against the back of her shoulder.
“You succeeded because you worked for it,” he said quietly after a long silence. “I merely assisted.”
Mira shook her head slightly against him. “You helped with everything,” she murmured. “My inventions. The cures. The libraries. The sanctuaries…” Her voice softened further. “You believed in me.”
Snape closed his eyes briefly at that because Merlin help him—he did. Fiercely. More fiercely than he intended to when this year began. “I wanted you to succeed,” he admitted quietly.
When Mira finally pulled back slightly, she noticed the exhaustion lingering beneath his eyes for perhaps the first time all year. Not physical exhaustion alone. The exhaustion of caring deeply while pretending otherwise.
Snape looked down at her carefully before speaking one final time. “You do not have to change the world by yourself.”
The room fell quiet after that. Evening light softened gradually into dusk around them while candles flickered gently to life one by one. Mira looked at him silently for several moments before nodding. “I’ll take a break when I get home,” she promised sincerely this time.
Snape visibly relaxed at those words, subtle though it was. “Good,” he muttered. Then, because he was still Severus Snape, he added dryly, “Now do try to stay out of trouble over the summer.”
Mira smiled brightly despite herself. “I’ll try.”
Snape snorted softly. “That,” he said darkly, “does not reassure me in the slightest.”
Mira laughed without the weight of the world pressing quite so heavily against her shoulders. Something tells her that this Summer is going to be something else.
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