"Knock, knock, knock."
Draco had just stepped out of the shower, hair still damp and a sleepy mist in his eyes, when he heard the soft tapping at his door. He tugged on his silk pyjamas and padded across the room in bare feet, frowning in confusion.
The moment he opened the door, he was met by two enormous, watery blue eyes.
Estelle stood there in an identical set of black silk pyjamas, clutching a fluffy white towel to her chest. Her long silver hair hung down her back in heavy, dripping strands.
"You…"
Draco's gaze swept over her bare little arms and legs, then landed on the wet curtain of hair. "Merlin's pants!" he yelped. "You'll catch a cold like that!"
Estelle's eyes widened. She shot forward and clapped a small hand over his mouth, cheeks flushing pink. "Shh… I… I don't know how to take care of my hair," she whispered, embarrassed. "So I was wondering if there's a house-elf who knows how to do it. I don't want to bother Godfather or Aunt Narcissa over something silly like this."
The hallway fell quiet for a heartbeat.
Then a warm hand gently closed around hers.
Estelle looked up. In the soft glow of the corridor sconces, Draco's pale grey eyes were brighter than she'd ever seen them.
"Then… I'll do it," he said softly.
She stared at him, stunned.
Draco coughed, suddenly awkward. "What? You don't trust a Malfoy?"
Estelle shook her head quickly.
He sighed—half fond, half dramatic—and tugged her gently into his room, closing the door behind them with a quiet click. He didn't quite understand why she didn't want to wake his parents, but he was more than happy to let her bother him instead.
"Sit here," he said, pointing to the edge of his bed.
Estelle's room was almost identical to his, except Draco's had more boyish touches: miniature Quidditch pitch models, the newest broomstick catalogue open on the desk, and thick spellbooks lined up like soldiers on the shelf. A faint, pleasant scent of green apples lingered in the air—clean and crisp, just like him.
Once she was seated, Draco climbed onto the bed behind her. The mattress dipped under his small weight. He was still a little too short to reach comfortably from the chair, so this would have to do.
His fingers slid carefully through her damp silver strands, gentle and patient. Every so often his fingertips brushed her scalp, sending the tiniest pleasant tingles down her neck. After loosening the worst of the tangles by hand, he pulled a smooth wooden comb from his nightstand and started working through her hair in slow, careful strokes.
"Does this hurt?" he asked every few seconds, voice soft.
"Not at all," Estelle murmured, amazed. Buddy had always been gentle, but Draco was even softer.
"Thank you, Brother."
Draco gave a small, proud huff. "You're welcome, Estelle."
"Stelle," she corrected quietly.
"Hm?" He leaned closer, not quite catching it.
"Stelle," she repeated, lips curving into a shy smile. "Father used to call me that… and Grandma Shirley too. So you can call me that now, if you want."
Draco's hands paused for half a second. Then she felt his warm breath near her ear as he whispered, "Okay… Stelle."
The tips of his ears had gone bright pink.
Once every strand was smooth and tangle-free, he took the towel from her lap and began patting her hair dry with the same careful attention. "Sorry I can't do it faster," he said. "I only had my first magical outburst last month, so I don't know many spells yet. Once I learn the Warming Charm or Scourgify, I'll be able to fix your hair in seconds."
Estelle tilted her head curiously. "Magical outburst?"
"Mhm." Draco kept drying her hair in steady strokes. "It's what turns you into a real wizard. Most kids get theirs around seven or eight. If you haven't had one by eleven, you're probably a Squib."
"Oh…" Her little silver head bobbed under his hands.
"Don't worry, Stelle," he added with all the gravity of someone twice his age. "You'll have yours early, just like me. You're still too small to rush it."
"Knock, knock…"
"Draco? Are you asleep?"
Lucius's calm voice floated through the door. Both children froze.
"Draco?" The handle turned.
"Not asleep, Father!" Draco answered quickly.
The door swung open.
Lucius stepped inside and paused at the sight: Estelle perched on the edge of Draco's bed, damp silver hair being carefully towel-dried by his son. One elegant eyebrow rose.
"Excuse me," he said, but his tone was lighter—almost amused.
"Godfather…" Estelle blinked up at him, cheeks pink.
"Father, it's not—" Draco started, flustered.
Lucius chuckled softly and raised a hand. "It's fine. I only came to drop this off." He placed a thick, leather-bound Beginners' Spellbook on the desk. "I'll be testing you next week, Draco."
Draco's eyes lit up with sudden determination, the earlier embarrassment forgotten. "Yes, Father! I'll memorise every page!"
Lucius's gaze drifted to Estelle—still looking a little shy—and the corners of his mouth twitched with rare humour. "I never imagined our little dragon would turn out to be such a natural caretaker."
"Father…" Draco's face flamed scarlet.
Lucius smiled. "Goodnight, Draco. Goodnight, Estelle."
He left as quietly as he'd arrived, the door clicking shut behind him.
The two children sat in stunned silence, staring at each other across the suddenly very quiet room.