Draco paused, towel still in his hands, and glanced at the damp silver curls spilling over Estelle's shoulders. "Actually… couldn't we have just asked Father to cast Scourgify earlier?"
Estelle blinked sleepily. "Oh… right."
If the idea had occurred to them, Lucius would have thought of it in a heartbeat. Whether he'd been too busy or simply hadn't mentioned it on purpose was anyone's guess.
Draco hesitated, eyes flicking to the thick Charms book on his desk, then sighed in defeat. "Never mind. Let's not bother him."
He went back to gently rubbing and patting her hair with the towel, careful and methodical. "Does this hurt?"
"No… it feels nice."
"Good." A small, proud smile tugged at his lips. "I'm going to study Charms really hard so next time I can fix your hair in seconds instead of all this fuss."
Estelle stayed quiet, but Draco kept talking, voice soft in the lamplight. "I like Potions too. Father says it's taught at Hogwarts by my godfather—Severus Snape. You haven't met him yet."
He combed through a stubborn tangle with his fingers. "Christmas is coming soon. Mother and Father will probably be busy again, so we might have to stay at Spinner's End with Godfather for a bit—like we did last year. He's really smart and he's always nice to me… except lately he's been washing his hair even less. I was thinking of getting him shampoo as a Christmas present."
Draco leaned sideways to peek at her face. "What do you think, Stelle? He wouldn't kick me out for that, would he?"
"Estelle?"
"Stelle?"
No answer. He stretched his neck to look at her properly and found her eyes already closed. Her long lashes fluttered like butterfly wings, a tiny, content smile curving her lips. She swayed for a second, then tipped sideways, cheek pressing against his chest in a sleepy little slump.
The faint green-apple scent of his pyjamas wrapped around her.
Draco froze, heart doing something strange and warm in his chest. *Poor thing… it's a good thing she's here with us now.* Since she called his father "Godfather," that made her his little sister, right? Taking care of her like this was… perfectly normal. Totally fine.
Before he could overthink it, his finger reached out on its own and poked her soft, pink cheek. It felt like warm cotton. His eyes widened in pure wonder.
"Mmm…" Estelle stirred, voice thick with sleep. "Brother… what's wrong?"
Draco yanked his hand back like he'd been burned. "Nothing! You fell asleep. Just wait a little longer while I finish drying your hair, then you can go back to your own room, okay?"
"Mmm…"
He took that as agreement and kept working, patting the last damp ends until her silver hair lay smooth and shining down her back. A quiet rush of pride filled him—something he'd never felt before.
"Stelle, all done. Wake up, you need to go to bed."
He gave her shoulder a gentle nudge.
Instead of sitting up, Estelle simply toppled sideways onto his enormous bed, pink cheeks squished against the pillow, breathing slow and even.
"Stelle, you—" Draco scrambled off the mattress, staring down at her. "Hey, wake up. You're supposed to sleep in your own room."
He poked her back. Nothing. He climbed back up and gave her another careful tap. "Stelle… mmph!"
Before he could finish, she rolled over, threw one small arm around his waist, and burrowed her face into the crook of his neck. Her warm cheek nuzzled once, twice, as if she'd found the perfect spot. Soft breaths tickled his skin.
Draco's face went scarlet. *She smells like vanilla and sunshine… No, no, no—this is wrong! Even if we're little, a gentleman doesn't sleep in the same bed with a girl!*
He tried to wriggle free from her surprisingly strong hug, heart hammering. *Carry her next door? Too heavy. Tell Mother and Father? They might think she's not being proper… Dobby? Absolutely not—a house-elf can't carry Stelle!*
His gaze dropped to the tiny silver-haired girl curled up so trustingly on his bed. All the fight left him in a sigh.
"Fine… just tonight," he muttered, cheeks still burning. "But tomorrow I'm telling you that proper young ladies don't just climb into boys' beds. Even if I am your brother. You need to learn about safety and… and boundaries!"
He clenched his little fist like he was making a solemn vow, then quietly climbed back onto the bed. He tucked the blanket around Estelle with extra care, crawled to the far right edge, and pulled only a tiny corner of the covers over himself—as if an invisible line ran down the middle of the mattress that could never be crossed.
Scenes from the day drifted through his mind: her laugh by the swan lake, the way she'd called him "Brother" like it was the most natural thing in the world, the way she'd trusted him with her hair. A huge yawn escaped him.
"Goodnight, Stelle," he whispered into the dark.
Her sleepy little hum was the only reply.
The night outside was ink-black and perfectly still. Maybe Estelle really had made a deal with those noisy peacocks, because for once the manor stayed quiet past six. The delicate cuckoo clock on Draco's wall finally chimed at seven-thirty.
"Cuckoo—cuckoo—"
A tiny wooden bird popped out, singing brightly twice, and Draco's eyes fluttered open.