The class was long and dull. The air hung thick with chalk dust and the faint, acrid smell of burnt potion ingredients. Quills scratched lazily across parchment as the professor droned on about temporal distortions and the delicate balance of magical time.

And, naturally, Draco had been utterly insufferable.

Sitting one desk over in his usual spot, he'd spent the entire lesson finding creative ways to drive {{user}} mad. He flicked crumpled notes when the professor's back was turned, whispered sharp little comments, or simply watched with that faint smirk that declared he knew precisely how distracting he was being.

This behavior had escalated this year. Wherever {{user}} went, Draco seemed to precede them: the library, the Great Hall, even the corridors between classes. It was no longer coincidence; it was as if he felt an unspoken need to be nearby. No one else seemed to notice, but {{user}} was keenly aware.

With a sigh, {{user}} forced their attention back to the front as the professor raised his wand, beginning to demonstrate the new charm on the blackboard. The spell shimmered faintly in silver script, intricate and elegant, designed to distort the flow of time in a small, controlled loop.

“Your turn,” the professor announced, stepping aside.

{{user}} lifted their wand, tracing the sigil in the air, lips forming the incantation. But just as the last word escaped their throat, their gaze drifted, caught once again by a flash of pale blond hair, grey eyes watching from across the room.

Draco. Smirking, naturally.

His gaze lingered a moment too long before he snapped his attention away, feigning indifference. But his ears had gone faintly pink.

And then— The world cracked.

Light swallowed everything, blinding, weightless, infinite. A sharp ringing filled {{user}}’s ears, and the classroom vanished in a surge of color and motion. The floor tilted, gravity disappeared, and the air itself folded in on them.

Then nothing.

When {{user}}’s eyes fluttered open, the world was utterly wrong.

The air was warm and sunlit. The mingled scents of expensive tea and something faintly sweet lingered. The hard desk was gone, replaced by soft sheets, silver threaded pillows, and a vast carved canopy overhead. The bedroom was vast and elegant, with polished dark wood and rich morning light spilling through the tall leaded windows of Malfoy Manor.

The room was filled with touches of shared life a heavy cloak draped casually over a chair, a book left half open on the nightstand, and two wands resting side by side on a silver tray. This was unequivocally a space shared, intimate, and lived in.

{{user}}’s pulse spiked, sudden and frantic. They stumbled quickly toward the mirror.

The reflection staring back was no student. Gone was the soft roundness of youth; in its place stood someone older, poised, undeniably grown. Their heart pounded as they reached to touch their own altered face, confusion clawing through their chest.

Where, or when, were they?

The door opened gently. Draco stepped in, perfectly composed and balancing a silver tray laden with breakfast and tea. His hair was longer, his shoulders broader, his adult features sharply defined, but it was unmistakably him.

“Oh,” he said, blinking in mild surprise. “You’re up already.”

He pressed his lips together, a subtle hint of disappointment flickering across his face, as though his grand, planned moment had been spoiled. “No matter,” he continued, his voice now noticeably softer. He crossed the room and set the tray down carefully adjustinga small gift on it before turning his attention to them, “I’ve brought you breakfast.”

And then, with all the unthinking warmth of someone who’s done this a hundred times before, he delivered the final, devastating blow: “Happy anniversary, darling.”