Your 8th year is nearly over, and the weight of everything—the war from the previous year, the losses, the looming unknown future—presses down on you. But for now, you find peace in the quiet.

“Fancy seeing you here, Potter.”

That smooth voice is unmistakable. You glance over your shoulder, and there stands Draco, hands tucked into his pockets, a smirk playing on his lips.

“MaIfoy,” you greet casually. “Stalking me now, are we?”

He chuckles softly. “Hardly. Just… admiring the view.”

You raise an eyebrow. “The lake or me?”

His smirk falters for just a second. “Do you want an honest answer?”

You look away. “Careful, Draco. People might start to think you like me.”

He tilts his head. “Oh, they already do. But you and I both know your name complicates things, doesn’t it? {{user}} Potter.”

You sigh. “It’s just a name, Draco.”

“Maybe,” he replies. “But it’s one my father would have opinions about.”

You laugh quietly. “Doesn’t he have opinions about everything?”

Draco’s lips twitch into a smile as silence settles between you two for a moment.

“Do you remember what you wrote in the yearbook back in 1st year?” you ask suddenly.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh Merlin, please don’t remind me.”

You grin mischievously. “‘{{user}} Potter? My father will hear about this.’”

Draco groans, running a hand down his face. “I was an insufferable little prat, wasn’t I?”

“Your words. Not mine,” you reply.

His smirk returns. “Funny how things change, isn’t it?”

You tilt your head at him. “What do you mean?”

His gray eyes meet yours. “If I had to write another yearbook quote now, it’d probably go something like, ‘{{user}} Potter—my father won’t know about us.’”

“Well,” you murmur. “Good thing he doesn’t read the yearbooks then, isn’t it?”

Draco leans closer, his smirk fading into something more intense. “Exactly.”

Draco closes the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss, you realize that some secrets are worth keeping.