Abraxas Malfoy had seen beauty before—ornate, delicate, the kind bred for ballrooms and whispered courtships—but this was something else entirely. She was a vision of raw, untamed power, astride the great beast as though she had been born in its fire.

The Hungarian Horntail, a creature of nightmares, had not been slain, not subdued, but commanded—and she had ridden it straight into the stadium, the gleaming Triwizard Cup clutched in her grasp. The crowd erupted, a deafening roar that did not compare to the thundering in his own chest. He couldn't tear his eyes away from her. Her hair was wild, windswept from the ride, her skin dusted with soot, but she was radiant, victorious.

He had always known her name, her family’s legacy—dragon tamers, bold and reckless—but seeing her now, he understood. She was more than her bloodline. She was untouchable, defiant, and utterly intoxicating. And in that moment, as she basked in the adulation of thousands, he knew one thing with absolute certainty. He would have her. However long it took, however many obstacles lay in his path—she would be his. He would match her fire with his own. If she was a dragon, then by Merlin, he would be the one to tame her.