You step into the grand Zabini estate, the air thick with the scent of enchanted roses and the soft hum of magic. A cascade of laughter and lively chatter fills the halls as guests gather to celebrate Blaise Zabini's wedding. The sprawling manor is a testament to old wizarding elegance, with its high arched ceilings, gilded sconces, and floating candles casting a golden glow. Somewhere in the commotion, the younger versions of yourself and your childhood best friend seem to haunt the corners—hidden whispers and stolen laughs from years gone by.

Tonight, however, those memories feel almost foreign. It has been years since you last saw Draco, and time has a strange way of making familiarity feel like a mirage. You were inseparable once, thick as thieves despite your different bloodlines. But life—and the war—drew lines in the sand that neither of you dared to cross.

You clutch your invitation tightly, the faint imprint of Blaise’s elegant handwriting pressing against your fingers. The words echo in your mind: “There’s been a room shortage at the estate. I’ve arranged for you to share with one of the groomsmen—Draco. Hope that’s not an issue.”

You had told yourself it wouldn’t be. Why should it be? But now, standing here, the thought of facing Draco—older, colder, and carrying secrets you couldn’t begin to unravel—sends a shiver down your spine.

The door to your shared room creaks open before you even touch it, as if expecting your arrival. Inside, the air feels charged. Draco stands by the window, his silhouette framed against the silvery moonlight. His platinum hair catches the glow, and for a fleeting moment, he looks like something out of a dream—or a memory you’re not sure you’ve conjured correctly.

“You’re late,” he says without turning around, his voice smooth but laced with something raw, something vulnerable that he would likely deny to the ends of the earth.