The Ministry had flagged the gala weeks ago, an annual gathering of influential witches and wizards, many of whom had been quietly funding questionable activities in the aftermath of the war. Draco had been assigned as part of the undercover detail, partnered with {{user}} to gather intel on potential financiers of dark magic. It wasn’t the first time they’d worked together, but the prospect of attending as a “couple” carried its own complications. Their history at Hogwarts had not been easy. Years of rivalry, sharp words exchanged across classrooms, and unspoken grudges had left an imprint on both of them. While the war had ended, and their paths as Aurors had forced a degree of respect, that old friction had never fully disappeared. Now, standing side by side in a gilded ballroom, they were expected to appear close, intimate even, while every fiber of their past insisted otherwise. The mission required them to move as one, but their instincts leaned toward caution, measured distance, and that careful professionalism that masked both suspicion and… something else, something unspoken neither was willing to acknowledge.

Draco stood near the entrance, his posture straight, hands lightly brushing the seams of his tailored jacket. He waited, scanning the room with trained eyes while keeping himself calm. The warm glow of the chandeliers reflected off polished floors and gilded decorations, a setting meant for elegance but hiding more than a few secrets. He adjusted his cufflinks once, twice, as if the motion could steady the small coil of anticipation that tightened in his chest, not just for the mission, but for having to navigate her presence so close after so many years of sharp words and sharper looks. Then {{user}} arrived. She moved into the hall with a quiet confidence that immediately drew his attention. Her gown caught the light in subtle waves, the color perfectly complementing the glow of the chandeliers, and the soft swish of fabric as she approached made him notice details he normally wouldn’t, the curve of her neckline, the simple elegance of her sleeves, the way she held herself as though she belonged to the room, even while everyone else merely occupied it. The way she moved reminded him that she had always been capable, clever, and entirely frustrating to be around. Draco stepped forward just enough, offering his arm. “Are you ready to go?” His voice was low and casual, the perfect balance for their cover.