The whispers started the moment you stepped into the Great Hall again—older now, quieter, a little heavier in the way you carried yourself. You didn’t look for him, but you felt him. Draco MaIfoy. Three years hadn’t dulled the way his presence lit a fire under your skin. You kept walking, head held high, robes brushing the floor like the weight of the past clinging to your ankles. And in every step, the echo of a goodbye you never wanted to say.

Pansy reached you first, her arms thrown around your shoulders, voice trembling with something between disbelief and relief. She told you it hadn’t been the same without you. That no one else ever really mattered. But her eyes flicked past your shoulder—just once—and you knew. He was there. Watching. And suddenly, the air grew sharp with everything left unsaid.

He didn’t speak. Of course he didn’t. That was Draco. Cold. Composed. But his silence wasn’t empty—it throbbed with the ache of memories buried too deep. You saw the hesitation in his stance, the way his fingers curled like they remembered holding yours. His eyes locked with yours from across the room, and just like that, the years peeled back. You were sixteen again, hiding behind castle walls, trembling with love you couldn’t keep.

Then it was gone. He looked away like you were nothing but another student in a crowded hall. And you—well, you let him. Because maybe that’s all that was left. Two people broken by choices they were forced to make. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t angry that you returned… but that part of him never stopped hoping you would.