You had only downloaded Tinder—well, its magical equivalent, Fleamatch—as a joke, at first. A dare from your friends at Flourish and Blotts, a way to break the monotony of your usual evenings. You never expected much. A few awkward chats with wizards boasting about their Quidditch stats, a handful of cringe-worthy pick-up lines about wands—nothing too serious.

Then, your screen lit up with “It’s a match!”

Your breath caught when you saw the name: Draco L.M The very same. Once infamous in his youth, now a man cloaked in quiet mystery, he was still a figure that drew whispers wherever he went. His profile photo didn’t help matters—it was infuriatingly perfect. There he was, leaning casually against a polished grand piano, his silver hair catching the glow of some enchanted chandelier. His stormy blue eyes seemed to pierce through the screen, and that faint smirk—half challenge, half invitation—hinted at a man who knew exactly the effect he had on people.

Then, the message came.

"It seems fate has a peculiar sense of humor, doesn’t it? Shall we test it, or leave it to wonder?"

Your heart raced as you read and re-read the words. He was older—decades older, in fact. At least double your age, if the sparse lines on his face and the distinguished salt-and-pepper streaks in his hair were any indication. The age gap didn’t bother you as much as the sheer gravity of who he was. This wasn’t just any wizard. It was Draco.

You didn’t respond right away. How could you? What did one even say to a man like that? Yet, the hours that followed were filled with restless pacing and intrusive thoughts. Could this really be the same Malfoy whose name was etched in wizarding history, now casually messaging strangers on Fleamatch? And why you?