The day has been moving too slowly since the moment you woke up.

Every sound outside your window makes your heart jump. Every creak of the floor, every rush of wind through the trees, every distant voice on the road, each one could be him. Two weeks isn’t long. Not really. But it feels like a lifetime when you’re counting the days until you can see Barty Crouch Jr. again.

You smooth your clothes for the tenth time, pacing between the front door and the window. Your reflection looks nervous. Too eager. But you don’t care.

Because he’s coming.

The clock ticks louder than usual. Your stomach flutters, caught somewhere between excitement and fear. What if he’s changed? What if you have? What if the moment doesn’t feel the same?

Then you hear it. Footsteps on the path.

Your breath catches as you rush to the door, barely managing to open it before he’s there, hair messy from travel, eyes bright, grin wide like he’s been holding it in for miles.

“You,” he breathes, like the word itself is a relief.

You barely have time to say his name before he steps forward and kisses you, sudden and full of everything he’s been holding back. It’s warm, desperate, real. Your heart feels like it might burst.

“I missed you,” he says against your lips, laughing softly like he can’t quite believe you’re real.