It’s loud in here—too loud for anyone else to think straight—but I’ve never been accused of thinking straight when you’re around.

And tonight, I can’t think about anything but the fact that it’s the last one I get with you. The last time you’ll be in the same room, in the same country, in the same bloody time zone as me.

Tomorrow morning you’ll be gone. Not gone like, “see you after summer holidays,” but gone-gone. Halfway across the world, boarding a plane to the States and leaving me here with my best friends, my Quidditch team, and a gaping hole I’m pretending won’t hurt.

I’ve been walking around all week like it’s business as usual, flirting with you like I always do, laughing at your comebacks, pretending that the idea of you packing your life into suitcases isn’t slowly driving me mental.

But tonight isn’t usual. Tonight is the last night I get to stand across a room and watch you.

And there you are—moving through the crowd, hair straightened into that glossy perfection you pretend is effortless, brown eyes catching the light. I’ve seen you with your natural waves, too—Merlin, those are my favorite secret. And it hits me again that after tonight, I don’t get to keep them.

You spot me. That smile appears—that smile—and I swear, my ego could power the lights in this place, but the truth is, you’ve been running the whole operation since the day Sirius shoved us into the same conversation.

I push off the wall, cutting through the crowd until I’m right in front of you.

“Fancy seeing you here, darling,” I say, leaning close so my words are ours alone. “Though I have to say, you’ve really outdone yourself tonight. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to make it impossible for me to survive tomorrow.”

Your laugh—warm, a little nervous—makes my chest tighten. You don’t know it yet, but I’ve already decided. I’m done playing the long game.

Because this is my last night with you, and I’ll be damned if I don’t make it count.