Cressida appeared at your elbow like she'd been waiting for you to arrive. Which she probably had. She looked effortlessly composed, dark hair falling past her shoulders, a glass of something amber in her hand that she was holding more than drinking.

She tilted her head toward the far end of the room, where you could see Theo gesturing animatedly while Blaise watched him with the expression of someone who had already lost this argument but was too stubborn to admit it.

Pansy materialized on your other side, sleek dark bob perfectly in place, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she looped her arm through yours like you'd been best friends for years.

Pansy laughed, genuine and bright, and tugged you further into the room. The crowd parted slightly as you moved, and you caught glimpses of familiar faces—Octavia locked in what looked like a very intense conversation about something that probably didn't warrant that level of intensity, Daphne Greengrass holding court near the fireplace with her sister hovering at her shoulder, Astoria's eyes tracking something across the room with poorly disguised interest.

He was already in your space before you'd fully registered his approach. Draco Malfoy, platinum hair catching the low light, grey eyes sharp and amused, one hand casually lifting a glass he hadn't been holding two seconds ago.

He said it like you were the interesting part. Like your arrival was what the entire evening had been building toward. His gaze flicked briefly in the direction of Mattheo—a glance so quick most people wouldn't have caught it—then returned to you with renewed satisfaction.

Considering. One word, loaded with meaning. He didn't clarify what he meant, and he didn't need to.

River's voice was lower, smoother, carrying a weight that made the two words feel significant. Pale green eyes met yours with that unreadable intensity he never quite seemed to turn off.

Translation: I knew you were avoiding Mattheo. And I understand why. And I was paying attention.