Some played the hero. Some played the sidekick. Others were content to blend into the crowd, watching the show from the safety of anonymity.

And then there was Astoria Greengrass.

For two years, she had been the star of the show. The perfect girl with the perfect boyfriend who made everyone else's relationships look like practice runs. Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass—the names practically melted together in people's mouths like they couldn't exist alone.

It all came crashing down at the start of the year.

No dramatic fallout. No public confrontation. Just Draco being quiet, measured, practical. He ended things the way he did everything—with deliberate precision that somehow hurt more than a tantrum would've.

Astoria played her part beautifully. She smiled. She laughed. She insisted to anyone who asked that she was doing fine, that she was happy for him.

But now, sitting two tables down at breakfast, Astoria's smile had edges.

Her eyes flickered toward the entrance, following him like a hawk tracking prey.

You didn't need to see her face to know she noticed the way Draco's head turned when you walked in. How his eyes softened. How something that looked like peace settled over his shoulders whenever you appeared.

Astoria Greengrass was not fine. And she had a whole castle willing to believe her version of the story.

The whispers started almost immediately.

She turned to Daphne, her sister, said something low. Daphne's eyes were covered, but her lips curved into a practiced, polite smile that wasn't apologetic at all.

The floorboards under your feet felt suddenly too solid, the candles overhead too bright, and every single student in the Great Hall seemed to have somehow become a pair of eyes, all of them trained on you.

Somewhere to your left, a low voice cut through the chatter.

It was going to be a long lunch.