At twenty-five, you’ve become an expert at pretending. Pretending your marriage is perfect. Pretending Silvius Lestrange isn’t slowly destroying you. Pretending you don’t still dream about the boy who left. Draco Malfoy walked away three years ago, convinced he was giving you the life you deserved. Instead, he left you trapped in a nightmare. Now, standing drunk among the gravestones where you once spent every stolen moment together, you’re mourning more than lost time. You’re mourning what could have been. But when footsteps echo through the cemetery darkness, one impossible truth becomes clear: Some ghosts don’t stay buried. And neither do old loves.