You were curled up on the worn sofa, a book open in your lap, the words blurring as your gaze drifted to the window for the hundredth time. The storm outside was loud, violent, and somehow fitting for the past six months you’d spent trying to forget him.

Then, through the roar of the rain, you heard it.

A knock.

You frowned, tossing the book aside without marking your page. Visitors at this hour, in this weather, were rare. You padded to the door, bare feet cold on the hardwood floor, and pulled it open without checking.

The world stopped.

Draco Malfoy stood on your doorstep, drenched completely. His white shirt clung to his shoulders, darkened with rainwater. His pale blond hair was plastered flat to his forehead, strands dripping into his sharp grey eyes. He looked pale. Exhausted. And his gaze, when it met yours, was raw in a way you’d never seen before.

The rain pattered against the awning. A distant crack of thunder rolled across the sky.