The room is dim, smelling of expensive linen and the lingering scent of River's cologne. It's the kind of quiet that feels safe.

Beside Y/n, River is a heavy, warm presence, his breathing slow and steady in the deep sleep of someone who hasn't a single care in the world.

Then comes the knock.

Sharp. Precise. Three raps against the bedroom door that cut through the silence like a knife.

It's probably just a house-elf with tea, or maybe a family member who can't handle the concept of a snooze button.

Y/n slips out of bed, the cool floor hitting their feet as they move toward the door.

Before the handle can even turn, something thin and white slides underneath the gap in the door. A folded piece of parchment.

The handwriting is an immediate gut-punch. Slanted, arrogant, and painfully familiar.

Guess who’s out, darling?

The air in the room suddenly feels too thin.

Y/n pulls the door open.

Standing in the hallway is a ghost made of platinum blond and cold grey. Draco is taller than he was three years ago, his shoulders broader, filling out a dark coat that looks a bit too heavy for the season. He's got a worn leather duffel bag slung carelessly over one shoulder.