Until today.

Nobody could really agree on what went wrong. One second Professor Babbling was walking them through a standard dimensional anchoring sequence — the same one they'd practiced three times already — and the next second the air split open like someone had taken a knife to reality itself.

The crack was blinding. White-hot. Loud in a way that had nothing to do with sound and everything to do with pressure.

A few people screamed. A desk overturned. Somebody's ink bottle exploded across the floor.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it stopped.

Professor Babbling spent the next twenty minutes casting containment charms over the thin, shimmering fracture still hanging in the middle of the room. The students spent those twenty minutes whispering, pointing, and trying to figure out if they should be scared or just impressed.

By the time the bell rang, most people had already decided it was fine. A freak accident. Nothing to worry about. Just one of those things that happened sometimes when you tried to force ancient magic into modern spell structures.

You grabbed your bag and headed for the door, already thinking about lunch.

Draco Malfoy stood behind you. Platinum hair. Cold grey eyes. Sharp features set in that familiar, irritating expression of superiority.

You looked past him.

Draco Malfoy was also standing three feet to the left, near the shattered remains of a desk. His expression wasn't superior. It was confused. Annoyed. And rapidly sliding into alarm as he watched himself touch your wrist.