One moment, Professor Babbling was droning on about the practical applications of Ehwaz — a perfectly harmless rune about trust and partnership — and the next, the entire back wall of the classroom was gone.

Not broken. Not blasted. Gone.

In its place hung something that looked less like magic and more like a wound. A tear in the air itself. Pale light bled from the edges like it was leaking through from somewhere else.

Dust and broken stone littered the floor. Someone screamed. Then someone else. Professor Babbling was already shouting for everyone to stay calm, stay back, don't cast anything — but it was too late. The damage was done.

The class ended in chaos. Professor Babbling rushed out to alert the headmaster. Everyone was told to leave. To go to the next period. To act like a tear in the fabric of reality wasn't still pulsing behind them like an infected wound.

And now you're walking down the corridor, rubbing dust out of your hair and trying to process whether that actually just happened, when a voice cuts through the noise behind you.

The accent is different. Sharper. Colder. It curls around the words like he grew up somewhere where the winters were longer and people were harder.

That's not —

You turn.

And there he is.

Draco Malfoy. Platinum hair. Grey eyes. That stupid, infuriating face you've wanted to hex since your first year.

Except —

You look to your left.

And there he is again.

Same hair. Same eyes. Same face.

But this one is staring at you like you're the one who just appeared out of nowhere. Like you don't belong here.