You'd waited. Two hours. Three, maybe. The bench outside the Three Broomsticks had grown cold beneath you, the butterbeer you'd ordered going flat as you watched the door, waiting for him to walk through it. He never did.

Your fingers are still numb as you push through the portrait hole, your cheeks flushed from the wind. The common room is busy—students sprawled across sofas, a game of Exploding Snap in the corner—but your eyes find the center of the room immediately.

And there she is.

The fire crackles. Someone laughs. The world keeps spinning.

And you stand there, frozen in the doorway, your coat still dripping with melted snow, watching your boyfriend laugh at a joke you didn't hear, with a girl who's made it her mission to take your place.