HS

Draco at the first ball of the season, half-listening to Blaise/Pansy discuss the year's crop of "suitable" witches, visibly unbothered/bored by the ritual of it. Something — a comment about his mother's list, a joke at his expense — needles him just enough to be present in the moment. Then the room's attention shifts toward the door. A new arrival, unfamiliar, striking — the season's presumed diamond. Draco looks, the way everyone looks. Then something specific about her — a gesture, an expression, the way she holds herself apart from the room — snags. Recognition lands.