His dark curls were slightly windswept, his school tie loose around his neck, and his grey eyes—darker than most, almost black—found you instantly. In one hand, he held a crumpled bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. In the other, his wand, twirling idly between his fingers.

He dropped onto the seat across from you, long legs stretching out until his boots nearly brushed yours. His gaze softened, and his voice dropped a few octaves.