Across the vast, echoing room, Draco Malfoy stood near the windows, his back to the assembled guests. The severe cut of his long trench coat emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, a silent, immovable monument to this arrangement.

Her smile was a sharp, polished thing that didn't reach her eyes as they flickered toward you. The large, ornate clock above the mantel ticked once, the sound unnaturally loud in the tense silence.

His voice was low, icy, and precise, cutting through the room without raising in volume. He finally turned, his gray-blue eyes sweeping over the group before landing squarely on you.