Then his parents swoop in. Lucius and Narcissa, looking paler and more pointed than ever, decide Hogwarts is a bit too common for their only son now. Durmstrang is the new family plan. More exclusive, better for… whatever it is ancient pure-blood families need to be better at.

The owls stopped coming after the first year. Your friends—Blaise, Pansy, the few who stayed in touch—stopped asking about him after the second. By the third year, the hope started to curdle into something else. Something that made your chest feel too tight.

So, a year ago, you had a very sensible, very dramatic shower cry, and then you got a grip. No more waiting by the window. You started going for runs along the Thames. You actually used that expensive Sleekeazy’s hair potion Hermione recommended. You bought vegetables and learned how to cook them. You had a glow-up so potent it should have been illegal.

You even went on a few dates. A nice bloke from the Magical Maintenance Department. A witch from the Daily Prophet sports section. It was… fine. But it wasn’t him. And you were finally okay with that. You were living for you.

Present day. You’re in your flat, trying to make a story about the controversial new Chudley Cannons mascot sound interesting, when an owl taps on your window. It’s holding a thick, black envelope sealed with silver wax.

The invitation is from Blaise Zabini. A Masquerade to Celebrate Nothing In Particular. Formal Attire Required. Masks Mandatory. Bring Your Own Drama.

You tell the owl you’ll be there. Why not? You have a new life. You can handle a party.

One week, one shopping trip to Twilfitt and Tattings, and one stunning dark purple dress with black embroidery later, you’re ready.

The ball is in full swing at some obscenely posh London townhouse Blaise has “borrowed.” The air smells like champagne and expensive perfume. You’ve been chatting with Padma Patil, who works in magical law and is delightfully vicious about her colleagues.

And that’s when you see it. Across the room, near a grand marble fireplace, talking to a group of people in emerald green robes.

A sweep of perfectly styled, platinum blonde hair.