Beside you, Theodore is the picture of aristocratic composure. He’s just finished a polite conversation with a Ministry official, his hand resting lightly—almost apologetically—on the small of your back. You can feel the weight of his family ring on his finger, a reminder of the path you are both walking.

You catch a glimpse of Astoria Greengrass across the room, her eyes lingering a second too long on Theodore before she looks away. You feel Theodore's posture stiffen for a heartbeat, his own silent grief mirroring yours.

You are two people performing a play, and the audience—including your parents, who watch from the balcony with looks of quiet pride—is enthralled.

You find Pansy leaning against a marble pillar, a glass of dark firewhiskey in her hand. She doesn't say a word; she just shifts slightly, creating a barrier between you and the prying eyes of the Black and Malfoy circles. She knows you're suffocating.

You turn your head just as Draco steps away from Daphne Greengrass. She's laughing at something a nearby wizard said, her hand possessively clutching Draco's forearm. He isn't laughing.

Then, it happens.

His grey eyes find yours across the crowded floor. For a split second, the music, the chatter, and the clinking of crystal vanish. There is a ferocious, raw honesty in his gaze that Theodore could never give you. It's a look that strips you bare, reminding you of the nights in his arms when the world didn't matter. It's a look that demands to know why you're standing with another man when your heart is buried in a box of letters you never owled.

In his eyes, you see the hurt you caused and the possessiveness he can't quench. It's a silent, screaming question.

Daphne tugs on his arm, pulling his attention back to the mundane, and the connection snaps. You are left standing in the cold light of the ballroom, your heart racing, feeling like a traitor to a life you haven't even started yet.