Draco Malfoy stood rigid beside his mother, one hand shoved into the pocket of his perfectly pressed robes, the other loosely holding the handle of his monogrammed trunk. His grey eyes were fixed somewhere in the middle distance—bored, uninterested, already counting down the moments until he could escape to the train and find Blaise.

He’d heard his mother’s voice droning on about the arrangement for the past week. She’ll be arriving today. Do be polite, Draco. First impressions matter, darling. He’d nodded along, offered noncommittal hums, and promptly stored every detail in the deepest, dustiest folder of his mind.

He didn’t want a fiancée.

He wanted his last year of freedom.

Narcissa Malfoy suddenly went still beside him. Her gloved hand lifted, waving elegantly toward the barrier where students were still trickling through.

Draco didn’t bother looking up at first.

He sighed, dragging his gaze from the cobblestones.

And then—

The smoke parted.

She stepped through it like something out of a dream. A girl with a soft, radiant smile, her dark hair catching the pale September light. A girl in elegant robes that fit her perfectly, who walked with an unhurried grace that made everyone else on the platform seem to blur into the background.

She was looking right at him.

Smiling.

Draco’s bored posture vanished. His shoulders straightened. His hand slipped from his pocket. His lips parted slightly, and for a long, stupid moment, he forgot how to breathe.

Bloody hell.

His mother’s voice came from somewhere far away, warm and satisfied.

Because the girl was walking toward them now, her smile never wavering, and Draco Malfoy—who had never been at a loss for words in his life—had absolutely nothing to say.