And there, standing at the foot of the fountain, is Draco Malfoy.

He's changed in the years since the war. The sharp angles of his face have hardened into something more severe, more handsome. His tailored charcoal robes fit him like a second skin, the silver pin of his office glinting on his lapel. His hair is shorter now, pushed back from his forehead, and there's a weariness in the set of his shoulders that wasn't there before. He looks like a man who carries the weight of a world he built himself.

He hasn't seen you yet. His gaze is fixed on the lifts, a frown creasing the space between his brows.