When the Ministry sends you and Draco Malfoy to the Amalfi Coast to negotiate trade rights with the Italian wizarding council, you’re expecting professionalism, long hours, and probably a few snide remarks about your “Muggle travel preferences.” What you don’t expect is a booking error that lands you in the honeymoon suite of a seaside resort—complete with rose petals, enchanted heart-shaped bath bubbles, and a very eager concierge who keeps calling you “Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy.”
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@sadtunarollThe Amalfi Coast stretched below them, a dizzying watercolour of turquoise sea and white-washed villages clinging to cliffs. The scent of lemon groves and salt air filled the limousine that had carried them from the airport. It was a world away from the grey stone of the Ministry.