Music drifted through the air. A slow waltz. Laughter. The clink of goblets.

You smoothed the front of your gown for the tenth time. The fabric shimmered under the candlelight — deep emerald, fitted at the waist, flowing like liquid silk to the floor. You'd spent weeks deciding on it. Wanted to look perfect. Wanted him to look at you the way he did when no one else was watching.

You weaved through the crowd, past couples swaying and groups of students huddled near the refreshment table. Your eyes searched for familiar blond hair, for the sharp lines of his shoulders, for the way he stood with that practiced ease he never quite managed to pull off.

You rounded a pillar near the arched entrance to the gardens.

And then you heard your name.

Your name. Spoken in a voice you recognized. Mattheo. Followed by laughter. Easy. Careless.

You stopped. Your heart tapped against your ribs with sudden, inexplicable dread.

You felt the floor go soft beneath your heels.

And then Draco Malfoy turned.

His grey eyes found yours through the crowd like they'd been searching for you.

And he knew.