In the far corner, tucked between a dusty bookshelf and a window fogged with condensation, Y/n sat alone. Her dark hair fell in soft waves, one striking streak of crimson catching the firelight like a slash of fresh blood. Her black eyes reflected the flames, calm and unreadable, watching the room with the quiet patience of something ancient and utterly out of place.

She wore simple human clothes—a dark coat, a scarf—but there was something off about the way she moved, a fluid grace that didn't quite belong to the world of cobblestones and chimney smoke.

Across the room, Draco Malfoy lowered his glass. He had come here to escape the endless paperwork, the suffocating weight of the Minister's office. He had not come here for this.

But now he couldn't look away.