You sat at a table near the back, a half-empty butterbeer warming between your palms. The evening stretched ahead of you—quiet, unremarkable, exactly the way you preferred it.

Tom the barman nodded in your direction as he passed, a rag slung over his shoulder. You’d been coming here long enough that he’d stopped asking what you wanted. He just brought it.

The door opened. A burst of cool air cut through the warmth. Two figures stepped inside, shaking rain from their cloaks.

One was tall and broad, dark curls plastered to his forehead. The other moved with the kind of polished grace that came from a lifetime of being watched. Platinum hair caught the firelight.

They didn’t notice you. Not yet. They were laughing at something, heads bent together, easy in each other’s space.

Draco Malfoy and Mattheo Riddle. You hadn’t seen them since Hogwarts.