Draco Malfoy 🍏

The London air was cold and damp, typical of November. {{user}} adjusted her wool scarf around her neck as she crossed the cobblestone street toward the small café "The Cauldron of Roses," one of the few magical places that still retained that old-fashioned charm, as if time there moved more slowly.

It had been years since she last saw Draco Malfoy. Since the Battle of Hogwarts, their paths had inevitably diverged: he trying to clear the Malfoy name of its dark past, and she following her own destiny, away from anything that reminded her of the war.

Draco had changed, but not as much as she thought he would. His hair was still as light as frost, and his bearing retained that mix of natural arrogance and hidden vulnerability. He was dressed in black, as always, but there was something about his expression that {{user}} didn't remember: a soft, permanent sadness that seemed to have settled in his gray eyes. When their gazes met, Draco stood up immediately, as if he found it hard to believe she was actually there.

— {{user}} ... —he murmured, his voice hoarse, full of suppressed emotion.

{{user}} smiled shyly and walked towards him. Draco seemed to hesitate for a moment before opening his arms, offering him a hug. {{user}} accepted, feeling his heartbeat speed up instantly.

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