Day 5

Villa Elysia — Paros, Greece

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was that your head no longer felt like it was being split apart from the inside. 

The second was the emptiness beside you.

For a moment, you simply stared at the ceiling while sunlight filtered through the curtains. The room was quiet except for the distant sound of waves crashing somewhere below the villa. 

Slowly, memories began surfacing. 

A catamaran. 

A fever. 

Someone brushing your hair back from your face. 

You frowned. 

The last one felt too specific to be something your fever had invented.

Fragments drifted through your mind in no particular order. A hand against your forehead. A soft voice calling you little raven. The feeling of being held against someone’s chest while exhaustion dragged you under. 

Your stomach dropped. 

“Oh no.” 

Surely not. 

You buried your face in the pillow. 

There was absolutely no chance Lorenzo Berkshire had spent the entire afternoon taking care of you. Your fever had probably manufactured the entire thing out of loneliness, dehydration, and poor decision making. 

The door opened without warning.

"Finally," Enzo said, sounding far too pleased with himself. "I was beginning to think Sleeping Beauty planned on wasting the entire day."

You sat upright, blinking at him as he walked into the room carrying a tray full of food like he belonged there. He didn't even hesitate, simply crossed the room and set it down beside you before looking you over with quiet satisfaction, apparently relieved to find you awake.

Your heart performed an unnecessarily dramatic cartwheel at the sight of him.

Which was deeply inconvenient considering all you could think about was your back pressed against the stone wall, his hand beneath your dress, and the desperation in his voice as he'd whispered against your lips.

Tell me how good I am for you, love.

You blinked away the traitorous thought only to find Enzo staring at you with open concern. 

“You’re awake.” 

His gaze swept over you quickly before something in his expression relaxed. 

“You look better.” 

You stared at him. He stared back, and the silence stretched long enough to become uncomfortable. 

Unfortunately, your brain immediately abandoned all self-preservation.

“So.” 

One of his eyebrows lifted slightly.

“So?” 

You folded your arms across your chest. 

“Did I hallucinate this morning?” 

A grin appeared instantly, and the sight of it immediately filled you with dread. 

The insufferable git.

“Do you often hallucinate about me?” 

You narrowed your eyes. 

“Only when I fantasize about murdering you with my bare hands.” 

His smile widened. 

“All I heard was that you fantasize about me.”

"What exactly happened?"

"Are you sure you want to know, love?"

Heat crawled up your neck as several possibilities flashed through your mind, each somehow more horrifying than the last. 

“Lorenzo.”

“What?” he asked innocently. “There were a lot of memorable moments.” 

You wanted to throw something at him. Unfortunately, most of your attention was currently focused on the fact that he looked annoyingly attractive standing there, which felt deeply unfair given the circumstances. 

“Please tell me I didn’t say anything embarrassing.”

His expression became far too innocent as he leaned against the doorframe. 

“I’d never betray your confidence, sweetheart.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

The grin that spread across his face told you everything you needed to know, and you immediately groaned, burying your face in your hands. 

“This is a nightmare.” 

Despite this, you found yourself relaxing. This—the constant back and forth, the teasing and bickering—was familiar. You fell into the routine easily, slipping back into something that felt dangerously comfortable while avoiding the memory of the terrace with practiced precision.

Tell me how good I am for you, love.

You hated how easily the memory came back.

“You scared the hell out of me.”

The words caught you off guard enough that you looked up immediately. His gaze was fixed on you with a seriousness that made something uncomfortable flutter in your chest, and for a moment neither of you said anything at all. 

“I’m fine.” 

Enzo looked unconvinced, eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze swept over you again. 

“Why are you dressed?” 

You blinked at him.

“What?” 

“And wearing makeup.” 

Your hand immediately flew to your face before you rolled your eyes. 

“Excellent observation.” 

“I’m being serious.” 

A frown tugged at your expression as you lowered your hand. 

“Excuse me?” 

Enzo pushed away from the doorframe and folded his arm across his chest. 

“Where are you going?” 

It took a second for the question to register before realization settled in. The moment it did, annoyance followed close behind. 

“Girl’s night.” 

His expression flattened instantly.

“No.” 

You stared at him, waiting for the punchline.

“No?” 

“No.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it, though Enzo remained entirely serious. 

“You were unconscious a few hours ago.” 

“Briefly.” 

“You fainted.” 

“I recovered.” 

“You threw up.” 

You pointed at him accusingly.

“That feels unnecessary.” 

“It happened.” 

“I was there.” 

“Exactly.” His arms folded across his chest as he fixed you with a look. “You nearly gave everyone a collective heart attack.” 

You rolled your eyes and swung your legs off the bed.

“I had heat exhaustion, Lorenzo. I didn’t survive a near-death experience.”

“You looked pretty committed to the bit.” 

A laugh escaped before you could stop it, and for a brief moment his expression softened as though he was fighting one of his own. Unfortunately, the moment disappeared almost immediately. 

“You’re staying here.” 

You stared at him in disbelief.

“Are you under the impression that you have any say in this?” 

His jaw tightened. 

“I’m under the impression you have the survival instincts of an unsupervised toddler.” 

Shaking your head, you pushed yourself to your feet and brushed past him toward the mirror, pretending not to notice the way his eyes followed you. 

“I’m going.” 

“No.” 

“Yes.” 

His expression flattened further as he folded his arms across his chest. 

“Y/N.” 

“Lorenzo.” 

The use of his full name earned a look, and you rewarded it with the sweetest smile you could manage. Unfortunately for you, Enzo knew that smile far too well. 

“You are unbelievably stubborn.” 

“That’s rich coming from you.” 

“I mean it.” 

“So do I.” 

For a moment, neither of you backed down, each waiting for the other to give in first. 

Eventually, Enzo let out a long sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. The gesture looked alarmingly familiar, and after a second, you realized why. 

You’d seen Hermione do the exact same thing hundreds of times.

“Oh, Merlin.” 

“What?” 

A grin spread across your face. 

“You’re turning into Hermione.” 

His look of horror was immediate, which only made you laugh harder.

“Take that back.” 

“Never.”

“Take it back.” 

“You just lectured me like a child.”

“I was concerned.”

“You mothered me exactly how Mione would.” 

“I did not.” 

“You absolutely did.”

The betrayal on his face only made you laugh harder, and for a moment he stared at you like he was questioning every life choice that had led him here.

“Fine.” 

You smiled immediately. 

“Don’t worry mum,” you teased. “I promise to be careful.”

His eyes narrowed as though he was seriously considering physically carrying you back into bed and locking the door behind him. Instead, he let out another sigh before reaching for the pepperup potion sitting on the nightstand and pressing it into your hands. 

“Drink this.” 

You accepted it automatically, glancing down at the bottle before looking back up at him. 

“Bossy.” 

“Drink it.” 

A small smile tugged at your mouth as you twisted the cap loose. 

“Anything else?” 

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, and the look in his eyes made something strange settle quietly between you. Neither of you seemed entirely sure what to do with it. 

Then he cleared his throat and looked away first.

“Don’t stay out too late.” 

His tone wasn’t as firm as it usually was when he was teasing you. It was quieter, more deliberate, like he actually meant it.

Your heart betrayed you immediately because somehow that sounded less like an order and more like concern.

“I’ll survive.” 

“I know.” 

His voice softened just enough to make your chest tighten.

“That’s the problem.” 

For one brief second, neither of you moved, the air between you settling into something that felt strangely fragile.

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

Something in his expression softened, followed by a boyish grin that felt achingly familiar. 

“I couldn’t very well let you perish, could I?” Enzo teased. “Who else would I fight with?” 

You chuckled softly, and the sound of your laughter seemed to brighten his mood entirely. A knock sounded from downstairs, followed by Pansy’s voice echoing through the villa.

“Y/N!” 

The moment shattered immediately. 

You glanced toward the door before looking back at Enzo, a smile already tugging at your mouth. 

“That’s my ride.” 

Enzo rolled his eyes so hard it was honestly impressive. 

“Salazar help me.” 

Your grin widened as you stepped into the hallway. 

He didn’t move immediately after you left.

Just stood there for a second longer than necessary, staring at the empty doorway like he was already regretting letting you go.

“See you later, mum!” 

The horrified look on his face followed all the way downstairs.

For the first time since waking up, you stopped wondering whether you had imagined it all.

Day 5

Luna Blu — Paros, Greece

Luna Blu looked exactly like the sort of place Pansy Parkinson would choose for a girl’s night.

White stone walls glowed beneath strings of fairy lights while music drifted through the open-air terrace overlooking the sea. Every table seemed occupied by beautiful people drinking expensive cocktails and pretending they weren’t looking at one another.

Naturally, Pansy looked completely at home.

“This place is perfect.”

Astoria raised an eyebrow. 

“You say that about every place with alcohol.” 

“Have I ever steered you wrong?"

Several people laughed as the hostess led your group toward a long table overlooking the water. 

As everyone settled into their seats, Ginny studied you from across the table with narrowed eyes.

“I can’t believe Berkshire actually let you come.” 

“First of all, I don’t need Lorenzo’s permission given that I’m a grown witch,” you huffed. “Second of all, why is everyone acting like I’ve escaped from Azkaban?” 

“Probably because your lunatic boyfriend looked ready to murder anyone who came within ten feet of you,” Pansy informed the table.

“To be fair,” Luna added thoughtfully, “you did collapse.” 

“I fainted.” 

“You collapsed elegantly.”

“Thank you?” 

“You’re quite welcome.” 

The table dissolved into laughter, and you shook your head as you reached for the menu. 

“I would like everyone to know that I am completely recovered.” 

Hermione’s expression suggested she found this claim highly suspicious. 

“You were delirious.” 

“Briefly.” 

“You threw up.” 

You pointed at her in disbelief. 

“Why does everyone keep bringing that up?”

“Because you scared us half to death.” 

“I lived purely out of spite.” 

Ginny nearly choked on her drink. 

“Merlin, you’ve spent too much time around Lorenzo.” 

Heat immediately crept into your cheeks, which only seemed to make the situation worse. 

Across the table, Pansy’s eyes narrowed with sudden interest as she leaned back in her chair.

“You know, he refused to leave your side all afternoon.”

You reached for your drink.

“He’s annoyingly persistent.” 

“Or annoyingly in love.” 

Your cheeks flushed a violent red as several people at the table immediately looked far too interested in that response. 

Pansy’s smile widened. 

The traitor.

A round of cocktails arrived a few minutes later, followed by enough appetizers to feed a small village. The conversation drifted naturally between wedding plans, travel stories, and increasingly ridiculous memories from Hogwarts. 

Somewhere between the second round of drinks and Ginny’s reenactment of a particularly steamy encounter in the Room of Requirement with her now husband, everyone relaxed. 

Even you. 

Especially you. 

For the first time since arriving in Greece, nobody was asking questions about Lorenzo. 

Nobody was analyzing your feelings. 

Nobody was looking at you with pity, concern, or frustrating amounts of understanding.

You could simply exist.

The realization felt surprisingly nice. 

Several seats away, Luna was explaining why she once believed Cornish Pixies were secretly unionized while Hermione listened with the exhausted patience of someone who had long ago accepted certain realities about her life. 

Pansy, meanwhile, had somehow started ranking every wedding guest according to attractiveness. 

Ginny, much to everyone’s horror, was enthusiastically helping. 

Neither of them appeared remotely ashamed.

“You two are absolutely shameless,” you informed them.

“We know.” 

Pansy took a leisurely sip of her drink before glancing down at her list. 

“Longbottom is currently winning.” 

The entire table erupted.

“Neville?” Hermione looked genuinely surprised.

Pansy lowered her glass. 

“Have you seen him lately?” 

“Pansy’s right,” Ginny teased, wiggling her brows suggestively. “Nev’s grown proper fit over the years.” 

Across the table, Daphne considered this for a moment before nodding.

“He is quite handsome.” 

“Thank you,” Pansy said, pointing at her. “I feel validated.”

The laughter continued until tears gathered in the corners of your eyes.

By the time everyone had exhausted the topic of Neville’s unfair attractiveness, Pansy had already moved on to ranking the rest of the wedding guests.

"Draco is objectively handsome," she declared. "Unfortunately, I've known him too long."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said about him," Hermione observed.

"Don't get used to it."

Pansy took a sip of her drink before turning toward you.

"Alright then. Your turn."

You frowned.

"My turn for what?"

"Most attractive guest."

Several faces immediately swung in your direction.

“Oh, that’s easy,” Ginny said before you could answer. “She’s going to pick Lorenzo.” 

Heat immediately crept into your cheeks. “I am not.” 

Ginny rolled her eyes so hard it was honestly impressive. 

“Please.” 

You opened your mouth to argue before hesitating.

Because technically, there were other options. Theo was annoyingly handsome, Blaise looked like he'd stepped out of a magazine, and Neville had somehow become more attractive with age, which felt deeply unfair. Even Mattheo had that dangerous sort of charm that made poor decisions seem reasonable.

You considered all of them carefully before letting out a sigh.

The worst part was that Ginny was right.

You meant to argue, you really did, but your brain betrayed you before you could get the words out.

"Fine."

The table erupted instantly.

"Oh my god."

"I knew it."

"That took less time than I expected."

You buried your face in your hands.

"None of you are as funny as you think you are."

"So the sex is explosive..." Pansy pondered, looking entirely too interested.

"Obviously," Ginny declared confidently. "Have you seen them argue? I bet they've defiled every corner of that suite with absolutely no remorse." 

For a moment, you were transported to a deeply traitorous memory.

Soft lips pressed against your own, hazel eyes burning holes into your skin, rough hands diligently working you towards release while a low, husky voice seduced you like a siren’s song. 

Come for me, sweetheart.

Pansy cackled as your cheeks turned violently red. 

“I fucking knew it!” 

You buried your face into your hands in utter humiliation and groaned.

The laughter started all over again.

By the time dinner arrived, your stomach physically hurt from laughing.

You hadn't realized how much you'd needed that.

Across the table, Hermione noticed the smile lingering on your face and felt something in her chest loosen slightly.

For the first time all day, you looked genuinely happy. Not distracted by your thoughts, not confused by your feelings, and not carrying that quiet heartbreak she'd become far too familiar with over the years.

Just happy.

The sight was rarer than it should have been, and Hermione found herself hoping it would last.

The conversation started, as most dangerous conversations do, with something completely harmless.

Specifically, Ginny asking Hermione whether she was nervous about getting married.

Hermione looked up from her drink with the expression of someone who had just been asked whether she was nervous about breathing.

"No."

The entire table stared at her.

Pansy blinked.

"Really?"

Hermione frowned slightly.

"What?"

"You've spent the last year planning this wedding like you're coordinating a military operation."

"It has gone very well, thank you."

"You color-coded the seating chart."

"Organization is of the utmost importance."

"You made spreadsheets."

"There were multiple spreadsheets."

Ginny looked delighted.

"You threw a fit because the florist changed the shade of ivory."

Hermione pointed immediately.

"It was cream."

The entire table dissolved into laughter.

Several seats away, Daphne nearly choked on her drink while Luna looked genuinely fascinated by the distinction.

"I didn't know those were different colors."

Hermione looked horrified.

"Of course they're different colors."

Astoria leaned forward thoughtfully.

"She's absolutely right."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

Ginny raised her glass as though offering a toast.

"I support women, but you're all insane."

That earned another round of laughter, several people nodding in reluctant agreement while Hermione rolled her eyes and took a long sip of her wine.

Once the noise settled, Ginny shook her head and leaned forward.

"Fine. If you're not nervous, what's wrong with you?"

Hermione lowered her glass and blinked at her.

"Excuse me?"

"You're Hermione Granger. You're nervous about everything."

The table immediately nodded in agreement, which only seemed to deepen Hermione's offense. She looked around at all of them as though she'd been personally betrayed.

"I am not."

"You absolutely are," you informed her.

"You once had a panic attack because your essay was due at midnight and you submitted it at eleven fifty-three."

"It was late."

"It was seven minutes early."

"It was cutting it close."

A strangled noise escaped Daphne, and across the table, even Hermione seemed to realize she wasn't helping her case.

Eventually she sighed, setting down her glass before glancing out toward the sea. A small smile appeared on her face, softening her instantly in a way that made several people at the table pause.

"Fine."

The conversation quieted as Hermione traced her fingers lightly around the stem of her glass.

"Every other decision in my life has been difficult. University was difficult. My career was difficult. Picking a flat was difficult."

A faint laugh escaped her before she shook her head.

"Choosing Draco wasn't."

The table fell silent, not awkwardly, but with the kind of quiet that settled in when someone said something unexpectedly honest. Sometimes sincerity had a way of catching people off guard.

Hermione smiled into her wine, her expression softening in a way that it always did when she spoke of Draco.

"I just knew," she said simply. "I've never been more sure of anything."

For a moment, nobody spoke. The sincerity of it settled over the table before Ginny let out a dramatic sigh.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Oh, that's disgusting."

The spell broke immediately.

Hermione laughed, shaking her head before glancing around the table.

"What about everyone else?"

That, unfortunately, was where things started going wrong.

Astoria immediately launched into a story about Blaise filling her entire flat with her favorite flowers.

Pansy spent ten minutes explaining why attempting to flirt with Neville Longbottom required the patience of a saint.

Luna described love as the fuzzy feeling of a wrackspurt's song.

Nobody understood what that meant, including Luna herself.

The conversation continued for a while after that, drifting naturally from one relationship story to another until it eventually landed on Daphne. The shift was subtle enough that nobody seemed to notice where it was heading until Pansy paused halfway through her drink and looked across the table.

"Actually."

The single word was enough to make several people nervous.

Pansy's gaze settled directly on Daphne.

"Is it strange seeing your ex and his new girlfriend at a wedding?"

A collective groan immediately followed.

"Pansy."

"What?"

"You can't just ask people that."

"Why not?"

"Because it's rude."

Pansy looked genuinely unconvinced by that argument.

Across the table, Daphne laughed.

"No, it's alright."

Several people relaxed immediately.

Daphne swirled her drink thoughtfully before shrugging.

"Honestly, it's not weird."

A few eyebrows lifted around the table, and Ginny leaned forward slightly.

"Really?" she asked.

Daphne shook her head before taking another sip of her drink.

"Lorenzo and I were over long before the wedding."

"How long?" Pansy asked.

Daphne paused for a moment as she thought about it.

"The morning after Valentine's Day, actually."

The smile slipped from your face.

Three months ago.

The date surfaced instantly, bringing with it a rush of memories you hadn't expected. The train station, your return flight from Paris, and the tiny flat you'd unpacked that night all flashed through your mind at once.

It was the exact day you'd moved back to London.

Your stomach dropped as the date settled heavily in your chest.

Across the table, Hermione went completely still. The realization crossed her face so quickly it was almost frightening, her expression tightening as she connected the same impossible dots you had.

No.

This absolutely wasn't happening.

Daphne remained completely unaware of the chaos she'd just unleashed. She smiled softly into her drink and shrugged one shoulder.

"There really aren't any hard feelings."

The table fell unusually quiet, everyone seeming unsure how to respond to that. Eventually, Ginny cleared her throat.

"He broke up with you?"

Daphne nodded.

"Yeah."

Another brief silence followed. Nobody seemed to know what to say to that, but Daphne looked entirely at peace with it.

"I wasn't surprised."

You lowered your gaze to your glass, suddenly far too aware of the pounding of your own pulse. Across the table, Hermione's eyes flicked toward you, then back to Daphne before returning to you again, and you watched panic begin to bloom behind them.

"It sounds strange now," Daphne admitted softly. "But I think part of me knew for a while."

The noise of the restaurant seemed to fade slightly.

You swallowed against the sudden tightness in your throat as Daphne offered a faint smile.

"He tried, honestly. We both did." A small smile touched her lips. "Sometimes things just don't work out."

Her gaze drifted toward the sea, lingering on the dark water beyond the terrace lights.

"I think he just wanted something else."

Nobody spoke after that. Somehow everyone seemed to understand there wasn't anything left to say.

A strange pressure had settled inside your chest, making the air feel warmer and the music louder. The restaurant suddenly seemed much smaller than it had a few moments ago.

You pushed your chair back, and several heads turned immediately.

"I'm just going to get some air."

The excuse sounded weak even to your own ears, but thankfully nobody challenged it. At least, not out loud.

You offered what you hoped resembled a smile before turning toward the terrace and slipping through the doors.

The second you disappeared from view, Hermione pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

Ginny blinked in surprise.

"Mione?"

Hermione was already reaching for her purse.

"I'll be right back."

Before anyone could ask another question, she was hurrying after you.

There was absolutely no chance that timing was a coincidence, and Hermione Granger had just realized something that was either incredibly romantic or an absolute disaster.

Possibly both.

The cool evening air did absolutely nothing to calm your nerves.

You stood outside Luna Blu overlooking the harbor below while music drifted faintly through the open doors behind you. The sea stretched endlessly into the darkness, glittering beneath the moonlight, and somehow even that felt less overwhelming than the conversation you'd just had inside.

Three months ago.

The date repeated itself over and over inside your head.

The day after Valentine's Day. 

The exact day you'd moved back to London.

The exact day Enzo had broken up with Daphne.

Your stomach twisted.

The door behind you opened.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was.

Hermione appeared beside you a moment later, her heels clicking softly against the stone terrace before she came to a stop at your side.

For several seconds, neither of you spoke as the sound of the waves drifted up from the harbor below.

Then Hermione let out a long sigh and folded her arms across her chest.

"Oh, this is bad."

Your stomach immediately dropped.

"You noticed too?"

"Of course I noticed."

The answer came so quickly that it almost sounded offended.

Hermione shook her head.

"You moved back from Paris that day."

You turned your gaze back toward the water, watching the moonlight ripple across the surface.

"It's probably just a coincidence."

Hermione made a noise that suggested she would rather throw herself into the sea than entertain that theory.

"Right?"

You winced and looked back out toward the water, watching the moonlight ripple across the harbor.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence settled between you comfortably enough, but the longer it lasted, the heavier the truth felt sitting in your chest.

"It doesn't mean anything."

"No?" Hermione repeated incredulously. "Y/N, he ended a two-year relationship on the exact day you came home."

"You can't seriously think that's a coincidence."

"I can because Lorenzo and I aren't actually dating."

The words came out sharper than you intended.

Hermione blinked.

"What?"

You glanced down at your hands and laughed softly under your breath. For the first time all week, the truth felt less ridiculous than it did exhausting.

"Lorenzo and I aren't actually dating."

Hermione blinked, then stared at you as though she'd misheard.

"I'm sorry?"

You sighed and rubbed a hand over your face.

"We're not actually together."

For a moment, Hermione simply looked at you, waiting for the punchline that never came. When none arrived, her confusion only deepened.

You let out a quiet groan.

"The relationship is fake."

A heavy silence settled between you as Hermione tried to process that.

"What do you mean fake?"

You looked away toward the water.

Somehow admitting it out loud felt even more embarrassing than agreeing to it in the first place.

"It started as a way to make Daphne jealous."

Hermione stared.

"And also to stop you and Ginny from matchmaking."

Her mouth opened, then closed again as she stared at you in disbelief. For a moment, she looked completely incapable of processing what you'd just said.

"You're pretending to date Lorenzo to stop Ginny and me from setting you up with Mattheo?"

You sighed deeply.

"When you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

"Because it is stupid."

"I know."

Hermione looked physically pained as the realization worked its way through her brain in real time. You could practically see her connecting the dots, each one causing her a little more distress than the last.

"You've spent the last five days pretending to date the man who has been obsessed with you since school."

Your eyes widened immediately.

"He has not."

Hermione let out a laugh that echoed across the terrace, the sound carrying easily over the water. It wasn't a polite chuckle or an amused smile. It was the kind of laugh people made when they were watching someone refuse to see something obvious.

"You can't honestly be this oblivious."

You folded your arms across your chest.

"I'm not oblivious."

Hermione responded with a look that was painfully familiar, the same expression she usually reserved for Theo whenever he said something particularly ridiculous.

"You absolutely are."

Before you could argue, she was already reaching for her phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Gathering evidence."

"Hermione."

"Hush."

A moment later she turned the screen toward you.

The beach photograph from the volleyball tournament filled the screen. Everyone was crowded together in the sand, laughing and smiling while the sunset painted everything gold.

At first glance, it looked completely normal. Then your eyes landed on Enzo.

His arm was wrapped securely around your waist, his entire body angled toward yours as though he couldn't help it. And his gaze.

Your stomach dropped.

Because he wasn't looking at the camera. He wasn't looking at Theo, or Draco, or anyone else.

He was looking at you as though you were the only person in the photograph, his attention fixed entirely on you while everyone else faded into the background. It was the sort of look that made the rest of the world seem irrelevant, like nothing else existed beyond the space between the two of you.

Hermione didn’t say anything immediately.

She just watched your face instead of the photo.

"Oh."

Hermione's eyebrows lifted knowingly.

"Exactly."

You swallowed hard and forced yourself to keep staring at the screen.

"It's one picture."

"It's every picture."

You looked away, unable to hold her gaze any longer, and your pulse suddenly felt far too loud in the silence between you.

Because suddenly you were remembering a hundred other moments.

The harbor where he'd watched you instead of the view. The cat he had somehow convinced to like him simply because you liked it. The boat ride, the way he'd looked at you when you got sick, and the expression on his face before you'd pushed him away on the terrace.

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn't real.

It couldn't be.

You shook your head firmly, as though the motion alone could force the thought out of your mind.

Hermione looked exasperated.

"Does he know?"

"What?"

"That the relationship is fake."

You blinked.

"Obviously."

Hermione tilted her head slightly.

"Are you sure?"

The question landed harder than it should have, and you found yourself frowning as you looked away.

"Of course he does."

Hermione's expression suggested she wasn't convinced, not even a little.

"There is absolutely nothing fake about the way that man looks at you."

Your heart stumbled at the certainty in her voice, and for a moment neither of you spoke. The silence stretched between you until guilt began creeping in, settling heavily in your chest.

You groaned and buried your face in your hands.

"I'm sorry, Mione."

Her expression softened immediately.

"For what?"

"This."

You gestured vaguely toward the villa, the wedding, Greece, all of it before letting out a frustrated laugh.

"The mess we caused."

The words came out quieter than you'd intended.

You looked down at your hands and picked at a nonexistent thread on your dress.

"I never meant for any of this to happen."

Hermione's expression softened immediately.

The amusement disappeared, replaced by something gentler.

"Hey."

You finally looked up.

"I mean it," you said. "This week is supposed to be about you and Draco, and instead I've somehow turned it into a complete disaster."

A humorless laugh escaped you.

"Fake dating the man who broke my heart at sixteen during your wedding week wasn't exactly one of my better ideas."

Hermione stared at you for a moment before reaching over and squeezing your hand.

"Y/N."

You hated how emotional hearing your name made you feel.

"I know you didn't do any of this to hurt anyone."

Your throat tightened.

Hermione had always had that annoying ability to see straight through you.

Even when you wished she wouldn't.

"I just feel bad," you admitted. "You deserve one week where nobody is creating chaos around you."

For a second, Hermione simply looked at you before a laugh escaped her.

It wasn't mocking or judgmental. If anything, she looked delighted by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

"Are you kidding?"

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously as Hermione's grin widened.

"This is the most alive I've felt in years."

You gaped at her.

She shrugged, looking entirely unapologetic.

"What?"

You stared at her.

"Your wedding is in three days."

"Exactly."

Hermione pointed back toward the restaurant, where the muffled sounds of laughter and music drifted through the open doors.

"Do you know how many seating charts I've looked at this week?"

A reluctant laugh escaped you despite yourself.

Hermione smiled at the sound before her expression softened again.

"Y/N, Draco and I spent most of dinner talking about transportation logistics."

You snorted.

"I'm serious."

She leaned against the railing beside you, gazing out at the water.

"I love my life. I love Draco. But somewhere along the way we all became adults."

A fond smile tugged at her lips.

"Now Theo is flirting with anything that has a pulse, Pansy is terrorizing poor Neville, and apparently you and Lorenzo have been fake dating right under my nose."

You groaned, and Hermione laughed softly at your reaction.

"My point is that you're my friend."

The teasing faded from her voice as she reached for your hand again.

"You don't have to apologize for being human."

Something warm settled painfully in your chest. Hermione gave your hand a gentle squeeze before continuing.

"And for the record, I'd rather spend my wedding week helping you through a crisis than pretending everything is perfect."

Your eyes stung unexpectedly.

"That's disgustingly sweet."

"I know."

You shook your head.

"Draco has turned you into a romantic."

Hermione's smile widened slightly.

"Don't tell him that, please. His ego is already big enough as it is."

Despite everything weighing on your mind, a laugh escaped you, and for the first time since leaving the table, you felt like you could breathe again.

Hermione smiled at the sound, clearly pleased with herself. The teasing glint in her eyes lingered for a moment before her expression softened.

"You know," Hermione said quietly.

"What?"

Her smile turned suspiciously fond.

"I've never seen Lorenzo look at anyone else the way he looks at you."

Honestly, it was a little alarming how quickly Enzo folded whenever you looked at him a certain way.

The man carried himself like a pureblood prince most of the time. He was arrogant, confident, and completely insufferable when he wanted to be, always seeming far too pleased with himself for anyone's liking.

Then you would tell him no, or give him a look, and the entire act would crumble almost instantly. Suddenly he looked like a kicked puppy waiting for forgiveness, as though your approval was the only thing that mattered.

The transformation was genuinely remarkable.

You stared out at the water.

For once, you didn't have a sarcastic response ready.

Which was probably answer enough.

🐚TAGLIST