The London street was cold, the wind unmercifully strong; even the trees bent under its force. Occasional flashes of lightning illuminated the grape-purple sky, and the low, rumbling sound of thunder was the only sound to be heard.

He huddled in his jacket, trying to make the garment tighter around his body; it was no use, the cold was in the very centre of his bones. The man walked briskly along the pavement, ignoring the puddles he stepped in – he was clearly in a rush.

Again and again he cursed himself for letting his ex-classmate talk him into going to the thrice-accursed Yule party. He could have been sitting at home now, in a nice, cosy, warm armchair with a cup of coffee and a good book. But no, here he was, out in the rain, getting soaked and freezing and he was most sure he'd catch a bad cold and be sick for days.

He approached the door and rang four times. It opened a few moments later, and a pretty young woman appeared in the doorway.

'Oh,' she said shortly, seemingly surprised to see him, 'oh.'

'Can I come in?' he asked brusquely.

'Oh, of course,' she smiled weakly and a little sheepishly, stepping aside to let him through.

'Bad weather, eh?' she leant against the wall as the newcomer pulled off his jacket and shook the raindrops out of his hair in a dog-like manner.

'The weather is always crap around here,' he answered, and then cringed. They had not seen each other for bloody five years, and he was talking about weather!

'Yes,' she agreed, rather absent-mindedly.

The man surveyed the woman before him. She had grown, and was fuller of shape now, no longer the wiry little girl she had been. She had the grace of a dancer – when had she started dancing? - and her large eyes were bright and full of cheerfulness. The dress was nice, too – pale-blue Chinese silk with a red dragon going down one side.

She blew a loose strand of hair from her face.

'Let's go? Everyone's already here,' she said timidly.

He followed her down the long corridor, and he could hear the faint sound fo music now. When the woman opened a thick oaken door, the loudness of the music almost deafened him.

The hall was semi-dark, full of people. There were small groups of them by the table, chatting away with glasses in their hands, laughing and joking animatedly. Some – couples – had retired to the sofas at the end of the hall, but most were dancing. Dozens of swaying and embracing people – some of whom seemed, to him, vaguely familiar.

'I'll leave you then?' the woman asked, and when he nodded in the positive, she went to join a lanky man by the buffet.

The man looked around, trying to find the person who had made him come. He couldn't see him, so he started making his way along the impromptu dance-floor, eyeing the assembled.

Then he saw someone. A man, dancing alone. Slim, lithe body swaying to the music, eyes closed, lips parted. He was music, he was one with it. Movements perfectly fitting with the beat of the song, a happy, serene, perfectly content expression on the perfect face.

There was no mistaking him – he had not changed much. Grown older, maybe. Grimmer, a little. More beautiful.

And then the dancer opened his eyes and their gazes met.

The music was too loud for the man to hear what the dancer said, but he saw the word form on his lips.

'Malfoy!'