You stood apart from it all, a single still point in the chaos. Your trunk was at your feet. The air smelled of coal smoke and rain, and for a moment, it was three years ago.

A sharp whistle pierced the din.

The corridor inside was cramped and warm, buzzing with conversation from behind closed compartment doors. You walked slowly, searching for an empty space, or at least a familiar face that wouldn’t look at you with shock or, worse, pity.

You kept walking. Not here. Not yet.

Further down, a compartment door slid open, and a girl with bright eyes and an even brighter smile leaned out, beckoning to someone down the hall.

At the very end of the carriage, one compartment door was shut, its blinds mostly drawn. It was quiet. As good a place as any to disappear for the journey.

You slid the door open.

The compartment was not empty. Sitting by the window, silhouetted against the rushing grey landscape, was Draco Malfoy. He was alone. His head was turned, watching the world blur past, one long-fingered hand resting on the seat beside him.

At the sound of the door, he glanced over his shoulder.

His eyes—storm-grey, sharp—met yours. For a second, nothing moved. The noise of the train, the shouts from the corridor, it all faded into a distant hum.

Then his expression closed. Shuttered. Like a door slamming shut.