The corridor outside my compartment is thick with students wrestling trunks and shoving past each other, the familiar chaos of platform 9¾ bleeding into the journey north. Laughter, slamming doors, someone shouting for a forgotten owl.

I found a compartment near the end of the train—empty, quiet, with the window seat facing away from the crowd. Exactly what I needed before the term starts properly.

The door slides open without warning.

Draco Malfoy stands in the frame, silver eyes scanning the compartment before they land on me. His school robes are immaculate, his hair perfect in that effortless way I hate to notice. For a second, his expression flickers through something unreadable—surprise, maybe.

Then the mask snaps back.

Outside, the countryside blurs past—green fields giving way to rolling hills. The compartment door clicks shut behind him, sealing us in together.