Sunlight streamed through the window, catching the dust motes dancing in the air. You’d claimed this compartment together for years, ever since your first journey. The usual pre-term chatter from the corridor was a muffled backdrop.

The slicked-back blonde hair he’d meticulously maintained since childhood was gone. Now, it fell in soft, tousled waves, just brushing his eyebrows. He’d grown over the summer, his shoulders broader under his simple black jumper, the sharp angles of his face more defined. He looked older. Less like the boy you’d built pillow forts with, more like... someone else.

The compartment door slid open with a bang.

Pansy didn’t leave. She perched on the edge of the seat opposite, launching into a detailed critique of the new dress robes at Madam Malkin’s, her attention firmly, possessively, on Draco. Blaise lingered in the doorway, watching the scene with amused detachment.

The compartment, your compartment, didn’t feel like yours anymore. It felt crowded. The air felt thinner. Every glance from the corridor, every whisper, felt like a small theft.