Somewhere in the noise, a voice called out—a friend, a familiar face—but the first thing Y/n noticed was Draco Malfoy, standing near the edge of the platform with his back half-turned.

He was already surrounded by the usual Slytherins. Blaise, Theodore, Pansy. Their robes pressed and perfect. Their laughter low and private.

Draco wasn't laughing.

He was looking past the crowd, pale and still, as if scanning for something—or avoiding it.