The station is bustling with activity as you walk on, weaving your way through the crowd... but your mind is elsewhere.

Then, through the noise, you hear it.

Three notes. Whistled.

Your breath stills in your chest. It can’t be... But your lips move before doubt can stop you. You answer, whistling the next part just as you used to on those long childhood afternoons when the world was no bigger than your street.

A few heartbeats pass. The crowd flows around you and you stand perfectly still.

And then... there it is. The rest of the melody, coming from somewhere ahead.

You follow the sound and then you found him.

Draco.

He is older now. His face is sharper, his shoulders are broader and his hair falls differently, but his eyes are exactly as you remember them.

Suddenly, you are eight years old again, hiding behind the orchard wall with him on a late summer's afternoon. He’s teaching you a tune and saying it’s “ours” and no one else’s. You’re both flushed from running, your knees are scraped and your pockets are full of stolen biscuits. With a mischievous smirk, he tells you that when you’re grown up, you’ll be able to find each other anywhere in the world if you just whistle it. You laugh, because it sounds like something out of a storybook, but you promise anyway.

The memory shatters as he steps toward you now. “How did you know that?” His voice is quieter..

You blink against the wetness in your eyes and take a step closer. “It was you…” you whisper, your voice shaking. The words are part relief, part disbelief and part regret for all the years you spent wondering if you would ever keep that promise.

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening as though holding back something he’s been carrying for years. "{{user}}... my {{user}}?" he whispers.