human again / hp.

Chapter 4

The dinner feast seemed to stretch on forever. The conversations around me were a blur—students from all houses chatting eagerly about their placements, their homes, and their expectations for the year ahead. The food was delicious, the best I'd ever tasted, but it hardly registered. The lump in my throat made it difficult to enjoy anything.

Every so often, I would glance toward the Slytherin table, my eyes searching for Draco, but all I saw was Draco, with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him as usual, laughing, their heads thrown back with the ease of people who never had to second-guess their place in the world.

I didn't belong here.

The Sorting Hat had made its decision. Gryffindor. It felt like an impossible fit, a tight shoe that pinched with every movement. I had always been taught that ambition, cunning, and a certain sense of superiority were the qualities that defined me, that defined the Malfoy name. But here I was, sitting among strangers—Muggle-borns, half-bloods, and who knew what else. And I was supposed to fit in?

As I trailed behind the others, my steps felt heavier than they had before, weighed down by the unspoken judgments I could almost feel. Draco had already been whisked away to the Slytherin common room, surrounded by his new housemates, and the weight of his stare as I was sorted was enough to make me want to disappear. He hadn't said anything to me, but I could see the disapproval in his eyes.

The Prefects led us through dim corridors, the torchlight flickering as we walked in silence. I glanced around at the faces of the other first-years—some were excited, others nervously glancing at one another—but no one looked directly at me.

The walk to the Gryffindor common room felt endless. The corridor seemed to stretch on forever as I followed the other first years, my feet barely touching the ground. The castle's stone walls loomed above us, cold and imposing, their age-old whispers lingering in the air. I felt out of place, as if the very walls of Hogwarts were conspiring to remind me that I didn't belong here.

The name Malfoy was like a curse in this house. I could feel the tension in the air, the whispers that were already brewing, even though I hadn't done anything to provoke them. It was only a matter of time before I would be defined by my family name, no matter how much I wanted to escape it.

When we finally reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the Prefect spoke in a low voice, her words laced with caution, as if she feared her own voice might carry too much. "The password is Caput Draconis. Remember it, or you'll be sleeping outside."

The common room inside was warm, filled with the golden glow of the roaring fireplace and the low hum of conversation. It felt... cozy, but nothing about it felt like home.

We all filed in, some laughing, some talking in quiet groups. My gaze was immediately drawn to a group of girls who sat near the fire, giggling as they passed around a stack of books. Their laughter was loud and carefree, but none of them seemed to notice me standing at the edge, just inside the door.

I walked in slowly, as if testing the waters. No one made any effort to acknowledge me. It was as if I were invisible. Not one glance was thrown my way, not even out of curiosity. I wasn't one of them, and they weren't going to waste their time wondering why the daughter of Lucius Malfoy was sitting among them.

But that didn't make the silence hurt any less. The weight of it pressed on me, heavy and unyielding. They had already decided I was different, and that difference was as much my family as it was the house I was placed in.

I found an empty armchair by the fire and sat down. I didn't know what to do. It felt like everything I had ever known was slipping through my fingers—my connection to my family, my place in the world, my future. I wanted to be strong, like my mother had taught me to be. But sitting here, in this room full of people who didn't want me here, my heart sank.

"That's the Malfoy girl," I heard one of them whisper behind my back. I stiffened, but didn't turn around. Of course they knew.

I could still hear the echoes of my parents' words in my mind, "Uphold the honor of the Malfoy name." The words carried weight, and right now, it felt as though I were drowning beneath it.

But I had to remind myself. I wasn't here because of my parents. I wasn't here to please them. I was here to find out who I was, to make my own choices—even if that meant facing the consequences.

I drew in a shaky breath, and that's when I noticed a figure sitting across the room, her bushy brown hair a beacon in the sea of unfamiliar faces. Hermione Granger was sitting alone by the window, her nose buried in a book, as if trying to pretend she didn't notice the whispers around her.

I watched her for a moment, fascinated by how she seemed completely at ease with her own presence. But then, something else flickered in my mind—Mudblood. That word echoed through my thoughts, one my parents had used often, one they had ingrained in me.

It made my stomach churn. What would they think of me, sitting near her? Talking to her? Would they disown me for being in Gryffindor? Would they think I had lost my sense of superiority, my sense of family pride?

Still, there was something about Hermione that intrigued me. I could feel the instinct to reach out, but fear held me back. Mudblood. The word felt wrong in my mouth now, even though it was something I had been taught to believe in.

I felt my heart race as I stood up slowly. Maybe I could approach her, just to speak—just to show her that not all Malfoys were what everyone assumed. But then, what would she think of me? What if she didn't want to talk to someone like me?

I hesitated, and as I did, I saw Hermione glance up from her book and catch my eye. For a split second, her gaze softened, and she gave me a tentative smile.

She's not afraid of you.

That thought startled me, and I blinked rapidly. A Mudblood, smiling at me. For a moment, I felt something in my chest loosen, something I hadn't even realized was there. Maybe it wasn't about family. Maybe it was about being something more. About choosing what I wanted to be.

Before I could make any decision, Hermione set her book aside and stood up, walking over to me. "Hi," she said in a quiet, friendly tone. "I don't think we've met properly. I'm Hermione Granger."

I blinked at her, unsure of what to say, but then the words came out before I could stop them. "I'm Celeste Malfoy."

Her smile widened a bit. "It's nice to meet you, Celeste."

I was taken aback by her kindness, by the lack of judgment in her voice. She hadn't recoiled at my name or shown any of the disgust I had expected. Was she just being polite? Or was it something more? Something that was entirely... new to me?

"Do you—" I hesitated, then stopped myself. What was I asking? Did I want to be friends with her? Was that even possible for a Malfoy? "I mean... how are you finding it here so far?" I finally asked, the words awkward but genuine.

Hermione seemed to relax a little more, clearly relieved to be having a real conversation. "It's a bit overwhelming, to be honest. But I think I'm starting to get the hang of it."

"I... I know what you mean," I replied, the tension in my chest easing just slightly.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

She sat down beside me, her voice growing more confident. "I've heard a lot of interesting things about Gryffindor House, but I think we'll all do fine once we get to know each other. Don't you?"

I nodded slowly, realizing that perhaps, for the first time, I didn't need to carry the weight of my family's expectations on my shoulders.

In that moment, I made a choice. I didn't have to be defined by my last name. I didn't have to fit into the role my parents had planned for me. Maybe, just maybe, I could find a new path. And it started with making my own choices—starting right here, with Hermione.