a snape and a Malfoy

THE TRAIN RIDE BACK

The steam billowed from the scarlet engine as the Hogwarts Express stood proudly at Platform 9¾. Parents bustled about, sending off their children with final hugs and reminders, while students hurried aboard, chattering excitedly about the upcoming school year.

Draco Malfoy stepped onto the platform, his hand tight on the handle of his luggage. His gray eyes scanned the sea of students. His mother had already kissed him on the cheek and left, with Lucius Malfoy offering a few words about family honor before turning on his heel. But Draco wasn’t paying attention to any of that. He was looking for one person.

*Cera.*

He wasn’t sure why his heart was beating faster. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her in months—well, that was true, actually. But they had exchanged letters over the summer, and every sharp remark she made only pulled him in more. Something had changed between them, and he wasn’t sure if it was just him who noticed.

Just then, his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure. Cera Snape stood by one of the train doors, her black hair loose and wind-swept, her face calm and composed as she said something to her father, Severus Snape. Professor Snape’s face remained stoic as ever, his dark eyes flicking toward Draco for a brief moment before returning to his daughter.

Draco adjusted his grip on his luggage, took a breath, and strode toward them.

“Cera,” he called out, his usual coolness coating his voice as he approached, even though inside he felt something different. Excitement? Nerves?

Cera turned, her sharp eyes locking onto him immediately. “Draco,” she replied with a small, knowing smirk. “I was beginning to think you’d missed the train.”

Draco smirked back, glad to have an excuse for their usual banter. “Miss the train? Hardly. I wouldn’t miss the chance to outdo you in Potions again this year.”

Cera raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “If by outdo, you mean watching me make all the corrections to your work, then sure. Maybe this year you’ll finally take some notes on proper technique.”

Before Draco could fire back, Severus spoke, his deep voice cutting through the banter. “You should get on board. The train leaves soon.”

Cera nodded curtly to her father. “See you at school, Father.”

Snape gave her a small, nearly imperceptible nod, his eyes lingering on Draco for a moment longer before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

As Snape left, Draco leaned in slightly, dropping his playful smirk for a moment. “Does he always look like that when you leave, or is it just me?”

Cera rolled her eyes. “He’s always like that, even when he’s pleased.” Her voice softened slightly, something only Draco would have noticed. “But he’s... protective.”

Draco glanced at her, noting the small shift in her tone. He had never really understood the relationship between Cera and her father. Severus Snape was an enigma to him—intense, strict, and always several steps ahead. Draco felt the pressure of family expectations, but Cera’s situation with her father seemed different. More complex.

“Well, he doesn’t have to worry,” Draco said casually, pushing the thought away. “You’re with me now.”

Cera gave him a sidelong glance as they boarded the train, walking down the narrow hallway toward an empty compartment. “I think I can take care of myself, Draco.”

He smirked again, but there was something different about the way he looked at her this time. “I’m sure you can.”

They slid open the compartment door and settled inside, the sound of students bustling through the train filling the air outside. Draco watched as Cera placed her bag neatly in the corner, her movements fluid and precise. For a moment, he was silent, simply observing her, and then, almost without thinking, he said:

“I missed you.”

Cera froze for a brief second, then turned to face him fully. “What?”

“I said I missed you,” Draco repeated, more confidently now. “It was... strange. Over the summer. Not having you around.”

Cera’s expression remained neutral, though there was the slightest flicker of something in her eyes—surprise, maybe, or curiosity. “I didn’t think you were the sentimental type, Draco.”

He shrugged, leaning back against the cushioned seat, though his eyes never left hers. “Maybe I’m not. Or maybe it’s just you.”

Cera stared at him for a moment, as if trying to figure out if he was teasing her. But Draco’s gaze was steady, serious in a way she hadn’t expected. She folded her arms, leaning back against the window.

“Well, if you’re admitting to missing me, then maybe you should try writing your letters on time next summer. Instead of waiting until the last minute.”

Draco grinned. “You know I like to keep you waiting.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was something warmer in her smile now. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Only for you,” he replied, leaning forward slightly, his tone lighter but still carrying that edge of sincerity. He realized his heart was still beating fast, his thoughts tangled with something he wasn’t used to. Admiration? Affection? Whatever it was, he wasn’t about to tell her outright—at least, not yet.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sound of the train beginning to move filling the compartment. The view outside the window shifted as the platform drifted away and countryside fields began to blur by.

Draco was the first to break the silence. “Think we’ll beat Gryffindor this year?”

Cera smirked, leaning forward slightly, matching his posture. “Only if you stop messing up in Quidditch. You know, Slytherin’s not going to win if you spend the entire match showing off.”

“I don’t show off,” Draco protested, though there was a playful glint in his eye. “I’m just naturally better.”

Cera raised an eyebrow. “Naturally better? I seem to recall a certain match where you almost fell off your broom.”

Draco crossed his arms, looking scandalized. “That was a gust of wind.”

“Right. A gust of wind that came from the Gryffindor beater’s bat,” she quipped, causing them both to burst into laughter.

For the rest of the train ride, they fell into their usual rhythm—trading barbs, discussing the upcoming school year, and making plans to outshine their classmates in Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. But underneath it all, there was something else—a quiet understanding that something had shifted between them over the summer. Draco still hadn’t found the right words for it, and maybe he didn’t need to.

As the train sped toward Hogwarts, Draco caught himself glancing at Cera more than once. She didn’t notice, or if she did, she didn’t mention it.

And that was fine. He had time. Another year, and perhaps by the end of it, he’d know what to say—or maybe he’d just let the moments between them speak for themselves.