Y/N Potter?

Chapter 7: Growing Apart

The days continued to pass, and with each one, the distance between Quinn and me grew more apparent. What once felt like an unbreakable bond was now strained, as though an invisible wall had been built between us. And that wall seemed to get taller every time I saw her with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

At first, I tried to ignore it. After all, Hogwarts was a place full of new experiences and people. It wasn't strange for students to drift toward different groups or explore new friendships. But the more I saw Quinn with them, the more I couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was happening.

In classes, Quinn used to be right next to me, ready to whisper a joke or share a quick laugh when things got tense. But now, I found her slipping away more often than not, gravitating toward Harry's group. I'd see her across the room in Potions, chatting with Ron about the ingredients we were using, or exchanging notes with Hermione in Transfiguration. It was as if our shared history had suddenly become less important than whatever it was she had with them.

It was especially difficult during meal times. The Great Hall, usually a place of shared conversation and laughter, felt like a battleground. Quinn always seemed to be sitting just out of reach, sometimes at the Gryffindor table with Harry and the others, leaving me alone at the Slytherin table with a hollow feeling in my chest. Even Pasley's usual antics, talking about the next wild party, weren't enough to distract me from how much I missed Quinn's presence.

I tried to bring it up with her one evening after dinner. She was packing up her things, getting ready to head to the library, and I followed her out of the Great Hall.

"Quinn," I called, catching up to her. "We haven't hung out in a while. What's going on?"

She hesitated, adjusting the strap of her bag, and turned to face me. "I've just been busy," she said, her tone casual, but her eyes avoided mine. "There's a lot of work to catch up on, and... I don't know, I've been spending time with some different people."

I frowned. "Yeah, I've noticed. It feels like you're always with Harry and his friends now."

Quinn shrugged. "They're... interesting. Hermione's brilliant with her spellwork, and Harry—well, you know how he is. He's always caught up in something big. It's kind of exciting."

Her words hit harder than I expected. I wasn't sure what I had been hoping to hear, but I knew it wasn't this. "What about us?" I asked, my voice quieter than I intended. "We used to do everything together. Now, it feels like you don't even care."

Quinn looked at me for a long moment, her face softening. "It's not that I don't care, Y/N. I just... I don't know. Things are changing. I'm changing. Maybe we're just growing apart."

Growing apart. The words stung, sharper than any spell. I swallowed, trying to push down the lump in my throat. "I don't want us to grow apart."

Quinn sighed, glancing over her shoulder as though she was eager to leave. "I'm sorry," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I really am."

And with that, she turned and walked away, heading toward the library. I stood there, watching her go, feeling like I had just lost something I couldn't get back.

As the weeks dragged on, things didn't get better. If anything, they got worse. Quinn was almost always with Harry, Ron, and Hermione now, and it was impossible to ignore the growing distance between us. Whenever I saw them together, laughing or studying in the common areas, it was like a knife twisting deeper into the wound.

Draco, of course, noticed the shift. He always seemed to be lurking in the background, watching everything unfold with a smug expression on his face. One day, after Transfiguration, he cornered me as we left class.

"So, Quinn's found herself a new crowd, huh?" he said, falling into step beside me, his minions trailing behind him as usual.

I shot him a glare. "Not your business, Malfoy."

He smirked, clearly enjoying my frustration. "It's hard not to notice. She barely talks to you anymore. Too busy playing hero with Potter and his gang, I suppose."

I clenched my fists, willing myself not to rise to the bait. "I don't need your commentary."

Draco raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Touchy, are we? It must sting, watching your best friend ditch you for the golden trio."

I quickened my pace, hoping to get away from him, but he kept up easily. His voice was lower when he spoke again, almost conspiratorial. "You know, people don't just abandon their friends for no reason. Maybe you should ask yourself why she left you behind."

I stopped walking and turned to face him, my anger barely contained. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

He smiled, a slow, calculating smile. "Nothing. Just thought I'd offer a bit of advice. Be careful, Nightfall. You don't want to end up alone."

As he was about to leave, his eyes fell on the lightning bolt-shaped scar on my neck, visible just above the collar of my robe. Draco's eyes narrowed, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face. "That scar," he said, gesturing toward it. "Where did you get that?"

I tensed, instinctively reaching up to cover it. "It's none of your business."

Draco's smirk widened. "Just curious. It's not often you see something like that. It's rather distinctive. You know, Harry Potter has a similar scar—though his is on his forehead."

The mention of Harry Potter's scar made my heart skip a beat. It was unsettling to think that Draco had drawn a parallel between our scars. "I'm not sure why that matters," I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

Draco's gaze lingered for a moment longer before he finally turned and walked away, his minions trailing behind him.

That night, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the Slytherin dormitory, replaying Draco's words in my mind. I hated that he had a point. I hated that Quinn's absence was affecting me this much. And most of all, I hated that I didn't know what to do about it.

As I stared up at the canopy of my bed, my mind wandered to the lightning bolt-shaped scar on my neck. It was a mark of something significant, something that should have made me special. But instead, it seemed like it was a constant reminder of how I was losing the things that mattered most. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it, a part of me couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, we really were growing apart.

And there was nothing I could do to stop it.