"Didn't know you was into gingers, Malfoy?"
"Shut up Weasley"
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Gemma Weasley shared many similarities with her siblings, the ginger hair, pale skin, freckles and a super sense of humour, yet she was the one that stood out from them all. Even her tw...
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The train rattled beneath us, the rhythmic clack of the wheels on the tracks usually had a calming effect, but not this time. The air in the compartment felt thick, the tension almost suffocating. It was the start of our fifth year, and even though we were headed back to Hogwarts, it felt like everything had changed.
I was sitting next to Ronald, staring out the window, watching the countryside blur by. Harry sat across from me, quiet, his face hard. He'd barely said a word since we left the station. Hermione was beside him, her nose buried in a book, though I could tell she wasn't really reading. Every so often, she'd glance over at Harry, concern flickering in her eyes. None of us knew what to say, or maybe we were too afraid to say what was really on our minds. The events of last year—Cedric, the graveyard, Voldemort's return—had cast a long shadow.
But for me, there was something else gnawing at the back of my mind. Draco.
He hadn't written to me. Not once. The entire summer, and not a single word. Every day, I had waited for an owl, some sign that he hadn't completely disappeared, but the skies had stayed empty. The silence stung more than I wanted to admit, and now, with every passing minute on this train, the anxiety of seeing him again built up inside me.
"Are you alright, Gem?" Ron's voice cut through my thoughts. I hadn't even realized I'd been sitting there, hands clenched into fists in my lap.
"Yeah," I said, forcing a small smile. "Just thinking."
Ronald gave me a look, the one he always gave when he knew I was lying but didn't want to push it. I appreciated that about him. He never pressed me too hard when I didn't want to talk, unlike Hermione, who was always asking questions. But right now, even she was too wrapped up in Harry's brooding silence to notice that something was off with me.
I glanced over at Harry, wondering what was going on in his head. He hadn't been himself since the end of last year. We all knew that. He had seen too much, gone through too much. I wanted to say something to him, to help, but the words stuck in my throat. What could I say that would make anything better?
The train jolted slightly as it started to slow down. We were almost there—Hogsmeade Station. My stomach twisted at the thought. I'd see Draco soon, and I had no idea what to expect. Would he even acknowledge me? Or had this summer of silence been his way of saying goodbye?
"I can't wait for the feast," Ron said, breaking the silence in the compartment, rubbing his hands together like he could already smell the roast chicken and pumpkin pasties. "I'm starving."
"Honestly, Ron, is that all you think about?" Hermione said, but there was a fondness in her voice. It was the first time I'd heard her sound even remotely normal since the ride began.
The train screeched to a halt, and we all stood, gathering our things. My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled on my Hogwarts robes. I tried to steady myself, focusing on the mundane task of getting ready. But it was no use. My mind was spinning.
