human again / hp.

Chapter 22

The cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley hummed with life, a tapestry of sound and movement as witches and wizards flitted between shops, their robes swishing with purpose. The air was thick with the scents of parchment, ink, and a faint trace of roasted nuts from a nearby vendor. I kept close to my mother, her regal demeanor a beacon I dared not stray far from. My gloved hands clutched tightly to the leather-bound list of school supplies for my second year at Hogwarts, the crisp parchment creasing under my grip.

Draco strutted ahead, his pale blond hair catching the sunlight as his chin tilted upward, casting disdainful glances at anyone who crossed his path. His every movement radiated that signature Malfoy superiority, as if he owned the very ground we walked on. Father, in contrast, walked a few paces behind us, his black cane tapping against the cobblestones with a deliberate rhythm that carried an air of quiet menace. Though the sun shone brightly overhead, I couldn't shake the chill that settled over me under his gaze.

Father's stern words from the summer reverberated in my mind, a relentless mantra I couldn't silence.

"This year, Celeste, you will conduct yourself appropriately. Stay away from Potter, Weasley and Granger. I will not tolerate another display of disobedience like last year."

I had nodded at the time, saying nothing, knowing no protest would change his mind. His meaning had been clear—he didn't trust me. Not fully. Not since he'd learned of the Philosopher's Stone and the part I'd played. So now, as we navigated the bustling alley, I kept my face blank, my steps measured. A Malfoy must always be composed. Controlled. Dutiful.

I hadn't replied to Harry, Ron, or Hermione's letters all summer. At the time, it had seemed like the right thing to do, but the guilt of that silence weighed on me. They had risked everything for me last year, and yet, here I was—silent, compliant, pretending none of it mattered. Guilt sat heavy in my chest, its claws digging in with every step.

"Celeste, do keep up," Mother said crisply, her voice carrying an edge that brooked no argument. I quickened my pace, falling in line beside Draco as we approached Flourish and Blotts.

Inside, the bookshop was alive with excitement. A dense crowd had formed at the back, murmurs and gasps rippling through the air as witches and wizards jostled for a better view. Father's lip curled with disdain as he surveyed the commotion.

"What's all this fuss about?" Draco muttered, his gray eyes narrowing as he caught sight of the bright sign hanging above the crowd. It read: "Gilderoy Lockhart—Autograph Signing Today!"

At the center of it all was Lockhart himself, his golden hair gleaming as he flashed a dazzling smile to the throngs of admirers. He stood behind a towering stack of his latest book, Magical Me, posing for photographs and scribbling autographs with flourish.

Draco scoffed loudly. "Pathetic," he sneered, folding his arms. "Autographs for that?"

I smirked faintly, though my thoughts were elsewhere. My eyes flitted around the crowded shop, searching, my stomach twisting with a mixture of dread and anticipation. And then I saw them.

My breath hitched. Seeing them again after months of silence was harder than I'd expected. Memories I'd fought to bury—whispered secrets, late-night escapades, the bond forged in the heat of danger—came rushing back with painful clarity. But Father's presence loomed behind me like a storm cloud, and I forced my expression to remain impassive. They're not your friends anymore. You have a duty to your family. You promised.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood huddled together, Hermione's arms stacked with a precarious pile of Lockhart's books. Her brown hair, wild as ever, framed her eager expression as she watched Lockhart with wide eyes. Ron muttered something to Harry, who shifted uncomfortably, his face flushing as Lockhart's gaze landed on him.

In an instant, Lockhart's smile grew wider, and he motioned for Harry to step forward. The crowd parted, murmuring excitedly as Lockhart threw an arm around Harry and beamed for the photographer. My heart sank at the sight of him. 

"Isn't this precious?" Draco's voice cut through my thoughts . "Potter, the bookstore's new mascot. Signing autographs already?"

And when Harry went back to his friends Draco's voice sliced through the air like a blade, loud and mocking. "Bet you loved that, didn't you, Potter? Famous Harry Potter, can't even go into a bookshop without making the front page."

Harry turned, his green eyes narrowing as his gaze locked onto Draco. Then his eyes flicked to me. For a fleeting moment, his expression softened, and something unspoken passed between us—a question, or perhaps an accusation. My stomach churned, but I steeled myself, burying whatever it was that stirred within me.

"Well," I said, my voice sharper than I intended, "it does make sense. Lockhart's the only one here who enjoys the spotlight as much as Potter." Draco smirked approvingly.

Ginny Weasley, standing nearby, flushed bright red as she stepped forward. "Leave him alone!" she snapped, her voice trembling with anger.

"How charming," I retorted, lifting my chin. "A Weasley defending Potter. How very predictable."

The words tasted bitter on my tongue. I didn't mean them—not really. But Draco smirked in approval, and I could feel Father's gaze flick toward me, appraising. I couldn't falter. Not here. Not now.

Ron's face turned scarlet as he stepped closer. "At least Ginny doesn't strut around acting like she's better than everyone because of her last name!"

"Careful, Weasley," Draco drawled lazily, his smirk widening. "You wouldn't want to embarrass your family any more than they already are."

Before Ron could retort, Lucius Malfoy's cold voice cut through the tense exchange. "Draco, Celeste. Enough." His icy gray eyes locked onto Harry's scar. "Mr. Potter," he drawled, his tone laced with mock politeness. "We meet at last. Your scar is legend, as, of course, is the wizard who gave it to you."

Harry held his ground, his jaw tight. But as I met his eyes once more, time seemed to slow. His lips moved, forming words I couldn't hear over the roar of my own thoughts. Something twisted painfully in my chest, but I forced myself to look away.

"Draco, Celeste Come along," Father ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "We've wasted enough time on... this."

I hesitated, my feet feeling like lead as Harry's gaze followed me. There was something in his eyes—hurt, confusion, hope? I didn't know. I couldn't let myself care. With a final deep breath, I turned and followed my family, the ache in my chest blooming larger with every step I took.