human again / hp.

Chapter 24

The sharp chill of the Scottish evening embraced us as the Hogwarts Express shuddered to a stop at Hogsmeade Station. Students spilled from the train in a vibrant surge, their voices rising in a chaotic symphony of excitement and chatter. Lanterns flickered along the platform, casting warm, golden halos of light onto the cobblestones, which glistened faintly under the lingering mist from the train's steam.

I stepped down from the train, the heel of my polished black boots clicking softly against the stone. Draco was beside me, his energy unmistakable as he launched into an animated spiel about Slytherin's upcoming Quidditch dominance. Crabbe and Goyle trailed behind him like shadows, their grunts of agreement punctuating his words, while Blaise Zabini strolled with an air of nonchalance, his amusement at Draco's bravado apparent in the faint curve of his lips.

Their voices formed a familiar background hum, but I barely registered the words. My eyes were drawn upward as the castle came into view, its towering spires illuminated against the darkening sky. Hogwarts stood majestic and timeless, the sight of it stirring a complex tangle of emotions within me: awe at its beauty, relief at the promise of a return to routine, and the ever-present weight of the expectations that loomed over me like the castle's highest tower.

The journey to the castle began in a procession of carriages, each one creaking and groaning as it made its way up the winding path. I caught Draco glancing at me briefly before he turned his attention back to his monologue about Quidditch strategy. 

As the castle loomed closer, the warm glow of its windows spilling into the dusk, my chest tightened. The imposing oak doors of the entrance hall opened before us, and the sound of hundreds of voices echoed in the cavernous space. The familiar scent of old stone and candle wax filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of damp robes and freshly polished shoes.

"See you at the feast," Draco said, a sly smirk playing on his lips as he and the others peeled off toward the Slytherin table. His tone carried the assumption that I would fall in line, as I always had.

I nodded mutely as I moved toward the Gryffindor table. 

The Gryffindor table was already bustling, the roar of laughter and conversation a stark contrast to the controlled murmur of the Slytherin table. My heart skipped slightly as I spotted Hermione seated near the middle, her bushy hair unmistakable even amid the crowd. She glanced up, her brown eyes brightening with a flicker of hope as they met mine. Her hand shifted to make room beside her, a subtle invitation.

I hesitated, the moment stretching longer than it should have, before I broke away and slid into an empty seat farther down the table. Her face fell, the hope dimming, but I forced myself to look away, my chest tightening with a mix of guilt and resolve.

"Celeste!" Seamus Finnigan greeted me with a wide grin, his Irish lilt bright. "How was your summer?"

"Fine," I replied, my voice curt.

He blinked, clearly taken aback by my tone, but quickly recovered, launching into a conversation with Dean Thomas about a Quidditch match they'd attended over the break. I kept my focus on the golden plate in front of me, willing my mind to stay blank as the feast began.

The food appeared in an instant, as bountiful and enticing as ever. Roast chicken, buttery mashed potatoes, and pumpkin pasties filled the plates, but I barely touched them. My appetite was drowned out by the hum of the hall, punctuated by whispers about Harry and Ron's absence. Their usual spots near Hermione sat glaringly empty, and their absence seemed to weigh heavily on her.

"Probably missed the train," Neville Longbottom murmured, his voice tinged with worry as he glanced nervously at the staff table. "Do you think they'll get in trouble?"

"Trouble?" Dean said with a laugh. "It's Harry Potter. He could walk in halfway through the feast and get a standing ovation."

The table erupted in laughter, but Hermione remained quiet, her brow furrowed in concern. My gaze flickered to her, then to the empty seats beside her. Despite myself, I wondered where they were and whether they were all right.

At the Slytherin table, Draco lounged in his seat, the picture of confidence. His laughter carried across the hall, mingling with the occasional sharp comment that drew snickers from Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise watched him with an expression of mild amusement, his gaze occasionally drifting toward our table. I stiffened, keeping my focus firmly on my plate.

When Dumbledore rose from his seat, the Great Hall fell into an expectant hush. His gaze swept the students, his blue eyes twinkling with warmth as he welcomed us.

"Another year at Hogwarts," he began, his deep voice echoing. "A year of learning, growth, and, I daresay, a few surprises."

His words carried a weight of knowing, as if he were already privy to the events that would unfold. His gaze lingered briefly on the Gryffindor table, where the absence of two of its most famous occupants was glaringly obvious.

The feast continued, but I found little comfort in the laughter and camaraderie around me. I finished eating quickly, my movements mechanical, and was among the first to rise when the prefects began leading students to their dormitories.

The trek to Gryffindor Tower was a blur. The Fat Lady greeted us with a cheery smile, swinging open after I murmured the password. The common room was warm and inviting, its roaring fire casting flickering shadows on the walls, but I didn't linger.

Climbing the stairs to the girls' dormitory, I felt the weight of the year ahead pressing down on me. Shutting the door to my four-poster bed, I sank into the mattress, drawing the heavy curtains closed. My thoughts were relentless, circling back to the choices I'd made, the alliances I'd upheld, and the friendships I'd abandoned.

Ignoring Hermione, Harry, and Ron wasn't just about pleasing Father. It was about survival, about proving that I could navigate the treacherous waters of Hogwarts without faltering. But as I lay in the stillness, the ache of what I'd given up felt heavier than ever.