human again / hp.

Chapter 43

The Hogwarts Express chugged along the winding tracks, the rhythmic clatter of its wheels against the rails a steady, familiar melody. The train was alive with energy, the chatter of students filling the corridors as old friends reunited and younger ones spoke excitedly about the year ahead. Despite the commotion, the compartment I sat in felt quieter, more insulated—a bubble of tension I couldn't seem to shake.

Draco had wasted no time in claiming the best seat, sprawling lazily across one side of the compartment like a self-proclaimed king. His legs stretched out, taking up more space than necessary, while Crabbe and Goyle sat on either side of him, chewing loudly on sweets from the trolley. The wrappers of Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans littered the floor around them, a crinkling testament to their gluttony.

Daphne Greengrass was seated beside me, her posture as impeccable as her carefully styled hair. She leaned in close to Blaise Zabini, who lounged with effortless grace, murmuring about rumors they'd overheard from their parents over the summer. Their voices were low but animated, tinged with the detached curiosity of those accustomed to treating scandals as entertainment.

I tried to follow the conversation, nodding politely whenever Daphne glanced my way, but my thoughts kept wandering. The weight of my father's parting words clung to me like an ill-fitting cloak, their sharp edges digging into my mind.

"Mark my words, Celeste," he had said, his voice cold and firm as he stood by the hearth in the Malfoy Manor drawing room. "If Black dares come near you or your brother, you will tell me immediately. Do you understand?"

There had been an urgency to his tone, a rare crack in his typically unshakable composure. It was unlike him, and it had left me uneasy. The mention of Sirius Black—an escaped murderer whose face was plastered on the front page of the Daily Prophet—had sent a chill down my spine, though I couldn't understand why he would care about me of all people.

"Are you even listening, Celeste?" Draco's voice sliced through my reverie, sharp and impatient.

I blinked, realizing too late that Daphne had asked me a question. "Sorry, what?"

"She asked if you think this year's Quidditch matches will be any good," Draco said, his smirk dripping with condescension. "Not that your opinion matters. You'll only cheer for Gryffindor anyway."

Blaise chuckled under his breath, but Daphne shot Draco a warning look. "Don't start, Draco," she said, her tone clipped. "Not everyone feels the need to turn everything into a battlefield."

I gave her a grateful smile, but I didn't bother responding. It wasn't worth the effort. Draco's taunts always had an edge of truth, and they stung more because of it. He wasn't wrong—I had caught myself wondering how Harry, Ron, and Hermione were faring more times than I cared to admit. I hadn't spoken to them since the end of last year, but the memory of our brief alliance lingered like a secret too precious to forget.

The train jolted slightly, the engine letting out a low, mournful whistle.

"What was that?" Goyle asked through a mouthful of chocolate.

Draco rolled his eyes. "It's a train, Goyle. It makes noises. Try not to let it scare you."

The snark in his tone was as familiar as the train itself, but then the lights flickered. Once. Twice. The lamps running along the ceiling dimmed, and the train began to slow, the jerking motion more pronounced now.

Daphne shivered and wrapped her cloak tightly around her. "Is it just me, or is it freezing in here?"

"No, it's not just you," Blaise murmured, his voice uncharacteristically serious. He sat up straighter, his sharp eyes darting toward the door.

The temperature in the compartment dropped further, the chill so biting it felt like winter had descended in an instant. My breath fogged the window, and my heart started to pound. The warmth of the train, the hum of life that had surrounded us moments ago, was gone—replaced by an oppressive silence that pressed against my chest.

Then, the door to our compartment slid open with a slow, deliberate groan. Every muscle in my body locked as I turned to look.

A hooded figure loomed in the doorway, impossibly tall and draped in tattered black robes that billowed as though stirred by an unseen wind. Its skeletal hand gripped the doorframe, and though its face was hidden beneath the shadows of its hood, its presence radiated malice. The air grew heavier, as though the creature itself was sucking the life from the room.

Draco let out a strangled gasp, scrambling back against the bench with none of his usual bravado. Daphne clung to Blaise's arm, her wide eyes fixed on the figure. Even Crabbe and Goyle, usually oblivious to danger, cowered in their seats.

And me? I couldn't move. My limbs felt like lead, and my chest tightened as though invisible hands were squeezing the air out of me. It wasn't just cold—it was despair, raw and all-consuming.

The creature's presence dredged up every buried fear and failure I'd ever tried to suppress. My father's voice echoed in my mind, cold and cruel as he reprimanded me for being too soft, too weak. I saw Draco's sneer, his voice dripping with scorn as he reminded me of my place. Worst of all, I felt the weight of my secrets—the tenuous thread of trust I'd built with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. If Draco ever found out, if Lucius ever knew...

I shuddered, unable to escape the dark spiral of my own thoughts.

Then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the Dementor moved on. Its shadow disappeared down the corridor, leaving the door slightly ajar.

The warmth didn't return immediately. It was slow, like sunlight breaking through thick storm clouds. I let out a shaky breath, realizing I'd been holding it. Across from me, Draco was pale and trembling, his fists clenched tightly at his sides.

"What the bloody hell was that?" he snapped, though his voice wavered.

"A Dementor," I said hoarsely, my voice barely above a whisper.

Crabbe and Goyle exchanged blank looks, but Blaise nodded grimly. "They're guarding Hogwarts this year. Because of Black."

The compartment fell silent again, the oppressive fear replaced by a heavy tension. No one had anything clever or cutting to say—not even Draco.

I leaned back against the seat, my hands still trembling as I tried to steady my breathing. Whatever lay ahead this year, it wouldn't be ordinary. It wouldn't even be safe. As the train chugged forward again, I couldn't shake the sinking feeling that this was only the beginning of something far darker.