The Hogwarts Express pulls into the station, the familiar screech of brakes marking our arrival at Hogsmeade. My breath fogs the glass as I press my forehead against the window, staring at the dark silhouettes of the castle towers rising against the inky sky.
Hogwarts.
No matter how many times I return, the sight always sends a jolt through me, equal parts excitement and dread. This year, though, there's an added weight—a whispered promise of danger disguised as glory. Father had told us over the summer about the Triwizard Tournament. He'd spoken of it with pride, as though the mere hosting of such a historic event was proof of the wizarding world's superiority.
Draco's been talking about it all summer, and even now, he's walking down the train corridor, his voice carrying as he boasts to anyone who'll listen.
"Of course, Father was invited to the Ministry's gala to announce it. He says Hogwarts will surely produce the winning champion," he declares, Pansy Parkinson hanging on his every word.
Draco had been beside himself with excitement, already imagining himself as the Hogwarts champion, basking in glory. I had listened, nodding when required, but my thoughts were elsewhere.
Now, as Draco recounts Father's words to Pansy for what feels like the hundredth time, I glance at the reflection in the window. My own face stares back at me, pale and distant, framed by long waves of light hair. But it isn't my reflection I'm looking for.
When the train finally arrived I step outside, the cool night air is a welcome relief. It's crisp and biting, tinged with the earthy scent of damp leaves and distant pine.
I'm making my way toward the carriages when I see him.
Harry Potter.
He's standing near the edge of the platform with Ron and Hermione, his untidy black hair illuminated by the dim light of a nearby lantern. He's laughing at something Ron said, his green eyes crinkling at the corners, his expression open and carefree.
I freeze.
It's been months since I last spoke him, and yet the sight of him feels like a punch to the stomach. Over the summer, I'd managed to push thoughts of Harry to the back of my mind, burying them beneath family obligations and endless lectures from Father about loyalty and duty. But now, standing here, the ache in my chest returns with a vengeance.
He looks up, his gaze sweeping over the crowd, and for a moment, our eyes meet.
Time seems to slow, the noise of the station fading into a distant hum.
Then Hermione says something to him, and he turns away, leaving me standing there, my heart pounding in a way that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.
I force myself to keep moving, climbing into a carriage with Daphne and some of her other Slytherin friends who chatter excitedly about their summer holidays. I barely hear them, my mind racing.
The Great Hall is as magnificent as ever, its enchanted ceiling reflecting a night sky studded with stars. I slip into a seat at the Gryffindor table, the chatter of my housemates washing over me like a wave.
Harry is a few seats down, laughing with Ron and Hermione. I steal glances at him when I think he isn't looking, a strange warmth blooming in my chest every time he smiles. It's infuriating.
Why does he make me feel this way?
I've known Harry since our first year. We've faced danger together, shared secrets, and yet this feels... different. More intense. More confusing.
YOU ARE READING
human again / hp.
Fanfiction"I already forgave you, so why can't you forgive yourself?" She's a Malfoy. He's a Potter. Celeste Malfoy has always walked a fine line between the world she was born into and the one she chose for herself. At Hogwarts, nothing is simple. Not friend...
