Memories of the Heart || Harry Potter x Reader

Y5 ~ Rise in Anger

Christmas break passed much quicker than Y/N had expected, and before she knew it, she was back at King's Cross, standing on the familiar platform surrounded by excited chatter and clouds of steam from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. She pulled her trunk behind her, the wheels clattering over the cobblestones, and tried not to lose sight of Harry and the others as she weaved through the bustling crowd. The air was crisp, the faint scent of snow lingering from the flurries that had dusted London that morning.

As the final warning whistle pierced the air, Y/N hurried up the steps and onto the train, her breath visible in the cold. She shuffled down the narrow corridor, dodging first-years and the occasional owl fluttering in its cage, until she reached the compartment where Harry, Hermione, and Ron were settling in. Just as she was about to slide open the door, a hand caught her wrist.

"Not so fast, Nightengale," Fred said with a mischievous grin, pulling her into the next carriage.

"Yeah, you're going to want to see this," George added, already walking ahead.

Y/N was dragged down the corridor to where a small crowd of students had gathered. Inside the compartment, a flustered first-year was nursing a black eye, courtesy of a punching telescope. Fred knelt in front of the student, producing a jar of what looked like yellow paste.

"Now, hold still," Fred instructed, dabbing the paste over the bruise. Within moments, the swelling vanished, leaving the skin smooth and unblemished.

"Impressive, huh?" George said, nudging Y/N. "We're calling it 'Bruise-B-Gone.' Perfect for Quidditch accidents or, you know, sneaky hexes in the corridors."

Y/N couldn't help but smile. "This could actually be useful. Especially during—" she lowered her voice, "—training in the Room of Requirement. Someone's always getting hurt."

Fred and George exchanged knowing grins but said nothing more. Y/N thanked them and headed back toward her compartment, her thoughts already drifting to the new term ahead.

As she passed one of the compartments, a flash of blonde hair caught her eye. Her feet moved on instinct before her mind could catch up, and she slid the door open.

Draco Malfoy looked up sharply from where he sat, his stormy grey eyes narrowing. Crabbe and Goyle sat across from him, their gazes mirrored his own like poorly trained guard dogs. The air in the compartment was tense, but not uninviting— at least not to her.

"Excuse me," Draco drawled lazily, though there was a flicker of something behind his eyes. "I don't know if you're blind, but this compartment is occupied."

Y/N's heart fluttered at the sight of him, but she forced herself to stay composed. Over the holidays, she'd missed him more than she cared to admit, and though they'd exchanged a single letter—her polite and brief, his surprisingly heartfelt—seeing him now brought a rush of conflicting emotions

Y/N's stomach flipped. She didn't know what possessed her to barge in-maybe it was the weeks spent apart over the holidays or the single letter she'd managed to send him, wishing him a Merry Christmas. Perhaps it was the rose he had given her had left her heart fluttering and her cheeks warm. Whatever it was, seeing him now stirred something undeniable within her.

Her lips twitched into a smirk, instinct guiding her words. "I'm not blind, Malfoy," she shot back, her voice cool. "But sometimes when I look at you, I wish I was."

To her surprise, one of Draco's friends—probably Crabbe—snickered. Y/N internally winced, realizing too late that Crabbe and Goyle were there. She and Draco were still keeping their friendship—and whatever else it was—hidden, which meant playing the part of adversaries in public.