human again / hp.

Chapter 93

The platform at King's Cross was as grey and damp as ever, shrouded in that usual London chill that slipped down your collar and made your fingertips go numb even through your gloves. I stood next to Daphne, watching students tumble off the train with bags dragging behind them and voices louder than necessary. Parents stood waiting in clusters, all wrapped in thick cloaks and scarves, their eyes scanning the crowd with varying levels of impatience.

Daphne nudged my arm with hers. "There they are."

Sure enough, at the far end of the platform, I saw them. Tall, elegant, and unmistakable. Mother stood with her hands clasped in front of her, hair pulled into her usual perfect knot, not a single strand out of place. Father stood beside her, posture rigid, face unreadable.

Draco was already moving toward them, Crabbe and Goyle trailing behind him like misplaced furniture. I took a steadying breath and followed with Daphne at my side.

The moment we reached them, Mother's eyes swept over me. A flicker of relief. Then calculation.

"You've lost weight," she said in that same disapproving-but-worried tone. "Is the food at school truly that dreadful?"

"Only when the House Elves are on strike," I replied lightly.

Her lips twitched, but no smile. She leaned forward and placed a cold kiss on my cheek.

The Manor hadn't changed. Of course it hadn't. It never did. Grand white stone and wrought-iron gates, perfectly manicured hedges, the sense that the walls were always listening. I'd grown up here, knew every echo and every cold patch of marble floor—but stepping through the doors still made my shoulders tense a little.

"Your mother and I are pleased to have you both home," Father said as we stepped into the entrance hall. His voice echoed against the vaulted ceiling. "We hope this term has been productive."

"It's been... something," I said, slipping off my gloves.

"Celeste," Mother said sharply, "I do hope you're not letting your Gryffindor tendencies interfere with your sense of propriety."

Draco cleared his throat. "School's been fine," he said quickly, shooting me a warning glance. "We've both kept up with our grades."

"Hm," Father said, eyes narrowing slightly. "And your plans for the ball?"

"Theodore Nott is escorting me." I said, a little too fast.

Father ignored the sibling spat. "Your fitting will be tomorrow after lunch. Our tailor is already prepared."

"Okay" I said, even though I had absolutely no intention of deciding anything until the last possible moment.

"Dinner will be in an hour," Mother said, already turning away. "Do try to be presentable."

And just like that, the conversation ended. Another successful Malfoy family greeting: polished, pointed, and with just enough tension to remind me that home had teeth.

Draco and I headed up the staircase together in silence for a moment.

Then he said, softly, "If Theo tries anything this time, you hex him. Got it?"

I looked at him, surprised.

"What happened at the Yule Ball... you didn't even tell me until later. That's not happening again."

I swallowed. "I can handle Theo."

"I know. But if you don't want to, I will."

It wasn't affectionate. It wasn't gentle. It was... Draco. The only way he knew how to show concern—laced with arrogance and frustration and a fierce sort of loyalty he'd never admit to.