𝑩𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒖𝒑 | ᴊᴀᴍᴇs ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐞𝐚𝐫

"𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑙𝑎𝑘𝑒,
𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑜𝑘𝑒,
𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑜𝑛."

𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 , 𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐬

Steam curled around the platform like ghostly ribbons, carrying the scent of soot and excitement. The Hogwarts Express gleamed crimson in the late-summer sun, its brass fittings winking as if it knew the secrets of every student who'd ever stepped aboard.

Aria Whittaker adjusted her trunk's handle and tried to ignore the way her arms trembled. She'd grown used to making her movements look effortless, to smiling through the dull ache that seemed to live beneath her skin. The makeup she'd dabbed on that morning was doing its job well enough—no shadows, no bruises, no reason for anyone to ask questions.

"Aria! There you are!" Lily Evans's bright voice cut through the roar of chatter and train whistles. She wove through the crowd, her hair catching the sunlight like fire, a Prefect's badge already gleaming on her chest. "I thought I'd lost you in the crowd. You could've sent an owl, you know!"

"I missed the post," Aria lied easily, smiling as she hoisted her trunk onto the train. "The usual chaos at the orphanage."

Lily frowned, a flicker of concern crossing her green eyes. "You've gotten thinner," she said before she could stop herself, then quickly added, "Not that you weren't always disgustingly graceful, mind you."

Aria laughed it off, as she always did. "That's what skipping dessert does for you."

Behind them, Marlene McKinnon bounded up the steps two at a time, dragging Alice Fortescue behind her. "Oi! Stop hogging the door! We're going to lose our favourite compartment to a herd of third-years."

They found it halfway down the train—a small, sunlit space with torn cushions and initials carved into the window frame. It was perfect. Marlene immediately flopped across one seat, legs dangling off the edge, while Alice set about unpacking her tin of homemade treacle tarts.

"Mother insisted," Alice said sheepishly as she handed them around. "Said I'll wither away without proper sweets."

"Your mother's right," Marlene said through a mouthful, "and you can tell her I said so."

Lily laughed and turned to Aria. "How's the orphanage been? You never talk about it much."

"Same old," Aria said, keeping her tone light. "A bit dull. A bit loud. The food's terrible. But it's... manageable."

"Manageable," Marlene repeated, rolling the word around like a Bertie Bott's bean she wasn't sure she wanted to eat. "Doesn't sound thrilling."

"It's not meant to be." Aria smiled, keeping her voice steady. "That's what makes Hogwarts so brilliant. No creaky floorboards or cold porridge—just magic and mayhem."

The others laughed, and the moment passed. Aria leaned her head against the cool windowpane, watching the station slide away. A small handprint—Evelyn's—had been pressed on the glass of her dormitory window that morning as she'd left. I'll write you, Aria had whispered. Every week, I promise.

She blinked hard and focused on the fields rushing past. She wouldn't think about Evelyn now. Hogwarts was supposed to be her escape.

"Merlin, can you believe we're fourth-years?" Lily said suddenly, breaking her thoughts. "Next year, we'll be choosing O.W.L. subjects. I feel ancient."

Marlene groaned dramatically. "Don't talk about exams before the term even starts. You'll give me wrinkles."

Alice smiled. "You'd still be beautiful with wrinkles, Mar."