"Buried, almost tangible secrets filled the space between them, and so, without a second to think, she closed it."
The scars of war opened more wounds than Harry Potter thought possible. As he returns to Hogwarts for his eighth and final year, he le...
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"— BE TAKING ADVANCED POTIONS since Professor McGonagall won't let me into Advanced Muggle Studies this year, seeing as I've lived with them my entire life."
Hermione was off on one of her long, endless tangents about school. Harry had long since given up on listening; he was busy thinking about the blonde, smiley girl he had met on the platform. He was angry with himself for never finding out her name, and for not asking her to sit in the compartment with him. How was he supposed to know more about her when he had no idea where to begin?
Now he was stuck with Ron and Hermione, which he wouldn't have usually minded, but today they seemed extra keen to get on his nerves. Hermione was watching Ron's hair dancing in the wind blowing from the windows Harry had cracked open. She seemed to be fascinated with the flutter of his hair, while all Harry concluded from it was that Ron needed a haircut. Harry kept trying to get Hermione's attention, to silently communicate his nervousness about returning to Hogwarts to her, but she just kept watching Ron's hair.
After the fiasco with the reporters, Ginny had left, her face livid with anger, to complain about it to Luna and Neville. Harry could hear brief snatches of her ranting through the walls.
Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione were discussing electives. Harry had not signed up for any of those yet, instead opting to keep his schedule as wide open as possible.
He had decided to be angry with Mrs. Weasley about sending him back to Hogwarts. He could have been in Auror training right now instead of embarking on a train for another year of not doing essays on time and reading books on things he would never use again. What would be the purpose of any knowledge about the history of elfish welfare when he was fighting Dark wizards? Besides classes like Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry felt safe to assume finishing his education at Hogwarts was pointless.
Harry lounged out across the seat. He rested his head on the window, not even caring about the joustling of the glass that repeatedly smacked his head. The train kept gliding past long stretches of fields, where he could hear the first years calling out to the sheep flying past them. His eyes were becoming heavier with each passing mile, he could feel the pressing drowsiness of sleep coming on.
The doors to the compartment slammed open with a bang. Harry shot up, his hand instantly on his wand.
He was greeted by the terribly high-pitched sound of giggling girls, at least ten of them standing outside his compartment. Pushing and shoving each other, the girls pushed one representative to the front. Harry watched in delirious shock, Ron with blank surprise, and Hermione with clear disdain.
Harry and Ron both sat up with a start when they recognized the chosen girl: Romilda Vane. In sixth year, she had been so obsessed with Harry that she tried to slip him a Love Potion in a box of chocolate. Harry did not end up the unlucky recipient of the highly illegal potion. Ron ate the chocolate, and had almost died when given an anecdote by Professor Slughorn, who had crawled back into retirement after the Battle of Hogwarts.
