Chapter Text
PROLOGUE
The Hogwarts Express crept forward, screeching with the deafening sound of a departing whistle as it left King’s Cross. Harry, returning from the bathroom where he changed into his Gryffindor robes, felt more himself than he had for the past month or so. He stalked the carriages, searching for the trio’s chosen compartment. He had a faint headache that seemed to disappear every time he actively considered it. Probably the scar, he thought apprehensively, with a feeling of dread etching its way into him.
The urban scenery of rustic, bustling, mundane King’s Cross made way like a waterfall for a rushing rural setting of trees, hills, and rivers that raced past the all-consuming windows in a hypnotic blur. Harry couldn’t help but relate it to how he had been feeling recently.
Sirius was dead. His hope for a family was dead. Sure, Remus was alive, but he had enough on his plate; he didn’t need a yearning teenager as seasoning to his already detrimental issues. Harry had just concluded another horrific sentence at the Dursleys', who tormented him even more than usual. Particularly the ‘star of the show,’ Dudley, who had somehow put on even more weight over the school year. Mummykins had to take him shopping twice over the summer; he’d grown in size halfway through. Also, unsurprisingly, finding out Harry had lost his godfather seemed to light a spark in the vermin. Dudley found grief hilarious.
Luckily, his summer had ended with a relieving caper when a mysterious, misty-eyed figure with an unprecedented aura that Harry felt before he saw rang his aunt’s doorbell, appearing as if, according to Vernon, he’d “come out of nowhere.” Of course, the reality was that he had in fact come out of nowhere, but his uncle’s reaction was far too comical, so Harry kept his mouth shut.
Dumbledore had taken Harry with him in order to persuade Horace Slughorn, a slug-eyed man with eyebrows like unkempt hedgerows who enjoyed dressing up as a sofa, to make a return to the faculty in the position of Potions professor. Upon hearing their strange mission, Harry immediately dreaded his return to his “haven” even more; Defence was going to be a nightmare as it had been really, since Professor Lupin. Everybody shared that sentiment. Harry itched the fading scar on his hand out of habit.
Dumbledore took him to the Burrow after, so that he could make his way to Hogwarts with the Weasleys. The atmosphere there was unappealing and rather off-putting, to say the least. Molly, embracing her maternal instincts, had babied Harry to no end, looking at him like a helpless puppy with nobody else left to depend on. Fred and George were completely off; they barely even cracked a joke; they honestly only played one prank the entire visit, and it was on Arthur, so it didn’t really count. Ginny’s hair had somehow become more ginger; she’d started styling it with some product from the Magic Catalogue to “impress the 6th years,” which Ron continually teased her about. Speaking of, Ron was the one who put him on edge the most. His best mate’s usually happy-go-lucky personality had been replaced by a gloomy, bags-under-eyes persona. You could see he was trying to be normal, but how could anybody be normal after the year they’d had?
Only Hermione remained steady. Her hair hadn’t changed a bit; she didn’t crack many jokes, but there’s nothing new there; she was ever the vigilant stoic. Harry chuckled to himself as he imagined Hermione as The Thinker. Her hugs hadn’t gotten any looser; she still held on as if she were about to fall off the Titanic. Although you could see it if you looked deep enough. Hidden by a blockade, her eyes were tired. Not the usual bookish tired, they were worn out. Harry sighed inwardly. This is all my fault.
Hermione was his last thought as he bashed straight into a sharp metal object, a loud CLANG consuming the air. “Watch where you’re going, you silly boy!” That reprimand came from the Trolley Lady.
Harry got down on one knee and began scooping treacle tarts, chocolate frogs, and other assortments of snacks into his arms. “Sorry! Was a bit lost in thought by the looks of it.” He replied with a jokey tone, scratching his neck after he placed his collection back onto the trolley.
The lady looked at him, seemingly for the first time since their encounter began. Her eyes were filled with a look he had seen a thousand times in the last week. “Oh... Harry.” Her tone had changed to one of pity. “You get back to your compartment lovely; don’t worry.” She rummaged through the trolley and scampered out a hand with a chocolate frog nestled into her palm. “Have this.”
Harry felt a bomb go off in his stomach. He quickly shook his head and glided past the trolley. Why can’t people just treat me normally, he repeated in his mind as he bombed down the never-ending expanse of the Express hallways. He continued to grumble to himself, and the frustration sapling formed into a tree inside of him. Harry was on the verge of an anger epidemic when he caught her eye.
Her furrowed eyebrows and soft, fading freckles relinquished the despairing feeling inside of him; her encompassing, warm, soothing smile calmed the storm threatening to release in him. He instantly noticed the way her robes were without a wrinkle, the Gryffindor deep shade of red slashed across them in certain places. The colour matched her eyes perfectly. Her voice dragged him out of his bubble. “Harry! I was just about to come looking for you.” She rushed down the hallway to greet him.
Noticing his expression, she halted. The lines of exasperation hadn’t quite vanished from his face. “Are you okay? What took you so long?” Her chocolate eyes dashed over his shoulder as she strained onto her toes to get a better look. Upon seeing nobody behind him, he became her centre of attention again; her eyes searched his, waiting for a reply.
“Nothing. Just stumbled into the trolley. He said convincingly. Years with the Dursleys train you to be a good liar.
“Again?” She laughed. “You must be the only person in the world to do that three times!” She said, with a hint of emphasis on the third.
He smirked at her, forgetting his irritation. “You’re one to talk. You must’ve forgotten about me when you went around and obliviated the memory of you falling over the same branch twice in one day.” He, of course, put emphasis on the twice.
She slapped him gently on the shoulder and smirked. “So rude, Harry Potter.”
“Apologies, Miss Granger. I’ll be on my best behaviour around Prefects from now on.” He replied sarcastically in her voice that he loved to call 'prim, proper, and posh'.
She rolled her eyes and led him toward the compartment, where one ginger, short-haired boy with wrinkles all over his robes was, to Harry’s relief, looking happier. “Harry! Took your time, didn’t you, mate?”
“Don’t ask,” Harry replied.
Hermione interjected, “You’ll never guess what he did for the third time, Ron.”
Harry put his hands up in defeat and sunk into the compartment, taking a seat closest to the window.
The trio’s laughs filled the carriage as the train’s screams halted, and a steady rumble replaced it. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad, Harry thought as he gazed at a bird plummeting into a dense forest.