Chapter Text
“Harry? Is everything okay? You look a little tense,” Hermione asked, her brow furrowing with sudden concern as she looked across the narrow train compartment.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Harry murmured, his voice flat as he kept his eyes glued to the rain-slicked window.
Everything was entirely not fine. Over the summer, Harry had been forced back into the stifling, silent isolation of Number 4 Privet Drive. Left alone for weeks with his own fragmented thoughts in the quiet confines of his bedroom, he had taken it upon himself to study the darkness that had nearly consumed him. Hidden away from the Dursleys, he had spent his long, sleepless nights absorbing and memorizing the exact types of dark magic that Voldemort and the Death Eaters had used before their defeat—desperate to understand the rot behind his own nightmares.
“Can you believe they are letting Malfoy back into school this year?” Ron said suddenly, biting aggressively into a pumpkin pasty.
Harry looked up uncomfortably, the shifting fabric of his robes feeling heavy against his chest.
“Oh, yeah… I forgot about the whole you standing up for him on trial thing,” Ron added, his tone dropping into a defensive mutter as he noted Harry’s rigid posture.
The Malfoys had gone to trial over the summer, and Harry had served as a defense witness for Narcissa and Draco. He had stood before the Wizengamot and testified that Narcissa had saved his life in the forest, and that Draco was just a kid forced into a war he never wanted. However, he hadn't been able to bring himself to defend Lucius, whose actions had landed the Malfoy patriarch straight into a cell in Azkaban. Harry still wasn’t entirely sure why he had defended Draco, but deep within his chest, he had a stubborn, unyielding feeling that it was the right thing to do.
About five minutes later, the sliding glass door of their compartment clicked open.
“Anything from the trolley, dears?” the trolley witch asked warmly, her cart rattling against the tracks.
Ron immediately jumped up, his hand diving into his pocket to grab a sickle for a chocolate frog, but his fingers pulled back empty. He slumped back into his seat, his face flushing red with embarrassment as he stared at his knees.
Harry stood up without a word, reaching into his own mokeskin pouch and handing the trolley witch three silver sickles. “Three chocolate frogs, please.”
“Of course, dear.” She handed him the bright purple boxes and smoothly slid the glass door shut.
Harry tossed one into Ron’s lap and handed the other to Hermione. Ron’s embarrassment melted instantly, a wide smirk spreading across his face. “Thanks, mate.”
They sat in a heavy, quiet stillness for the remainder of the ride. Hermione remained buried in the pages of her heavy library book, Ron happily tore into his chocolate frog, and Harry stared blankly back out the window, his mind completely lost in the toxic, simmering memories of his summer studies.
Finally, Harry thought to himself as the Hogwarts Express let out a loud, grinding screech, pulling tightly into the damp fog of Hogsmeade Station.
They stepped off the train onto the crowded, dark platform and immediately saw Neville, Luna, and Ginny standing near the edge of the path. Neville waved them over with a warm smile.
“Harry! Good to see you, mate,” Neville said, clapping him lightly on the shoulder.
“Nice to see you too,” Harry responded, his voice sounding forlorn and entirely devoid of life.
The group looked at him, a subtle, unsettled silence falling over them as they noted his complete lack of enthusiasm and the heavy, dark circles bruising the skin beneath his green eyes. But no one dared to say anything about it. They silently climbed into their designated carriage, and the invisible, skeletal structures of the Thestrals began pulling them up the winding, muddy path toward the silhouette of the castle.