Chapter Text
Harry sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the half-packed trunk in front of him. His robes were neatly folded, textbooks stacked on one side, but his hands felt heavy as he reached for the rest of his things. Everything felt heavier these days. Hogwarts was supposed to be home—a refuge. Now, it felt like a place full of ghosts.
His fingers brushed over the soft fabric of a sweater Mrs. Weasley had knit for him last Christmas. He used to love these small comforts, but now they felt bittersweet. Cedric’s face flashed through his mind—the last argument, the cold, clipped words. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shove those memories back into the locked box in his mind where he kept everything he didn’t want to feel.
But it wasn’t just Cedric. Ron and Hermione had become official over the summer, and though he was happy for them, a pang of loneliness tightened his chest whenever he saw them together. They tried to be subtle, not to make him feel like a third wheel, but Harry could see it in every shared glance, every touch of their hands.
He couldn’t even be mad at them. They deserved to be happy. They deserved something stable. But it just made Harry more acutely aware of everything he had lost.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to push away the swirling thoughts. This year, he had to keep his head down. No more drama, no more getting pulled into every bit of chaos that crossed his path. He needed to raise his grades, focus on his classes, and get things in order if he wanted to have any shot at becoming an Auror.
McGonagall’s warning at the end of last year still echoed in his mind. “The standards are high, Potter. You'll need top marks in your N.E.W.T.s if you're serious about this.”
Harry stared at the pile of parchment and quills still waiting to be packed, wondering if he was really up to the task. Everything had felt so off-kilter since the summer.
A sharp knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Harry, you ready?” Sirius’s voice came through the door, light but with an undercurrent of impatience. Harry quickly stuffed the rest of his things into the trunk, not caring if they were in perfect order.
“Almost,” Harry called back, closing the lid with a soft thud and locking it. He stood and took one last look around his room as if this might be the last time he’d see it for a while, the familiar warmth of Grimmauld Place now tinged with a strange sort of nostalgia. He went to grab the trunk, but before he could, the door creaked open, and Sirius stepped inside.
“Let me,” Sirius said with a grin, flicking his wand effortlessly. The trunk lifted into the air, floating behind them. “You shouldn’t have to haul this thing around when you’ve got magic, after all.”
Harry gave a small smile. “Thanks.”
Sirius clapped him on the shoulder, his smile faltering slightly. “It’s gonna be a good year, you’ll see,” he said, but his voice was softer now, more like he was trying to convince himself.
Harry nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it. They made their way down the stairs, the trunk following behind them with a gentle hum of magic.
Downstairs, Remus was sitting by the window, reading the Daily Prophet. He looked up as they entered, folding the newspaper in half and setting it aside. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his eyes met Harry’s.
“All set, then?” Remus asked, standing as they approached.
Harry nodded, and Remus’s smile widened a fraction. “Try not to get into too much trouble this year, alright? Sirius and I don’t need any more grey hairs.”
“I’ll try,” Harry said, though they all knew trouble seemed to find him whether he looked for it or not.
The platform was already crowded with students and families, and Harry felt a familiar sense of both dread and excitement stirring in his chest.
Remus stayed a step behind, watching as Sirius led Harry through the crowd with the floating trunk in tow. Harry could feel Sirius glancing at him, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them.
"Now, I know you’re still a little heartbroken…" Sirius began.
Harry stiffened, clenching his jaw. A little heartbroken? That wasn’t even close. He wanted to snap, to tell Sirius he didn’t get it—that it wasn’t something so trivial. Harry bit his tongue, forcing the bitterness down.
"But you’ve got to give your best this year. Try to stay far away from any potential beau, alright?"
The mention of it stung, burning in Harry’s chest. There was no reason for him to be as angry as he was, but Sirius's words felt like poison. He knew Sirius meant no harm, but it hurt all the same.
“I will. I promise,” Harry lied, his voice tight, almost robotic.
Sirius didn’t press the issue. He watched Harry for a moment too long, his smile faltering at the edges before it reappeared, softer this time.
"You know of your parents," Sirius said, trying to lighten the mood. "James kept trying, even when your mum kept blowing him off. He was enamoured from the first moment he saw her.” Sirius stretched out a hand, gripping Harry’s upper arm, squeezing lightly. “I know first-hand about the obsessive streak in the Potters.”
Harry let out a scoff, almost defensive. "Not obsessive…"
Sirius cut him off with a chuckle. “I know, I know. ‘Just in love,’ right? I had to listen to your dad cry over Lily for seven years. I get it.”
Then, without warning, Sirius pulled him into a tight hug. For a moment, Harry resisted, but then he buried his face in Sirius’s green coat, inhaling the familiar mix of cigarettes and wine. The scent was comforting, familiar. Sirius’s hand drifted over Harry’s hair, and he laughed softly when his ring got caught in Harry’s messy curls.
Harry let out a breath, sinking into the warmth of the embrace, but guilt prickled at the back of his mind. He always got too involved, too deep. First Cho, then Cedric.
He held on to them so tightly, wanting more than they could ever give, then resented them for falling short. With Cedric, it had been different… but still, he felt the sting of having lost something he wasn’t sure he’d ever had in the first place. He couldn’t stop getting too caught up, always wanting more than what people could give him, and then hating them—and himself—when it all fell apart.
As Sirius finally released him, Harry wondered how long it would be before he let himself get swallowed up again.
Sensing they’re done, Remus approached and wrapped Harry in a tight hug. “I’ll see you in a few hours,” he murmured softly. Harry felt the gap between them, a distance that hadn’t always been there. Not long ago, Remus had been more of a father figure to him than Sirius, and now… well, that was a thought for later. He locked it away, along with everything else that was too heavy to carry just now.
He waved them goodbye, grabbing his trunk as he turned toward the train. His legs felt sluggish as he walked through the aisles, his eyes scanning for an empty compartment. Harry paused briefly in front of one, his hand on the handle, but froze when he saw Ron and Hermione inside. Huddled together, Ron was saying something quietly, and Hermione laughed, shoving his arm. Their heads were too close, their smiles too intimate. It hit him harder than it should have.
He quickened his steps, finding an empty compartment and slipped inside. The door slid shut behind him with a soft click, and Harry lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. I’m not hiding, he told himself, trying to ignore the tightening in his chest. They wouldn’t get cozy in that compartment for too long, anyway. Prefects had duties to handle, and they’d have to leave soon to report to the others. But for now, the ache of feeling like a third wheel was too much.
Harry sank into the seat, pulling his journal from his bag. The one he hadn’t touched since August. He flipped through the pages, skimming over familiar words until one sentence caught his eye.
He grimaced, slamming the journal shut. It was ridiculous, how desperate he had been, how naïve. He wasn’t that person anymore. He couldn’t afford to be.
The compartment door slid open, and Harry looked up.
Harry sighed. “Malfoy.”
“Potter,” Malfoy replied flatly.
Malfoy stood in the doorway, hand hesitating on the doorframe, eyes darting around. He shifted uncomfortably, and for a moment, Harry thought he might speak. But Malfoy just raised a hand in some awkward gesture before turning to leave.
Goyle and Parkinson followed him out, but one Slytherin lingered.
Tall and striking, the prefect remained in the doorway. His skin was pale, almost alabaster, with jet-black hair falling smoothly over his forehead. His dark eyes scanned Harry.
Harry’s breath caught for a moment, the air in the compartment suddenly feeling too thick.
There was a quiet charge in the air, and Harry felt himself brighten as if seeing Riddle for the first time.
Riddle’s eyes lingered on him for a beat longer, and Harry’s pulse quickened. He couldn’t explain it—this sudden shift, this new awareness.
But before Harry could gather his thoughts, Tom’s lips twitched into a small, mocking smirk. He turned and walked away.
Oh.
Harry blanks out, turning his head to the empty seat before him.
Oh, fuck, no.