Chapter Text
The Hogwarts Express lumbered at a snail’s pace along the tracks, trudging slowly with gentle ease as it retreated from Platform 9 ¾. On the platform, grey and dim in the afternoon light, a scattered group of parents stood waving, tear stains dotting their cheeks.
Steam rose noisily from the smokestack, pouring out in bursts of somewhat sooty-colored clouds boxed in puffs of white, and drifting downward to conceal the gold letters that gave the train its name. The red paint on the body of the train chipped and peeled, though it was still magnificent, still the same, old magical beast that carried children to Hogwarts— a place where they would go to live out the best years of their lives.
Somewhere, in one of the many crowded compartments that were spread throughout the Hogwarts Express, Harry Potter sat quietly amongst his friends. His forehead rested against the window as he stared across the way at other train tracks, tall shifting apartment buildings, and graffiti decorating the walls which exited from the station.
To Harry’s left, Hermione lounged — her back pressed against the same side as the sliding door, feet propped right up against Harry’s leg — a book in her lap as she twirled a strand of loose hair with her wand. She was muttering aloud in a studious whisper, enunciating the spells and incantations written on the pages, reciting them as if she was going to be immediately tested on their contents when they arrived back at Hogwarts.
Across from them sat Ron, who was already halfway through a large pile of sweets from the trolley. Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Cauldron Cakes, Chocolate Frogs, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Liquorice Wands, Pumpkin Pasties, Sugar Quills, and Toffees all littered the seat next to him. Empty packages and loose wrappers coated the floor surrounding his feet and every time he adjusted Harry would hear one of the many wrappers crinkle softly.
Meanwhile, through mouthfuls of sweets, Ron was trying to recount a story that his brother Charlie had told him on a brief trip over from Romania, which only happened because of, well, Fred’s funeral.
“Charlie said it’s getting loads crazier back there,” Ron spoke around a mouthful of Pumpkin Pastie. “They’ve got three new dragons in the past five weeks! Three! I don’t even know where they could be coming from. Wales, probably.”
Hermione sniffed at the air. “You could finish eating before speaking, honestly.”
“Who would carry the conversation then?”
“Harry,” Hermione answered. “Or me. You know, it’s such a shame to see that table manners are completely wasted on you.”
“We’re not at a table.”
“Even so! It’s quite unsettling to hear you try and say words through a mouthful of food.”
“Harry doesn’t mind it,” Ron said.
Harry turned his face away from the window, which now overlooked the country hillside and a patchwork of fields, connected by picket and barbed wire fences, dotted with cows grazing on the bright, green grass.
“No, I agree with Hermione,” Harry said. “It is kind of gross.”
“Whatever,” Ron replied, turning back to his sweets.
Overhead their trunks scuffled in the loose metal racks, jumbling against one another, shifting as the train picked up speed.
They passed lonely farmhouses, crumbling brown barns, long, green pastures, livestock, and large lakes, shimmering a dark blue in the sunlight. Firm trees stood at the water banks, tall and stoic as the train bustled past, their leaves whistling in the sharp breeze.
“How’s Charlie doing by the way?” Harry asked out of the blue. “Besides the dragons. Is he… coping alright?”
Harry doesn’t need to elaborate further. Everyone in the compartment knew exactly what he was referring to, explanation or not. The war was a difficult subject and not one that someone typically chose to breach.
All of them had suffered greatly. Ron and Charlie had both lost a brother, after all. And although Harry had lost many people — his mother and father, Sirius, so many from the Order, Dumbledore — he hadn’t lost a brother. It was a limb that other relationships couldn’t emulate, something you didn’t realize was there until it wasn’t there anymore.
“He’s alright, I think,” Ron said. He’d quieted down, face gone slack, eyes downcast as he surveyed the mess he’d made in the compartment. Sadness, loss, desperation took shape in many forms; Ron’s had been very visible, very vandalizing. “He doesn’t talk about it, especially not in letters. I think he’s trying to pretend that nothing is wrong. That Fred is still there, working with George at the shop.”
Ron paused and kicked at the wrappers on the floor. They crinkled as they scattered, going to rest in front of Harry’s shoes.
He continued. “But he’s not there to see what it’s like back at home. Mum’s always crying, Dad’s always crying, George, too. And I know, Charlie’s just trying to keep up with himself, focus on work, but he’s gotta figure out what we all already have.”
“And that is?”
“Fred’s gone,” Ron said. “That’s he’s really… gone.”
“Yeah,” Harry murmured as he shifted his gaze back to the view outside. It was easier not to look at sorrow manifesting. “And Ginny? How’s she?”
“Mate,” Ron said as he bit his lip to trap a dejected laugh. “Ask her yourself some time. I can’t be yours and her messenger whenever the two of you’ve got something to say. Don’t you go asking Hermione either. We already tried that once.”
“And it failed miserably,” Hermione input gravely.
She snapped her book shut with a loud clap, the pages settling neatly beside each other once more. “But, Harry, he’s right. The two of you need to talk. Get some closure. Establish a sense of finality.”
Harry merely nodded. In truth, he’d been thinking loads about Ginny lately.
She clouded his mind, her fiery red hair sprinkled itself throughout his dreams, his nightmares, his actions. Planting herself in vivid visions that shuddered through his body day after day.
It started after the war, when Harry had joined the Weasley’s at the Burrow, nowhere else to go. The Dursley’s had abandoned their place, but he never thought he’d ever want to see any of them ever again. Grimmauld Place was too large and lonely, growing up from the ground that had once been Sirius’ home, Regulus’ home: the Black family home. Purity painted the walls of that place. It was sticky and reminded him too much of staking out during the war.
No, he took to the Burrow instead. The Weasley’s were family enough to him, Harry decided. It seemed they had also decided the same: they welcomed him as a son, as a brother, and as a friend.
During that time, Ron had often accompanied him to the Ministry during the countless Death Eater trials, interviews with the Daily Prophet that Harry never actually attended, and scores of tours, as everyone expected Harry to go straight into working as an Auror. But he’d already made his decision to return to Hogwarts and see the castle once more.
When Harry wasn’t at the Ministry, he joined Arthur alongside his excursions into Muggle London on more than one occasion. He helped Molly in the kitchen scrubbing grime from bottomless pots and grouchy pans, assisted George in the storeroom of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, and hid away with Hermione in one of the many bedrooms scattered throughout the Burrow, simply reading.
But Harry avoided Ginny like Dragon Pox. And she avoided him right back.
“I’ve been thinking that we should make a timetable for this year,” Hermione said, her voice cutting through Harry’s thoughts, shattering the thick silence that had encircled the trio’s compartment. “Headmistress McGonagall graciously accepted us back to finish our N.E.W.T.S. and we should all be focusing very hard on trying to achieve high marks.”
“Must we?” Ron moaned. He shoved an empty packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans away from him, bringing his fingers up to suck away all the sugar that still coated them. “I mean, I truly am one for learning and all, but ‘Mione, we’ve not even set foot back in the castle since, oh, you know when.”
Hermione shot Ron a sour look of contempt, her bushy hair falling out of its lazy ponytail and around her narrow face. She always had a thinner look to herself after the war. It started over the summer months, her eyes darkening during June when she had taken a short trip to Australia, and when she returned her cheeks had sunken in.
It accented her sharp cheekbones and drew an intense curiosity to her eyeliner, which was also a brand new addition to her look as she’d never worn makeup before. Though, after countless schoolmates approaching her during what everyone had called ‘funeral season,’ she had decided she had had enough of people pointing out tired she appeared.
“The Wizarding World has their eyes on us,” Hermione said in a flat tone. “ The Ministry has its eyes on us. Tracking down a murderous megalomaniac, defeating Voldemort, is not something that I intend to use to get… to get perks .”
“But—” Ron started, but Hermione stuck her hand out and cut him off.
“But no,” Hermione said sharply. “I may be your girlfriend, Ronald Weasley, but I will not be doing your homework this year. If Professor Binns decides that you’re going to write twelve scrolls on… Elfric the Eager, you’re going to write those twelve scrolls on Elfric the Eager yourself.”
Ron spluttered, unable to find a coherent set of words to string together. His mouth stood agape and for a moment he had regained his childlike sensibility.
“Technically I defeated Voldemort,” Harry said through all of Ron’s unformed words.
Hermione rubbed at her temples. “It was a collaboration effort.”
“If you want to put it that way.”
“I am going to put it that way,” she said. “Because it was that way.”
Harry grinned cheekily at Hermione and she reciprocated the action broadly. Satisfied that both of her boys could cope without her, Hermione reopened her book and settled back down, resuming the motion of twirling her hair.
Sometimes she could be downright terrifying, exuberantly nice, stubborn as a Hippogriff, or pliable as a wand, but Hermione was always reasonable. There was more knowledge in her brain than any book Harry had ever picked up.
Indeed, it was true that the Wizarding World and the Ministry both had their eyes (and quills— the Daily Prophet never seemed to slow their outrageous articles about ‘the Golden trio’) trained on Harry, Ron, and Hermione. And if Harry wanted to be an Auror, which Harry was already having second thoughts about, he’d need to get high marks on his N.E.W.T.S.
He would need to study more, focus more, turn all his attention to his classes and limit escapades across Europe. The last one would be the easiest being that Voldemort had since been defeated, which opened up a whole new vat of possibilities.
Tap, tap, tap.
Knuckles rapped against the glass door of the compartment, a steady and alert sound, turning the attention of both Harry and Ron to the intruder. Expecting someone looking for an autograph, both were greeted gratefully by the cheerful sight of Luna, who waved, a magazine — it looked like the newest edition of the Quibbler — pressed against her chest. She wore a familiar pair of pink and blue glasses with swirlings on either side and a smile wider than the expanse of the Great Lake.
Hermione, who didn’t once lift her once wandering eyes from the pages of her spellbook, wordlessly swished her wand. The compartment door slid soundlessly open and Luna stepped past the threshold, her strikingly blonde hair swaying in an invisible breeze.
“Thank you very much,” Luna gushed as she pushed a couple of Ron’s sweet wrappers aside to take a seat next to the culprit himself.
“Hey, Luna,” Harry greeted with a soft, controlled smile; all lip and no teeth.
“Harry,” Luna copied. “Ron and Hermione, too. It’s nice to see all of you returning. I am glad that so many won’t have to be alone this year.”
“It’s good to see you returning, too,” Harry said.
Luna pulled the glasses down from her face. Her eyes sparkled behind them, entrancing Harry as he watched her curiously, eagerly awaiting her next words.
“You know, I was wondering, and I’ve been wondering a lot lately…” Luna began. “There’s a lack of explanation for so many things, I’ve found. In fact, if you read this” — Luna gestured to the Quibbler in her hands — “my father recently wrote about it. I have a theory that there’s something in the air making everything go hazy.”
She trailed off, her words floating around the compartment, reaching even the crooks and crannies of the little box. Her voice shifted the floorboards, shook the walls, rattled the trunks overhead. Even with a voice as quiet as hers, it seemed to reach even the deafest of ears.
“Yes, yes,” Ron said. “Whatever you say. What, pray tell, were you wondering about in the first place?”
“Oh,” Luna murmured with a smile. She had gotten distracted by something invisible to Harry’s eye. “I was wondering if any of you had seen anything odd lately. Something out of place. As if objects had been rearranged without permission. Sorted through, tossed about, unwillingly misplaced.”
Harry considered the question. “Er, not really.”
“Well, I’ve been hearing from some of the other students that their possessions are going missing. Vanished into thin air.”
“Are people stealing things from you again?” Harry asked, heat rising in his voice, trembling with every syllable. “If I find that any—”
“Oh, well thank you, Harry,” Luna blushed. “But it’s not that. I’m not missing anything as of yet, but I certainly expect to. You see, Neville’s lost a pair of gardening gloves I think his Nan gave him, Dean lost something called… well, just a pair of shoes, Hannah’s missing a bracelet — I remember her saying it was a family heirloom of sorts, Ginny’s Quidditch kit has gone, too. Oh! And Draco’s lost a book on — oh, well, he wouldn’t tell me — and some of the younger years have spoken about missing possessions as well. Usual heirlooms, little trinkets and the like. In fact, Ginny told me that a third year’s glasses have vanished. Harry, I do think you should watch out.”
Harry reached up and touched the frames of his glasses lightly, letting his fingers brush against the thin wires that curved into a neat circle.
“Ginny is missing something?” Ron asked curiously.
“Yes,” Luna said. “Did Nargles plug your hearing up again?”
“Oh, dear. Not this again,” Hermione muttered, shaking her head.
Harry recounted Luna’s words in his head. “Draco? Since when are you calling Malfoy, ‘Draco?’ And… And talking to him like… wait, are you out there talking to him? Normally? Like a normal conversation. With… with Malfoy? ”
“May I remind you, Harry Potter, that you do not control the people I talk to,” Luna said. “Nor should you control the people anyone talks to. Only yourself.”
Harry collapsed into a stunted silence as Luna turned to regard the rest of the trio, each looking back at her as if something bizarre had sprouted up in her place. Gently, she set the Quibbler she’d been holding on the train seat beside her and tucked her wand behind her ear, curly blonde strands falling around her kind face. Her blue eyes gleamed and Harry swore, for a second, they’d been filled with a pool of unending mystery and unspoken truths.
“And anyway, I’ve been speaking to Draco for a few weeks now,” Luna confessed. Her voice was clear and controlled. All her words seemed new, but premeditated. Known around the edges, as if already spoken, drilled into her head. But they’d never been said before, not by her, at least.
“Merlin’s sake,” Ron moaned and covered his eyes.
Luna paid no heed. “Although, I don’t think I’ve been one to call him Malfoy. It is quite rude to confine a person to their last name, nonetheless their family name. I call him by his first name because it sets him apart. If I were to call him Malfoy he would be one of many, but there is only one Draco and there will never be another.”
Harry scrunched up his face in discontent. It was one thing to call Malfoy ‘Draco,’ but it was another thing to decide he was worthy of any of Luna’s words.
“That’s bloody bollocks,” Ron said and crossed his arms.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Neither of you ever pay attention to the bigger picture, honestly. Did either of you stop to think there’s more to life than Malfoy and your sisters missing Quidditch kit?”
“Er…” Harry trailed off.
“Of course you didn’t!” Hermione exclaimed. “The two of you are absolutely obsessed!”
“I can’t help it,” Ron said shyly. “She’s my little sister. I do care about her, you know.”
Hermione nodded, bringing with it a heavy sigh. It had been a moment since she’d turned her attention away from her book, though it still lay beside her, left open on a page of defensive spells.
“Luna,” Hermione addressed. “Is there any more you can tell us?”
“Well, as far as I know, I don’t think there’s ever been something like this before,” Luna said. “A mass series of missing items on the Hogwarts Express.”
“Could it be connected to Hogwarts?”
“That could be assumed, yes.”
“Oh, but how did it start?” Hermione wondered. “Do you think that someone is stealing things?”
“I can’t be sure,” Luna said. “Though I’m certain this is only a fairly recent development. Everyone’s quite worried. Those who are missing their possessions.”
“You know, I don’t mean…” Harry started to say but decided last minute to let his words fall mute. “Oh, nevermind.”
“Missing things, huh?” Ron said. “Hope my underpants haven’t decided to vanish last minute. That would be an absolute nightmare to deal with. Like, ‘Hey, mate, sorry to bother you, but may I borrow some briefs, mine seem to have gone missing!’ Bloody hell.”
“That might not be happening, haven’t you heard?”
“Heard what?”
“McGonagall’s decided to put all of us so-called ‘eighth years’ in the same common room,” Harry said. “If eighteen of us are returning, we’re not all going to fit in one room.”
Ron pouted and aimed a sharp kick at Harry’s legs, striking him in the shin. A hiss slipped through Harry’s teeth and he kicked back at Ron with one, quick jab.
“Oh, stop it you two,” Hermione intervened.
It was a petty, harmless fight, but nonetheless, Hermione always needed to be the middle-man. Harry and Ron could go on for hours, even after the initial spark had faded and they couldn’t remember what drove their child-like jests.
“If we’re not in the same room, I’ll march right up to McGonagall and give her a piece of my mind,” Ron huffed. “She’ll be scared.”
“I’m sure she will,” Hermione muttered sarcastically.
Ron rolled his eyes and grinned at Harry, who reciprocated the gesture, though smaller and more tense around the edges of his lips.
“She won’t split the two of you up and you know it,” Hermione said.
Luna hummed in agreement, a vacant tune, pressing against the air only with a gentle thrum. The atmosphere in the compartment had lifted ever so slightly. Luna’s presence always seemed to have that kind of effect. Oddly enough, it comforted Harry.
“Well, that settles that then,” Harry said.
Ron gave him a subtle wink. “As long as we’re nowhere near Malfoy, I’m set.”
The name came out lacking venom, but all the same, Ron had spat it out with impure intent. Though, without fail, the compartment shuddered. It was history that tainted his words and the future that failed to invent intimidation.
Luna nudged Ron and politely asked him to clear up his trash. Finally. He does know the spell, right?
Ron muttered a quiet, “ Evanesco. ”
The conversation dwindled down into sparse comments, scattered throughout, as the slow lugging of the train traded speech for silence. In one of those quiet moments, Luna vacated the compartment, leaving the trio once more to themselves.
Outside, the green pastures of Scotland coaxed Harry into a short, restless nap, his head pressed against the cold window of the train, bumpy with movement. His eyes fell closed with the sight of shapeless, wistful clouds dotting the sky above as they painted the inside of his eyelids.
Harry wished at once that they would take form. It reminded him of his scarce childhood, the calm parts, the lonely parts, where he was happy for solitary moments. Although most of his past had been filled with rejection and Dudley’s endless taunts and Uncle Vernon’s constant jeers, there was a piece of Harry that still remembered sneaking out to lay in the grass during long stretches of the summertime, picking out animals that sat among the clouds.
Life seemed so much simpler then, in those short moments before Aunt Petunia came rushing out the house screaming Bloody Mary about Harry forgetting to scrub the pans until he could see his reflection staring back.
Those thoughts stayed with Harry as he drifted off, thinking thoughts of the magic-less life before Hogwarts. He could never go back. It just wasn’t possible. Life was already so much now that he had Ron and Hermione.